Charlie's Angel

27

Aaron

"Aaron, will you shut his ass up? Damn," Keisha grumbled, rubbing her temples. She'd been acting fucking moody lately and I didn't have a clue why. She'd snap at me for no gotdamn reason and any little thing would send her over the edge. Maybe it was her time of the month or something, but the bitch was getting on my last nerve. "God, you can't do anything right!"

"You gonna stop talking to me like I'm a fucking kid, Keisha," I growled over my shoulder. I had my son in my arms, trying everything in the book to keep him calm. He was wailing at the top of his lungs, wouldn't take his pacifier, and squirmed to get down. He was fighting sleep. "You lost your damn mind."

"Aw, did I hurt Aaron's feelings?" she mocked, sounding like a child. "Grow up, Aaron. Just shut him up." She got herself comfortable on the couch and scowled at whatever was on TV. So damn angry for no reason, I swear. My jaw was clenching so hard that my head was beginning to hurt. We had been arguing a whole week, and I honestly didn't remember why. I had my own stress to deal with, so I really didn't want to deal with hers.

It had been stressful for me for the past few months. I had worried myself sick each day, anticipating the day that Charlie served me the divorce papers. I dreaded that day more than anything, despite how I might make it seem. It was like I didn't know what I wanted anymore. One minute I wanted my little girl and my wife, and the next minute I didn't want anything to do with them. It was some crazy shit. Truth is, I did want to be with Charlie and Paris. I did want to be with my wife and my daughter–my baby girl. But all the shit I put the both of them through, I'd never get them back. The damage that I caused was horrible, and they would never forgive me.

Keisha was just a quick fuck, honestly. She was there when I was horny, and at first she didn't ask questions. She just did what I asked in bed. But then I began to grow feelings for her, and I knew that I had fucked up. My son was a blessing–don't get me wrong–but it was unfair for him to be in this situation like he was.

No matter what, I was going to fight for my daughter. If I was gonna suffer, Charlie was going to suffer too.

How do you raise a three year old little girl?

***

"All that crying made you hungry, huh?" I cooed. J, after an hour and a half of crying and screaming, he finally settled in for a nap. He slept for two hours and woke up giggling and smiling his ass off. Bipolar little nigga, I tell you. I was now feeding him a bottle. "You love your milk, don't you?"

He gurgled something in response and I smiled. He was about nine months old now, and Keisha never breastfed him. She'd always pump her milk and fix it into a bottle for him, claiming that breastfeeding was gross. From my own knowledge, I knew that breastfeeding was important for both baby and mom. A bonding experience for them and shit. And because she never did, I felt like my son was falling behind. He wasn't walking yet, wasn't trying to talk, but he was crawling. I can remember Charlie telling me years ago that she started walking at six months. So something must have been off.

He couldn't be... slow, could he?

Keisha had left before he went to sleep, complaining of a migraine. She left in a hurry and forgot her cellphone, so it wasn't like I could just up and call her to see when she was coming back.

She blows shit out of proportion.

After I had burped him, I carried him down the stairs to the living room and set him to his feet. Holding his tiny hands in my own, I held him upright. "You wanna walk, J?" I asked him. His legs wobbled a bit as I helped take one step forward and he giggled at himself, letting some drool slip down his chin. I walked him to the other side of the living room and let him go so he could stand. He wobbled a little bit and clasped his hands together in front of him to keep his balance. I stood a few steps away from him and crouched down so he could focus on me. "Alright, man. Walk to Daddy."