“Uh huh.”
I take a few more crawling steps toward the bathroom where my pain killers and electric heating pad are tucked away in a clear storage tub. I should’ve gotten them out tonight. I knew I was close enough—
“Uhhhnggg,” I growl at the pain and curl in on myself from another contraction.
“You’re bleeding! Where are you hurt?” he asks, crouching beside me.
“My vagina,” I groan. “Period.”
“Period?”
“Cycle. Woman cycle,” I say between stilted breaths that thread the eyes of agony.
“Your fertility process. I understand,” he says. “What can I…how do I help?”
His hands hover over my body like he’s afraid to touch me.
I point a shaky arm into the bathroom. “Bring the bin. Clear box.”
He gets up and marches into the bathroom, turning this way and that as his hands search for the tub.
“Lefter, beside toilet,” I manage through clenched teeth as another wave of pain hits me, bringing nausea with it.
He grabs the container and brings it to me.
“Water. Water bottle.” I point at the kitchen island.
I open the container and get the pain killers as Bastian grabs my bottle. I guzzle down two pills with way more water than I need, trying to quell the sickening sensation growing in my stomach. I set the bottle aside and grab the heating pad, then crawl toward the closest wall with an outlet.
“Now what?” he asks, his voice taut with worry.
“Heat pad,” I say, plugging it in.
I lay it over my tummy, then crank the power to max. A blue zap emits from the outlet with a loud pop that makes me scream. Thelight on the heating pad controller goes out, and I wail out a long curse in pained frustration.
My heating pad. Possibly the wall outlet. Maybe the breaker. Fuckinggreat!
I throw the pad off me and ball my fists against the burning in my eyes. Bastian leaves me and I hear water running a moment later. He returns, picking me up off the floor in a fluid movement. I lean against him as I sob from helplessness. The meat grinder of my guts doesn’t improve things, either.
He sits on the side of the bathtub that’s swiftly filling with hot water and sets my feet down, balancing me on his leg.
“I’m getting you bloody,” I cry, trying to stand up in the bath.
“Like I care about that,” he says, pulling me back down.
His hand slides over my lower belly and I recoil from the touch, pushing his arm away on instinct.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No, just—”
“Then stop fighting me,” he snarls.
His palm covers my tummy and I battle back more tears at the shame.
The shame of a swell of skin where it was once flat. The shame that no matter how hard I’ve tried, it remains. The shame that this mound of unwanted flesh cost me an engagement. That the underlyingreasonfor this pudge has made me practically infertile. I can never have the family I’ve always wanted, and that made him no longer want me.
“What are these horrible thoughts?” he murmurs against the shell of my ear, pressing me back against his chest.
