Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eleanor
If God is a woman, she has some explaining to do.
T he next few days we fall into a comfortable routine of research, food, and endless one-sided flirty banter as Hunter tries to coax me out of the apartment and into town. Apparently, it’s not healthy to spend all my time indoors. I beg to differ. Hiding out seems ridiculous if I’m flouncing around the town. I also don’t have the energy to spare for whatever games are required to play Hunter’s girlfriend. It’s more than likely related to the period from Hell that turned up a few days back. At least when I bleed this heavy and severe, my period’s generally short-lived; like my body is trying to hurry the process along so we can get back to feeling normal.
My clothing and toiletries arrived in the nick of time, otherwise I would have needed to either send Hunter out for tampons or venture forth and get them myself. Neither option sounded appealing, but I’m restless in bed as pain seizes my stomach and radiates to my back. Laughing at the timing of the universe, I curl into my pillow and hiss as I wonder, not for the first time, if women really are punished for being the originator of sin by withstanding torture once a month.
I roll over, curling tighter into myself, silently begging the torment to disappear. I don’t have my prescription meds to help ease the flow or the painkillers I take when the over-the-counter stuff doesn’t work, and I regret not making room in my suitcase for the two small bottles I’m now nearly manic for. A tortured breath rattles through my clenched teeth. It will pass. It always does. It’s funny how I’ve barely flinched through broken bones, yet period pains cripple me. The human body will never make sense to me.
I have my headphones in, trying to listen to a podcast about aliens and the government to distract myself. I’d rather be locked in my room, searching for a string I haven’t pulled yet. I reconstructed my research on a piece of software law enforcement agencies use, and while I can’t stare at it for hours on end waiting for the connections to make themselves known, it is at least safe and transportable.
A particularly violent cramp seizes my body, and I push my face into the pillow and breathe through it. Damn, that was brutal. They come in short waves, and I lose track of time as the apartment grows quieter, then silent, indicating Hunter and Charlie have done their ten p.m. toilet trip and are now both in bed. I like that they have a routine I can predict; it helps settle my mind when my world is so chaotic.
I didn’t respond to Christopher’s email, but I received two more, taunting me with details he shouldn’t know. He must have gleaned them from his exploration of my apartment. Panic replaces the pain throughout my abdomen, stealing my breath and making me nearly cry out. There’s nothing there linking me to Texas, because until Hunter picked me up on the back of his motorcycle, there was no link to Texas.
Jonathan is suspiciously quiet, and the retreat has been postponed with no public explanation. He has never, in all the years I’ve been tracking him, postponed one. There’s a part of me hoping he’s terminally ill. But I know the universe spends more time kissing his backside than kicking it, which means something else made him change his plans. My brother? Unlikely. Maybe there’s a revolt at the compound—wherever that is. That’s simply hopeful thinking. None of those explanations seem probable.
Whatever is happening, it has to wait. I can take a moment to manage my pain since my brain isn’t putting anything spectacular together right now, not when it feels like fire is burning my spine.
The cramps ease up a little. I must have passed out for a short spell, because when I come to, the podcast is on episode five and last I remember, it was on number two. They are fifty minutes long, so I must have slept for at least an hour and forty minutes. A groan works its way up my throat as I move onto my back and another wave of agony rips through me. Fuck.
There’s a hot rush of wetness between my thighs, and my body freezes. No, no, no! I launch out of the bed and stare in horror at the gleaming white sheets that now look like a murder was committed. Great. Well done, Mother Nature. Fucking perfect.
I release a long-suffering sigh as I strip the comforter off and stare in horror at the red streaks marking it. I must have got it twisted between my legs. Wonderful. Grumbling under my breath and hoping I see the day we have a medical breakthrough where we can choose when we have our periods, I swipe all the bedding off and gaze at the mattress. You have got to be kidding me. Was I murdered and this is actually my ghost self looking at the crime scene? I toss the soiled sheets towards the door, glaring at the mess. Also, who doesn’t use mattress protectors?
I pull open drawers, hoping like hell Hunter keeps his spare bedding in here. Empty. Empty. Dog toys. Blankets. Empty. No such luck. There’s nowhere in his living area one would store it either. I glance at the closed door between us. It’s either in his bedroom or the shared closet.
Wetness dribbles down my thighs, reminding me I’ve been taking care of the result but not the cause.
I grab the tampons and make it through the closet, in the dark, and toddle into the shared bathroom. I blink at myself in the mirror. I look like a ghost, my face gaunt and pale, almost skeletal in the harsh light. Another wave steals my breath, reminding me dead people don’t feel pain.
