Page 63 of Fumbled Into Love

“Even when it’s hard with you, it’s a little bit better”

Little Bit Better – Caleb Hearn, ROSIE

Deon

“Nathalie?” I scour the house, searching for any sign of my fake girlfriend.

For the first time in my life, I was annoyed to leave for an away game because it meant time away from her. Her bag is by the door, and a pair of light blue Converse lay forgotten by the kitchen barstools, the only evidence Nathalie is home.

A pit in my stomach grows as the silence creeps in.

Where is she?

My tone takes on a tinge of panic.

“Nathalie? Where are you?”

I’m flying into the guest room to find her when I hear cursing that would make a sailor blush from the laundry room. I leanagainst the doorframe, watching Nathalie crumble on the floor, frantically scrubbing at the sheets.

“Fucking hell,” she mutters, throwing down the sheets and releasing a groan as she flops on her back.

Glassy, bloodshot eyes meet mine.

“What’s wrong?”

Nathalie bursts into tears, fat droplets trailing down her cheeks and onto the floor as she spreads out on the tile.

“I’m a troll,” she wails, arm flying over her face. “And I ruined your expensive sheets.” Her breathing is erratic as she points a solitary finger to the pile of sheets. “They’re covered in my uterine blood.”

“Yourwhat?” I crouch down, gently peeling back her arm. Her lower lip trembles, and I drop to the ground, legs crossed. “Come here.”

She hesitates, likely thinking of the no-touching rule, but after a moment of deliberation, Nathalie crawls into my lap, head falling into the crook of my neck.

“Today is a bad day,” she whispers, and my heart clenches.

“Can I make it better?” Her head lifts in mild shock, and I rub soothing circles against her back. If she’s having a bad day, I’ll do what I can to make it better.

She bites her lip.

“This is helping,” she admits.

“What?”

“Being with you.”

I nearly crumble under the weight of her confession. She has no idea how her words affect me, how, for so long, I wanted to be someone who made a bad day just a bit better.

I have no response to her words, only the erratic beating in my chest.

“I-I need to go to the store.”

“I can go for you,” I offer. She’s not in the headspace to enter society, and going to the store is a simple enough task.

If it can take away a fraction of her stress, I’ll do it, whatever it is.

Nathalie sighs and shifts away.

“I have to buy pads. It’s okay. I can go.”

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