Samson tenses. With a subtle edge of urgency, he continues, “It’ll be great. Hilarious. Everyone against Austin.” He mutters a swear. “Now it really is bullying…” He swallows, lifting his other hand in a desperate effort to dry my tears. Soothing, he says, “Please, Lemonade, talk to me. What’s going on?”
My mouth opens, likely to babble the stupidest things in the whole entire world—but a little spark of nature freezes my tongue in place.
There’s a dip in my stomach. Followed by a tightness. And—oh no.
I shove the bowl I was drying into Samson’s hands, turn on my heel, and bolt to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
No.
No, no, no.
Nope.
It’s beensix weeks.
I never exactlythoughtthe words,Haha, nice! This world’s females do not partake of menstrual cycle heck, but I did experience an underlying assumption as more time passed andthe usual dread I have a few days before my period starts did not hit me.
My pissy attitude last week…was PMS, not sleep deprivation. Or, at the very least, it was PMS irritated by sleep deprivation.
Panic vibrates in my chest, constricting my lungs.
A sudden bout of cramps twists my gut, and I choke on the pain, sobbing.
“Lemonade?” Samson calls from the door, panic touching his voice as well. “Citrus, is everything okay? Are you okay?”
“Um—” I take deep breaths, then I croak, “—no.”
What do I do?
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
My gaze drifts to the toilet paper.
Even if I fashion a pad out of that, who do I go to for a more permanent solution?
I can’t go to Aurelia, not with Austin around.
I haven’t seen Chrysa since I stopped intentionally bribing Samson.
Ines scares me a little bit. I don’t know if I can handle her on my own even though I have the most hearts with her according to my journal.
Kaolin’s a mother. Maybe…maybe her? We do have amicable chats whenever I stop in to drop off my produce.
My heart races at the very idea of going to amother. You’re supposed to be able to rely on them. But that hasn’t been my experience. I was in school when I got my first period. I had no one to rely on. I thought I was dying. I went to the nurse and said I didn’t feel well. They called my mother.
She yelled at me the entire way home for pulling her out of work.
Then, when she finally let me explain through sobs what I thought wassooimportant I couldn’t just suck it up, she laughedat me. Told me she didn’t tell me about periods on purpose. Because she thought it’d be funny.
I—
I can’t.
Tears streak down my face while I grip my hair and fold over, staring at the floor. Pain stabs through me, and I close my eyes. Teardrops fall onto my glasses lenses.
Very stable, Samson’s voice calls for me again. “Citrus.”
I ground myself in it. Or, at least, I try to.
