Page 133 of Whispered Promises

“Yeah, good. I’m sorry I fell asleep, though. It wasn’t intentional. I just felt so relaxed and drifted off. I usually don’t nap.” Rolling onto her back, she glances up at me before dropping her gaze back down to my chest, her brows furrowed.

“I love that you felt so comfortable and were able to get some sleep. You didn’t need to stay awake for me to enjoy being in your company. Do you need any food or anything?”

Brushing a stray piece of hair from her face, I let my thumb linger to stroke across her cheek. As pleased as I am that she’s looking a little better, I don’t want her to ask me to leave yet—or ideally, ever.

“I don’t have the energy to figure out what to eat. I’ll probably shower and get back into bed, I think.”

Wanting to make myself useful, I hop out of the bed, offering my hand to help her up.

“Okay, I’ll figure out the food while you shower. Do you need me to feed Moshi too?” Glancing at his bed, I note that he’s awake now and watching us closely.

I care about her just as much as you do.

I look back at Rosy and give her a reassuring smile. Her brow creases as she watches me. I stretch out my arm towards the door and nod to encourage her to go along with my plan. She continues to watch me for a second longer, then her shoulders drop and she heads out of her bedroom with a small huff.

FIFTY-SEVEN

ROSY

I shut the bathroom door behind me and turn on the shower as I get undressed. My mind is a groggy mess, the impromptu nap throwing me.

Glancing in the mirror for answers, all I can see is my hair falling out of its messy bun and my pale face. At least the bags beneath my eyes are slightly less noticeable. Noticing the steam coming from the shower, I quickly dispose of my tampon, then jump under the water and let the heat consume me.

As much as I want to stand under the cascading water, I feel uncomfortable taking too long when Noah’s still waiting for me.

I know I won’t have the energy to get back out again once I get into bed, so I run through my bedtime skincare now, letting the motions soothe me. I turn to redress, then freeze as I realise I’d used my last tampon earlier. The new box is out in the kitchen…Shitsticks.

Walking out there will result in…leakage, and there’s no way I want him to see that.

Can I ask him to leave? No, that will come across as rude and probably weird.

Threading my hands through my hair, I tug. Hard. I don’t have the energy to figure this one out; I should’ve put them away earlier rather than be lazy.

Hindsight is a bitch, and there’s no space for her in my meltdown.

I can’t think of any other way than just asking him to pass them to me, definitely less embarrassing than waddling out there and dripping on the floor.

Opening the door a crack, I stick my head out and see him leaning against the kitchen island, reading something on his phone.

“Noah? Um…I’m so sorry. I know this is awkward…but can you please pass me the box of tampons on the counter behind you?” I ignore the heat flooding my face and chest, keeping my eyes fixed on anything but his face, hoping he can throw them at me and pretend this never happened.

“Of course. Are you okay?”

He’s being unexpectedly unbothered, although he’s never shown me any reason to think he wouldn’t be understanding. But for every boy who acted revolted when I bled through my skirts at school, every man who can’t say the word menstruation, and for that one date I went on who thought I was disgusting when I left a mark on a chair… Previous experience has taught me that anything relating to periods is gross, dirty.

“Yes. I ran out and forgot to bring the box in here earlier. I’m sorry to ask you to handle them,” I blurt, wanting this conversation over so we can go to the awkward avoidance stage.

Instead of just handing me the box, he cups my chin in his hand and tilts my face up to his. A thumb brushes against my cheek.

“Rosy, there’s nothing bad or gross about you being on your period. I’d even help you insert it if you needed me to.” He smiles. He must be joking…right?

“Oh. Don’t worry. I’d never ask that of you.” I laugh nervously. I really don’t know how to respond to this conversation.

“You don’t think I’d do that for you?” He holds the box of tampons behind his back and pulls against the door with his other hand, forcing me to step back. As he walks confidently into the bathroom, I continue backwards until I bump into the sink.

“There’s nothing you can do or say that would put me off. If anything, it’s a turn-on that you would let me take care of you.”

My body’s up against the sink as he surrounds me with his heat. It distracts me as I try to discern if he’s being truthful or just being nice. His reassuring celadon-green eyes fix intently on mine as his hands slide up my bare shoulders to cradle my neck. “Let me take care of you, please?”