3. Vitya
Chapter 3
Vitya
B y the time I meet Timofey outside of Pink, I’m more than ready to kill someone. Today has felt never ending. It doesn’t help that I keep checking my phone, hoping that Sveta has left me a text to let me know she’s still okay, but there’s nothing, and her silence is slowly killing me.
I reread the texts she’d sent me and groan. God, I can’t let things escalate any further. I’d desperately wanted to respond to her drunken, flirty texts, but nothing good can come of it, and I refuse to hurt her like that. What the hell had she been thinking drinking all that vodka? She’d looked so small and sad when I’d left, and it had taken all the willpower I possess to walk away and leave her. The thought of Vitaly finding me in bed with his daughter had been a very good incentive to get my ass out of there, but I hadn’t wanted to. What I’d wanted was to crawl into that bed and slide into her as deeply as I can get and then never let her go.
I try to push her from my mind, knowing she’s fine and sleeping it off. She’ll delete the messages on her phone, and I’ll pretend I’m not still rereading them and wishing I could’ve given her what she was begging me for .
Walking over to Timofey, I rest a hand on the roof of his car and lean down to ask, “Hear anything new?”
He smiles up at me. “Lev and Sasha are holding him at the warehouse.”
A thrill runs through me at his words. It’s the exact distraction I need right now. “I’ll meet you there,” I tell him, pulling my helmet back on and going to my bike. I don’t wait for him. I weave my bike into traffic, skirting around the cars that are at a standstill and slipping into the turning lane. My heart races as the adrenaline starts to kick in. I will never turn my back on watching over Sveta, but, fuck, I’ve missed being a part of the action.
In less than twenty minutes, I’m pulling up to the abandoned-looking warehouse. I park behind the building, leaving my bike next to the two other motorcycles that I know belong to Lev and his son. When I step inside, it’s just in time to see Sasha deliver a kick that sends Radomir swinging. He’s chained to the rafters above, in nothing but a pair of plaid boxers, and his face is so swollen and bloody that I barely recognize him.
Lev looks over and gives me a nod before going back to watching his son. Sasha is only eighteen, but he’s already stepped fully into his position as one of the bosses in the Melnikov Bratva. He has the tattoo on his arm to prove it, and he’s quickly gaining a reputation as being a bit unhinged and really fucking brutal. He channels that brutality well, though, and only applies it to our enemies.
He’s obviously been hitting Radomir for a while because he’s ditched his shirt and is covered in sweat and blood. When he hears me, he looks over and gives me a grin, looking every bit like a younger version of his dad.
“Hey, Vitya,” he says before giving Radomir another sharp kick, pulling a scream from the man and smiling even bigger when he hears it.
Lev lifts a pierced eyebrow at me. “Need to let off some steam?”
“Yeah, it’s been a while,” I tell him, knowing if anyone will understand, it’s these two .
Proving me right, Sasha immediately stops and waves a hand at Radomir. “Have some fun, Vitya. Just don’t break his jaw yet. We still need him to answer some questions.”
When Sasha goes to stand next to his dad, Lev ruffles his son’s hair in an affectionate move that would be kind of sweet if it weren’t for all the blood covering them. Sasha laughs, and not for the first time I wonder what the hell goes through that kid’s mind. He’s smiling and laughing now, but I know it’s just because he’s happy about getting to play around with Radomir. Nothing puts that excited glint in his eyes like torture does.
I toss off my leather jacket and step closer to the man who was stupid enough to betray us.
“Vitya,” he moans, trying to see me through his swollen eyes. “Help me,” he begs.
I laugh at the nerve of this fucker and start punching. It’s the first time I’ve felt relief in weeks. I channel all my frustration, all my anger, and I give it to the moron hanging in front of me. He yells and groans and begs me to stop, but I ignore him. He’s been lying and stealing and making us look like a bunch of pussies, a Bratva that doesn’t know how to control their own. He’s going to be made an example of, and the stupid fucker brought it all on himself.
When my hands are numb and I know he’s close to passing out, I step back and try to get control of myself. I wipe a bloody hand on my jeans and look over to see that Timofey’s joined Lev and Sasha. All three are staring at me in a way that makes it clear they’ve been watching me for a while. A small grin plays at Sasha’s lips when Radomir starts to cough up blood.
