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You know what sucks more than anything? The apocalypse? Sure. Having no electricity or running water during said apocalypse? Yep, that sucks too. But probably one of the worst experiences in the entire world is being on your period during that apocalypse.
Dealing with it is hard enough with all the modern amenities, but the cramps, mood swings, nausea, pain, and general not good vibes that accompany a period seem to be amplified by the general not good vibes that the end of the modern world brings.
I got my first period just a few weeks before it all went down, but one good thing about being trapped in a school is the nurses' office. I stocked up on pads, ibuprofen, and gauze in case the pads ran out, all the essentials. That was back when my periods weren’t that painful, just hard to deal with for a kid who didn’t really know about this stuff.
That also sucked, not having my mom there to teach me about it all. If the world were normal, she could have helped me, held me through the mood swings and tears. I felt even more isolated than normal. But that feeling thankfully didn’t last long before Jack and his gang crashed through my life and shattered my perception of this whole fiasco. And it was sorely needed.
~
I wake up with a groan, rolling over and clutching my stomach. A deep ache has settled in my back, like I threw something out. Fighting that dozer the other day must have done a bigger number on my body than I thought. I sigh, slowly sitting up and immediately getting dizzy as my head tilts upwards. That’s never a good sign.
I frown as I look under the blankets, and my suspicions are pretty much confirmed immediately with a dark stain on the crotch of my pajamas. I choke down a frustrated scream at the realization that I’m going to have to suffer through another one of these things again.
Most of the time, I’m so thankful and happy that I get to be around the boys. Days spent in a community, having fun and fighting evil. It’s a blast, and it's been some of the most fulfilling work I’ve ever done. But sometimes, I want to go back to when it was just me and the faraway zombies.
Today is definitely one of those days.
I sit up to change my pants, swallowing down my nausea hard as my head spins. I have no idea why, but my periods are way worse than they used to be. Maybe the first few were just getting me settled into the painful and humiliating cycle of my “womanhood” that the universe thought would be funny to put me through.
What used to be light cramping is now full-blown body aches, like I have a low-grade flu or something. And what used to be only a few days of light, slightly annoying free bleeding has morphed into a full week of heavy misery. At least the stress of the apocalypse hasn’t made them a regular monthly occurrence.
I slowly stand up, using my bedpost as a support as my world spins and shifts. I wait patiently for it to settle, closing my eyes and breathing through the waves of pain. Blood unfortunately trickles down my foot, the pajama pants not being able to absorb all of it, making my leg feel gross and sticky as I put on new pants and a pad.
I decide to go downstairs, hoping some socialization will make my pain better. I really need to take an ibuprofen. As I walk into the shared room of the treehouse to sit on the couch, Jack pops out from behind the door, scaring the ever-loving daylights out of me. I yelp, jumping backwards and growling in frustration as Jack jumps backwards too.
“Jack!!” I huff, “You scared the crap out of me!!” Jack frowns, cringing a little.
“Sorry!” He apologizes, and for some reason, the way he says it makes me want to smack him upside the head. “Jeez, I didn’t know you’d be up already.” He looks at me a little strangely, realizing something. “Why ARE you up this early?”
I shake my head, giving him an incredulous look. “It’s not THAT early, I-” But I stop my sentence as I look out the door, behind Jack. He’s right. The sun hasn’t even fully risen yet. I frown.
“Well, I could ask you the same thing,” I retort, crossing my arms.
Jack rolls his eyes, pointing back outside. “Rover was barking at me to follow him. I thought he might have been trying to warn us about a monster or something. It was just a pile of bones he really wanted to show me.” He chuckles.
I sigh, closing my eyes as I massage my temples to keep the looming headache a little further at bay. “Jack,” I say, tiredly, “You’re not supposed to go on solo missions. We talked about this.”
“June, it’s fine,” Jack groans, and his exasperation makes my fuse even shorter, even if I’m the one who caused it. Hormones are funny like that. “I had it under control, I promise.” His expression suddenly turns from annoyed to worried as he looks into my face.
“Are you okay?” He asks, sincerity seeping from his voice. It makes me want to strangle him and cry on his shoulder at the same time. “You’re, like, really pale. Are you sick?” He reaches out to touch my forehead, but I immediately shut that down by grabbing his hand.
