Page 41 of Tormenting Me

After a while, Layne steps out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. “Do you want a pad or the disc?” I ask, holding up one of each. She grabs the disc and I leave the room to grab her some fresh clothes. She comes out and sits on the edge of the bed. Once I finish dressing her, I climb onto the bed behind her and dry her hair, comb it then braid it. I carefully assist her in getting into bed then I strip off my clothes, climbing in behind her, and pull her close to my chest.

“I love you, Wes.” She says, kissing my bare chest as she tucks her head down.

“And I love you, Ma Petite Mort.” More than you will ever know.

Chapter twenty-six

Layne

Thanksgiving Day

Do I want to get out of this bed? No, I don’t. Was I prepared for such an emotional response to getting my period? Fucking nope. Yet, here I am laying in bed, the sun already up. Wes said he’d bring me some food after letting his parents know I wasn’t feeling well.

I can feel the dark thoughts of my subconscious creeping in. You couldn’t even get pregnant. If you had stayed dead, you wouldn’t have to face this disappointment. As much as Wes tried to hide his disappointment, I knew he was. I could feel it.

I’m lost in my thoughts when a gentle rap on the door reverberates through the room, jolting me back to reality. Wes. With a creak, the door opens, and I shift my gaze towards it. Wes’s mom enters the room with a warm smile on her face. “Morning, Layne dear. Can I come in?”

I nod.

“Wes said you’re feeling under the weather. So I thought I’d pop in and check on ya.” Her voice is soothing, how I would expect a loving mother’s voice to be. I shift in the bed, feeling wetness in between my legs. Oh, God no. This cannot be happening. First, I break their plate and now I am going to ruin a set of their sheets. What a great impression you are leaving them with, Layne.

Wes’s mom approaches the bed and I try to hide my embarrassment, but it’s impossible to ignore the blood that now staining the sheets. I feel a wave of shame wash over me, as if my body is betraying me once again. I muster up a weak smile and apologize.

“Oh, I’m not sick, I–I got my period. I’m pretty sure I’ve just ruined your sheets. I am so sorry, Mrs. Larimore.” My gaze falls to the bedding, utterly embarrassed.

“Ma, I’m Ma dear. Mrs. Larimore is my mother-in-law. Oh, Layne, don’t worry about that,” Wes’s mom reassures me, her kindness radiating through her words. “Accidents happen, especially when it comes to our monthlies. Let me take care of it for ya.”

Her understanding and compassion bring tears to my eyes. It’s moments like these that remind me of the love and support I have in my life now, even when I feel at my lowest. Wes’s mom gently guides me out of bed into the bathroom. Blood trickles down my legs. I’ve never had my period start out this heavy, so this isn’t normal.

“Do you want me to get Wes?” she asks, taking in the state of me.

“No, I can manage. Thank’s, Ma.” I say, with another weak smile on my face. A cramp takes me by surprise, contorting my smile to a grimace. I strip from my pajamas and I can’t help but reflect on the emotional turmoil that is brewing inside of me. The disappointment of not getting pregnant, the weight of my self-doubt, it’s all becoming overwhelming. I need to cope with all of this somehow, without self-destructing.

Wes’s mom finishes changing the sheets and pops her head back in the bathroom. “Give me those, love, and I’ll toss them in the wash. Do you need some pain relievers?”

I nod, handing her my bloody clothes.

“I’ll have Wes bring some in with your food. Rest up, Layne. Take your time to heal, knowing that we’re here to support ya. If you still aren’t ready to be up for dinner, we’ll bring it to ya.”

I close my eyes and let the exhaustion wash over me. I feel a sense of gratitude for the love and understanding that surrounds me. I surrender to sleep, anticipating Wes’s return to the room.

I wake up to Wes coming into the room, carrying a tray of food. He looks at me with concern, his eyes filled with love. “How are you feeling, Ma Petite Mort?“ he asks, placing the tray at the foot of the bed.

I manage a weak smile, grateful for his presence. “I’m fine,” I reply, my voice still groggy from sleep. “Last night, I didn’t use the pad, which was a poor choice.”

“You chose poorly,” Wes says, imitating the Knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

God, my husband is a nerd.

Wes sits down on the edge of the bed and gently reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. “Seriously though, you’re okay,” he says softly. “I hated that look on your face last night. I don’t want to say the wrong thing here, but we’ll try again. If that’s what you want, baby. Or we don’t. If it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

An overwhelming wave of emotion hits me and tears well up in my eyes. “We can try again,” I whisper, reaching out to hold his hand. “I think I know what I want now. I’m still a little skeptical, but I know I want this with you.”

He squeezes my hand gently, his love and support radiating through his touch. “Okay, you’re the boss.”

I look over at the tray, nudging his arm. “So, what did you bring me?”

Wes turns to grab the tray, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Well, having watched you for three months prior to us getting together...”

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