Page 45 of Clashing
“Real men buy tampons and chocolate? Is that what else is in the bag?”
I tossed her said bag. “Obviously.”
“That’s so sweet.” She peeked inside. “How’d you know what kind of tampons I use?”
“Don’t read into it. I was a dick to you earlier. I’m making up for it. And there was a box in your bathroom.”
“It’s still sweet.” She lowered the bag to the ground, then hissed and flattened her palm over the heating pad.
“Are you done throwing up?”
“I think so.”
“Did you take something for the pain?”
“You’re being a real mother, you know that?”
“I don’t see the point in letting yourself be in pain.”
“This is my pain on painkillers, Ryker.” She sighed. “This is my normal. PMDD is like PMS but a million times worse. Endometriosis is when the tissue that should shed every month grows where it isn’t supposed to and more than it’s supposed to. And PCOS means I get cysts on my ovaries.”
“Sounds like something out of a horror movie.” My lips twisted downward. “What happens to the cysts?”
“If I’m lucky, they dissolve. If I’m not, they burst, and it hurts like a motherfucker.”
“They burst?” My eyes bugged. “Insideyou?”
“No, I give birth to them, and they burst afterward.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, they burst inside me. That’s why it hurts so much.”
“Is that what happened this time?”
“No.” She adjusted, rotating her hips and wincing as she pulled her knees up. “That happens when I ovulate. You know, so the pain is nice and spread out over the whole month.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
“Yep. The extra pain right now is the endometriosis. Fingers crossed it doesn’t keep moving up into my stomach and require surgery.”
I eyed her stomach warily. I liked her body, but I didn’t care for the way it seemed to attack her. “It’s growing into your stomach?”
“Mm-hmm. In the intestines already.”
“Why don’t they take it out?”
“There’s no point unless it threatens my life. My mom had it too, and she did the surgery three times. All three times, it started growing again before she recovered. Unless you get a surgeon that actually knows what they’re doing, it’s not worth it.”
“Why isn’t there a standard?”
“Why, indeed.”
I rubbed gentle circles against her leg. “I’m sorry, sugar. That sounds shitty.”
“It is shitty.” She inhaled sharply, her face contorting in pain. Tucking a pillow between her knees, she rolled onto her side. “You don’t have to stay. Apology accepted.”
“What’re you going to do?”
She gestured to the TV. “This.”
“Watching this boring station is what you’re going to do all night?”