“Okay, let’s question the bastard before you kill him,” Timofey says, stepping closer and fisting Radomir’s hair so he can tilt his head back and see his face. “You’re stealing product from us. Who the fuck are you selling it to?”
Radomir coughs and lets out a loud wheeze, making me wonder if one of his broken ribs has punctured a lung. It’s a pain I remember all too well, and I have no desire to ever experience it again .
Lucky for all of us, he doesn’t waste precious time trying to deny the theft. “I just skimmed a little bit,” he says, each word coming slowly from his split lips. “A couple guys sell it for me on the side.”
“Who and where?” Lev growls at him.
As much pain as Radomir is in, the sound of Lev’s enraged voice still manages to make him flinch and go a shade paler. When he doesn’t answer fast enough, Lev says, “Tell me right fucking now or I’m going to let my son take all the time he wants on you.”
“No,” Radomir gasps, fully aware of how long Sasha could make his death last. “It’s a townhouse, 519A on Seventh Street.” He takes another wheezy breath before saying, “Three guys.”
“Only three guys?” Lev asks. “No one else is in on this?”
“Just three,” Radomir confirms. “They’re there now.”
Lev looks at the man with nothing but disgust in his eyes. “We treated you good, Radomir. Fuck you for betraying my family, you greedy little prick.”
He nods to his son, who’s already pulled his knife out, ready and waiting. Sasha’s been training with Dario, Dominic’s cousin, for a few years, and the kid has gotten damn good with a knife. I’m not at all surprised to see the front of Radomir’s boxers soak with piss when Sasha steps closer, that same wicked grin playing at his lips.
“Please no,” he begs, shaking so badly I can hear his teeth clicking together.
“You betrayed us,” Sasha says in a dead, matter-of-fact tone of voice. We’re all used to killing. You can’t be in a Bratva and be squeamish about violence, but no one else seems to delight in it as much as Sasha.
The blade of his knife is long and serrated, and when he plunges it into Radomir’s side and pulls it up in a diagonal line across his stomach, the man hanging in front of us screams and loses control of his bowels. The warehouse fills with the smell of shit and blood, and when Sasha stabs him on the other side, dragging the knife up so there’s a gruesome X across his stomach, Radomir’s too far gone to scream or care that his insides are now spilling out of him. His head drops as his body hangs. If he’s not dead yet, he will be in seconds, but that doesn’t stop Sasha from jamming his knife through the wound so he can stab his heart from the inside.
I look over at Timofey, who raises a brow and lets out a soft laugh before smacking Lev on the back. “Jesus Christ, man. If I ever piss you off, please don’t send your son after me.”
Lev laughs and watches his son tilt his head to study Radomir’s body. “Don’t worry. This special treatment is only reserved for those who betray us. You’d never hurt Timofey, would you, Son?”
Sasha turns his head, and with the blood splatter on his face, he paints a terrifying picture, but he just smiles and says, “You’re family, Timofey. You don’t kill family.”
Lev nods in approval, clearly having drilled this rule into Sasha. “See?” Lev asks. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Glad to hear it,” Timofey says and then asks Lev, “So what do you want me to do with the body?”
“Display it at the other warehouse. It’s remote enough so the body can rot without drawing attention. Make sure our men know he’s there so they can all see what happens if one of our own crosses us.”
“I’ll make sure it gets done,” Timofey tells him.
“I can go to the townhouse on Seventh,” I say, not quite ready to call it a night.
“I’ll help,” Sasha quickly says, because evidently he hasn’t killed enough for one night.
“There’s three of them,” Lev warns, but Sasha just laughs at his dad’s concern.
“I’ll call for backup if we need it,” I promise him.
“Fine.” He pulls his son in for a hug, not caring that he’s covered in blood. “Call me immediately if you need help.”
“I will, Dad, don’t worry, and I’ll text you when I’m done.”
Lev ruffles his son’s hair and then pats him on the back. “All right, go have fun.”
Sasha grins and starts cleaning his knife before putting it away .
