Burns & Bruises

Chapter 1 | Struggle

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Azriel Thompson POV
Monday, February 5th
6:23 am

Fluffing the pillows my eyes remain on the steady rising and falling of my sweet boy's body. A small grunt escapes him as his body twists a bit before settling, with caution I place down the fluffed pillow beside the others reinforcing the barrier that I had created with the cotton stuffed pads.

With a shaky breath, I steady my eyes on him, taking minute steps backwards watching him turn, feeling my presence moving away. The second, my back graces the door behind me, I quickly but quietly swing it open, stepping out into the chilliness of the early morning.

My feet quickly descend the big red steps landing me on the mildew slender grass, the thought of having to drench myself in the ice-cold rainwater sending chills down my spine. I can't even put much thought into going back inside to grab the pot to boil some water.

Maleek will surely feel my presence and the already hard starting day will become worse. So like any other morning, I grab the yellow magnum bucket and move to the side of the house, shifting the lids of the big blue barrels and placing half my body inside to fetch the little that's left.

The rain has yet to greet this side of the country, oftentimes Banana Hole residents thought that this place was cursed, as we are the only country community by exaggeration that meets the rain one dozen times a year.

Horrible thoughts of Maleek rolling over and somehow landing himself on the hard red floors quicken my movements and soon enough.

I dip my rag into the pan and shiver at both the cold water in the pan and the breeze softly blowing by.

Shaking like a leaf with the bath pan over my head creating my own mini-waterfall, I stand before quickly patting myself dry. The mawga legs that God gave me, ascend the steps quickly, swinging open the door just in time to hear the first round of Maleek's curling cries.

"Yuh affi mek the whole a Banana Hole know seh mi a wipe yuh dung sir" I try my best to make conversation with him knowing deep down that it isn't the cold wipes sliding away the dirt that's a bother to him but the hunger that's surely eating away at his insides.

Lifting him, I grab his things and the last bit of his formula that I have left, before strapping him down in his stroller and pushing it outside and down the steps. It takes me merely a millisecond to close up the house, that's if you would even call it that, as to most people it resembled a shack, one that with the smallest change in the winds would surely move with it.

Maleek grunts and twists, forcing his body halfway out of the stroller as he stretches his hands towards me, making the already hard manoeuvring of the stroller due to the rocky road worse. Halting in the middle of the road, I stand in front him, a stern look on my face, he stares back at me before the waterworks start.

I'm already late and having to deal with Maleek's antics isn't helping. Hissing, I unbuckle him gifting him his own way, placing his head on my shoulder. I throw his blanket over his body–covering him from head to toe.

My eyes roll to the back of my head and an unpleasant scowl presents itself permanently on my face, the second we reach Donna-Ler Watson's gate. Donna Watson—is Maleek's grandmother, the evil witch of a mother to the father of my baby —Raymon Watson.