Five
Jess
Dusting my hands on my apron I survey the absolute bombsite that is my kitchen. The room is teeny tiny and, as my dad would say, you couldn’t swing a cat. I’ve never tested the theory given I don’t condone animal cruelty, but I know it’s an accurate statement.
The bagel dough is resting, the bowl positioned on the windowsill to proof in the afternoon sunlight. I’ve got a tray of chocolate chip cookies on top of the stove and there’s enough dough left for another batch. I should be sitting at my computer working but I’m uncharacteristically restless. It’s been three days since my disastrous Sunday lunch and Jack has only messaged me a couple of times, both of which he was merely asking for dirty pictures to occupy himself at work. I didn’t humour him, too pissed off that he hadn’t even bothered to call me to check how I was feeling.
The guys, however, are a different story. Minxy has stayed on the phone with me every night while I fall asleep, only hanging up once he’s sure I’m out for the count. Mourning has been messaging every day to check in and tell me the latest gossip in the streaming community. Quietek made a point of sending out the hugest bunch of flowers yesterday to cheer me up. He’s never one for direct social interaction so the bouquet of heather, irises and thistles had been as close to a hug as I think I’ll ever get from him.
Although all symptoms haven’t quite disappeared, they’ve definitely lessened in severity. I stick a pod in my coffee machine and set my cup down beneath the spout before moving on to frothing some milk. I’m on a lot of meds to control the symptoms of my chronic illness: painkillers, antidepressants, anti-nausea meds. I was warned when I started the medications that they’d have an impact on my heat cycle and might even stop it altogether. Since the only thing I’ve had close to a heat was four years ago, short, and easily dealt with, I figured that it wasn’t for me. It was then when I realised I’m destined to be a barren spinster with one too many cats. Though I’m currently working on acquiring the cats.
I think that’s why I hold onto Jack so tightly. Just like most people on this planet, I don’t want to be alone. Still, it doesn’t take an expert to see that he’s not exactly the best.
With a quick stir, I gulp down a few mouthfuls of hot coffee, knocking back my pills with ease. The caramelly undertones of the coffee give way to the bitter taste of the medication where it lingers on my tongue.
I don’t care what anyone says, fibromyalgia teamed up with FND is no joke. Some days I’m crippled with pain, swollen joints and brain fog. Other days, like today, it’s like I’m living the dream in my little cottage near the beach. That is until a wave of pain hits me in the gut. The coffee cup I’m holding falls to the floor and smashes on the tile.
Doubling over, I hold onto the kitchen worktop for support. Suddenly the rays of sun streaming in through the window feel like they’re burning my skin. My clothes are too tight, too itchy. My thighs tremble as I clench them together, praying that this will pass as quickly as it appeared.
Oh God, the ache .
It’s nothing like my last heat, this isn’t small cramps and a mild fever, this is full-on touch me with a feather and I will buckle beneath its weight. I hold my stomach as I make my way through to my bedroom. If I can just get to my bed and bundle under the covers I might make it through this latest wave.
Bumping against the walls and feeling my way, it takes me what feels like an eternity to make it to my bed. I fumble to get my phone out of my apron pocket, hoping if I can catch Jack while he’s on his lunch he can come here and help me because fuck . This is too much.
I press call and toss the covers over my head, curling into a ball and revelling in the safety of being in a familiar place. The phone rings and rings but eventually he answers.
“Hey,” he answers abruptly like he’s only half paying attention to the phone.
“It’s me, I need your help,” I say, fighting to catch my breath as I work my way through yet another swell of cramping.
The smirk in his voice makes my nausea feel even worse. “Oh yeah, babe? What do you need me for?”
“I think I’m going into heat.” Saying it out loud makes it all feel too real and I want to burst into tears.
Jack stays silent for a minute too long before sucking a breath in through his teeth, “Babe I’m not in town, remember? I’m away for Hoyt’s birthday.”
“What?” I frown, knowing fine well that he told me fuck all about this trip. We even had reservations in Edinburgh for dinner on Friday. “We had plans this weekend, where are you?”
He groans, the annoyance in that one noise making me curl even further into myself. I just need someone here. Someone to take care of me and make sure I’m alright. I can’t go through a whole heat on my own, not if this is how bad it’s going to be.
Oh God, what if it gets worse?
“Babe, don’t be so fucking needy. Hoyt and the boys invited me on the trip last minute. We’re off to Loch Lomond until Monday. His family has a cabin up there.” There’s a flurry of noise in the background, someone telling someone else not to be a pussy and chug. Once again, I’ve been left so he can spend time with the boys.
“Can you come home?” I ask, hating the tears that well in my eyes. “Please? Just this one time?”
“I’ll be back Monday and help you out with your heat then, okay? I’m not missing out on this weekend just because you’re feeling a little hormonal.”
That’s the last straw, the last time I let this manchild disappoint me. I’m done. “Don’t bother.”
I slam the phone down against the mattress, cutting off whatever that prick was about to say.
Two days pass before I make it further than the bathroom. Water. I need water. I’ve alternated between nesting, taking cold showers, and taking the edge off with my hands and toys as much as I can. But it isn’t enough. With no food and no meds, I know I’m teetering close to the edge of being seriously ill.
My entire cottage is lit up only by the streetlights outside and the embers of the fire I lit in the afternoon as I guzzle water straight from the kitchen tap. My bagel dough and cookies are still untouched in the kitchen and I force myself to grab a couple of them and swallow them down. They’re stale and dry but I don’t care, I just need to put something in my stomach before I pass out.
I haphazardly fill a bottle with water and wash down the last of the cookie crumbs as I struggle back to the bedroom. The silence has been replaced by an incessant beeping coming from my computer. On unsteady legs I carry myself to the chair and slump down, thankful that the cramps have subsided enough that I can walk at all. My thighs are sticky, clinging together with a mixture of slick and sweat and it takes me a minute or two to get comfortable as I pull up the chat screen.
There’s a whole bunch of other messages from the guys, one after another asking if I’m okay, if I’m sick or if I’ve ended up in hospital with my fibromyalgia or if my FND has made me fall again. They’re not the easiest illnesses to live with. My fibro makes me tired and my joints are often aching. My FND or functional neurological disorder is by far the most embarrassing, leaving me clumsy, with legs that don’t always work and hands that are always shaking. I don’t even want to think about the sheer lack of spatial awareness. I bring up the group chat and move my fingers to the keyboard, but I’m shaking so badly that I can’t hit the right keys. Instead, I reach for my headset and manage to click the voice note button.
“I’m okay…” I say, though it sounds like the biggest lie I’ve ever told. “Things are kicking my arse right now, I just…”
I finish the voice note and breathe, a rise and swell of cramping pain ravages my body and I know I’m close to bringing up the cookies and water. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
Quickly, I cut the voice note off before I let out a long groan and clutch my legs to my chest. Just a few more days. A few more days and this will be over. But in the back of my mind, I regret telling them I’ll be fine. Regret not asking them to come help me. I don’t even care if they’re alphas or not, I just need a friend.