“Thanks,” I tell Timofey and Lev. “I appreciate you letting me in on this.”
Lev grins. “It’s not often Sveta lets you have a night off. Gotta make the most of it.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter. If he’s wondering why I’m choosing to spend one of my rare nights off killing instead of fucking, he keeps it to himself. Maybe he’s used to it because of Sasha.
I tell them both a quick goodbye and then leave with Sasha.
“I’ll follow you over there,” I tell him before he nods and pulls a tinted black motorcycle helmet on. I do the same, and then we start our bikes. The loud rumble fills the night air, and as soon as Sasha leaves the gravel drive we’re on, he picks up speed, racing down the side street with me right behind him. I’m not worried about the dried blood we’re both covered in. It’s dark out, and we’re going too fast for anyone to get a good look at us. Plus, anyone who sees it will just assume it’s paint. No one’s going to look over at us at a red light and immediately assume we’ve just slaughtered a man.
At least I hope not.
Seventh Street is only fifteen minutes away and still very much in our territory, which proves Radomir had far more stupid in him than I gave him credit for. I knew he wasn’t the brightest guy in the Bratva, but I thought he was smart enough to take orders and follow what few rules there are. It’s a mistake he didn’t live very long to regret.
When we get close to the townhouse, Sasha slows down, keeping his bike quiet enough to not draw attention. He parks near a wrought iron fence that probably looked nice and sturdy two decades ago. Now it’s rusty and broken in several spots. There’s a line of shabby-looking townhouses with 519A right on the end.
Sasha takes his helmet off, setting it on his seat so the Grim Reaper design that covers the back is on full display. Ever since the younger generation joined the Bratva, they’ve made damn sure that the symbol Sveta created for them is always front and center. People see that image, and they immediately know what it means. Everyone in the Bratva now has a Grim Reaper tattoo. The bosses are the only ones who have the motto Brothers in blood, in life, and in death written in Russian beneath it, but the basic design of a hooded Grim Reaper, skull face partially exposed while holding a bloody scythe, is on all of us now. I’d gotten it on my right forearm, close to where my brother’s name is written.
“Do you have a knife?” Sasha asks, coming to stand next to me.
I look over and then softly shake my head when I see him. He’s traded his black helmet for a skull mask. It’s highly detailed and perfectly done, clearly not some piece of shit rubber mask off the rack at some store. This thing looks custom made, and when he turns to face me, there’s just enough light from the streetlamp for me to see his light blue eyes.
“Sasha, I mean this in the best way possible, man, but you are a fucking freak.”
He laughs and smacks my back. “The mask scares the hell out of people. It’s a beautiful thing to see, Vitya. So, do you have a knife, or do you need to borrow one?”
I pull my own out, showing him the sharp blade, and he nods his approval. I can’t see his face, but I’m guessing he’s smiling behind his creepy mask. With weapons in hand but down at our sides, we walk to the front door. The neighborhood is rundown and empty. It’s not the kind of place that has a neighborhood watch, but that doesn’t mean we want to announce our plans to anyone who happens to see us.
The windows facing the street are covered with blinds, but I can see a hint of light around them. Sasha reaches out and quietly tries the doorknob, neither one of us surprised when it’s locked. Instead of kicking down the door and alerting everyone inside, we follow the overgrown path around the side and to the back. The chainlink fence that runs along the nearly nonexistent backyard is completely broken in several places, making it easy for us to step through. The ground feels frozen solid, but it hasn’t started snowing yet this year, so it’s nothing but dry, dead grass that looks like it hasn’t been cut in months.
I can feel Sasha’s excitement when he steps onto the small porch and finds the door unlocked. He looks back at me, making sure I’m ready, and when I give him a quick nod, he silently opens the door and we both slip inside. The first thing I notice is the godawful smell of old food and underneath that is an indescribable smell of filth, the kind that can only be generated from months of living like an absolute slob. It makes my skin crawl, and when I look around the small kitchen, I’m not at all surprised to see several cockroaches scurrying over the dirty plates that are stacked haphazardly on the counter because the sink is already overflowing with them.
