Page 212 of Before Dawn

“I’m serious.”

She exhaled a small laugh. “Alright then.”

With an online tutorial playing in the background, we got to work on removing her boho locs. It was more challenging than I expected, but I stuck with it, carefully unraveling each one. At first, Abigail coached me through the process, her voice soft but steady. Eventually, though, she grew quiet, her head dipping forward.

When I glanced down, I realized she’d fallen asleep in my lap.

Her breathing was slow and even, exhaustion and her lingering headache finally catching up to her. I kept going, mindful not to tug too hard, working through each section with patience. When the last loc was gone, I reached for a wide-tooth comb and gently began detangling her curls.

I moved through her hair with slow, deliberate strokes, savoring the way each coil softened under my touch. The only sound in the room was the rhythm of her steady breaths. When I finished, I ran my fingers through her hair one last time, letting them linger before leaning back, content just to be here with her.

My gaze lingered on her peaceful face—beautiful, mine. I pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Rest,mi amor.163”

Warning

The following chapter contains heavy mentions of mental health/physical health issues. Please refer to the content warning list to be reminded of any potential triggers. Your well-being is important to me, so please take care of yourself while reading.

Chapter Forty-eight

Abigail-Ann

“We loved with a love that was more than love.”

~ Edgar Allan Poe

I’d mop the fucking ocean or count every grain of salt on this planet before I’d willingly sign up to have my period. But, of course, the one day I had to work for ten hours straight, my uterus decided to return from its months–long vacation in full force.

No warning. No slow build-up. Just pure, unrelenting agony.

The only thing keeping me from spiraling into full-blown misery was the beautiful bouquet Mikkel had left in the kitchen this morning. He didn’t just buy fresh flowers—he also got a new vase, arranging them with the same care he always showed. As if that wasn’t enough, he placed the knitted ones in a cute stand on my bedside table, no words, no fuss—just doing it like it was second nature.

Coffee with Azzaria had been a welcome distraction for a while, but it didn’t last long. She had to rush off, something about Dillon and a flight they needed to catch.

Now, though, I was at work, and nausea hit me like a brick wall. I gritted my teeth, shelving books with robotic precision, nodding politely at the authors here for today’s signing. They were nice enough, excited about their books and the readers trickling in, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be chatty.

The minutes crawled by, stretching out into an eternity. I barely spoke unless necessary, keeping interactions short and efficient. Answering a patron’s question. Directing an author to the right table. Sorting a never-ending pile of returns.

I didn’t even take a lunch break. Not because I was too busy—though that was part of it—but because my stomach felt like it was waging a war against me, and food was thelastthing on my mind.

By the time my shift ended, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I didn’t think twice before booking an Uber, desperate to get home and unwind. The moment I stepped through the door, relief washed over me.

I headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water work out the tension in my muscles. By the time I emerged, wrapped in soft pajamas, I already felt a little lighter. With a cup of chamomile tea in hand, I curled up on the couch, pressing a heating pad to my stomach. The soothing warmth dulled the lingering ache, and for the first time all day, I let myself exhale.

The pain in my lower abdomen intensified, twisting into a relentless ache that made it hard to focus. I tried watching a romcom, but the words blurred and my head pounded even harder. The nausea returned, stronger than before, and I barely made it to the bathroom in time. I retched over the toilet, shaky and weak, then collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down my face.

My body felt like it was turning against me, the physical pain merging with the weight of the day’s exhaustion. I wanted to curl up and disappear, but all I could do was lie there, silent tears slipping down my cheeks.

My phone rang, startling me. I fumbled for it, hoping the sound wouldn’t trigger another bout of nausea.

Seeing Mikkel’s name on the screen, I swiped to answer, my voice trembling as I spoke, “H-Hello?”

“Baby.” His voice was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to how I felt. “Wait, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

His concern broke through the fog of pain, and I burst into tears again. “No, I’m not okay,” I managed between sobs. “My period came, and the pain is unbearable. I was planning to wash my hair, but now I can’t even move without feeling like I’m dying.”

“Just hang on a bit more, okay?” he whispered. “I’m on my way.”

His words were a remedy, soothing some of the chaos inside me. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

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