Mr and Mrs Nemesis✔️

Chapter Thirteen - Post-Natal Hormones

This weekend has perhaps been the most restless of my entire existence.

My dear child Ellie woke in the late hours of Friday evening and I'm convinced she hasn't settled since. For two nights now, she's done her damnedest to keep me awake. Frankly, she's succeeded. All night. Both nights. The nocturnal devil.

Ezra is certainly not my friend at the moment, what with him being across the hall and therefore a secondary victim to her incessant screams, and I think the novelty has even worn off with my mother – she's been slamming coffee back like it's her job and no amount of concealer could disguise the bluish bags beneath her eyes. I'm not too concerned about my dad; he could sleep through a Chernobyl level catastrophe.

Therefore, when Sunday afternoon comes along, along with my promise that Elijah is due to come and collect her, I'm naturally filled with a glee unparalleled. As you can imagine, I'm less impressed when five o'clock rolls around and he's one hour late for picking her up. Now, any sane person might've called him, sent a text to ask if he's alright - not dead in a ditch somewhere, perhaps - but not me. I'm insanely sleep deprived, I'm twice as short-tempered, so therefore, I'm going to his house. No invitation required.

With my torture child in the car seat, ironically asleep for the first time this weekend, I throw on a jacket and march downstairs to see Ezra spinning his car keys on his finger. "Lets go." I mutter, running a hand through my hair as I yawn, my eyes heavy like led weights.

I'm so furious, I don't even think I could document it in words. Elijah is many things, but I never pegged him as unreliable. Especially on the first weekend of this project, which only means that I'm going to have to spend the next six weeks as the sole carer of the baby. But don't worry, if that happens, I'll be sure that I write in our documented findings that gender stereotypes are still prominent in households with children. Elijah will be especially lucky if I actually include his name on the report.

With me giving lazy direction to my brother with the help of my trusty google maps, we reach Elijah's house in about ten minutes. I'm not exactly sure what to expect – I'm aware that he has a younger brother, but nothing more than that.

We pull up outside the tall terraced house, hardly acknowledging the abysmal weather as I focus entirely on his car in the driveway. So he's home. He's home and he has a car and he hasn't bothered to meet his end of the arrangement. If I wasn't so exhausted, I'd be brewing for the a murder so brutal I'd scare grown men on death row.

If I couldn't get any more pissed off today, as soon as I'm out of the car, baby in hand, Ezra speeds off and flips me the finger out of the window, leaving me in the drizzling rain in nothing but a stained hoodie and a hand-me-down pair of Olly's joggers. Yes, he's really not my friend at the moment.

Ellie, you're tearing my family apart.

I walk to the front door and knock, hard, perhaps a little impolitely. A woman answers the door, no older than thirty, with dark hair and green eyes just like Hendrix. I can't help but frown. This couldn't be his mum - she's far too young.

"Hello?" She asks awkwardly through a confused smile.

"Hi," I answer, craning my neck to look around her slightly. "Is Hendrix here? I have his daughter." Her eyes widen in realisation and then she grins at me.

"You're Charlotte! He mentioned that you were working together. How ironic, with all the trouble you two caused and now you have a baby." She tells me through a chuckle. I tense a smile at her, still trying to look for Hendrix in her house. "I'm his aunt Tanya, I don't know that you'll remember me." I shake my head and smile at her apologetically. "No, I haven't seen you since you were little. Come in, I'll go fetch him."