Turning on the shower, I strip out of my sleep shorts and T-shirt before diving under the spray. The heat bathes my skin as the water turns red and runs down the drain. I unhook the shower head and press it against my stomach, the heat fucking glorious as the muscles around my torso start to loosen. I might stay here like this until my period fucks back off to Hell. I can afford the water bill. Hunter can deal.
Leaning my head against the tiles, a whimper breaks free as more cramps seize my body. I curse myself again for putting pleasure above practicality. It wouldn’t have killed me to leave a damn vibrator behind and swap it for crucial meds. Stupid, Ellie, so very fucking stupid.
I’m turning wrinkly, but it still takes me another ten minutes to finally turn off the shower and step out. I replace my tampon and dry off before tucking the towel around my body. Thick steam coats the room, and as I pull open the door, it billows out into the dark and surrounds the six foot human shape in front of me. I jump and squeak. Aliens! My first thought settles as a familiar scent wraps around me. Damn podcast.
“You okay?” Hunter asks. The owner of this home makes far more sense than extraterrestrial life hovering beyond the door.
“I’m fine.”
“You were in there a long time.”
“I’ll send you the money to cover it.”
He snorts, crossing his arms. “I can manage the water bill, Eleanor. But you take sixteen minute showers, not sixty.”
I was in there an hour? I glance at my pink skin. Makes sense.
“I was dirty.”
The steam finally clears enough for me to take in his ridiculous body, naked bar his boxer briefs. Of course he is. His lips twitch. “Too much play time?”
“What?”
“You said you were dirty, and it’s the middle of the night...”
I grimace. I have never felt less sexy. Self care of that nature is not happening right now. I need fresh sheets and a Hershey’s bar.
“Where do you keep your clean sheets?”
His eyebrows rise. “Damn, woman, how dirty did you get?”
I can arrange to get a new mattress tomorrow by claiming it’s because I can’t sleep, but the sheets will be a harder thing to hide.
“Yes, that’s right. I got super into it and soiled the sheets.”
He screws his face up. “Don’t say soiled.”
I snort then grimace as more pain grips me in a vice. I need to?—
His gaze flicks down and what I thought was likely excess water, clearly isn’t.
His eyes widen. “You’re bleeding.”
“Gold star.”
I spin on my heel, slam the door in his face, and clean myself up before replacing the tampon. Again.
I swing the door open, expecting him to have run a mile by now. That’s what men do, right? They see a woman in one of her most natural states and give her a wide berth like she’s carrying a disease. But this is Hunter. And what he should do is rarely what he actually does.
He hasn’t budged an inch. “What do you need?” he asks, his brows drawn low on his forehead. The question almost makes me choke. Fucking hormones.
“Clean sheets.”
He runs a hand over his hair. “Melissa has the spare bedding. She sent it out to get cleaned.”
Oh. Well, fuck. “That’s okay. I can sleep on a few towels or the couch, if you’re comfortable with that.” I move to the side and skirt around him, since he’s not budging.
“No.”
I reach the bedroom doorway, my hand gripping the frame as I breathe through another cramp. This is not good. Maybe I should sleep in the shower.
“Eleanor, stop.”
“Stop what?” I grit out. “I’m not even moving right now.”
“I can’t give you clean sheets, and you aren’t sleeping on a damn towel or my couch. So, what else do you need?”
“Should I sleep on the floor?” I snap, upset but understanding why he’d keep me off the couch. My legs wobble as pain shoots along my spine, my vision spotting as I’m about to go down. Warm arms wrap around me, and Hunter cradles me against his chest as he carries me through the dressing area and into his bedroom. “I don’t know what you think I need, but none of it exists in your sex bed.”
“Sex bed?” He sounds confused but doesn’t turn around and march me somewhere I can’t permanently stain.
“The mirror,” I remind him, like he doesn’t look up every night.
He snorts and gently lays me on said bed. I blink up at him. “Stay here. I’ll grab you something to wear.”
I tilt my head at myself in the mirror, still looking ghostly and weak. Like I’m in any fit state to move right now. He disappears into the closet and returns with a pair of boxer briefs and a faded blue T-shirt. They seem like the perfect combination of clothing right now, and I have no idea why.
“Do you need help putting them on?” he teases with his trademark cocky smirk.
“I can manage.”
“What painkillers have you taken?”
“Tylenol.”
