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The sun is still hours away from even starting to rise, the morning cold and still dark when Alex finds himself moving swiftly and silently, preparing the items he is going to pack in his backpack. None of the objects he takes is for him.
He roams the room as quietly and as quickly as possible, shoving into his bag everything he finds relevant, hearing Schlatt snoring in the bed, and praying that his sleep stays deep. Once he determines that everything that could possibly be useful is packed in what used to be his school backpack, he heads to the small crib next to his side of the bed. He takes a few seconds to stare at the tiny sleeping face, Alex's expression twisting into a frown as he can see the striking physical similarities on the angelic little face and the snoring man on the other side of the mattress, so sharp that they are evident with just a cursory glance.
Alex remembers what he's doing, closing his eyes tightly before leaning down to pick the baby up, holding his breath when his hands lift Tobías towards himself, hoping he doesn't decide to start crying when his sleep is interrupted. The baby just whines softly when he opens his eyes, shifting a bit to settle into his arms and keep on sleeping. Alex lets out his breath in a relieved sigh, a small trembling smile making its way across his face. "Thanks Toby."
He takes one last look around the room, feeling a little more confident when he can see that the man's sleep hasn't been disturbed at all, judging by the volume of his snores. Alex leaves the room and makes his way to the apartment door, pausing to properly wrap his two-month-old baby in his colorful sheet before plunging into the dark night.
He walks the lonely streets, strangely without feeling fear, but rather nervousness and a low-key, very shy excitement. The warm little body against his chest, sleeping peacefully and lulled by Alex's racing heart fills him with the courage to go on with what he knows will be a long way.
After approximately two and a half hours of constant walking, Alex finds himself in a park, noticing that the sun is beginning to slightly brighten the black sky, and he decides that he can take a short break, to spend a little more time with his little one. He knows that there isn't much left to reach his destination.
He walks over to a bench, pulling the backpack off his back and placing it next to him, exhaling deeply and returning his gaze to Toby. He sees him insistently sucking on his tiny fist and remembers too late that he completely forgot to pack the only tin of formula that there was in the house. He mentally curses himself for his negligence and feels a sudden anxiety rise up in him. Without giving the matter much thought, he lifts his shirt and brings the baby to his chest, begging his body to collaborate for once.
For some reason (he must surely attribute it to stress and his disordered and irregular eating habits) it has never been easy for him to feed his baby, having to rely almost exclusively on the rather expensive powdered formula. Well, now he really has no other choice, so he just shuts up and hopes Tobías can come out of this with a full belly.
The little babe coos happily, opening and closing his hands against Alex's skin, raising his big dark eyes to look at the boy, until Alex brings one of his fingers to his tiny hand and Tobías grips it firmly, closing his eyelids as he eats enthusiastically and without trouble. Perhaps Alex's body knows that this will be his last chance to share this experience, and that is why it finally cooperates to satisfy the baby.
The boy feels his eyes burn and start to cloud, the image of the little child snuggled into his arm blurring as he tries to fight the tears.
The reality of the situation suddenly crushes him, hearing the happy gurgles and feeling the weight in his arms Alex is overwhelmed by what comes next, the enormous hopelessness and anguish that suddenly awaken in him making him want to turn around and go back the way he came, forget about the plan in his head and hug his little one forever, but the doubt dissipates when he raises a hand to wipe the tears that slide down his cheek, an intense shock of pain flashing in his face when he barely just brushes his own skin, reminding him of the reason for his plan.
His cheek is swollen and bruised from a blow with a glass bottle. Alex shudders at the memory of the terror he felt, such as he had never experienced before in his sixteen years of life. The roar of Schlatt's furious bellows, Alex fearing only for the little one crying terrified in his crib at his father's raging outburst, unsurprisingly drunk out of his senses and retaliating for who knows what.
"Shut the fuck up!" He roared, glaring at the crib across the room and moving to get closer to it. "You fucking little bastard, I'm going to show you."
"NO!" Alex lunged to stop him, barely able to register the violent contact of his face with the glass bottle in the man's hands. Dazed and disoriented he rushed to the crib and snatched the baby from it, running to lock himself in the bathroom and having the new worst night of his life, which he didn't believe was possible.
Curled up in a corner with the baby firmly cradled in his chest and unable to sleep for even a minute, Alex spent the night hearing the man stumble in the room, throwing and breaking things and finally passing out somewhere. The pain pulsating in Alex's face kept him restless most of the time, feeling large tears wet his cheeks as he gently rocked the babe. Schlatt had never hit him before. And he had tried to reach the baby before doing it for the first, and hopefully last time.
At that moment it was clear to him, he had to get Tobías out of there.
The baby hums quietly, flinching slightly when a warm tear falls on his soft cheek. Alex pulls his shirt down and slips the backpack back on his shoulder, getting up and directing his heavy steps out of the park. He has a destination that he must reach soon.
He knows the house. He's been there before, always examining it from outside, and, he hopes, never being noticed. Phil Watson.
His feet feel glued to the ground, a sudden need to run pushes him, shifting the baby on his arms and feeling the weight of the backpack on his shoulder. He doesn't want to do this.
One step forward.
For Tobías.
Upon reaching the door Alex realizes that he can't just leave him there on the floor. Looking around he sees a cardboard box, kind of medium in size and seeming fairly intact. He walks over to it and inspects it. It seems safe, clean, it will have to do. It's not like Tobías is going to spend much time in it. At least Alex hopes he isn't.
He accommodates the baby in the box, tucking him warmly under the smiling bees on his blanket and staring at him intently, trying to ignore the burn in his eyes, focusing on the throbbing pain on his cheek, the ultimate reminder of why he's doing this. For him.
They won't know his little one's name, he suddenly realizes. Alex quickly rummages through the things in the backpack, and he soon finds a wrinkled sheet in one of the pockets.
"If you need anything, please feel free to contact me. I am willing to help however I can. My number: ---------
Phil Watson."
He takes a blue pen out of another pocket, resting the sheet on his leg and writing his own note with hands that suddenly shake too much.
"Please take care of my little bee, Toby. I'm so sorry."
He decides to keep the baby's actual name, his real name to himself. Their own little secret and treasure, only between Alex and his little Tobías. If life is kind, Toby will never know. He doesn't need to know.
Tears once again blur his vision, as he ripes the paper in half and leaves his note next to the little one in the box, leaning down to kiss his forehead.
"I love you, Tobías. I love you so much." He chokes in a sob. "I'm sorry you had to be born in the middle of this shit."
"I'd like to ask you... not to forget me." He sighs painfully, crumpling the note from the owner of the house and stuffing it in his pocket. "But I don't want you to remember anything about the hell these two months were. I hope you won't remember."
He wipes his tears aggressively as they fall freely now, feeling the dull ache in his abused cheekbone becoming an intense throb once again, as he rubs his face with his sleeve.
"Solo quédate con el recuerdo de que yo te amo. Te amo más que a nada, y esto me duele como no me ha dolido nada antes. Yo nunca te olvidaré, mi abejita. Por favor perdóname." 1
He is unable to see through his tears now, caressing the rosy little face and stifling a sob as he takes off his backpack once more, one last time and leaves it next to the box in front of the door, shallowly closing the lids. He then gets up and presses the doorbell, turning around and starting to run, to never look back.
No more Schlatt.
And no more Tobías.
Adiós, mi abejita.