Slower, Samson glances at me—the burrito—and scans me from head to blanket tortilla toes. In no uncertain terms, he then looks back at Ines and says, “Yes.”
She hums. “Interesting.”
Samson sags. “Whyis that interesting?”
“No reason. Anyway, it is late. I am tired.Goodnight.” Somehow, she slithers away, purple hair swaying out the door. Samson stares at the solid wood for too many agonizingly long moments, then, deliberately, he angles his entire body toward me.
My breath holds.
His stare continues, severe. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I squeak.
“I’m sorry,” he says, moving to sit by me on the couch. Something about the two feet of space he puts between us feels wrong. I hate it. I don’t know how to express how much I hate it, so I stay quiet, watching when Tsuki lays his head against Samson’s thigh. Samson runs his fingers through the puppy’s long white fur. “I should have warned you,” he says.
Beneath my blanket, I hug myself. “It’s okay… This isn’t new. I just…the timing is a little longer here, I guess? And it’s more stigmatized in my old world.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, looks back down at Tsuki. “Stigmatized?”
“Yeah. Younevertalk about it with guys. It wasn’t talked about at all in my house.”
A simmering anger settles in his expression. “No one told you about this?”
“My…mom thought it would be funny if she didn’t.”
His free hand closes into a fist against his thigh.
“I don’t know what she was thinking. I just remember being very scared and very uncomfortable when she tossed me a tampon box and told me to figure it out.”
“Tampon?”
Right.
Crud.
I was not given atamponhere. I was given fancy underwear that works like a pad without the discomfort of a pad. A tampon probably started as a brand name that became popular enough to be considered the product. Therefore, I now get theimmense pleasureof explaining what one isto Samson. “Uh.” I tuck my nose into my blanket. “It’s a menstrual product. Designed to catch the blood. It… You… Well, notyou. Women. Women in-insert it…in the…yeah.”
For the first time since showing up here, I am asking to be smote. Would whatever powers put me in this world be kind enough to take me out?
Unfazed, Samson removes his other hand from Tsuki’s fur and closes them together. Audibly, his knuckles crack. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable if talking about this doesn’t coincide with the way you were raised. It’s explained to everyone I know here, plainly, so it’s as regular as any other bodily function. The idea that you didn’t have that privilege…the idea that you had tofigure it out…bothers me.” His nostrils flare as his chest fills with air. “A lot.”
I force a shaky smile. “I-it’s okay. I did figure it out.” After a lot of trial. Error. Some crying.
And my father banging on the bathroom door while holding back laughter and telling me tohurry up…
Tears bead in my eyes again at the memory.
A joke.
I was often a joke to my parents, to people I wished would be my friends, to strangers I didn’t even know.
It’s no wonder at all why I grew up with trust issues and anxiety.
“S-Samson?”
Lifting his head, he looks at me, and his grip loosens. “Yes, Lemonade?”
My throat closes. Guilt gnaws. Fear erodes. Softly, I say, “Should I go back to my farmhouse?”
