The 5 Stages of Grief

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Chapter 3, Dr. Alexander

She’d laughed. Let out a little sound or something. He wasn’t sure if it was at his expense as he didn’t remember doing or saying anything funny.

He’d been looking down at the floor, at his shoes, at hers. Today she was wearing a pair of purple heels at least three inches, maybe more, with platform soles as seemed the latest rage. They were open toe, but barely, just a hint of her black hose peeking through. He knew the hose were seamed up the back of her leg from spotting her earlier. What he had thought to be a suit at first glance turned out to be a dress on closer inspection, with white piping creating the illusion. It clung to her perfect form as if it’d been sewn on with buttons up the front to accessorize.

It had been that sound, that laughter or whatever it was which caused him to raise his head. Not much, just a little and that’s when he’d noticed the top button of her already low-cut dress had somehow come undone. It would likely have gone unnoticed if she’d been standing straight, but she wasn’t. Instead, she was holding a bunch of files with her left arm causing the dress to ride up a little on that side. Which, much to his surprise, enjoyment, embarrassment, caused her dress to gape open, and quite a bit. That she was so petite is what afforded him such an unimpeded view of what he could only say were most magnificent breasts, and barely concealed by a black-lace bra, more lace than bra, as it was almost entirely sheer.

He froze, not knowing what to do. He looked up to her face. She obviously had no idea it was open that she was awarding him such an intimate view. Should he tell her? Or is it better to act like nothing’s happened, let her move along until someone else points it out? Would she think it back to him? Wonder what kind of weirdo would allow her to walk the halls of a cop-shop with her boobs hanging out? Decided, he gathered his elusive courage, at least as much as he could find. “Excuse me. Ah—”

“Yes?” She smiled at him. She’s so beautiful he almost forgets what he was going to tell her but then she hikes up her folders a shrug and gives him an even clearer view of her assets. “What is it, Walt? Did you think of something?” Her features transpose from what seemed to be humor or amusement to interest and curiosity. “Is there some kind of connection? Is he for real?”

“Ah…” He looks away then back to his shoes, willing himself to keep his eyes averted from her breasts. Even so, they pull at him like a magnet. When he opens his mouth it gushes out like the bathroom faucet at a fancy restaurant. The one that turns on with the force of a three-man fire-hose, using the sink-bottom as some kind of diabolical-deflector, ricocheting the water off its bottom to blast the poor bastard who was merely attempting to follow proper hygiene procedure and perhaps impress his date with too much cologne. “Your button, Miss Blantyre.” He feels red heat flush his face, sweat break out and trickle down his back between his shoulder blades.

“Pardon, Walt? I didn’t hear you. Look up for Christ’s sakes – look at me, I won’t bite you. How on earth can I make out what you’re saying if you insist on talking to the floor? And it’s Chloe, remember? We’ve already gone over that.”

Walter lifted his head as slow as he dared, confident his face was deeply blushed, though it didn’t take nearly long enough. Even so, he held true, looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry Chloe. I… I do not talk to women often. I’m afraid I’m not particularly good at it. Please excuse my awkwardness—”

She cut him off, her smile returning. “That’s funny. You seemed to have looked me over pretty well the other day – yesterday if I’m not mistaken. Not that I didn’t deserve it.” She reddened a little herself, shrugged. “Not to worry, no-one got hurt. And we’re both adults – right?” He nodded. “Now, what is it you were about to say before I rudely cut you off?”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to corral his courage then opened them and let it out in one big release. “Your breasts.”

“What! What did you just say?”

If looks could kill, he wouldn’t have had to continue. Unfortunately, he was still alive. “I’m so sorry. I meant to say your dress – the button.” She was still looking at him with daggers in her eyes. Not knowing what else to do, he pointed.

She looked down to what he could only imagine was an even better view than his own. “Oh my God! How long have I been like this? How long have you been looking?” Her head shot up like a lit match while simultaneously covering herself with the file folders. Her eyes remained locked on him, demanding an answer.

He felt like bolting, yet instead firmed his shoulders and stood his ground. “To be honest, I don’t really know. I was too shy to look at you – remember? I told you as soon as I noticed.” He dipped his head again, caught himself and lifted it, looking her straight in the eyes. “Well, almost as soon as I noticed,” he added with a smile.

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