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Maybe it has been. I’m not sure. I’ve lost track of time.
Since Timofey left me in the dining room, my mind has been too full to keep track of something as trivial as the passing of the seconds.
Except now, my good arm is sore from cradling a squirming baby and exhaustion burns the backs of my eyes.
Benjamin woke up only a few minutes after Timofey and I parted ways, and he hasn’t been happy since. I changed him, fed him, burped him. I did everything I was supposed to do, but he’s been somewhere between a whine and a cry for ages, and I’m at the end of my rope.
I would ask Timofey for help, but…
I shake my head, dismissing the thought before I can even consider it. The less I see him, the better.
I’ll ruin you.
Financially? Physically? What did he mean?
Probably both, I decide. God knows Timofey has that kind of power. It wouldn’t take much, anyway. I don’t have much of a life left to ruin.
Benjamin lets out a sudden pitiful wail, and I pat his back.
“There, there. Things aren’t so bad.” I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself. “Everything will be alright.”
He settles back into the crook of my arm.
“At least one of us buys my bullshit,” I mumble.
Eventually, his little eyes grow heavy and close. I rock him for a few minutes longer before my arm is trembling too hard for me to hold him another second longer. Gently, carefully, I settle him into his crib.
Instantly, Benjamin’s arms and legs jolt outward. It’s a newborn reflex. A built-in response to being startled. It means Benjamin is healthy.
It also means he’s crying again.
“No,” I whimper. “No, no. It’s okay. It’s alright.” I collapse into the chair next to his crib and press a gentle hand to his warm tummy. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re alright.”
The slow rocking of my touch slowly eases him back to a dozing sleep. But every time I try to pull my hand away, he jolts awake again.
Finally, too exhausted to fight it, I rest my cheek against the bars of his crib and fall asleep with my palm over his little chest.
I don’t know how long I lie like that, but when my eyes blink open, my body is riddled with pain.
The burn on my arm is stiff and pulsing, my cheek aches from being smashed between the wooden rail and my teeth, and my spine is screaming for me to fix my posture and sit up straight.
As slowly as possible, I pull my hand away from Benjamin. His sleepy breathing is a constant whirr of noise in the nursery, and I fall back into the chair, ready to doze off again to the easy rhythm of it. Maybe when I wake up, I’ll have the energy to pry myself out of this chair and get to bed.
Before I can slip back into sleep, though, a deep voice slices through the quiet.
Initially, I jolt because I don’t want Benjamin to wake up. I did not work this hard to get him to sleep, just for one of Timofey’s careless, obnoxious cult members to stumble by and wake him up.
Then I hear it. The familiar rumble of Timofey’s baritone voice.
“I called you two fucking hours ago. Where have you been?”
All at once, I find the energy. I ease out of the chair, wincing when a spring somewhere deep inside creaks at the loss of my weight. Benjamin doesn’t stir.
Thank God.
I tiptoe across the plush blue rug and press my ear to the barely-there crack in the door.
“You’re always on duty. Your life is duty,” he barks. “You have the goddamn word inked into your skin.”