We walk down a dingy hall, hearing the indecipherable mutterings of a TV show and then a man’s laugh, the sound of it has Sasha freezing in place. He cocks his head, listening for more, and when nothing else happens, he starts walking again, creeping closer to the open doorway in front of us.
When we’re next to it, he peeks around the corner and then looks back at me. His mask looks downright eerie in the dim hall, and I’m glad that I’m not the one he’s going to be hunting through this house. He holds up one finger and then points to the living room, letting me know there’s just one man in there. Then he turns and heads for the set of stairs to our right. I’m not surprised that he’s going after the other two and leaving me with just one. Sasha’s greedy like that.
With my knife in hand, I take a steadying breath before peeking my head around the corner. This room is just as filthy as the rest of the house. Bags of takeout food litter the floor and couch, and the furniture either all came in the same shit-brown color, or it’s just turned that way from years of having unwashed bodies sitting on it. The man in the recliner is facing away from me, completely oblivious to the danger standing right behind him. I watch him scratch at his balls as he laughs at whatever show he’s watching.
I’m always amazed at how quickly a life ends. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. My brother’s was gone in a flash. One second he was here, laughing and smiling, and in the next moment he was dead in my arms. There was no warning, no sixth sense to let me know it was coming. He was just gone.
If I weren’t so broken, I might feel a twinge of guilt at what I’m about to do, but I’m way too far gone for that. This asshole crossed the Melnikovs, and he’ll pay for it with his life. Cause and effect doesn’t always need to be complicated.
Wanting to leave as little evidence as possible, I grip my knife tighter and step closer. I’m amazed at the man’s inability to sense my presence, but the empty beer cans surrounding the recliner he evidently spends most of his time in might explain that. Before his drunk ass can spot me, I reach around from behind and press my knife below his ear, being careful to not touch him. It’s impossible to keep all my DNA out of this room, but there’s no reason for me to leave behind a fingerprint if I don’t have to. Blood sprays when I hit the carotid artery on his left, sliding the blade across his neck before severing the other, giving him a quick but very bloody death.
I pull my hand away, wiping it on my jeans before going in search of Sasha. Staying quiet, I take the stairs and follow a hallway that’s a twin of the one downstairs—both dark, narrow, and disgusting. The first door I come to isn’t shut all the way, and there’s a light coming from inside. Hitting it with the toe of my boot, I lightly kick it open, revealing a scene that’s straight out of a horror movie. Blood spray paints the white walls, and I swear it’s like Sasha was trying his hand at a Jackson Pollock painting. The body slumped in the corner has been stabbed so many times it’s impossible for me to tell what the hell actually killed him. He’s a mix of various wounds that add up to him being very much dead, but what the killing blow actually was, I’ll never know.
The smell in the room is enough to make me shake my head and pull the collar of my shirt up in an attempt to protect me from it. I know that smell, and when I walk in further, looking around at the piles of dirty clothes and trash, I don’t see the dead body that I know is rotting in here somewhere. The closet door is partially open, and when I open it wider, the bloated body of a young woman is splayed out on the floor. She’s been here a while, and the smell has my eyes watering.
Backing out of the room, I go in search of Sasha. I drop my shirt, breathing in the slightly less noxious air in the hall. A pained grunt leads me to one of the other bedrooms, and when I get to the doorway, I see Sasha hard at work. Knowing this might take a few minutes, I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and watch. His skull mask turns momentarily in my direction, showing me that his mask is now covered in sprays of blood, before he puts his full attention back on the man he’s in the process of killing.
All that training has paid off, because the kid is damn good. He’s lighting fast as he stabs him in an intricate pattern that I’m assuming means he’s hitting every damn vital organ the man has. For a finishing touch, he tosses the knife up, grabbing the handle in an ice pick grip before plunging it into the man’s neck and finally putting the poor fucker out of his misery. Instead of backing way, Sasha steps closer so his mask is only inches from the dying man’s face. He watches him, waiting for the moment when the man stops breathing. When he’s satisfied he’s dead, he steps back and slowly pulls his knife out, letting the body fall to the dirty floor.
“Pretty impressive,” I say, making him laugh behind his mask.