“I’m fine, Jack.” I sigh, wincing a bit as another cramp stabs into my hip and lower back. “I’m just…I’m gonna go back to bed.” I groan, turning back around and climbing back up the ladder, leaving behind a confused Jack. In the actual morning, I’ll get ibuprofen from my room.
~
“June?”
The voice that calls me is familiar, so familiar that it hits my heart before my brain even processes it. Fills it with so much joy that it hurts. I look around, unable to call back out.
“June-bug?”
There’s another voice, a deeper one. One that hummed me through long nights and bad days. I whip around, in this dreamy, fuzzy space, to see…them. My mission. Mi familia.
My parents stand in front of me, huge smiles on their faces. They don’t open their arms out or run over to me, but they’re there. And that’s more than enough.
It’s happy. Blurry, but the joy is there. It’s hard to describe; it’s more like a feeling of a hug without the physical touch. It’s warm pressure, a gentle squeeze of a hand on the first day of school, or wrapping your arms around your teddy bear. It’s love that says, “I’m here.”
Then, it’s…dark. I don’t know how, but the vibe has shifted. Nothing really even happens, other than mamá seems…angry. Then, pain shoots through my body, painting the sky with angry red-white streaks of fury. It stinks of evil, of sulfur and carcasses, of blood and viscera.
I wake with a gasp as I sit up, my breath short and ragged. Mom’s angry face is painted on the back of my eyelids as my dream fades into dust.
My head is fuzzy, but not fuzzy enough, because I feel that dull ache in my back and lower stomach. I’m too tired to even realize where the pain is coming from, still trying to wake up. All I know is that I’d rather be asleep.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I look over at the dresser drawer with my period supplies stashed inside. I really don’t want to get out of bed, even if the sheets are already stained red below me.
That’s another thing I hate about this whole thing. We really don’t have a super effective way to clean our clothes in the treehouse, so for the most part, we just…don’t. Either clothes get worn, patched, or thrown away. So cleaning bedsheets is pretty impractical, and obviously, I can’t sleep in bloodstained sheets. I usually just hit them with some hydrogen peroxide, blot it out, and call it a day. But I’d still like to have clean sheets WHILE I’m already not feeling good.
A long groan comes out of me, morphing into a sigh of resignation as I finally decide to get out of bed. I know I have to do it slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed as my blood-starved head adjusts to the incline. No dark spots appear in my vision, so that’s a good sign, at least. I gingerly start to stand up, leaning on the bedpost with my arm. Just in case. My head spins, and my legs wobble a little, but still no black spots. It feels more like my brain is getting spun, caught in a whirlpool of its own cerebral fluid.
When my head stops blending itself, I blink hard, and the room starts to settle down again. Coincidentally, that’s also when another wave of cramps start up, knocking the wind out of me for a minute. Ibuprofen.
I grimace as I get down on one knee to open the dresser drawer, pawing through the supplies. I wince as a particularly strong cramp hits me, tightening every muscle below my freaking ribs, in what feels like the world’s worst charley horse and kick in the pants at the same time, centered around my lower stomach. My head knocks against the wood of the dresser as I try to breathe through it. Where is the stupid Ibuprofen??
My eyes widen as I find the bottle, immediately snatching it with shaky hands and fiddling with the child-proof tamper seal. I turn it upside down once I pop the cap off, but…nothing pops out. I blink. I shake it, and my heart drops at what I hear. No tell-tale rattling of pills, or even just one pill against plastic. Absolutely nothing. Nada. Zilch.
“No, no, no!” I whisper, hitting the end of the bottle in hopes that another pill will magically appear. No such luck. I growl as I throw the bottle across the room in a rage, garnering a pathetic little “tink!” as it hits the wooden wall and rolls back towards me.
Frustrated tears gather in my eyes as I close the drawer. I get even more frustrated at the fact that I’m teary-eyed, which makes the tears roll down my face. God, I hate these stupid hormones. I wipe them away quickly and angrily as I forcibly stop my lip from quivering, like a kid trying to act brave after getting a scrape on their knee.
Guess I’ll be taking a trip to CVS today, I think, as I stand up. Unfortunately, I somehow forget about my anemia momentarily, and I stand up way too fast. The dreaded black splotches fill my vision as I lean forward into the dresser to prevent myself from falling over. It would suck if I survived this whole zombie apocalypse just to get wiped out by knocking my head on the floor.
