1 Year Later...
I woke with a start, my feet feeling chilly as they poked out at the bottom of the duvet. The air was cool, the January weather taking its toll on me. My throat felt gravelly and sore and I was all blocked up. I wondered if it would snow again today.
I heard a quiet little chuckle from behind me across the room. Lifting my head from where it was buried in my pillow, I wiped my eyes and rolled onto my side, my green eyes finding the source of the sound. She was watching me curiously from across the room, wide blue eyes fluttering as she giggled at the fact that I was awake. Her plump pink lips tugged up at the sides and I smiled.
"Morning, baby."
She giggled again, a beautiful light-hearted little noise that lit up my world. There was such bright optimistic innocence in her eyes as she watched me. She struggled up, pudgy hands gripping the bars of her cot as she pulled herself to a standing position on unsteady feet. I breathed in slowly, savouring my last moments in warm comfort of my bed before heaving a loud sigh and launching myself out of bed. I dressed quickly as she chortled and gurgled and gabbled nonsensically behind me. I brushed my teeth without enthusiasm, mussed my hair around a little until it looked half decent. I paced back into the room to see her gazing up at me from her cot, wide admiration in her eyes. I loved that most about being a dad - knowing I was the most important thing, the only thing, in her entire universe.
"Time to get up, huh baby?" I cooed as grasped her under her arms and hoisted the gurgling girl out of her crib. I balanced her on my hip and bounced her, grinning at her as she giggled and clutched my t-shirt in her tiny fists. I set her down on the changing mat in the corner, changed her, blew raspberries on her tummy and smiled as she squealed with laughter. I put her in her jeggings and her favourite pink Peppa Pig top, kissing her head as I lifted her again and went downstairs. She was pointing at her t-shirt and gabbling.
"Yeah, Peppa Pig," I commented idly, as I manoeuvred the stairs with her in my grasp. I'd had to put up gates on the stairs because she was always crawling all over the place these days. I set her into her high chair in the kitchen and got to work mashing some bananas and warming a little milk for her. I flicked on the TV and Cbeebies was on, with said pig show airing at the moment, gaining a delighted applause from my baby girl. It wasn't so much of a struggled to get her to eat as it would be usually, as bananas were her favourite. She got that from me, everyone joked.
I stuffed my own breakfast into my mouth hastily, pulling on my bomber jacket and a scarf before starting to bundle up my baby, pulling her tiny, chubby arms through the sleeves of her Burberry coat and wrapping a scarf around her neck, tugging woollen mittens onto her tiny hands as she protested and wriggled in my grip. "Time to go, baby," I announced cheerily. The kettle boiled, rumbling and shooting steam before I dowsed the car, ridding it of the ice that had formed on the windscreen. The crisp, white snow crunched under my feet as I held the car door open, strapping my wriggling child into her car seat and, moments later, I started up the engine of the range rover that had once been my pride and joy, my status symbol, and was now a family vehicle. The backseat was littered with toys and blankets and baby bags and spare nappies. I remembered with a faint grin how I used to fuck girls in that backseat, giving them the world for just a little while. Skin screaming along leather, smooth and hot and wild. That was so long ago now, or so it seemed, and I was such a different person. It was sad almost. The tabloids called it tragic. The nineteen year old boy who'd had the world at his fingertips, trapped, destroyed by a cruel twist of fate. All of it stolen away; like burning dreams drifting away in acrid wisps of smoke in the cold winter wind. I tried not to think about it. Forced a tight, cheery grin as I switched on the last moments of Grimmy's show.
