Page 33 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

“Don’t look so surprised. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to buy pads. I grew up with a mom and a sister, you know,” he says softly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Not a big deal.

He says it so nonchalant that I struggle to contain the well of emotion that threatens to spill over.

It may not seem like much to him, but it’s a huge deal to me. My ex would never have volunteered to do something like this. Chad was always squeamish about that stuff, thought it was gross when I would get my period. It got to a point that I’d just avoid him altogether on those days if I could.

“So, what do you need?”

“Oh. Um—it’s…” I try to think of a way to explain a menstrual disc to this man where I will still be able to look him in the eyes in the morning.

“How about this,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it before handing it to me.

“What’s this for?”

“Put your number in.” I take it adding my number to his contacts before I hand it back. He types something out before slipping it back in his pants.

“There. I just sent you a text, so you will have my number. Send me a picture of what it is you need, and I’ll get it for you,” he says, turning me around and guiding me to my room. “In the meantime, please lay down or take a bath. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

After he leaves, I send him a message with pictures included of what I need and decide that a shower sounds nice. I stand with the hot water beating on my back for so long, it starts to run cold.

When I finally get out, I see Archer is back, and there are several bags piled in the middle of the bed. What is all this?

I dig through them to find that not only did he bring me exactly what I asked for, but also an industrial size bottle of ibuprofen and bags of snacks, both sweet and salty.

My heart skips at his thoughtfulness. I know it might not seem like much to him, but it’s a huge deal to me.

When you grow up with someone who suffers with a chronic illness, you tend to minimize your own needs. Your problems aren’t as big, so they are not as important. I know that’s not true, but that’s how it feels sometimes. You spend so much time and energy worrying and looking after others, you forget to take care of yourself.

I must say, it’s really nice to have someone care formefor once.

Immediately, I feel guilty for even thinking that. Of course, Jane cares for me, and I know she did the best she could. But I can’t say there weren’t times when I needed someone, and it felt like no one was there to help me.

Just as I’m crawling underneath the covers, I hear a soft knock at my door.

“Come in,” I call, and Archer pushes it open, a large glass of water in one hand and what looks like a heating pad in the other. He walks over to the bed, handing me the glass before opening the bottle and shaking out some ibuprofen for me to take.

“Thank you,” I say as I swallow them down.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“A little better. The shower helped. It’s mostly just my back now.”

“Roll over,” he tells me, and I’m not sure where this is going, but I do as he says.

He plugs in the heating pad, positioning it underneath me so that it rests just under my lower stomach. His hands skim around my waist, gripping the hem of my t-shirt in order to lift it up. “This ok?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pulls my shirt up to just below my breasts, exposing my bare back.

I lay in anticipation, waiting to see what he’s going to do, when I feel his big, warm palms on my skin as he starts to massage my back.

His firm touch feels like heaven as he rubs and kneads at my aching muscles. When he hits a particularly tense spot, I can no longer stifle the moans that escape.

“Good?” he asks, his voice thick like gravel. I am so blissed out by his magic hands all I can manage is a nod in response.

I’m not sure how long he continues to rub my back like that, but it’s long enough for the pain meds to kick in and my lids to grow heavy. The cramps have now subsided, replaced by a low, thrumming pulse of desire.

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