Chapter 11
Ihate having my period. Some of my friends have it worse and I always feel bad about complaining.
It's probably why I tried to brush Omen off.
Then again, he thought I was dying, so it seemed appropriate at the time.
I'm regretting it now. Which is why I'm hiding in the bathroom.
I don't even know why he's here. Unless I was mumbling his name in my sleep, he shouldn't be here.
My nose wrinkles as I pop some meds into my mouth.
My cramps have been wreaking havoc on my body the entire day and my back aches.
I want to shower, but the thought of going through the work of getting in, not to mention everything afterward, has me hesitating.
It's too much, especially with Omen on the other side of the door.
Slowly, I turn the knob and peek into my bedroom.
Omen doesn't rush me, and I inch the wood open more.
Nothing. No shuffling, no curses, no Omen.
He vanished as quickly as he appeared, apparently.
I suppose I could take a shower now that he's gone.
Still doesn't help with the actual act of showering, though.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing away the pain in my head.
I'm exhausted, my muscles ache, and all I want to do is sleep.
I was trying to when Omen showed up. Not summoning him over the last month has taken its toll on me.
I didn't think it would be so hard since we're not really friends.
That argument doesn't hold weight anymore.
I've spent more time with him than anyone else in a long time.
When he showed up and put together the desk, something changed.
Or maybe it was when he saved me from the washing machine.
I'm studiously ignoring the last time he was here.
If I pretend he didn't catch me touching myself, then it didn't happen.
Until I got my period, I refused to have any alone time.
It's the fucking worst. Especially since I've been dreaming of Omen every damn night.
Another round of cramps batters me, and I sway as a wave of lightheadedness hits me. I collapse on my bed and curl into a ball again. It feels like my organs are strangling each other. Who knows which one will win out.
I should be pissed Omen walked out without so much as a hope you feel better. He merely enters a long line of squeamish men who are skeeved out by a little blood. He may be a demon, but he's as predictable as the humans around me.
My vision darkens, though I'm not sure how that's possible with only the moon lighting my room.
Shadows softly cocoon me like a warm hug.
A sigh leaves me and the sharp pain in my back eases.
It's still there, but it doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed with a dull pencil anymore. Relief floods me as my muscles relax.
The mattress bounces and I grumble under my breath.
Omen's cat has been randomly showing up.
He yowls at me to feed him or to pet him or to open the window.
I've also had to buy about seventeen different types of food.
It's annoying, but then he looks at me with that little squished face and I cave.
“Go away, Pretty Boy,” I groan.
“That my new nickname, little witch?” Omen whispers, his breath ghosting along the shell of my ear.
“What do you want?” I snap, then immediately regret my tone. It's not Omen's fault I'm in pain. It's not even his fault he left when he did.
“I got you some things.” He brushes hair away from my face, and I peek at him. “Do you want to see now or later?”
“What's wrong with your face?” His horns wink in and out of existence. His silver hair flashes dark, then brown, then back to silver. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was glitching out.
Omen shakes his head and he's engulfed in a dense mist. I can barely make out his silhouette, though I'm pretty sure his wings burst from his back, then disappear again. When the room clears, he's back to normal. At least, normal for him. His eyes flash red, dark pinpricks gazing back at me.
“Better?”
“What the fuck was that?”
He shrugs, then paws through the plastic bags spread at my feet. “I popped down to Hell, then topside, then back here. I had to shield the humans from my true form.”
“Is that what you did with Brandon?”
He scowls, gritting his teeth. “Don't say that asshole's name.” He grips my chin and his thumb brushes over my lower lip. “I don't ever want to hear his name fall from your lips again, do you hear me?”
I nod, then swallow hard. His eyes darken to full black, and I'm caught in his gaze.
I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.
Which I definitely do not. This is a fantasy straight from my dreams playing out.
Maybe I am dreaming. I'm fast asleep, tucked under my covers while my brain protects me from the cramps ravaging my body.
That would explain the desire dripping in his eyes.
It would account for the parting of his mouth and the rapid pulse fluttering at his throat.
