"Don't whine to me if you get stuck, stupid boy." There was a long silence after as footsteps faded into the background.
My eyes tracked to the dark form above me and heard my Dad murmur.
"I think she might like you," he offered. I couldn't help but blink.
'I think you might be stupid like she says,' I thought. Who would think that about someone who had said such mean things?
"I think you might be right, Roy," joked a voice. "She didn't say to get rid of her."
Apparently I was the only one that thought the woman had an issue with my appearance. Someone touched at my head and I shifted to get away from it. Not that it did any good.
"She's precious," cooed someone. It might have even been the person touching me.
"I know, isn't she?"
"She's got her daddy's eyes!"
Dad did not seem to appreciate the commentary at all but didn't run from it either. "Can I hold her, Roy?"
"Don't you have work to do, Sophie?" he asked, voice tight.
"You just brought home a baby," complained 'Sophie'. "A cute baby at that!"
"Do you or do you not remember the funeral I attended yesterday?" he returned.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Okay, this lady wasn't very bright and apparently another agreed with me.
"Sophie! I think he's saying that the girl that they buried is the Abbigail Edgecombe? The one he fell for?"
"She was." Dad cradled me to his chest, strain audible in his tone. There was a long moment of silence.
"If you need help, Roy, let us know. Okay?"
"Okay… Thanks… Malory."
I sucked on my bottle, incapable of offering my own thoughts or stopping the dribble of milky spittle from going down my chin. But I held firm.
I held fast. I knew that whatever might happen, there was a chance this person who was my father would do everything he could to keep me safe.
My infant instincts were coming to the same conclusion. He fed me; he held me; he took care of me. And, if he continued to do so, those baby instincts would trust him.
.
My new world meant that I was often back and forth between my grandparents and my father.
I had a spot next to my father's bed where I slept. I knew this because when we were both supposed to be asleep, I could hear him just a short way away.
With my grandparents, I had more of my own room though I didn't stay in it much yet.
I was growing. Soon, clothes were growing too tight and they'd be switched out for larger ones.
Time passed in agonizing slowness but, with that very time, things improved. I started seeing colors and not just light-dark blurs.
Then I started being able to focus a bit more. First up close and then further away. When I first saw my father's face, I couldn't help but dissect it.
He was young. I already knew this but when he was celebrating his sixteenth birthday, it was spent with things being given to him for me rather than personal items.
It was his wish and people seemed to respect him more for that. He also looked Asian, with angular dark brown eyes and a rounded face.
It wasn't a flat one and he was, on the whole, handsome. I guess. He didn't look ugly.
Oh, he had a few usual teen crises on his face in the form of pimples but that was normal, right?
He had dark brown, nearly black, hair that was pretty fine and lay fairly flat against his skull despite the thickness of it and a generally kind face.
He liked to hold me, even when he was studying out of books. His aunt said he was spoiling me rotten. I didn't care because I liked hearing his heartbeat and he would read to me.
I don't think science texts were exactly kosher bedtime stories but hearing the vibrations through his chest was nice. Smelling him was nice. Being held was nice.
That did not mean that I spent all my time lounging around. I had uncontrollable bouts of energetic movements.
Not spasms but rather a need to wiggle and scoot. I was encouraged not only by Dad but also the women that looked nothing like him.
I soon knew the faces of these women, including 'Aunt Chris' who looked like a cliché Madame if I had ever seen one, and the faces of my grandparents.
Grandma had brown hair and brown eyes and Grandpa had dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. They both looked Caucasian to me and Grandpa looked a little older than Grandma.
Soon enough, I'd gotten to the point I could roll over onto my back though it took a little longer to get the strength to pull myself over on my belly.
I fought for every bit of ability I had and the moment I was able to, I began to try and slide across the floor using my legs.
It didn't work out extremely well when I was with my dad but Grandma's floors were highly waxed.
I could squiggle across them. Slowly. And cutely, apparently, because I got cooed over a lot when I did it.
My favorite place to sleep was, of course, Dad's bed. If he wanted to knock me out, all he had to do was put me in his bed and I was gone.
His mattress, pillows, and blankets were all inundated with his smell and that was increasingly comforting for me.
It got to the point that he'd even regularly switch out a blanket at Grandma's in order to help them soothe me into sleep.
Because otherwise I'd be impossible to tire out until I'd outright exhausted myself.
Damn baby instincts.
Parts of my previous existence were beginning to fade. Here and now, I was a baby. That was my existence.
I was finding it harder to recall my former parents' faces as well as the less-seen ones. I wasn't really regressing but I was adjusting.
Each time I woke up as a baby, it further entrenched it in my mind I was not going to be who I used to be ever again.