Running With His Kid

Five Years Later

My eyes opened slowly. 

Loud sounds of pots and pans clanging together through my apartment. 

A loud groan escaped my lips as I pushed my face into my plush pillow on my bed. 

The sun was barely up but he was. 

She's always up at this fucking time and it drives me nuts. 

I look over at my table side clock and it'd read 6:39 AM. 

Huh, twenty more minutes of sleep than the last week. Sweet.

I slid off my amazingly comfortable bed. 

I walked to my dresser. 

My hand flipped the light switch from off to on, lighting the whole room.

My brush laid on top of the wooden dress. 

I took it off my dresser. 

I combed through my bed head hair. 

The pot and pan noise still echoes throughout my home. 

I let out another groan. 

I made my way to the door. 

I opened it swiftly and proceeded to shout 

"Olivia Dominique! You better not be playing with those pots again!" 

I heard some shuffling, cabinets opening and closing, and then I hear her little voice. 

"Sorry, Mama!" She yelled back up to me. 

I rolled my eyes, shut my door again, and went to my closet. 

I was so blessed to have the kid, but boy was she a pain?

I didn't have many clothes. I mean, I didn't need much. The walk-in closet was mainly for storage. Only a little section was for clothes. 

In here, I kept all my keepsakes. 

Anything from gifts to Olivia's baby boxes. 

Behind everything though, James installed a bulletproof safe into the wall. In there is emergency things; Money, passports, fake IDs, you name it, we got it. He and I went over different plans of escape if anything ever happened and Kevin found me again. 

Only James and I know the code, not even Miranda. 

We are very prepared for something like this. 

The three of us have had four years to plan and we haven't wasted anytime. 

I grabbed my work outfit off the hanger. 

I took it with me along with a few other garments to the Bathroom. 

I checked my phone and saw that I had approximately 17 minutes before Olivia comes upstairs yelling for food. 

So, I hopped in the shower, washed my body and hair as fast as I could and hopped out. 

I checked my phone again and learned that I only had five minutes left. 

I jumped into my undergarments, squeezed into my pants, clipped my bra, threw my shirt on, and tucked the top into the bottom. 

My hair was now a breeze to comb. 

It saved me time. 

I dashed out of the Bathroom. 

I did not need a temper tantrum from her this early in the day. 

On the way down the steps, I clipped my hair up, making it look semi-formal and straightened my work clothes out.