Cogheart

Chapter Ten: Our Favorite Gearbike Death Machines

Iris kicks in her sleep. 

As the bells in the distance chime and the peachy light just barely streaks through the open window, I slam the pillow back over my head and groan. Ambrose's arguing had kept me up two hours longer than I'd have liked, and I've never quite taken on the Cog Slum instinct of waking up at the crack of dawn. It's a source of personal shame. 

To make matters more complicated, Iris kicks in her sleep. A lot. I spent half the night twitching whenever her leg came into contact with my body, or pushed me to the side as she spread out all over the bed like a butterfly. Eventually, I ended up pushing a wall of pillows in between us, and was up for another hour making sure that her leg wouldn't snake it's way through my pillow defenses and surprise me again.

I glance to my right to see a tangled mess of red waves spilling over the other side of my pillow. Ambrose. She'd fallen asleep in my bed last night- but I assumed she'd have eventually woken up and left. She's still softly snoring away, hugging a spare pillow to her body and clad in one of Arthur's old shirts. I grin. Arthur hates when she steals his clothes, but I can tell that he's always a little fond of it, deep down. 

Guess she wasn't having sex with anyone last night and went straight to bed. I laugh to myself. Maybe I killed her mood. 

Iris, on the other hand, is now gone. When I look up, I'm startled to see Iris completely naked, standing at the foot of my bed, unclipping her bra and throwing it to the floor. Her eye widens when she catches me staring and lets  out a shriek of embarrassment, scanning the floor for something to cover herself with. 

"Shit! I'm sorry!" she squeals. "I thought you guys were dead asleep, fuck- 

"No, no, it's alright," I reassure her, making a point of averting my eyes. "Um- I shouldn't have- uh. I'm sorry, this is terribly awkward for both of us." 

She's pretty, naked. Pale and slim, with a petite figure and small waist. She's a small girl for sixteen. Maybe it comes with being on the move so much. 

She's not so pale right now, though- more of a  blotchy red as she struggles to find some clothes. I recover rather quickly from the embarrassing situation- there's nothing unusual about nakedness to me. It's just more skin, uncovered breasts. Nothing out of the ordinary. Back during the early days, I saw plenty of them on the late night Cog streets. They don't really faze me anymore, nor do they ignite anything in me. 

When I was little, I was taught that breasts were meant for two things- men, and future children. Maybe women, if you fancied it. They were supposed to be admired, but not touched- at least, not until you were married. But I knew lots of girls who had done things with their boyfriends or girlfriends before then- a shameful little secret kept between friends. 

There were a lot of confusing rules about them. Show them to boys. Don't show them to boys. Show them off, but not too much. Just enough to keep your innocence but still know the power you held. Don't show them to anyone except someone you trust, but don't be rude to a boy if he asks. Some of the rules contradicted each other. It was strange. Eventually, I came to the realization that having breasts was a great power- but we were certainly instructed to rein that power in a lot. I didn't focus on them, much. They were skin and fat and could occasionally make your dresses look better on you. I never had the slightest interest in sex, so that part wasn't of any interest to me. 

Iris averts her gaze from me, covering her chest with her arms. "I really thought you were asleep." 

I click my tongue playfully. "If it's the staring you're worried about, I was just startled. I'm not the sexual type."