Page 37 of Pucking With My Head

“My vision is a bit sensitive,” she admitted.

“Nausea?”

“A little. This happens every now and then, but it goes away after I sleep it off for a day or two.”

That made alarm bells ring in my head. How long had she been having these episodes? Why wasn’t she taking care of herself? “Beth, that’s not a normal headache.”

She shrugged. “It’s been happening for a while now—I just sleep it off.”

“Have you been to a doctor?” Anger was starting to swirl in my gut, and it was taking everything in me to keep it restrained.

“Nope.”

Anger simmered in my stomach at her cavalier attitude. “You need to see a doctor! These symptoms aren’t normal.”

“Like I can afford to go to a doctor right now. I’m working two jobs just to be able to afford to go to class,” she pointed out. “Look, I’ll be fine. I just need to get home.” As she spoke, her nose scrunched, and it was clear she was struggling to keep focused.

“Not happening,” I said, gently taking her by the arm and pulling her in the direction of the stairs.

She frowned and followed me. Her usual fight was missing, which was a surefire sign that she really wasn’t feeling well.

“It’s just a headache,” she muttered.

“It’s a migraine, at least. You mentioned that these last a few days—can you get out of bed during these episodes?”

“Not much, but I can handle a few days in bed.” She snorted lightly at the implication of her own words.

There was no way I was going to let my mind go there when she was sick.

The guest bedroom was decorated in cool green tones with dark wooden furniture. We didn’t use the room often, as we kept to ourselves and rarely had guests, but the cleaning lady kept it in good condition with clean sheets.

“Lie down,” I instructed, pulling back the duvet.

Bethany frowned at me. It was almost adorable how confused and belligerent she looked. “Just for a few minutes…if you’re sure.”

“In,” I said firmly.

“Bossy,” she grumbled, crawling under the covers.

She didn’t know the half of it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watched her burrow into the covers, groaning as she did. Pulling out my phone, I shot off a text in the group chat.

Gideon:

What do you recommend for migraines?

Jensen:

Good painkillers, a dark room, and plenty of rest and fluids. Why? You not feeling great?

Gideon:

It’s not me. It’s Bethany. I came home to relieve her, and she was wincing at the light and claimed she just had a headache. But she’s also nauseated and struggling to stay standing up.

Jensen:

Fuck, that does sound like a bad migraine. Has she had them before?

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