I growl as my vision clears, pushing myself roughly off the dresser. I’m already completely over today, and it hasn’t even begun.
~
“Quint, can I borrow Big Mama?” I ask, descending the ladder into the living room.
Quint swirls around in the swirly chair he’s sitting in, tinkering with some sort of high-power bottle launcher. He’s got on a pair of dorky close-up glasses, which he takes off to look at me better.
“Good morning to you too, June.” Quint snarks, one of his eyebrows raised. I roll my eyes, very much not in the mood for anything other than going to CVS asap. Or just not going at all.
“If you’re gonna be like that, I’ll just walk.” I huff, crossing my arms and sneering without actually meaning to. It’s a bluff; there’s no way I’m walking all the way to CVS to get some lousy medicine, but Quint frowns at the way I say it.
“I didn’t say no!” Quint defends, setting down his little project on the desk. “What do you need it for, friend?” He asks, his head tilted like a confused dog.
I bite my lip, my foot starting to tap on the floor. The thing is, I’m usually not embarrassed by stuff like this. When you live in a treehouse with a bunch of teen boys at the end of the world, there’s really not much you can do to embarrass yourself more than someone else already has. We all kind of collectively understand there’s a limited amount of privacy in an apocalypse when you’re living together like we are.
But there’s something about this that’s…different. For some reason, I get super embarrassed around the boys when I’m on my period. I don’t know where it comes from, and it makes absolutely no sense. But I have the creeping feeling the three teenage boys wouldn’t be the MOST receptive people to listen to me whine about my period pain.
And it’s something that only I go through out of all of us, something that was covered for about three seconds in that basic sex-ed video teachers force you to watch in middle school. I just don’t think they’d get it, and the last thing I need is judgment. I judge my cycle just fine, thank you very much.
“Just…I was looking through the first aid kits, and we’re low on painkillers.” Not technically a lie. During my last period, I rummaged through every drawer, every cabinet, every emergency first aid kit, and found the last bottle in the whole house, with just enough in it that turned up empty this morning. Can’t believe I forgot about that. “I was gonna go to CVS and restock,” I say, not meeting his eye line.
Quint, even though I can’t see him, is automatically suspicious when I can’t look at him. I can tell just by the brief silence he leaves between us before he starts talking.
“Well, I don’t have any objections to that.” He shrugs, and I smile a little as I finally drag my eyes off the ground to look at him. “It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to do a first aid restock…” He trails off, but his thinking is interrupted by a nasally voice comes from the couch that grates against my skull and makes it pound with a pre-migraine. In fact, you could probably sum up his entire personality as a pre-migraine.
“Where’s June going?” Jack asks, pausing the game he’s playing to turn around and face Quint and me. I groan inwardly.
“CVS, friend!” Quint says, and my eyes widen as I try to send him mind beams to keep it to himself. “She wants to restock the first aid kits.” He says cheerfully, and it takes every muscle in my body not to clench my fists like I’m gonna wring his neck.
“Cool!” Jack exclaims, saving his game. “I call shotgun!” He says as he turns the console off, leaping up from the couch.
“W-hey!!” I stammer, frowning. The audacity of this kid stuns me sometimes. “Who said you were invited?” I ask. “Maybe I want to get away from you three for a couple of hours.” Man, does that sound nice.
“First of all, rude!” He frowns, “I’ll have you know I’m a delight to be around. And second, didn’t you JUST yell at me this morning for going on a solo mission?” He leans on the back of the couch, crossing his arms.
“This is different.” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I’m actually considerate enough to TELL someone where I’m going.” I really cannot deal with him today. Jack’s a swell guy, but there are just some times when we clash.
We’re both hotheads, and as much as I hate to admit it, we’ve got a ton in common with the way we think. Unfortunately, that’s kind of a big problem when one already has the urge to punch the other in the face at any given time, WITHOUT cramps and PMS. Is it still PMS if you’re on the rag? Whatever, that’s not the point. The point is that I’d rather not hurt feelings today. But Quint pipes up, turning back to me.
“You know, maybe he should go with you,” Quint says, and I feel fury well up in me. “I’ve noticed the position of the moon the last few days has been triggering some unusual behaviors in the monsters lately.” Them and me both, I guess.
“No!” I scoff, looking to Jack, and then back at Quint. “I’ll be fine, I can handle myself. It’s daytime.” I say, and Jack steps closer to me.
