My eyes fluttered open to see a bright light peering in from the bedroom window. I let out a small yawn the turned and my soft face met the sight of a pillow barricade. I guess the blonde isn't as much of an idiot as previously though. Though, I'd never tell her that.
Mustering up all the strength I could, I sat myself up in a sitting position and identified the room as my spare bedroom. A lough sound invaded my hearing, which startled me enough to lose my balance, and I began to involuntary wail once again. It had been my stomach. When will this nightmare be over?!
Not a moment passed before I saw a messy mop of blonde hair shoot up from the floor beside the bed. Had she slept on the floor all night?
I woke up at the sound of the baby crying once again. It had been the fifth time that night, but who was counting? Right? I was exhausted. Where the hell was Regina? She's raised a kid before!
Thankfully, I had some experience during my youth with changing my foster siblings diapers. Also, the fact that the kid passed out immediately after fitting her into one of Henry's old onesies helped loads.
The crying didn't stop. Rising from the floor, I tied up my tousled hair with a rubber band on my wrist then took the screaming toddler into my arms. "It's alright, kid," I attempted to soothe the child as I patted her back lightly, bouncing from side to side on my feet.
The action seemed to calm the child slightly, but–when I heard the sound of the child's tummy rumbling–I knew what I had to do. "Alright, baby girl," I addressed the child in my arms. "How about we get you some breakfast?" A smile broke out on the baby's face, causing some spit to dribble down her chin, and I decided that I wanted to see more of that smile.
Brushing my thumb lightly against her soft flesh, I wiped away the drool that remained and grinned down at her. "Let's see what Regina has in the fridge."
I could be mad at the blonde for breaking in and stealing all my food, but I guess I could let it slide just this once. After all, she's only doing this to help a poor, defenseless child. Where's the harm in that? Damn it, Regina. You're going soft.
The savior had apparently found Henry's old high chair and confined me to its seat. I really hated the idea of being stuck and unable to move, but there really wasn't much I could do otherwise.
I watched as the sheriff rummaged through the contents of the fridge, searching for anything that could be child-friendly. She took some items into her hands then splayed them out onto the counter. Taking me into her arms, she hovered over the options and questioned, "Any of these look good to you?"
I examined the contents on the counter. Cubed cheddar cheese, homemade applesauce, fresh blue berries, and she had even managed to find Henry's secret stash of goldfish. Not the best options for a small child, but they'd have to do.
I reached out for the applesauce and blueberries, and the blonde returned me to the high chair as she prepared a plate of the items. Immediately after she placed it onto the small table in front of me, I went to work eating as much as I could. Of course, I had to make as little of a mess as possible, not wanting to risk needing a bath from the blonde.
I watched as the baby scarfed down the food as if she'd never eat again–we've all been there, kid–but there was something different in the way she ate. There was something so regal about her movements. Each motion was carefully calculated and the kid wore a concentrated expression upon her small face. Either than or she just had gas.
"Listen, kid…I have to make a quick call to work, telling them I won't be in today. Can I trust you won't burn Regina's kitchen down when I'm gone?" The baby snorted in response and I smiled as I made my way into the living room, far enough away to have privacy yet still have a clear view of the kid.
I paused eating for a moment, hoping to hear the other end of the phone call. It's not like I'm being nosy or anything. I just like to know what's going on. Oh god. What if she's calling a social worker to put me in foster care? She'd suspect that I don't belong to someone since no one reported their two-year-old running away.
No, don't think like that, Regina. Emma wouldn't do that. She knows what the system is like. Besides, Storybrooke doesn't have a foster system. The closest place is Boston, and who knows what would happen if I were to cross the town line like this. What would happen?
Just as the thought crossed my mind, Emma returned into the kitchen wearing a worried expression. This is it, isn't it? I'm going into the foster system. I'll never see Henry again or…or…
"Hey, there," Emma removed the tray to the high chair and took my sobbing form into her caring arms. She began rubbing smooth circles on my back again, which has turned into my favorite thing, aside from Henry of course. "Don't cry. We'll find your family."
The call with David hadn't gone as planned. I had originally called to simply tell him that I wasn't feeling well and needed a day off, but when I answered the phone he began rambling about how no one has seen Regina since last night. She didn't even go to work this morning or call, which is very unlike her!
A tug on my hair interrupted my thoughts and I glanced down to meet warm, caramel eyes. I don't know why but I can't shake the feeling that they are familiar. I gave the girl a sad smile and she responded by tilting her head at me, the look of concentration–or gas, still a possibility–making an appearance again.
What is she so worried about? She's not the one stuck as a toddler! Still, I can't help but feel bad for the woman. I put in my best effort at communicating a questioning expression to her, and she seems to understand.
"The woman who owns this house," she began, my eyes fixed on her every expression. "Her name is Regina, and she never showed up after a fight we had last night." So she was worried…about me? I tried to ignore the butterflies in my chest at the though, but failed miserably. No, I reminded myself. She's probably only worried because of Henry.
Henry. He should be back soon! Maybe I'll be able to get him to help change me back! He's always leaving things lying around, maybe I could–my eyes caught onto a rectangular box sitting just below the entertainment system in the living room. There it is. My ticket to freedom!