If God is a woman, she has some explaining to do.
The next few days we fall into a comfortable routine of research, food, and endless one-sided flirty banter as Hunter tries to coax me out of the apartment and into town. Apparently, it’s not healthy to spend all my time indoors. I beg to differ. Hiding out seems ridiculous if I’m flouncing around the town. I also don’t have the energy to spare for whatever games are required to play Hunter’s girlfriend. It’s more than likely related to the period from Hell that turned up a few days back. At least when I bleed this heavy and severe, my period’s generally short-lived; like my body is trying to hurry the process along so we can get back to feeling normal.
My clothing and toiletries arrived in the nick of time, otherwise I would have needed to either send Hunter out for tampons or venture forth and get them myself. Neither option sounded appealing, but I’m restless in bed as pain seizes my stomach and radiates to my back. Laughing at the timing of the universe, I curl into my pillow and hiss as I wonder, not for thefirst time, if women really are punished for being the originator of sin by withstanding torture once a month.
I roll over, curling tighter into myself, silently begging the torment to disappear. I don’t have my prescription meds to help ease the flow or the painkillers I take when the over-the-counter stuff doesn’t work, and I regret not making room in my suitcase for the two small bottles I’m now nearly manic for. A tortured breath rattles through my clenched teeth. It will pass. It always does. It’s funny how I’ve barely flinched through broken bones, yet period pains cripple me. The human body will never make sense to me.
I have my headphones in, trying to listen to a podcast about aliens and the government to distract myself. I’d rather be locked in my room, searching for a string I haven’t pulled yet.I reconstructed my research on a piece of software law enforcement agencies use, and while I can’t stare at it for hours on end waiting for the connections to make themselves known, it is at least safe and transportable.
A particularly violent cramp seizes my body, and I push my face into the pillow and breathe through it. Damn, that was brutal. They come in short waves, and I lose track of time as the apartment grows quieter, then silent, indicating Hunter and Charlie have done their ten p.m. toilet trip and are now both in bed. I like that they have a routine I can predict; it helps settle my mind when my world is so chaotic.
I didn’t respond to Christopher’s email, but I received two more, taunting me with details he shouldn’t know. He must have gleaned them from his exploration of my apartment. Panic replaces the pain throughout my abdomen, stealing my breath and making me nearly cry out. There’s nothing there linking me to Texas, because until Hunter picked me up on the back of his motorcycle, there was no link to Texas.
Jonathan is suspiciously quiet, and the retreat has been postponed with no public explanation. He has never, in all the years I’ve been tracking him, postponed one. There’s a part of me hoping he’s terminally ill. But I know the universe spends more time kissing his backside than kicking it, which means something else made him change his plans. My brother? Unlikely. Maybe there’s a revolt at the compound—wherever that is. That’s simply hopeful thinking. None of those explanations seem probable.
Whatever is happening, it has to wait. I can take a moment to manage my pain since my brain isn’t putting anything spectacular together right now, not when it feels like fire is burning my spine.
The cramps ease up a little. I must have passed out for a short spell, because when I come to, the podcast is on episode five and last I remember, it was on number two. They are fifty minutes long, so I must have slept for at least an hour and forty minutes. A groan works its way up my throat as I move onto my back and another wave of agony rips through me.Fuck.
There’s a hot rush of wetness between my thighs, and my body freezes.No, no, no!I launch out of the bed and stare in horror at the gleaming white sheets that now look like a murder was committed. Great. Well done, Mother Nature. Fuckingperfect.
I release a long-suffering sigh as I strip the comforter off and stare in horror at the red streaks marking it. I must have got it twisted between my legs.Wonderful.Grumbling under my breath and hoping I see the day we have a medical breakthrough where we can choose when we have our periods, I swipe all the bedding off and gaze at the mattress. You have got to be kidding me. Was I murdered and this is actually my ghost self looking at the crime scene? I toss the soiled sheets towards the door, glaring at the mess. Also, who doesn’t use mattress protectors?
I pull open drawers, hoping like hell Hunter keeps his spare bedding in here.Empty. Empty. Dog toys. Blankets. Empty.No such luck. There’s nowhere in his living area one would store it either. I glance at the closed door between us. It’s either in his bedroom or the shared closet.
Wetness dribbles down my thighs, reminding me I’ve been taking care of the result but not the cause.
I grab the tampons and make it through the closet, in the dark, and toddle into the shared bathroom. I blink at myself in the mirror. I look like a ghost, my face gaunt and pale, almost skeletal in the harsh light. Another wave steals my breath, reminding me dead people don’t feel pain.
Turning on the shower, I strip out of my sleep shorts and T-shirt before diving under the spray. The heat bathes my skin as the water turns red and runs down the drain. I unhook the shower head and press it against my stomach, the heat fucking glorious as the muscles around my torso start to loosen. I might stay here like this until my period fucks back off to Hell. I can afford the water bill. Hunter can deal.
Leaning my head against the tiles, a whimper breaks free as more cramps seize my body. I curse myself again for putting pleasure above practicality. It wouldn’t have killed me to leave a damn vibrator behind and swap it for crucial meds.Stupid, Ellie, so very fucking stupid.
I’m turning wrinkly, but it still takes me another ten minutes to finally turn off the shower and step out. I replace my tampon and dry off before tucking the towel around my body. Thick steam coats the room, and as I pull open the door, it billows out into the dark and surrounds the six foot human shape in front of me. I jump and squeak. Aliens! My first thought settles as a familiar scent wraps around me. Damn podcast.
“You okay?” Hunter asks. The owner of this home makes far more sense than extraterrestrial life hovering beyond the door.
“I’m fine.”
“You were in there a long time.”
“I’ll send you the money to cover it.”
He snorts, crossing his arms. “I can manage the water bill, Eleanor. But you take sixteen minute showers, not sixty.”
I was in there an hour? I glance at my pink skin. Makes sense.
“I was dirty.”
The steam finally clears enough for me to take in his ridiculous body, naked bar his boxer briefs. Of course he is. His lips twitch. “Too much play time?”
“What?”
“You said you were dirty, and it’s the middle of the night...”
I grimace. I have never felt less sexy. Self care of that nature is not happening right now. I need fresh sheets and a Hershey’s bar.
“Where do you keep your clean sheets?”
