Page 21 of Brood
“Yes,” he mutters. “There.”
I rub the stuff on his skin and keep rubbing until it’s been fully absorbed. Then I put some more on my hand and rub that in too, slower and harder, kneading the muscles there.
Will’s heavy breathing is the only thing breaking the silence of the room. His body feels tense. So does his spirit.
I have no idea what he’s thinking.
When I’ve finished with the second dollop, I’m shaking and jittery again, so I step back. “There. Hopefully that will help.” I carefully set the tube on his nightstand.
He hasn’t moved. Not at all. Except for his eyes, which have shot up to my face and then dropped again. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Trying to shake off the weird mood, I glance at the clock. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen soon, but I can put more on for you tonight if you want.”
He mumbles something in response, but it doesn’t consist of any real words.
* * *
Something has changed that afternoon when I arrive for my four-o’clock shift.
Monica still glares at me with the same disapproval and impatience, but she doesn’t criticize or correct me at all. Not when I add different herbs into the dinner stew, and not when I put balsamic vinegar on the strawberries because they’re so dry and flavorless.
I’m not the only one to notice it. Bella comes over at one point and asks in a whisper what I did to get her off my back.
I didn’t do anything. She still obviously doesn’t like me or approve of the work I do. But she doesn’t say a single negative word to me the entire shift.
She also doesn’t say a positive word, but not in my wildest dreams would I expect that.
I sit down for dinner at my normal table, both confused and relieved. Bella and I hash out some theories, but we have no answers for the change.
A couple of times, when I glance over to Will’s table, I catch him watching me. He’s as stern and unrevealing as ever, but it feels like he’s searching for something in my face.
It would be nice to have a spouse willing to talk to me, but that’s evidently not in my future. Hopefully he doesn’t think I’m doing something wrong.
I don’t think I could handle that today.
* * *
After dinner, I’m more exhausted than ever. I return to our room and go to the bathroom.
I’m sitting on the toilet when I discover that my period has started.
I stare at the blood staining the white fabric of my underwear for a long time.
My eyes blur. My body shudders. Tears spill from my eyes.
No wonder I’ve been so emotional. And felt so tired and heavy. It’s not because I’m pregnant.
It’s because I’m not.
I lean over and cry silently into my hands for a few minutes. Then I pull myself together enough to get my menstrual cup, clean between my legs, and insert it.
I stare at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. I’m paler than usual. And my brown eyes are oddly dark. My hair is messy, large sections having slipped out of my braid. I didn’t change the lighting color to gold the way I usually do, so the whiteness of my hair looks startling against my skin and eyes, despite the fact that I’ve had this same coloring since birth.
My nose is small, and my lips are wide. They’re normally rosy, but they look pale pink today.
This is me. The same Cadence I’ve always been.
But it feels like I’m staring at a stranger.