“I’ve been practicing that move with Dario. He’ll be happy to know it worked.”
Most men couldn’t handle the kind of brutal violence Sasha just so easily dished out, but the eighteen-year-old is calm in a way that’s unsettling. It doesn’t help that he’s still wearing the bloody skull mask. I almost pity the girl who manages to catch his eye. Under the radar is the way to go with a man like Sasha. Being the focus of his attention isn’t something anyone outside his family ever manages to survive.
“How the hell did you manage to stay in that room long enough to kill that fucker?” I ask him. “That place fucking reeked, man.”
He gives a soft laugh. “Yeah, it was pretty rough, but I wanted to kill him more than I wanted to breathe in clean air.”
“Damn, Sasha. You know that’s not normal, right?”
He laughs again. “Yeah, I know.” Stepping around the body on the floor, he walks over to me. “She must’ve overdosed and they didn’t know how to get rid of her body. Either way, she’s dead now, and they’ll be rotting along with her. ”
“True enough.” I push off from the doorway and say, “Let’s sweep the house and then get the fuck out of here.”
He nods before taking the upstairs while I do a quick look through the downstairs, making sure there isn’t anyone else hiding. The place is empty, but I do find two bags of our stolen pills. I toss them to Sasha when he comes back downstairs.
“I’m gonna go help with Radomir’s body. You leaving?”
“Yeah, I need to give Timofey an update and then I’m heading out. Don’t forget to text your dad,” I holler at him as he turns to leave.
He laughs and shouts over his shoulder, “I already texted him.”
I send a quick text to Timofey, telling him what happened and asking if he needs me to do anything else before leaving. He doesn’t make me wait in this shithole for long.
Timofey:
No, man, just get the hell out. We’re gonna let ‘em rot.
Me:
Sounds good.
I pocket my phone, not at all surprised by the order. Dragging out three dead bodies would just draw attention, and setting a fire would guarantee that it spreads to the entire row of townhouses. We don’t kill innocent people, not even Sasha is allowed to do that. It’s safer to let them slowly rot. Eventually they’ll be discovered, but that’s why we have Danil. The man can do anything with computers, and if the police do write something incriminating in their reports, Danil will just go in and delete it all. Everything is digital now, and people always believe what their computers say.
I’m just about to turn around and leave when a faint sound catches my attention. I freeze in place, waiting for the man that we’ve obviously somehow missed to come out and try and kill me, but nothing happens, and after a few minutes of complete silence, I hear it again, a soft, mewling sort of sound .
Is that a puppy?
I’m all set to rescue the poor, pitiful thing, but when I follow the faint noise to the room with the rotting woman in it, I can’t see anything, certainly no dog or any other animal. The sound comes again, this time a bit stronger, and I follow it to the closet.
“Jesus,” I groan, lifting the collar of my shirt back up as I step into the closet. There’s a pile of clothes in the corner near the woman’s head, and when I see a faint movement, my heart starts to race because deep down I already know what I’m about to find. Squatting down, I pull back the dirty shirt, revealing the baby beneath. She’s naked, just as filthy as everything else in this goddamn house, and the sight of her has me sucking in a lungful of rancid air before I can think better of it.
“Fucking hell,” I whisper, eyeing the baby that looks way too tiny and is way too quiet. The only baby experience I have is from watching Sveta with her niece and nephew, but I’ve seen enough movies to know that this baby should be screaming right now, but all I’m hearing are the tiniest of whimpers.
Working on pure instinct, I reach out and grab the tiny bundle, pulling her small body and the dirty shirt beneath her against my chest and getting out of the putrid fucking closet. I turn my back on the dead man in the corner, even though I know she’s too little to comprehend what the hell is going on, which is a good thing considering she’s been lying next to her mother’s rotting corpse.
She still isn’t crying, too weak to scream or flail her arms. She’s quiet and still, a tiny, almost weightless, fragile bundle in my arms, and I have no fucking clue what to do. I scan the room, noticing a small bag in the corner. It’s not a traditional, cutesy diaper bag, so I hadn’t noticed it as being out of place earlier, but when I look in, I see a few diapers and wipes and what looks like a fairly clean sleeper.
