Page 65 of Brood
“Please,” I whisper.
He relaxes. Slumps back onto the bed.
Vera glares at both of us and carries Bun out of the room and then out of our quarters.
I burst into tears. Will pulls me into his arms again.
ChapterNine
Iwouldn’t have believed it possible for me to be even more tired than I was shortly after Bun was born, but three months later, I am.
So exhausted, I’m barely functional.
Another baby was born last month, and her mother died during delivery. So feeding a second baby has become my responsibility, in addition to nursing Bun.
The longest I’ve gone in a month without breastfeeding is two hours. My breasts hurt constantly. My entire body aches a lot of the time. And there’s never any break or relief.
Of course I’d never say no to keeping another baby alive, but there is nutritious formula available. Yet Dr. Cameron refuses to consider it while I have milk to provide—even to give me an occasional rest.
My life was never thrilling or perfectly happy, but it was stable for nearly all my twenty-two years. I had few extreme highs and lows, and I was basically content. And ever since I married Will, I’ve had more highs than I ever dreamed were possible.
But nothing ever—ever—has been as hard as this.
They don’t bring Bun to our quarters anymore because I also have to feed the baby girl, who I’ve been mentally calling Rosie because of her constantly pink cheeks. For days now, the only times I’ve left the nursery have been to shower and put on clean clothes. There’s a lounge on the back wall of the nursery, and between feedings, I collapse into restless sleep on that.
I’m finishing Bun’s sixth feeding of the day and trying to keep my eyes open when Will comes into the nursery, looking hot and tired and a little grimy. He’s been busy with refurbishing one of the residential wings this month. He’s always been a hands-on leader, but he’s been doing more manual labor than normal because the work needs to get finished so quickly.
My head pulses at the familiar sight of him. The only things that have made me happy these past two months are Bun and this man striding toward me.
When I smile at him groggily, he smiles back. It looks for a moment like he’s going to reach for me and Bun, but he makes a quick detour to wash his hands and face in the sink next to the changing station.
He smells strongly when he comes back over—his natural scent—but I don’t care. It’s Will.
It makes me feel safe.
“You okay?” he murmurs, leaning against the back of the lounge and wrapping an arm around me to pull me closer.
“Yeah. He’s almost done.”
Bun is nearly asleep, still trying to get in his final slurps. He’s a pretty good size for his age, and he feels warm and substantial against me. His official name is now Zachary, but he’s still Bun to us.
I never realized I could feel like this.
Like I could fight the world for something so small.
When Bun’s mouth finally stops working, I readjust him until he burps up milk all over the cloth on my shoulder. I can smell that he needs to be changed, and Vera only comes in every hour. I start rising so I can change his diaper, but Will gets up instead, saying, “I can do it.”
I slump back in relief that I don’t have to find the energy to stand. I watch through heavy eyelids as Will takes Bun to the changing station, tosses the dirty diaper into the lidded hamper, and fastens on a clean one. He knows how now—having watched so many times and practiced occasionally when no one else is around. When he picks Bun up, instead of taking him right to his crib—one in a line of six, only four of them filled with babies at the moment—Will carries him on a route around the nursery, jostling him slightly.
The changing woke Bun up, and he babbles happily at the trip around the room. It looks like Will is talking to him, but I can’t hear what he’s murmuring.
I smile like a dope, trying to keep my eyes open as exhaustion washes over me.
I think I doze off. I’m not sure how long it’s been when Will sits down next to me again.
“Bun?” I ask hoarsely, blinking several times.
“He’s asleep.”
