Finally, with a calmingshhhCole grabs me and turns me, so my back is on the bed, and he’s on top of me.
“I’m so sorry.” I am on the verge of tears. My face is red. “I’ll buy you new pants. A new leg. I can’t believe I did that.”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay, Natalie, really, it’s fine.” He wipes the hair off my forehead and presses a kiss there.
“I bled on you!” I blurt.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says with a tiny smile. “Plus, I was overdue for another incident. I had been riding on one good, bloody day with that nickname for years.”
Slowly, he bows under the wire, and gets out of the bed.
That’s when everything he says clicks and again, my voice rises an octave. “You got that nickname because of me?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
NATALIE
The thingabout having endometriosis from age fifteen on is that a lot of “becoming a woman” books prepare you for a little blood, or tiny cramps, and teach you how to handle the incidents and mishaps thatmostpeople deal with. But there isn’t a chapter on “Help, I Bled on a Dude So He Went Door to Door in his Dorm Hall Looking for Someone Who had a Girl Over with a Pad and Now He’s had a Prince of Blood Nickname for Three Years Because Hockey Players are Immature.” And I really think that shows a lack of foresight by the creators of said books.
Because how does one even process that?
You don’t. You don’t process a goddamn thing because all you’ve been doing for five long days now is processing stuff and everything that you thought was right-side up has really been upside down this whole time. With all of these revelations, the system processor is on the verge of overheating.
Luckily, and perhaps unfortunately because he was so very smug about it, Cole saw how much I was struggling with his big reveal, kissed my forehead, told me to enjoy my spiral with a side of pancakes, and left.
That was an hour ago.
There’s a knock on my door, followed by it creaking open and a soft “Hey.”
I peer over at the tufts of dark brown hair and the kind eyes that sit below peeking through. My heart skitters in my chest.Hi, I missed you,it seems to say.
Again, it’s only been an hour.
How am I going to feel when he leaves next week to get ready for his hockey tournament?
Too lonely. I know it, and it’s pathetic.
I was afraid of losing Caden, which is why I never told him how I felt. I should feel crushed that he lied to me and isn’t coming back next semester.
But I don’t.
Annoyed. Betrayed. Sure. But sad? A sense of loss?
It’s not there.
Yet, I’ve spent five days like this with Cole, three where I started seeing winks of him, and having him leave my side doesn’t terrify me—no, it feels more like I have to split myself in half and let one part go.
Dramatic. I get it.
“You up to coming out to the living room?” Cole asks, walking closer to the bed, a crooked smirk plastered on his stupid, handsome face. “Or do you need a few more hours to sit with your thoughts?”
“A rescue from them would be appreciated. I can feel the smoke coming out of my ears.”
He leans down and places a kiss next to my ear. “Definitely smoking.”
He offers me his hand, supporting me as I get out of bed. My blood pressure and iron levels are already low after a day of my adenomyosis-influenced-period.