“June, come on!” Jack rolls his eyes, “Would you rather hang out one afternoon with me, or be all alone, possibly crushed and mutilated by a rampaging monster?”
There’s a moment of silence as I consider my options seriously. Become sludge on the bottom of an intergalactic creature’s foot, or spend a trip to the store with Jack Sullivan?
“Monster.” I decide and turn to walk to the door.
“Hey!” Jack protests, standing between me and the door. “June, why are you being so difficult!” He shouts more than asks, making my head rattle like it’s full of marbles. “You don’t HAVE to bring me, but you can’t be alone out there.”
I stop at that. I hate, hate, HATE the fact that he’s right. It just makes me angrier to understand that he’s made a genuinely good point. I get on his case all the time about how dangerous and selfish it is to go alone when you have three different buddies on call at all times, not to mention the monsters at Joe’s.
I weigh my options again. It’s either Dirk, Quint, or Jack. I think Skaelka’s out axe-throwing today or something. Dirk’s cool, doesn’t talk too much, but I feel like I’d be dragging him along. He’s not usually the type to go out a whole bunch. He keeps to Joe’s, mostly. Probably where he is now. And something deep in my gut tells me that if I hear Quint ranting about sub-atomic particles again, neither of us are gonna make it out of that car alive.
And Jack…isn’t totally the worst, I guess. I mean, his heart’s in the right place most of the time. Even if he’s annoying, he really does care about me. Maybe it would be better to just…let him come along. It’s been a minute since we’ve hung out together, just us.
“Ugh, fine!” I shout, throwing my hands up in the air. “But you’re driving!!” I say as I push past him and slam the door, hoping and praying I don’t kill him.
~
“Soooo….” Jack drawls, forcing me to look at him through the cramp I’m struggling to deal with. The expression on my face is probably toxic to look at. “You…feeling okay?” He asks, his voice a little gentler than before.
“Yeah,” I lie, trying to look like I’m rubbing my neck instead of digging valleys of scratches into it to distract from the pain the rest of my body is in. I really forgot how much my periods extra suck when I don’t take painkillers. How women dealt with this for millennia without modern painkillers, I'll never know.
“Why?” I ask, releasing an exhale slowly through my nose.
“Well, I didn’t wanna assume, but…” He grimaces, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. “You’re pretty strong, like, generally. But you look off today.” Jesus, is it that bad already? Can’t wait for day two. “Just…I want to make sure all my friends are feeling a-okay! Especially ones who are too stubborn to admit they need help sometimes.” And I frown at that. Of all people to criticize me about that!
“You have absolutely no room to talk, Sullivan!” I snark back, sitting a little straighter.
“I’m just saying!” Jack defends, glancing over at me periodically. “I just…I worry sometimes, you know?” And that softens his face, which makes my own soften. “I know you can handle yourself, but it’s okay to just…tell someone what you’re going through.”
I'm about to open my mouth, but he interrupts me by saying, “And don’t lecture me about how I’m a hypocrite, I already know.”
I just…sit there. I feel automatically guilty that I haven’t told the boys about this crippling pain I have to go through every few months. And I mean, he’s right in a way. We should help each other in any way we can and try to find solutions to problems together, whether that be emotional junk or fighting zombies together.
But…what can any of us really do about it? Like, other than what I’ve already been doing? The apocalypse doesn’t stop for anyone. In fact, it does quite the opposite when you’re vulnerable and hurt. And what good would it do for them to know? It’s not like a wound or ripped pants that you can fix just like that.
To be completely honest, I don’t think there IS a cure. Not at my age. Not even if we had actual medicine and doctors' offices and adults. It’s just something most people with these stupid reproductive organs have to deal with, I guess. So I choke down painkillers and suck it up. Nothing I can do about that part. There’s just not really any use in telling them.
But just the fact that Jack cares, that he noticed I’m not doing so hot, infuriates me and fills me with a fluttery feeling all at once. Part of me wishes he would leave well enough alone, but…he really cares. And it puts a smile on my face as I reach over to reassure him.
“I’m fine, Jack,” I sigh, “Thanks for…looking out for me.” The warm feeling tingling at the base of my stomach is usually unwelcome here, but the endorphins relax my spine and lower belly, making the cramps more bearable.
I gently touch his shoulder, and his eyes widen. Mine do too, as the little remaining blood in my body rushes directly to my cheeks when I see his startled expression. His wrist turns around, the delicate blue veins there exposed.
