Despite growing up together, Catherine Simmons and Mattis Reed were never close.
Cat was inseparable from Mattis' younger sister, Chloé, while he was busy running around on the football field.
But when Cat's new dream drags her across the country du...
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When I wake up Monday, I've got my period.
Which I guess explains the tear streaks on my cheeks. I've slept badly the past two nights since my talk with Emmy, dreaming of a young boy too similar to my friend and the life he lost. Several times I've woken up with a racing heart, convincing myself not to check on Emmy, but it was not until this morning that the tears came.
I've never been particularly emotional unless I'm on my period. When my hormones go haywire, all bets are off.
Typical.
Obviously, I'm happy to know I'm not pregnant - because, yikes - but I do not understand why humans have such a senseless and unequal reproductive system.
Honestly, evolution gave women the short end of the stick.
Men always brag about being tough, but I know for a fact that if any of them had to deal with what people who menstruate do, they would fold like a lawn chair.
I rant to myself as I wobble to the restroom to clean up. I'm on the pill, so my period arrives like clockwork every month, almost down to the hour, but in the emotional turmoil of the past week, I might have forgotten that today is the day.
As I wash my hands, I realize just how much has happened since last Monday; the conversation with Mattis, making our relationship official, the party, the fight, Emmy...
It's no wonder I feel hollow. God, I'm gonna be the hot mess express today.
Since the date slipped my mind, I haven't been able to warn Mattis. Growing up in a house primarily occupied by women, it's not like he's unfamiliar with the concept of PMS. However, my general easygoing personality might have lulled him into a false sense of security. I tend to lose my cool over the slightest things when the crimson tide rolls in.
Unfortunately, I still have classes to attend. The first few days are always the worst. My stomach cramps, lower back aches, and I have mood swings the size of Texas. For my boyfriend's health, I hope he stays far away today.
But apparently, he has a death wish. I'm leaving my second class of the day - walking stiff and jerkily like a freaking robot, dying inside, but trying my best to act naturally since that's what I've been taught - when he's suddenly standing in front of me with a wicked big smile on his lips.
For a second, I genuinely hate him. What does he have to be so happy about?
"What?" he asks, grinning when I don't acknowledges his presence at all. "Don't I get a hey?"
Really, he should be thanking me. There's no telling how ugly this could get.
He blocks my way when I try to walk past him, and his eyes are alight with humor. I scowl menacingly, taking a deep breath to center myself and speaking as calmly as possible, which turns out not to be very calm, "I would advise you to wipe that stupid smirk off your face."
