The Littlest Light

#Chapter16-03

#Chapter16-03

"Star, uppy." An odd squeal of a sound accompanied his words, and his arms were jabbed up again with more force. "Starrrrr. Lumen ouchie. Cwy."

To look at him, a face of beauty that had matured far past that of the mind that existed within, it was a battle. To still see him as he had been when I had found him, knee-high and snotty-nosed, cold, confused and lost, it made this new image harder to swallow. It made it feel as though it was all but an act, made to fool me into lowering my guard.

But at the same time, the look of pure excitement that lit the boy's eyes up at the simplest thing, or the ready-to-go smiles, or the naivety he displayed, he made it hard to see him as an enemy. Which would have been the perfect guise had he been an enemy.

As I stared at him, that war raging, the little boy he had been, or the teenager he was supposed to be, it seemed to stretch on forever.

Eventually, the boy he had been, the one that he was still supposed to be, won out. After transferring his shoes, blanket and storybook to my left hand, I lifted him. Awkward was the right word for it, as he didn't fit with the ease a child would have, but Lumen made the most of it, throwing his arms around my neck, cooing, and laying his head on my shoulder.

He was impossibly light. Perhaps even worryingly so. Able to maintain his entire weight with one arm and feel no strain, it meant that either I was stronger than I realised, or the kid was high in the helium department.

Grumbling and muttering obscenities beneath my breath, my first course of action was dumping the little s**t in the living room on the couch. It was a gloom, unlit room that rarely saw use. Dust motes lingered in the air, and whilst Jonathan would occasionally have somebody in to clean the place, thick layers of neglect coated the surfaces. The couch was some posh piece of s**t, little chicken legs sticking out from the bulky base, making it peculiar to look at, but highly sought among those who had more green in their pocket than they did sense in their head.

It had been an exhausting day. The lack of sleep from the night before had soured my every waking hour, and Lumen had made even the simplest of tasks difficult and stressful. It had only just turned three in the afternoon, but even still, the day felt as though it had absolute dragged.

"Star," Lumen said, patting me after dropping down next to him. "Wook! Money ana lelly." Finding the book that I had tossed down, Lumen struggled to open the cardboard page, before proudly pointing at the bright pictures that stained the inside.

"Lovely," I said, dryly.

"Wead Lumen?" The thing was shoved towards my face. Scowling, I snatched it out of his hands, causing him to flinch. "I'm not reading anything until you stop referring to yourself in the third person."

A frown hit up the boy's face, a look that could have only been explained as confusion. "Wead?" he said again, stretching to try and get the book back.

"I will read it to you," I said slowly, squeezing my eyes shut, "If you promise to take a nap after?"

I still wasn't sure if Lumen understood me, but after listening to his incessant babbles throughout the day, it had become clear that he was capable of more words than I had first given him credit for. He was a f*****g parrot, too, constantly copying mine. I hadn't been lying when I had told the pack that I was looking for his parents, but a gut feeling told me that I wasn't going to find them. But I was curious as to what had happened for the kid to have been abandoned; maybe they had gotten fed up of the boy's talking, too.

"Lillien poocie?" Lumen asked. Or, at least, that was his shitty pronunciation. If not for already having heard that word, I would have been quite clueless as to what it was.

"You want your alien pacifier?" I checked. As though I had just handed him the world, the brightest smile lit up his face, his gapped teeth gleaming. He gave a nod, clapping.

"Wanny," he confirmed.

"Go and get it then," I instructed. "It's in the kitchen." Everything was still in the kitchen. All the bags that Jonathan had bought, until I decided what I was doing with the boy, if I was going to heed the Wise One's warning, or decide where he was even going to be sleeping, remained where they were.

As the boy climbed — or rather, fell — off the sofa, waddling over to the doorway, I listened to the pitter-patter of his feet, letting the distance and the decrease in volume guide me on his position. There was a loud crash that echoed through the house a minute or so later, which was followed by an 'Uh-oh."

Then the pattering of bare feet was back, but fast and hard, as though running. And sure enough, when the kid came back into view, he was doing some uncoordinated thing with his body that I assumed was running. He dove next to me, his eyes wide, face guilt-stricken, and his pacifier clutched proudly in his hand. "Lillien," he informed me, pointing at the picture on the back.

It had been one of three in the packet, one a lion and the other a bird. He had chosen the alien as his favourite. He clambered back up beside me, pulled his blanket up to his chin, helped himself to using my shoulder as a pillow, before looking up at me with expectancy, suckling the pacifier to a steady, rhythmic beat.

I didn't even ask what kind of mess he had made in the kitchen. I simply lacked the strength.

"Once upon a time, there was a small zoo with lots of animals," I began.