Page 22 of Stevie
CHAPTER NINE
God, I’m in so much pain.
My body hurts so badly. I’m sick and weak and can barely move out of my bed. It’s hard not to be bitter when this happens. I was so happy, feeling so good for a few days, and here we are. I’m supposed to return to work tomorrow, and now I can’t move. Not to mention, last night, I got text messages from him.
Looking at my phone, I stare at the text messages again.
Unknown: Puppet
Unknown: Puppet, I know you ain’t out there avoiding my texts.
Unknown: You will answer when I call you. You have caused quite a storm for me, now you best clean it up. You can either fix this or I’ll come there and help you fix it.
The light tap on the door pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Alright, Peaches,” his voice is calm, but also holds no playfulness. “Time for proof of life. You gotta open the door.”
“Brooks,” I groan as I weakly get up from the bed. “I’m obviously alive. You can hear me talking.”
“If I can’t see it, I don’t believe it.” His voice calls from the other side of the door while I unlock it and rip it open.
“Then explain oxygen,” I grunt in annoyance. Brooks smirks, and his eyes shift from me to the room before his face drops.
“Oh, fuck. Baby,” he breathes, and I turn to follow his gaze.Oh, fuckis right. He looks from my bloody sheets to my shorts, and humiliation fills me as I shove past him and run into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and turning the shower on. God damn it! How had I not noticed?
“Fuck, that’s a lot.” I groan, looking at my blood-soaked shorts and thighs. I want to cry, even though I know that after this surgery, I shouldn’t have to deal with this again; it doesn’t bring me peace right now.
Stepping into the shower, I pull the head out of the holder and start rinsing myself off while holding back my tears. I hurt, I’m bleeding heavily, I’m stuck in this house with a man that I have the weirdest situationship with, I’m being harassed on the internet for speaking the truth, my ex is texting me, and now I’m going to have to replace Brooks’ sheets and possibly mattress.
After a longer-than-necessary shower, I dry off and grab a pair of panties from the towel closet. I’ve been dealing with this long enough to know that the best place to keep underwear is in the bathroom. Once I have my pads secure and my underwear up, I wrap my towel around my front and make a beeline for my room, running straight into Brooks’ massive back.
“Fuck!” He curses as he whips around to grab me, and in the process, he grabs the towel that is already doing a shit job covering me. It rips from my body as I stumble backward and bump against the wall.
We stand there, completely unmoving. Him with eyes wide, mouth open, and towel tight in his hand. Me with similar eyes, a red face, and my tits on full display, along with my large black high-waisted underwear that had a clear outline of the massive postpartum pad I have on.
“I,” he coughs as he looks up at the ceiling and reaches his hand out, which has a death grip on the towel. “Stevie, I am so sorry.” He whispers, and I snatch the towel to cover myself before storming to the closet. I grab a long-sleeved shirt and pajama pants and slip them on before turning around to see him still staring at the wall.
“I’m dressed. You can leave now.” I state, turning to take the sheets off the bed. “What the hell?” The sheets are clean and new. Turning to Brooks, I see him rubbing the back of his neck.
“I changed them. Do you need a heating pad or anything?”
“I… no. Is the bed ruined? I’ll replace the sheets and the mattress if–”
“No,” he waves his hand. “I cleaned it up, no big deal.” No big deal? It is a big deal, a huge deal. My Endometriosis and Uterine fibroids make my flow horrible. It’s one thing to expect a man to be cool when you’re on your period because we’re adults, and it’s a normal function. It’s quite another to expect them to be okay with a murder scene going on down there. Not to mention the bloating, the depression, me having to lie in bed, dirtying sheets. So yeah, it’s a huge deal. It’s a huge deal, and I don’t want it to be.
“Hey!” Brooks’ panicked voice causes me to look up at him. “Why are you crying?” Crying? Reaching my face, I feel the tears coating my cheeks.God damn it! Not again!I’ve been crying so much lately, and it’s starting to piss me off.
“S-sorry,” I whisper, rubbing my face on my sleeve. “It’s just… ugh…” I growl, trying to mask the sob. “I really appreciate you not making this a big thing. Though, I guess now I am making it a big thing.” I sniffle as I watch Brooks. He looks conflicted. His brows are pulling together, his eyes darting all over me while his hands clench and unclench at his sides.
“What can I do to help?” Brooks asks. “How can I make you comfortable until your surgery?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I laugh nervously as Brooks’ face becomes serious.
“I want to. I don’t want you in pain. And I’m pissed off about you crying over the bed. I don’t know who made you feel like bleeding is so horrible, but if I find out, they’re dead.”
“Brooks,” I whisper softly, feeling too overwhelmed by his kindness. “Why are you doing this? It’s not your job.”
“Because I like you, Peaches, and I will continue to do nice things for you like I have been, and you can continue to hate me. That’s fine, but I’m not stopping.”
