Stained

Chapter 61

A blush spreads over me, and I look down.

"You're having cramps?" He half asks.

"Mmmhmm," I nod my head yes, face still lowered to the ground, waiting for it to open up and swallow me whole already.

I push Damien's hand off me. I steady myself, so I can get my aching legs to walk me to my bedroom.

Each step feels like someone is stabbing me over and over again, but I keep my legs moving. Just fifteen more steps Hazel, I tell myself.

Step, stab. Another step, stab.

Suddenly but carefully, I'm hauled off the ground, bridal style.

I would be lying if I said I was surprised by the move. I am surprised, but only by the time, it took for him to do it. Usually, he's much quicker.

Nevertheless, I'm grateful.

I don't say a word as he carries me into my bedroom, and neither does he. My embarrassment won't even let me say thank you.

And then a horrifying thought strikes. What if there is blood on my bed?

I hold my breath as we approach it. What if there is a lot of blood? What if he pukes? What if...

Just then, the bed comes into view, and I see no blood in sight.

The breath I was holding rushes out of me in a huge rush. That would not have been very pleasant.

Well more embarrassing than me dying from period pain.

He slowly lowers me onto the bed and pulls the duvet up to my chin.

I bring my hands up under my cheeks and look up at his concerned yet handsome face as he straightens.

"Are you... are you sure it's your period. Or are you lying to me and you're ill? Really ill." His voice wavers and cracks on the last word.

My heart clenches painfully from the sound. I don't understand why, but it does.

I attempt to give him a small smile to reassure him, but I'm certain it comes out looking tired. So I attempt to reassure him with my words, "it's my period, I promise. Plus, I'm used to it, you know, the every month thing. Don't worry about it." Then looking down at his bare toned legs, I lie, "It'll only last two hours or so."

"Do you need anything? Water? Medicine? Breakfast? What do you need me to do to make it better?" He sits down on the bed beside me and pushes my hair back behind my ear.

My eyes flutter shut as his thumb begins to rub small soft circles on my cheek. I shake my head no and his hand halts.

My eyes open and immediately lock onto green hues of blue narrowed into tight slits. Please don't stop. I want to beg but bite down on my tongue. I'm being pathetic.

"Tell me what will make it better," he demands, his voice soft despite the command.

I blink up at him. Does he care about me? Or does he feel sorry for me?