Knowing I need to get my ass moving, but also knowing there’s no way in hell I can leave a defenseless baby in this nightmare of a house, I set her down on the floor and grab the wipes.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper, trying to reassure her that she’s safe, but she looks at me with a weariness that no infant should ever have. It’s like she’s fed up with life and she’s only just begun it. I want to tell her that it’ll get better, that life won’t always be this hard, but she deserves a hell of a lot more than my lies, not that she’d understand them anyway.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but I manage to clean her small body, wincing when she lets out a tiny whimper because of the horrible diaper rash these fuckers let her get from sitting in her urine and shit. I’m as gentle as I can be, and after a few adjustments, I manage to get a diaper on her. Wiggling her into the pink sleeper is a little harder, and the thing is way too big for her, but it’s too cold out for her to be in nothing but a diaper.
I rest my hand on her small chest, trying to decide what to do. I swear I can hear Seryozha screaming in my ear to pick up the baby and take her home so she’ll be safe, and I know my brother’s right. I can’t leave her here to die, and I need to get both our asses out of here in case anyone else shows up. I wish like hell I’d driven the SUV tonight, but there’s nothing to be done about it, so I grab a couple of diapers, letting out a frustrated groan when I don’t see any baby formula in the bag.
“Okay,” I say, knowing this pep talk is more for me than the little baby whose brown eyes keep tracking my movements. “We don’t have far to go, little one. I’m going to keep you against my chest and wrap my jacket around you so you’ll be warm. We can do this, yeah?”
I’m not expecting a response, and I don’t get one. Unzipping my jacket most of the way, I reach down and grab her small body before tucking her gently against me so she’s cocooned and safe. I keep my hand under her, making sure she doesn’t fall and then zip the jacket up enough to protect her from the chilly air and wind. Her tiny body molds to mine, and before we walk out, I grab the extra diapers and hope like hell neither one of us ever has to see this place again.
Sneaking out the back, I follow the same path along the side of the townhouse, emerging by the street. A quick glance lets me know the area around us is deserted. I see a few lights on in the other houses, but the sidewalk and street are empty. I don’t waste any time. As soon as I’m on my bike, I shove my helmet on so my face is covered and then start the engine, patting the small bundle in my jacket so she doesn’t get scared.
I need both my hands to drive, but with me sitting down, she stays safely nestled against me. It just looks like I’m sporting a sizable beer gut. It’s a hit to my pride, but that’s the least of my concerns right now. Giving her one last comforting pat, I ease us onto the street and head further into the city.
Traffic is the typical shit show, and usually I’d be adamantly against having a baby on a motorcycle, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m sure as fuck desperate right now. Aside from a very slight movement every now and then, she’s still against my chest, and if she’s making any noise, it’s covered by the loud rumble of the bike’s engine.
I can’t risk being seen with her, so I head straight for my apartment. As soon as I’m parked, I scan the garage, making sure we’re alone before I hustle my ass onto the elevator. I don’t dare take the private one that I use for work. Once the doors shut, I breathe a sigh of relief because the last thing I want or need is for someone to see me carrying a baby who’s not mine and who has obviously been mistreated.
I keep her in my jacket when the elevator stops and I stay at a normal pace as I walk to my apartment. It’s only after I’m inside and the door is shut that I let out a shaky breath, because what the fuck is wrong with me? Why the hell did I ever think bringing her home was a good idea? I should’ve left her somewhere and made an anonymous call to the police, or, hell, I should’ve just called Timofey and told him what I’d found. Surely the Bratva could figure out something to do or at least make sure she gets to a hospital, but when I unzip my jacket and see her in the fresh light of my living room, a feeling of unease settles over me at the thought of her being anywhere else. I’ve heard enough horror stories about the foster care system to know I don’t want her anywhere near it, and if I tell the Bratva, they’re either going to take her from me, or take me off watching Sveta, because I can’t do both.
The baby in my arms looks up at me, and with the lights on, I can see her a lot clearer than I could in that shitty townhouse. Her eyes are a light brown color, reminding me instantly of Sveta’s, and she has a headful of light brown hair.
Jesus, she could easily pass as our daughter.
