Page 26 of Born into Chaos

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’slike 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 thenstart 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 area 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 onthe 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 fuckingdaddy.

“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 brownhair 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.

---