Ice cream

Amy and I are eating dinner in front of the television when a message from David lights up my phone.

David :

So… you were browsing the internet instead of paying attention to my lecture?

I can't help but smile. That grin alone gives away the sender, and Amy, naturally, doesn't miss a beat.

She narrows her eyes at me, and mocks being scandalized. "You two are so something. Come on, when are you going to make it official?"

I roll my eyes and type back a quick reply.

Deirdre :

Didn't stop me from getting the best grade, did it?

Amy isn't satisfied. She keeps digging like a dog with a bone. She wants us to move forward, to label this thing between me and David. The idea of me and my dead things moving out is a delight for her. But that decision isn't hers to make. It's ours. 

I shrug. "We haven't really talked about it. But honestly? Not feeling like I'm being stalked anymore... It helps me enjoy the small moments. I'm not rushing anything."

Amy takes my phone and scrolls through the news while I finish my plate. I'm not too bothered, nothing groundbreaking is happening in the world anyway. No grotesque murders, no kidnappings, nothing sensational. It's like the universe, trying to compensate for all the chaos we've lived through recently, has decided to grant us one week of perfect peace.

And yet, despite the absence of disaster, I still want to cry. Because I want ice cream ?

That's it. That's my disaster of the week: my goddamn periods.

The cramps are kicking in like clockwork, the world feels just slightly too loud, and my emotions are dangling on the edge of absurd.

Amy glances at me and winces. "Go to bed. You look like a zombie that just crawled out of the sewer."

Charming… But she's not wrong.

I nod, retrieve my phone from her hands, and retreat to my room, secretly hoping David might send me something sweet. Something that'll make me feel a little less miserable. Maybe he'll magically guess how much I need comfort right now.

Once inside, I strip off every layer of clothing. Nothing feels right on my skin. Every fabric itches, presses, clings too tightly. I pull my faux fur blanket around me like a cocoon and curl up on the bed, trying to will the cramps away.

Even with the oxycodone dulling the sharpest pain, the ache still lingers. Deep. Stubborn.

Eventually, I drift off.

Wrapped in fur and frustration.

What a fantastic weekend this is turning out to be.