I am particular, peculiar. Different. I’m not like most other people, and even though I don’t see that as a failure, I am aware that my life, both as a child and as an adult, hasn’t replicated those of my brothers or Tori.
I don’t have a relationship with my biological family. Until I moved to Rockhead Point, the only person in my life I had any kind of bond with was Saxon, and he’s my colleague. Seeing Octavia and identifying her as my mate, wife, and mother of my children changed everything for me, and now that I know what love feels and tastes and smells like, I want that for our child.
I want the baby Octavia is building in her body to feel the full spectrum of life’s emotions. I want them to know family and friends, and someday find their mate and know that is who their life was driving them toward.
But can I give our child all of that if my main priority is me and my wants and needs?
Iwake up at 0500 hours.Igo for a run on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and do a calisthenics workout on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. On Sundays,Ido both. Once I’ve worked out,Ishower, then have breakfast at 0700hours.Mylunch is at 1300 hours andmydinner is at 1900 hours.
I, I, I. My, my, my. My needs. My wants. My schedule.
Since bringing Octavia home, I’ve made some changes, but I’ve slotted her needs into my day instead of even trying to adapt to her lifestyle or her schedule.
When I woke up yesterday, I vowed to change, to be different. I love Octavia and our baby enough to accept discomfort and pain if it shelters them from it. So I woke up and worked out alone. I made breakfast and ate it alone, keeping hers warm for when she woke up. I showered alone and got dressed alone, all so that she could rest, so that her body could wake up when it was ready, not when I dictated.
But the moment she opened her eyes, she was hurt and confused and rejected, and I did that. I tried to do something good, and it turned into something so wrong that I broke her, and I broke us. I’ll fix it, but knowing I’m the reason it broke in the first place feels the same way I feel when my entire day becomes chaotic.
Sleep doesn’t come, and when the clock hits 0500, I slip from our bed and change into my gym shorts. Carefully wrapping her in the blanket I brought for her, I cradle her in my arms, stepping slowly and cautiously down the stairs until I reach the bed I built for her in the gym.
Peeling back the covers, I feel the coolness of the sheets and frown. I don’t want her to be cold. Will the baby get cold? Placing her into the bed, I quickly cover her with the comforter, then turn up the heat.
My steps drag as I finish my run, decreasing the speed of the treadmill as I watch for any signs that Doll is uncomfortable or waking up. It isn’t until the treadmill slows to a stop that I remember what day it is.
It’s Saturday. On Saturdays, I do a calisthenics workout, not a run. I just ran. I forgot what day it is, and I ran. My brain short-circuits, and I freeze, staring around me like the answer to what I do now will jump out from behind a wall and announce itself.
I forgot what day it is. I’ve never done that. Ever. I go for a run on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and do a calisthenics workout on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. On Sundays, I do both. Today is Saturday.
“Knight,” Octavia calls, sitting up from the bed, blinking as she looks around her, a soft smile spreading over her pouty lips.
I start to go to her, then freeze. Today is Saturday. How did I forget the day? What do I do now? I can’t do my normal Saturday workout, but I can’t just not do it. I don’t know what to do, as the familiar itch starts in my toes and slowly rises, inching up my body until it covers my face, making my chest feel tight and breathing uncomfortable.
“Knight?” Doll calls again, but I can’t see her, because I’m dizzy and itching and frozen.
“Baby?” she says, and I hear the sound of her feet as she comes toward me. I can see her, but I can’t. My eyes aren’t focused because I don’t know what to do.
“Knight, are you okay?” she asks.
I try to shake my head, but my muscles won’t cooperate. Then her hands land on my chest, and I can breathe again.
“What’s happened? Please,” she begs.
“I-It’s Saturday,” I say.
“Okay.”
“I forgot.”
“Oh,” she whispers, confusion lacing her voice.
“I forgot.”
“Well, yesterday was kind of fucked up. Maybe we should just treat today as a Friday do-over,” she suggests.
I want to say yes. I want to agree, but today is Saturday, not Friday.
Instead of having sex like we usually do after she wakes up, Octavia takes my hand and leads me out of the gym and up to the kitchen.
Breakfast is at 0700. I cook it for us. Only this morning, she makes eggs and bacon, placing the plate in front of me, with a strange look in her eyes. I try to eat, but the eggs aren’t the way I like them, and the bacon is too crispy. She cleans up, leaving the dishcloth on the wrong side of the basin and suds still lingering around the rim.