My hands are cold from the blood loss, and for a brief moment, I wonder what it would be like to hold that hand, to let him warm my own up. And we glance, just for a second, at each other.
‘Annnd that’s over!’ I think as I quickly pull my hand away, biting my lip and looking out the window, as Jack clears his throat.
“No problem,” He says awkwardly, and we spend the rest of the drive in silence.
~
I step through the broken window of the CVS, little glass shards crumbling softly under my sneakers as I look around. It’s overgrown with vines and wildlife, but there don’t seem to be any monsters around. We don’t really have to worry about zombies, thanks to Quint’s awesome goo-lights. That dude really is a genius.
Jack is right behind me, one hand on his Louisville Slicer, sheathed by his backpack. I’ve got my spear at the ready. I really don’t feel like melee combat right now, so hopefully, anything that’s in here will leave us alone. The store is actually decently empty, other than the flora. I start to relax as I decide whatever might be here probably isn’t going to care that we’re here.
Jack and I walk down the aisles, peeking around corners and silently watching each other’s backs. Sunlight pours in through the broken and cracked windows, warming the place up with honeyed sunbeams that paint the white floors a radiant orange. In fact, it’s pretty warm in here, period.
“June, you look hot.” Jack says, and I roll my eyes.
“Wow, you usually don’t start flirting with me until after lunch.” I tease, walking down the aisle with the Ibuprofen in it.
“That’s not what I meant!” Jack scoffs, and I can practically feel him blushing with my back turned. “You look actually hot. Like, sweating and stuff. Your face is flushed.” He says, and I turn to him.
I don’t really realize just how hot I am until Jack points it out. My face feels like it’s oozing heat, and I don’t think it’s still from the awkward moment we shared in the car. My whole body is warmer than usual, ebbing and flowing in waves. I could really use a Gatorade right about now.
“Guess it’s hotter in here than I thought.” I shrug, tugging at the collar of my undershirt. Really starting to regret layering up today. I shrug off my jacket, tying it around my waist as I turn on my heel to go get the medicine down the aisle.
“Dude!” Jack groans, trying to walk beside me as I find the Ibuprofen on the middle shelf. Bingo. “You’re acting all…weird!”
I ignore him, leaning my spear on the side of the shelf and reaching up to grab a couple of bottles standing up on my tiptoes. He’s really starting to get on my nerves with his pestering, and I can feel the itchy bubbling of anger rise in my overheated chest.
“You’ve been off since this morning! Your hands were freezing like two seconds ago, but now you’re so warm I can practically feel it wafting off of you!” And it’s such a stupid thing, but I pause at the fact that Jack noticed what temperature my hands were when I touched his shoulder. Hormones are so weird sometimes.
“I know there’s something wrong. Why won’t you just tell me?” He asks, exasperated, and I set my jaw. The prospect of knocking him on the floor is becoming more and more enticing by the second.
“I’m fine, Jack!” I growl, and my body decides to hear that statement and vehemently disagree with it. A fresh wave of cramping grabs at my insides, so sharp and painful that it feels like something is physically reaching inside my abdomen and twisting my guts like a jammed doorknob.
I bite the inside of my cheek to muffle a scream as my eyes widen from the pain. I blink hard, but I don't stop grabbing bottles, so that Jack doesn’t see I’m hurting. It’s hard, but I focus through it.
Jack’s brow is furrowed as he walks up to me, and the absolute final straw is when he decides to grab my arm.
“June!” He half barks, half yelps, and it snaps the final little thread of self-restraint I have. His grip isn’t harsh at all; it’s loose and gentle, but his voice…
The thing about Jack Sullivan is he’s pretty generally gung-ho about everything. I mean, at a certain point, you gotta be after all he’s been through. But he’s cheery to a fault, over-optimistic to the point of being completely delusional. The point is, the kid’s pretty happy just to be around his family.
The only time he barks or yells is when A, he’s addressing a bad guy, or B, when his family is in immediate danger. Those are really the only two things that scare the guy, and it’s really scary when the guy who does most of the cheering up between us four is scared or angry.
And right now, I’m overstimulated, in pain, too hot, and angry at Jack for pestering me. But knowing I’m the cause of that voice? It’s just not something I can handle, and it ejects all rational thinking from my brain.
