My arm barely swings as I walk further away from the stadium, feeling like Satan has crawled up my ass to stab my ovaries with a pitchfork. Usually, after I get my IUD exchanged, I go home to wallow in misery. Maybe have a cry. Binge-watch a couple shows or read a book until I feel like I’m seeing another dimension.
But apparently the thing that brings me comfort consists of lurking in the shadows in the hopes that I’ll catch a glimpse of Leo. Alas, I have poor time management because I got sidetracked at home and left about twenty minutes too late to catch sight of him.
Lying in his bed is the next best thing.
Massaging my temples, I walk back to the car in the dark. Once inside, I check on the preorders for my new book and just about pass out. Jesus fucking Christ. It hasn’t been this good in years.
Yet knowing my career has a fighting chance of survival does nothing to bring me joy.
My eyes drift shut like it might make the gnawing headache disappear. Because, respectfully, fuck this for a joke. I want my uterus ripped out.
Leo: How are you feeling?
Mina: Unless you’re going to come up with a cure for all my issues without any side effects, don’t ask.
Leo: I think there are some researchers out there in need of funding.
Mina: Please don’t get me hopeful like that.
Leo: Do you think five million will suffice? I can up it to ten next week. I’ll let my accountant know.
I shake my head. He’s ridiculous.
Leo: I’ll message after the game. I have to warm up.
Leo: I give you permission to miss this one, but I expect you to make it up to me.
The game doesn’t start for another hour, which means I’ll have plenty of time to rot in the comfort of his bed. The pounding in my head follows a beat that doesn’t belong to mypulse, making each step more agonizing than the last. I should probably go home and call it a day, but I’m not ready to face my empty apartment since Joyce is out with Ben tonight.
I should probably also message Thomas back since he’s texted a couple times to check up on me, but I have zero energy to deal with him right now.
It might be delusional of me to say, but I’m certain Leo’s bed will fix me. Positive thoughts and manifestation and all that shit.
I drag my feet up to my car and somehow manage to drive one-handed all the way to Leo’s place without crashing. When I reach his back window, I begin to seriously question how good of an idea this might be.
Is it usually this high?
Can I somehow convince Leo to leave a key somewhere so it’s easier for me? Maybe even send me my own copy?
I unfold the best investment I’ve ever made, and set the step stool below the window, then heave my ass inside. My foot catches, and my uterus screams bloody murder at me as I make my unceremonious fall. I stay limp on the floor with my face shoved against the carpet, trying to get my bearings as I find the will to move.
It’s truly a miracle no one has caught me before. And if no one noticed me break in this time after I made that much noise, then they might just be willfully ignorant.
Discarding my shoes by the window, I help myself to the kitchen like I live here, munching on my favorite bag of chips as I scour his fully stocked medicine drawer for something to stop me from feeling like death’s mistress. I pop the painkillers like they’re candy and say a silent prayer that they will make my ovaries vanish from my body.
Motherfucking endometriosis.
I want to sucker punch any asshole who tries to argue that women’s health isn’t underfunded and under-researched.Because at the end of the day, am I even certain my issue is that the cells have grown back? No. Not unless I scrounge up the money to go under the knife so they can cut me open just to figure out whether that’s what’s wrong with me, or if it’s something else.
The stairs loom ahead of me, and I quietly whimper as I grip the handle and haul myself upstairs. As usual, there’s a set of clothes at the foot of the bed: shirt, hoodie, sweats.
On any other given day, I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Today? Fuck no. I don’t bother stripping out of my clothes before slipping beneath the sheets—flannelsheets. A man after my own heart.
The weight of the blankets cocoons me, magically making my stomach pains moderately more bearable. Out of an abundance of caution, I set an alarm on my phone for half an hour before he’s meant to arrive. It isn’t like this is the first time I’ve had a nap in his bed, and I highly doubt it’ll be the last.
In an instant, my eyes threaten to drift shut. His scent engulfs me, lulling me into a sense of comfort that I never feel outside of this room. I press my nose into the pillow, and before I can contemplate whether I should call it quits and go home so I can have an uninterrupted sleep, my eyes close. Then there’s nothing but darkness.
A loud noise jars me from my sleep, and my mind turns, trying to piece together what’s happening. I lift my arms above my head and stretch out in the bed, barely muffling a groan.
