Anguish

Josie – What did you do? Did you kill the baby? Have you been kidnapped?

I giggle, and reply.

Jaylah – No, not yet, anyway. I need my stuff. I got the job, woohoo. Could you be a gem and pack up the basics for me?

Josie – Why can’t you come and get it?

Jaylah – Well, the father is kind of moody. It’s a long story; you’ll see when you come over.

Josie – I guess I don’t get a choice. See u soon!

I text her the address and a list of what I want, then I drop the phone on the couch beside me. Diesel has nearly finished his bottle and his eyes are drooping.

“Uh-uh, buddy,” I say, poking his cheek softly. “It’s not bedtime yet.”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes flutter closed and he stops sucking. Great. I haven’t even bathed him. I stand, plucking the bottle from his lips. He makes a few sucking motions, then his mouth settles and he makes a squeaking sound. Then he’s asleep. Damn. I wish I could sleep that easily.

I carry him into the bathroom. Hmmm. That’s a big, big bath. It’ll be impossible to bathe him in that. I turn and walk out, edging down the hall. I’m not sure which room belongs to Captain Broody, but there are only a few so it won’t be hard to find. I’m right; he’s in the second room on the right. He’s sitting on his bed, playing his guitar softly.

Oh God, he plays the fucking guitar.

I think I just peed a little.

That’s hot.

“Ah,” I begin, and he snaps his head up, glaring at me. “Where do I bath him?”

He looks confused. “Where do you usually bath something?”

“The bath is too deep.”

He narrows his eyes. “So hold him.”

“I’ll break my back leaning over it.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“Seriously?” I snap. “Some help would be good.”

“Who is gettin’ paid here?”

“Jesus, never mind.”

I turn and walk out. As I pass the laundry, I stare at the deep yet not too big sink in there. That’ll be perfect. Smiling happily, I gather a towel, find some baby soap and fill it. I lay a towel out over the washing machine, and place Diesel down. I begin to undress him, but halt when I start trying to take the tiny shirt over his head.

Shit.

I move it, but it catches on his chin.

Shit. His head is too big for this tiny hole. Who invented such an outfit?

I purse my lips and use my fingers to stretch it as much as I can, slipping it over his head. He cracks up, and begins to cry, his little legs flailing about. “I’m sorry!” I cry, lifting his naked baby body into my arms. Ack, he’s so tiny, so freaking small. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the shirt . . .”

I’m talking to a baby.

I’ve lost it.

I stick a finger into the water. It’s warm, so I gently lower Diesel in. His body quickly becomes slippery and I have to use both of my hands to make sure he doesn’t sink. I swish his body side to side gently, letting the water go around him. He stops crying and starts making cooing sounds at me. Oh God.

“You’re all right, little man,” I say, smiling. “You’re going to grow up and be a super dude.”

He coos and my heart melts a little more. Who knew babies were so cute? I wash him as best I can and then lift him out of the water. The screeching starts again; someone doesn’t like being taken from his bath. I quickly wrap him in a towel and carry him into his room, placing him on the table thing again. I’m sure there’s a name for it; I just don’t know what it is.

I place a hand on his belly and lean down, taking a diaper and a warm suit. I stand up straight, and am struck in the eye with . . . oh my God . . . the baby is peeing in my eye! I squeal loudly, wanting to jump back but not wanting him to roll off the table. He continues to squirt at me, and my shrieking becomes louder as warm urine is splashed over my face.

“What the fuck?”

“He’s peeing on me!” I squeal. “Your child is peeing on me. Hold him, oh my God, my eye!”

Silence.

Then loud, booming laughter.

“You horrible . . . horrible . . . horrible . . .”

He laughs louder.

“Will you hold him? I’m going blind!”

“You gotta learn. Have fun with that.”

Then I hear his heavy footfalls as he leaves. Seriously? Seriously?

“You will pay for this,” I yell. “There will be sweet, sweet revenge.”

More laughter.

“Sweet revenge.”

Oh God, help me.

CHAPTER THREE

Waaah.

Waaah.

Oh, God. Again?

I roll in the large, squishy, really warm double bed I’m sleeping in. Diesel’s shrieking is getting louder and louder. Jesus, I only fed him . . . I check the time . . . ack. Two hours ago. My God, I had no idea how hard a baby would be, and it’s only the first night. I think of the money, and the help I’m providing, and push the covers back with a groan, throwing my legs out of the bed.

I pad down the hall and into his room. His little arms and legs are flailing about as he cries. I lean down, lifting him into my arms, and press him close to my body. “Hush, sugar,” I murmur. “We’ll get you a bottle.”

I slip out of his room, holding him to my chest. I get into the kitchen and prepare a bottle one-handed while bouncing him with the other. Then I plonk down onto the couch, and listen as he makes small suckling sounds as he drains the bottle. My eyes droop and I shift us so we’re both lying down. My eyelids flutter and Diesel drops the bottle, making a squeak before drifting off to sleep.