“GET OFF ME!!” I scream, ripping his hand away from my arm like he touched me with a hot pan. I use my hand that’s holding all the Ibuprofen, so all the bottles spill to the ground in clunky plastic “kshhhh” sounds.
Jack immediately steps back, so fast he almost trips backwards. His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead, his eyes wide and scared. I’m fuming, my jaw set in fury and determination not to cry. It’s all too much; every emotion I feel is exacerbated by this stupid period. I want him to back off, get the pills, and leave me alone to be miserable and in pain in peace.
But when he does, and I see that look on his face of pure, unadulterated, terrified concern, it breaks my heart. Because I did that. And the fury on my face doesn’t melt so much as combine with the sadness, turning it into a disgusting acid that burns the back of my eyes and throat.
Before I can even begin to apologize for my overreaction, he starts,
“June, I…” And his voice sounds small, ashamed. And it only makes me feel worse. “I-I’m sorry.” He stutters, trying to search my face.
I don’t answer for multiple reasons. Reason number 1: I know whatever comes out of my mouth at this moment will be nasty and completely unnecessary. I’m just too mad to be nice right now.
Reason number 2: My chin starts wobbling from the tears I’m trying to hold back, and trying to speak during that would be a death sentence. Because everyone knows when you get to that point of holding in your tears, you’re about three seconds away from snot-dripping, hiccuping sobs, and I hate crying. Especially in front of other people.
Reason number 3 is probably the most prevalent, though, which is that I’m absolutely decked in the face with a sudden, disgusting smell. It hits my nose like an olfactory flash-bang, overwhelming every other sense with a vile stench that paints the inside of my nostrils.
It reeks of dead animals, carcasses, and rotting mice, but with something…tangier. A sharp metal smell cuts through the air, like pennies put through a wood-chipper. It’s so pungent I can taste it, and I’d almost think it was an actual non-undead corpse (just regular dead, I guess?) until I catch the small undertone of something sickly-sweet along with the metal smell.
The stench of evil.
I gag almost immediately, which makes Jack back up a couple of steps. It’s so much stronger than it usually is when there’s a monster around, like someone made a concentrate of the stench of evil and then poured it on some roadkill. My stomach is instantly upset, but it’s not like it was too happy with me to begin with.
“June, are you okay??” Jack asks, keeping his distance but still hovering his hands in the air, like he’s going to catch me if I fall. I shake my head, my mouth covered by my hand as I look towards the smell.
“Evil.” I cough into my glove, my voice raspy and deep from the gagging. His eyes widen, and he pulls out his Slicer without hesitation.
There’s a small rustling from the corner of the store, in the back aisles, and I’m dead on about where the smell is coming from. My eyes widen as a snake-like creature slithers out of the crack of the shelf, like an eel moving through Jello. The way it moves so smoothly and quickly sends a chill down my spine, leaving my skin in a confused combination of steaming hot and covered in goosebumps at the same time.
The creature is huge, an anaconda-sized snake thing with ram-like horns, and the creature only keeps going as it emerges from its hiding place. It’s like when a clown pulls out a never-ending handkerchief. And it’s fast. The front end of it doesn’t look too happy about being pulled away from whatever it was doing, hideous fangs spilling from its crocodile-shaped head. Fins puff out from below its jaw, like a weird combination of a cobra and frilled-neck lizard.
I stumble backwards as my fight or flight kicks in, my back hitting the shelf of painkillers hard. I manage to avoid hitting my head as I quickly grab my spear off the side of the shelf, but it definitely doesn’t help my already aching spine. Bottles of Advil and Tylenol hit the ground, landing around me and Jack as I try to get my bearings.
As more of the monster comes out of its den and its scales move towards the sunlight, I notice that…it’s actually kind of beautiful. It’s iridescent, a gorgeous purple-blue-golden hue, like some sort of exotic butterfly. It’s almost hypnotic to watch it move. It's so common to see evil creatures be brown or green or some other sickly color that turns your stomach to look at, but this one is a rare type of gorgeous.
The iridescent snake (Iridesnake?) watches us carefully as I point my spear at it, and my blood turns cold at the sight of it watching us. Usually, evil monsters don’t wait to charge when they see humans. This one, however, seems to be a little smarter than the average creature, which makes me share a nervous glance with Jack as I keep my spear pointed at the thing. He isn’t moving either, frozen in fear just like I am. Maybe if we just stay really still, it’ll go away, I hope.