The thought comes unbidden, and it’s enough to have me letting out a shocked laugh.
“I must be losing my mind, little one,” I tell her. Sitting on the couch, I keep her in my arms and grab my phone. “The first thing we need is food.” I have no idea how old she is, but she looks way smaller than Roma. He’s six months old, and I can’t help but compare the two. Roma is plump and alert and constantly wriggling around and trying to interact with things. She’s doing none of those things, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s a lot younger or if it’s because she’s severely malnourished.
I do a quick Google search, trying to discover what all I need to order, and when I have a list of what I think will at least get us through the next couple of days, I place an Instacart order, paying extra so it’ll be delivered in less than an hour. When I’m done with that, I immediately go to Amazon. This order is bigger, and I grab more than just the essentials of diapers and formula. I grab a car seat and a playpen and several outfits and blankets and anything else that catches my eye. I feel like I’m jumping head first down the damn rabbit hole, but I don’t know what else to do. The last thing I throw in the cart is a small bathtub that can be used for infants.
“No offense, sweetheart,” I tell her, “but you stink a little bit.”
Her brown eyes never leave my face, and when I place the order, she lets out a pitiful little whine that makes my chest hurt to hear it.
“Food is on the way,” I promise her. “Just hang on a little bit longer.” I keep her in my arms, patting her butt and gently rocking her while I watch every YouTube video I can find about how in the hell to prepare a bottle. I think I’ve got it figured out and I already have water boiling by the time there’s a knock at the door. Still not wanting her to be seen, I lay her down on the soft rug in front of the couch and hurry to get her food.
I take the bags and give the guy a big tip and then empty it all on the counter. Putting the new bottles in the boiling water, I let those sterilize while I grab the formula I’d picked out. Playing it safe, I’d chosen a ready-to-eat formula, and once the bottles are sterilized, I let one cool and then quickly pour the formula into it.
When it’s ready to go, I head back to the couch. She’s still lying on the rug, too little and weak to move anywhere, and when I pick her back up, I have a sudden moment of panic, worrying about what I’ll do if she doesn’t eat. She eliminates all my fears, though, when I bring the rubber nipple to her mouth and she latches on like the starving baby she is. I swear her eyes dilate when she gets her first swallow. She sighs, sucking greedily and my heart fucking breaks for this tiny little thing.
Her brown eyes stay on mine, and I know I’m in deep trouble, because she’s looking at me like I’m her savior, like I’m her protector, like I’m her fucking daddy.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell her, feeling a sense of déjà vu at uttering those words. It may be in a completely different context, but that’s the second time I’ve had to say them today.
“I’m not your daddy, little one, and I can’t keep you.” She guzzles the last of the formula as I say, “This is temporary.”
One of the videos I’d watched mentioned the importance of burping, so I lift her up like the woman in the video, pressing her chest to mine while I pat her back. I’m not sure I’m doing it right, but when she lets out a loud burp, I smile, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment. My happiness is short-lived, though, because the next sound that comes out of her isn’t a cute little burp. It’s an explosion in the diaper that I hope like hell doesn’t start leaking, and I’m stunned that the tiny thing in my arms was able to create something that sounded so damn massive.
When the smell hits me, I shake my head to clear it.
Goddamn.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” I mutter and then get to work.
After an enormous amount of wipes, several moments of dry-heaving, and a generous slathering of diaper cream, I get her back in her sleeper moments before she closes her eyes and falls asleep. She’s ridiculously cute sucking on her pacifier with a curl of light brown hair on her forehead and her little hands in fists. Too tired to do anything else, I grab a pillow from the couch and lay down beside her so I can hear her if she wakes up and needs another bottle.
I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night, and I don’t even want to think about tomorrow. The woman I love is right above me, but she’s never felt so far away. I need to watch over her, but I can’t leave a baby alone in my apartment all day. Seeing Sveta is my one happiness in life. Sometimes it’s unbearably painful, it always feels like a self-imposed form of torture, and some days I’m not sure how I’ll survive it, but I crave it all the same. She’s the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep.
She’s also the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how in the hell I’m going to keep her curious ass out of this.