“I need your words, little witch,” he breathes. “Do you understand what I expect from you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Thankfully, he pulls away to dig through the plastic bags so he doesn't see my full-body shudder.
Who the fuck talks like that? I don't usually get worked up while on my period, but clearly my body didn't get the message.
I could blame it on the fact he's a demon, or maybe it's just him.
Convincing myself not to lust after Omen hasn't worked one bit.
I sit up and my stomach cramps. I can't tell whether it's from hunger or my period. Doesn't matter since the thought of eating makes me nauseous. Or maybe that's the migraine forming in the back of my head. His little display distracted me from my cramps, but not for long.
“So, I have chocolate, alcohol, water, drugs, potatoes, and whatever these are.” He holds up a box of tampons and I press my lips together.
I crawl to the edge of the bed and peek over the side. There's at least thirty boxes of tampons, pads, and menstrual cups scattered across my floor. Another bag has three bags of chips and three types of raw potatoes. I swear there's some frozen fries tucked underneath it all.
“Um, where did you get all this?”
“The food place. Dimitri called it a…” He grins, snapping his fingers and flames flicker up his arm. “Grocery store.”
“Dimitri is your friend? Your demon friend I made fries for?”
He scowls, refusing to meet my eyes. “Yes, that's the one. He knew more about mensurating than I do.”
I swallow a giggle. “Menstruating.”
“Close enough. Now which—”
“It is not close enough. One is the shedding of the lining in the uterus and the other is something about measuring things, I'm pretty sure.” I roll around until I'm sitting and grip a pillow in my lap. I don't know why, but it helps.
He huffs and his shadows gather near his ass, forming into a tail. I open my mouth to ask about it, but he shakes the box at me.
“I didn't know as much about periods. Better? Now, which do you need?” He gazes down at the many types of hygiene products.
“Did you buy the entire store? Seriously, no one within a twenty-mile radius will have—is that a pregnancy test?” I scramble off the bed and start digging through everything.
“I didn't buy all of it. Just one of each. And that thing”—he points at the pregnancy test—”was next to everything else. Dimitri said there were a lot of options and I shouldn't get the wrong one.”
I press my lips together, keeping another giggle inside as I hold up a small box. “And this?”
He tilts his head and narrows his dark eyes. “I don't know what that is. It was on the top shelf. I only got one of them, though. The others looked…questionable.”
“Oh? A vibrator looked questionable? Gotcha.”
“What is it?”
I bite my lip and hide my face until I've straightened my face out. “This is for personal time. Tell me I don't have to explain that.”
It hits me then that I should probably be embarrassed. Not because I'm holding a sex toy he bought, but because the last time I saw him, he caught me with a vibrator. Clearly he didn't see underneath the sheets. Maybe he's trolling me and I completely missed it.
“You don't have to explain personal time,” he murmurs, smirking, and my cheeks flame.
I drop the box among the others and tuck my chin to my chest. I don't need him to see me wincing and think it's something other than more pain.
He'll probably try to weasel a confession out of me or make some ridiculous comment again.
He seems to like messing with me. It's the only explanation I can come up with for his borderline flirting.
Calling me a good girl wasn't him hitting on me.
Normally, I wouldn't be so adamant, even to myself, about someone's intentions.
I'd just ask them what their endgame was.
Except Omen is a demon—one I forced to be here.
They don't want to be with witches. We're a step above humans in their eyes, not quite as disdained, but enough to stay away from.
I swallow hard and press a fist against my stomach. “Thank you for all this. You didn't have to do all this. And you don't have to wait around here. I'm sure—”
“Stop telling me I have better things to do,” he growls. He gathers up all the items and arranges them on one side of the room.
“You don't have to do that.”
His shoulders stiffen, his tail lashing back and forth, then he spins around.
I don't have time to protest before he picks me up and sets me in the middle of the mattress.
I get half a squawk out when he flips the covers over my body, leaving only my head exposed.
He stomps back to his self-imposed job of sorting things.
“Tell me which ones you use,” he demands.