Chapter 13
thirteen
Fuck You, Jerry
An afternoon of laundry and cat litter later, I wimp out on having another protein bar and order a veggie supreme pizza for dinner instead.
I spend the night agonizing over my plans, and how behind they are.
“Microwave,” “Fridge,” and “Stove” were not as high up on my list as they needed to be, so I take to the internet to find a local outlet.
The pizza is fine, I guess, and everything at the appliance store is either crazy expensive or used and twenty years old. Dented, dinged, dirty…ugh.
I’m never going to get this place livable.
Wait a second…
That seems a little extreme.
I thumb over to my cycle tracker and yep, there it is. I’m six days out from my period.
Wonderful.
I take a long, deep breath, and begin rationalizing.
It’s not impossible. It’s not going to be like this forever. Just like this feeling, the state of this place is temporary. It’s going to get better.
But unlike this feeling, this place will only get better if I do something. And I’m not doing enough. I should’ve prepared better. I should’ve known how much work this was going to be. I’m such an idiot.
No. No. No.
I am following my dream. Dreams are hard, and they require work. I’m putting in the work. I’m doing a good job. The water is running. There’s power. The trash was removed. I found a laundromat.
I’m.
Doing.
A good.
Job.
“Fuck you, Jerry,” I mutter, eating another bite of the pizza that’s probably better than just fine.
“Jerry?” Bastian asks from his meditation circle.
“Nothing,” I mumble, swapping back over to the shopping list.
Bastian appears beside me. “Who is Jerry?”
“None of your business.”
“Everything that happens in my hoard is my business,” he retorts.
I turn to say something shitty back, but he puts his finger to my lips as he scowls.
“What the hell,” I say, slapping his arm away.
He leans in and sniffs at me.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I take a step back.
“You smell,” he says.
I scoff. “Awesome, thanks for letting me know.”
He leans in again and I push him, my ire spiking. “Stop it.”
“You’re sick,” he says, his brow wrinkled. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not sick,” I grouse, taking my pizza over to my blow-up mattress.
He follows me. “I can sense it. This morning you permeated self-loathing, and your scent had shifted from dew and rosehip to bitter earth.”
“Dew and rosehip?” I scoff, my anger close to boiling. “I have cucumber melon everything, so your sense of smell is terrible.”
“Is this Jerry responsible?” he asks, his voice carrying the hint of a threat.
“Oh my god,” I groan.
“Tell me who’s done this to you,” he demands and suddenly…
It’s too hilarious. I can’t help but laugh.
He’s trying to protect me from my own shitty body and premenstrual dysphoria disorder. It’s just the most ridiculous, adorable, himbo kind of thing.
“What is this?” Bastian asks, crossing his arms.
I wave a slice of pizza at him as I cover my mouth, trying to stop the fit of irrational joy.
“Tell me.”
He huffs, his papery wings flaring wide as if I’d be intimidated into answering him. It only makes me laugh harder. Tears blur my eyes and stain my cheeks but the joy in my stomach peels the despair from my ribs one repressed snicker at a time.
Bastian smirks. “Why is it funny?”
I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, then clear my throat. “Jerry is what I call the shitty alter ego that tries to hijack my brain every month.”
The mirth leaves his face. “Jerry has cursed you?”
A guffaw explodes out of me in a huge raspberry.
“This is a serious matter!” Bastian declares. “If you’re cursed, we must break it!”
I get myself back under control and start again. “The only curse I’m afflicted with is womanhood.”
His head cocks hard to the side. “You were previously a man named Jerry?”
Oh god.
I can tell it’s making him angry, but I just can’t stop laughing.
“No,” I barely manage through a giggle.
“Pull yourself together and tell me,” he demands.
“It’s my regular cycle. It happens every month.”
“Jerry controls your mind every month?”
I really don’t want to have the talk with this dragon, but…
I set the slice of pizza on my paper plate and steeple my fingers. “Do you understand what a menstrual cycle is?”
“Of course, I’ve read about it. You…bleed,” he says, gesturing to my groin.
I snort. “It’s a lot more than that, but yes. Before that part though, my hormones shift, and it makes me really unhappy. So unhappy that sometimes—”
I want to die.
I look down, shame spiraling through my gut at the idea.
“Just stop thinking about it.”
“Why can’t you be happy, Cait?”
“Now you’re just looking for attention.”
Bastian drops to a knee, capturing my gaze. “What is it?”
I shake my head. “I have bad thoughts around this time, and so to separate myself from those thoughts, I call them Jerry Thoughts. They’re not me, or my thoughts, so I can say, ‘Fuck you, Jerry,’ when I have shitty thoughts, and it reminds me that they’re not mine. It makes things a little easier.”
He nods slowly. “So, if we can kill this Jerry, you’ll get better?”
I snort. “I wish that were possible. My doctor says I’m probably stuck with this until menopause—another ten to fifteen years to go.”
He grunts. “Is there nothing else to be done about it?”
“I have other systems in place to help manage it. Vitamins I take, and exercises I do, but sometimes it’s just not enough. I could always go on medication—”
“I have needs, Cait. If you won’t fuck me, I’ve gotta do something about it.”
My words fumble at the intrusive memory.
“Medication?” Bastian prompts.
“Drugs. Pills to try and help. But they all come with side effects. I’d rather manage the devil I know rather than be surprised by the one I don’t.”
He hums, his milky eyes tracing back and forth as if he’s reading, then he bobs his head.
“I understand.”
He rises, returns to his altar of books, and assumes his meditation pose.
Does he understand? Or does he think I’m crazy? Talking to a person that doesn’t exist because it makes me feel better sounds pretty crazy.
“Shut up, Jerry,” Bastian says.
I chuckle, and the threat of tears stings behind my eyes.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He dips his head, a nearly imperceptible gesture, as a silent smile creeps over his expression.
I sniffle back the unexpected sensation of gratitude so deep, I didn’t know I could feel it. To be seen, and not just understood, but accepted, by someone I’ve only just met…
Well.
Back to looking for appliances, I guess.