He huffs a laugh, victorious, and starts moving things around with the confident efficiency of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.
I sink back onto the sofa, clutching the hot water bottle, heart doing something deeply unhelpful. The argument has fizzed through me, sharp and sparky and far too energising for the circumstances.
Which is inconvenient.
Because now, alongside the cramps and the fatigue and the general sense of bodily betrayal, there is a very specific, very unwelcome awareness humming under my skin.
I close my eyes.
Of course this is happening now.
Of course it is him setting off my clit.
And of course I am absolutely not dealing with that until after I’ve eaten… no, not ever.
Chapter 12
Tom
Dinner is quiet inthe best possible way.
Not charged. Not awkward. Just steady. She eats with real appetite, like someone whose body has finally been given something it can use. I notice the dark circles under her eyes, the way she moves carefully, conserving energy, every shift measured.
When I reach for the dessert, she shakes her head.
“Later,” she says. “I’ll eat it. Just not now.”
I nod and put it away. No discussion. No follow-up. It’s not a moment that needs negotiating.
“How are you?” I ask.
Not the social version. The real one.
She hesitates, then exhales.
“Not great,” she admits. “The cramps are ridiculous this time.”
I stand before I properly think it through.
“Come here,” I say.
She protests out of habit.
“I’m fine.”
“I know,” I reply. “Humour me.”
I guide her to the sofa, careful not to rush her. She lowers herself with a tired sound that makes something in my chest tighten. I sit behind her, close but not crowding, and wait.
She leans back against me on her own. That’s when it really lands how worn she is.
It’s strange, objectively, that we’re here like this. We barely know each other. A review. An argument. Messages. A gecko. And now she’s leaning back against me in her own flat, easy and familiar, like we’ve done this a hundred times.
And yet it doesn’t feel impulsive.
It feels natural.
I rest my hand on her lower belly and start slow, steady circles. Nothing clever. Nothing charged. Just pressure and rhythm.
