Stuck with a Punk ✔

No. 31.: Splashed

It's pointless to ask me how long it takes me to decide I've done enough for one day. When I begin to feel too tired to function and have trouble seeing the difference between economical and environmental practices, I turn off the computer and see the monitor's light fade into darkness.

I stretch a little to get that blood flowing through my whole system and only then do I get up.

Wehhh!

I turn my head in the direction of the sound and smile to myself. This must be the first time I've reacted so... positively to Devon's tantrum. It helps I haven't been in bed yet.

His room is my first stop and when I enter, he looks like he's in a complete agony. Like always.

Looking down at him, I lift both of my brows and take him in my arms. I try to shoosh him "What's wrong, kid?"

It's impossible to narrow it down what's pestering him. I try everything. I weigh his diaper and even try to smell it but it's still fresh. He can't be hungry, it hasn't been so long since his last meal. It couldn't have been. My third assumption is he needs some cuddling but after his crying doesn't die down, I am lost like a tourist without a map. Caressing his back, warming him up, wrapping him up in soft blankets - everything that calms every human being by default proves to be dismissable in Devon's case.

I whisper, I hush and still nothing helps. It's the creaking of the linoleum floor I have in the living room that makes Devon quiet his cries down in curiosity.

I turn to see who is my angel sent from up above, and boy, let me tell you, that's one hell of an angel!

Annabelle was, just like me, summoned from the room and brought here. Let me tell you, she only put on a T-shirt she wore whole day. Oh, and without a bra. That vision makes me want to wish Devon would cry more often.

"What's wrong?" She asks, keeping her eyes still closed. I'm not joking when I say she walks like an Egyptian mummy. A hot Egyptian mummy.

With great pain and heavy heart I tear my eyes away and look at the red-cheeked baby. Honestly, why? "I don't know, I checked for every baby thing and nothing seems to work."

"Nothing?" Annabelle comes closer and squints her eyes at the kid when she opens her eyes fully. Or tries to.

"Nothing." I look at him in my arms, inspecting his face like looking for signs that would tell me what's this all about. "What could it be, then? Babies don't have much to do."

She shakes her head and never takes the eyes off of him. By the amount of her worries concerning this kid, I wouldn't be surprised if his hair will turn red eventually.

"How old did you say he is?"

It's a question I hate and a question that usually gets me into trouble. "Around seven months?"

"I think I know what it is," she says with a slightly husky voice from sleeping. It's kinda really hot.

"Where are you going?" My whole body turns after her movement when she decides to leave Devon's room. My first conclusion is she just doesn't want to bother with Devon crying and wants to go back to sleep. I'd do that.

The knowledge of my apartment helps me to know where she is. When I hear her toes and feet slightly sticking to the floor I know she's in the bathroom and her quick steps must mean the tiles are pretty cold which doesn't agree with her. I hear the running of water and the interrupted stream of it. Is she washing something?

Annabelle returns, holding her hands in the air and I can still see the dampness on her slim fingers.

It's a bit surprising - more like creepy - when she sticks one of her fingers into Devon's mouth.