You woke up with a horrible churn in your lower abdomen. The daylight peering through the windows blinded you temporarily as you rolled your body over in hopes to find a more comfortable position but to no avail. As a result, your abdomen let out a small groan that you harmonized with, the sounds of you in pain filling the air. It was not until then you noticed Charles was not in bed with you and had probably woken earlier to make breakfast or exercise and whatnot. This you were thankful for, as Charles did not have to endure the sounds of your suffering as much as you endured the suffering itself. You mustered the energy to roll to the edge of the bed and stand yourself up. You were too in need of a restroom to even look back at the bedsheets, you knew they would most likely need a good wash after your quick trip to the toilet.
You hobbled to the bathroom and let a sigh of relief when your hand reached the handle to the cabinet below the sink. You swung the small door open, and the sight of the space was all it took to make your face fall.
"No...no no no no..." You mumble repeatedly, and your hand reaches out to pat the void area to indeed confirm that you were out of tampons. "Shit." You sigh, while you let your head fall back. It was your fault if you were being honest. After being quarantined for weeks, your mind was occupied on many other things than your time of the month, and you remember specifically running out of tampons last month before Bordeaux had been put on lockdown. You kept reminding yourself in your head to stop by a pharmacy before your next one came, but all of the news stories and growing numbers of those infected with the virus eclipsed those thoughts greatly.
Another painful twinge hit your side and all you could let out was a whimper. You swore to yourself to be careful and pay close attention to this one thing when moving in with Charles. That was not to say you were not careful about your period before moving in with him, because you were. But when you decided to take the step of sharing everything with your boyfriend of two years, this was something you did not feel comfortable opening up about. And maybe you would if only you knew how Charles felt about it—you are not aware of how squeamish the boy was or how personal was too personal when discussing your lady parts and the torture they bring upon you every 25 days or so. So you wore tampons, checked your calendar periodically (except for this month, apparently) and took medicine to ease the pain as best you could to ensure no signs were showing.
MEDICINE! The thought of pain relievers came to mind, and you opened the second cabinet beside the first, digging through all of the bottles of vitamins and various prescriptions from your and Charles's past. You found no sight of a single pain-reliever, which made the next ache swarming below your stomach feel ten times worse than before. Where could that have gone? That was it—there was no use in pretending like things were fine and dandy like usual because they were certainly not. Pain and hormones swirled together in a tragic storm within you and you felt tears prick your eyes, could the day get any worse? You needed help, now. There was no having an 'almost' in front of the 'everything' you shared with Charles. It had come to everything now, and you could not help but feel embarrassed.
"Um—Ch-Charles?" You called out from the bathroom, as you stood up to take a seat on the toilet. Might as well, you were going to be in here awhile.
"Charles?" You called out once more, hearing a shuffling in the distance. Finally, the familiar sound of your bedroom door creaked open and you heard his voice float in question around the room.
"Y/N? Where are you, love?"
"I-in the bathroom. Don't come in." You demand through clenched teeth and heavy breaths. At first, you were optimistic, thinking "hey, at least you aren't pregnant through all of this madness" but now you were positive contractions would hurt less than the pain you were experiencing in the present time.
