Everything Has Changed: Book Three

Chapter Four: Breakfast

The pic on the side is of Micah because somebody asked for it and I forgot to post it

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Chapter Four: Breakfast

I lay in bed in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling. Danny's arm is around my waist, his leg thrown over both of mine, his head nestled as close to me as he can get. His parents and grandparents are down the hall, his Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Logan are in one room downstairs and Aunt Marie and Uncle Kevin are in another room downstairs. Brecklyn, Jared, and the baby are in the room in the basement and Megan, Jackson, and Christian are sharing the living room. We blew up our queen sized blowup mattress and Megan is sharing it with Jackson. The two older siblings forced their little brother to take the couch.

And Micah is sleeping on the couch in Danny and I's sitting room in our bedroom.

But as I lie here at three in the morning, I feel sick.

How did my Dad let this get so bad?  Was today really the first time somebody ever washed Micah? Why doesn't he have any clothes? And Micah said the water burned. Was my Mom giving my brother vodka?

And he doesn't eat apparently. The little boy is a stick.

I really don't feel like going to sleep because I know if I fall asleep I'm going to have horrible nightmares.

I worm my way out of Danny's grasp and grab my winter coat. I already have on thick pajama pants. I stuff my feet in my fur boots and pull my coat on. I slip out of the bedroom and walk down the stairs, stopping at the linen closet to grab a throw blanket. I walk carefully around Megan and Jackson's blowup mattress, walking out to the balcony. I shut the door silently behind me and walk down the path to the boardwalk on the right. It's freezing out here so I wrap the blanket around my shoulders.

When I get closer to the end, I see a small figure standing there, looking down at the water.

I hesitate.

Who the hell?

"Micah?" I ask when I get closer.

He's standing at the edge shivering, his arms wrapped around his little body.

He's only wearing my shirt and I know he must be freezing.

The boardwalk has a little roof over it to block the rain and sometimes in the summers I like to sit under it while it's raining and paint. There's a bench around it, so I walk over to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

He jumps and starts to fall forward, but I catch his small body with my arms, and then he starts crying.

I pull him over to one of the benches and wrap the blanket around his body, pulling him against my side.

He cuddles against me and I can feel him shaking.

I pick him up and carry him up to the house. I go up the stairs and onto the main floor, shutting the door.

I take him into the laundry room and shut the door, turning the light on.

His little arms are around my neck and his legs are around my waist. I sit him on the dryer and stand in front of him, rubbing his back as he cries.

And I relate to him. To a little boy who is five years old.

I know why he's awake. He had a nightmare. He's crying because he had a nightmare.

This little baby is devastated and scared and heartbroken.

So I don't say anything, I just hold him, rubbing his back and running my fingers through his hair.