That Spanish Tutor (BxB)

CAPÍTULO 10

My babysitting privilege is questioned when tita notices that my eyes are quite reddish, and my eyelids are droopy. I tell her that I just had a hard time resting last night, and that I was able to get sleep, and coffee would help me stay awake. She gives me a dubious look, eyes squinting, lips in a thin line, and lets out a sigh once she notices the clock.

Apparently, she woke up around 5AM–the time I was trying to sleep really hard–and prepared for snacks Pablo would likely eat today. It's a chocolate cake. The equipment she used are still in the sink, waiting to be washed, and I tell her that I'd take care of it. Tita is hesitant to leave for a moment, considering how shitty I look, but she shrugs it off, kisses Pablo on the cheek–and Pablo immediately wipes it off–and tells me that I'm in charge of everything while she's gone. I only nod.

My body feels so heavy. My back is aching, as well as my shoulders. I'm so tired. Pablo makes Spanish sounds that squash the little effort I have to understand him, and I just let him play with his food. I turn on the television and change the channel to cartoon in hopes that he would not bug me, so I can get little rest. Just little rest.

But Pablo doesn't seem so interested in watching cartoon in the morning.

We're in the living room, and he has his plate on his lap, sitting on it is a scrambled egg, which he nibbles on. I watch him be interested in the piece of egg, never moving, until he stabs it and shoves it into his mouth, followed by a childish moan. He offers one to me, stretching his arm, and I shake my head. Not really in the mood to eat. He just shrugs and continues to eat.

I massage my temple, hoping that the headache would immediately go away. But the sound of the fork hitting the ceramic plate rings in my ears, making my head hurt more. I let out a small sigh. Pablo looks at me with his little brown eyes, and I notice his plate is already empty clean.

I grab his plate and plate it in the sink, where the used glasses, pans, and plates. Just by looking at it really takes my soul out of my body. I don't want to move around. I just want to rest my eyes, lie down, and relax. Rest my eyes. Lie down. Relax.

But Pablo, whining about the show in the television, is going to make that impossible today. I groan out loud, looking over my shoulder to check on Pablo, and start doing the dishes. I haven't eaten anything yet because I don't have any appetite to consume anything.

It takes me about 15 minutes to wash the dishes because... well, I move slowly. My body doesn't seem interested in moving around a lot, and I completely agree. I shouldn't be moving around. I should be resting. I groan out loud, remembering the reason why I stayed up all night.

Mikel.

Mikel is the reason. And here I am again, blaming him for the things I should blame myself. It's not Mikel's fault. It's mine. I'm just being a bitch because I have no idea who I am these days.

After washing the dishes, I immediately head back to the living room, and Pablo is immersed in the Spongebob show. He's sitting on the ground, Indian style, and his eyes are focused on the TV. I lie down on the sofa, resting my feet on the armrest, while I casually check Pablo. Just in case he does something weird.

I shut my eyes for a moment, enjoying the little time I've been given (as Pablo becomes very focused on the television), and consciously, I'm trying to stay awake as much as possible. I just hope that if I casually slips in and sleep, Pablo would have the guts to slap me in my face in case he needs me to do something.

Pablo makes whiny sounds. I open one eye and see him pouting at Sandy, a Spongebob character. Now he remains quiet.

As I'm about to drift off, Pablo laughs. Loud enough for me to jolt me awake. I open my eyes and see him enjoying the show too much. I sit up, silently praying that I get through the day. Sighing, I stand up and stretch out my arms, trying to energize myself up. The day has just started and I feel like dying already. Pablo turns his head to look at me, a little longer than usual, before flicking his gaze back to the television. Sometimes, I feel like Pablo wants to say something, but he doesn't usually communicate much. He's a shy boy.