His brows descend his forehead again. “That’s it?”
“Yup.”
“You normally take stronger stuff?”
“Naproxen, but I forgot to bring it.”
“I have some.”
I squint. “Why?”
“Old shoulder injury. Acts up sometimes.”
He disappears out of the room, giving me a chance to replace my towel with his clothes. They smell heavenly—a combination of fresh washing powder and something entirely Hunter. My hormone-riddled brain is apparently making me crazy.
He reappears with a steaming cup in one hand and a glass of water with a box of familiar pills in the other. I take the meds with the water, then sniff the cup.
“It’s chamomile.”
I hum in the back of my throat as I take a sip. It’s actually nice, and the heat helps loosen up the tight muscles from inside. I take a minute to drink half the cup before another wave of cramps hits, and he plucks the cup from my hands before I scald myself.
“Lie back.”
I blink at him as he climbs into the other side of the bed. “I’m not staying here with you.”
“While I can assure you a little blood doesn’t bother me, the first time we fuck won’t be while you are crying out in pain and clutching the sheets waiting for cramps to pass. I have no motivation other than to go to sleep. So lie back, Eleanor, close your eyes, and wait for the meds to kick in.”
Sitting frozen at the edge of the bed, I mumble, “I might leak again.”
“It’s sheets, Eleanor. Don’t panic about it.”
But I do. We were punished if we had accidents and were taught men didn’t like knowing women are messy creatures. It’s illogical, I know, but I’ve never been able to shake it.
He slides in beside me and pulls me down next to him, pulling the covers up and over us both. “No funny business,” I warn him.
He chuckles in the dark, his breath moving the stray hairs on my forehead. “You are safe with me, trouble. It’s my virtue I should be worried about. Did you know orgasms are natural pain relievers?”
“I do.”
“Whatever you need to do to manage it, I’m here for. No judgment.”
“It looks like Armageddon right now, and you’re still flirting with me?”
He sighs. “You’re female; it’s natural. It’s not like you’re sprouting alien tentacles and declaring you’re going to possess my mind.”
A small smile softens my face. “That’s a lot of clashing cultures. Aliens. Sea creatures. Demons. My, don’t you have an active imagin?—”
I groan low and roll onto my side, unable to handle Hunter seeing me at my weakest.
“Where does it hurt?”
I pant through the pain, gritting out, “My stomach and back.”
“What helps?”
“Heat.”
“That’s why you were reenacting the Titanic in my shower. I don’t have a hot water bottle, but I will grab one tomorrow.”
“I should be over the worst of it by then.”
His warm hand lands on my back and rather than shy away from his touch, I groan low as he rubs firm circles with his thumb. “How does that feel?”
“Good,” I choke.
“I’m going to try something. Don’t freak out.”
Who says that and expects you not to freak out? Although, it would take a miracle for me to move away from his magic hand.
“Charlie, up.”
He is so quiet I’d forgotten he’s even in here. A little jingle precedes the boisterous pooch launching onto the bed. I don’t have the mental energy for him right now. What is Hunter thinking? I’m not about to share all my feelings with Charlie. He knows this, right?
Hunter’s hand leaves my back, and he snaps his fingers in front of me. “Down.”
The normally crazy dog treads lightly up the mattress, a shadow in the dark room as he spins in a circle, then butts right up to my stomach before curling into a ball. My muscles ache from how tense they are, but as Charlie leans into me, I can’t help but gasp. He’s like a little furnace.
“How does he know?” I finally whisper as Hunter’s hand resumes its perfect pressure on my spine.
“Emotionally, they are extremely intelligent. They can sense pain. He’s always been able to figure out how to offer comfort.”
A hot kernel of jealousy unfurls at the idea of Charlie offering comfort to another hormonal woman. But I stay silent and still. Jealousy indicates I want to be that woman, but I can’t be. I’m not what Hunter needs nor wants—not really. He’s got his whole life ahead of him. I have as long as my luck holds out, and I refuse to let anyone else become collateral damage for my survival. My eyes flutter closed as I’m plastered between two males who want to take my pain away. But some pain is ingrained. It’s what keeps me from falling apart as I face my fears and keep my vow to destroy Jonathan. Revenge won’t be sweet, but it will be brutal, and it will be at my hand.
However, right here and now, in this moment, I can let myself dream of a future where I lie in the arms of a man seeking to make my life brighter than I’ve ever experienced. It’s full of wonder, hope, and fulfillment. But it’s a dream, and everyone knows dreams don’t come true.