My hopes are dashed when the Iridesnake glances over to the sunbeam coming through the window, looks back at us with its beady, slivered eyes, and lunges. I flinch automatically, but it doesn’t lunge at us. Instead, it slithers over to the sunbeam, and as soon as its scales hit the warm light, I’m blinded instantly by a gold-purple-white flash of light that hits my eyes, causing me and Jack to yelp and stumble blindly.
White-hot pain courses through my shoulder as I tumble backwards, hitting the shelf again hard as I throw my other arm hastily over my eyes. I’m completely disoriented; the only feelings I can really track are pain and smell, which are just as overwhelmed as the rest of my senses. I blink hard immediately, trying to get my bearings as quickly as possible.
Just as my vision clears, the snake-creature lunges in my direction, rows of teeth bared as it slithers towards me. But I’ve stood up too fast, and my knees feel like jelly. I try to use my spear as a crutch, but the butt of it slips on the ground, and I fall backwards on my own butt. I try to scramble away, but it’s no use. The thing is closing in, and my legs just won’t move. Black spots fill my vision instead of white ones, and my head spins. I really shouldn’t have gone out today.
“JUNE!!” I hear Jack call out, and I laugh in my own head. The last words I’ll ever hear will be that kid calling my name. What a world.
But before I bite the dust, I hear a pained shriek come from the snake, and it whips around to look at its now injured tail. Jack has planted the business end of his Louisville Slicer into the creature, making it ooze a golden-hued dark purple ichor from the fresh wound. Its blood almost looks like molasses with edible glitter in it, and it smells awful.
The Iridesnake snaps instinctively at Jack, making him pull out the blade and back up with a yelp. I stagger to get back up as he distracts the thing, trying to shake my head awake. It’s so hard, like trying to keep your eyes open in the backseat of a long car trip, but I manage just barely to get to my feet.
As I push hard on the shelf to stand again, it wobbles a little. The last of the black dots has left my vision, my anemia and body aches apparently taking a backseat to imminent doom. Adrenaline is a crazy drug. Jack swings at the creature, just nearly clipping its scales, before the thing goes to the sunbeam for safety. Thankfully, we both know the flash of light is coming this time and throw our arms over our faces to protect our vision.
I open my eyes to see Jack just nearly avoid an Iridesnake attack, dodging and rolling away from the thing as it speeds over to him, just in the nick of time. So quick, in fact, that the creature bites down on the shelf he was behind, sinking its jaws into the rack with a loud ‘CRUNCH!’
Jack tracks me across the room, and I think he’s about to open his mouth to say something, but the snake-thing jerks its head back, moving like it’s…trapped. An idea pops into my brain, and I know I don’t have much time to enact it. I get my spear ready like I’m about the do a pole vault. If I’m right about this, I have about one good shot.
“Jack!” I call, locking eyes with him. “MOVE!!”
He bolts, trying to run to the opposite side of the aisle, and I run towards the shelf, putting my spear down at just the right moment, and using the momentum to jump-kick the shelf, tipping it forward. I land on my feet somehow, though I don't attempt a flip. The floating shapes are in front of my eyes again, but I can’t faint. Not now.
The Iridesnake is still stuck on the shelf by its fangs, yanking its head back desperately to try and get away from the shelf leaning towards it. But what I don’t notice is Jack leaning down to grab something off the floor. He’s still in motion, and it’s only for an instant, but it slows him down enough that I can practically see him getting crushed before my eyes.
“JACK!!” I cry as I dash down the aisle, and I have just enough time to tackle him out of the way as the aisle comes crashing down behind us, leaving behind a plaintive, hissing wail of agony and a sickening CRUNCH that makes my stomach turn.
We both grunt as we hit the floor hard. My face hits Jack’s chest, and luckily, I was smart enough to hold the back of his head with my hand, so he doesn’t hit his head quite as hard as he could have. The only thing that might be more annoying than regular Jack would be Jack with a brain injury.
I groan softly as my head swims with adrenaline beginning to crash, and dark spots dot my vision.
“You okay, Ja-“ As I lift myself with my arms, I cut off. His eyes are locked on mine, wide and glossy as I get far enough away from his face that I can actually see him.
My own eyes widen as I lock my gaze with him, frozen. Right now, I’m on top of him, my hand cradling the back of his head like some sort of romantic movie. My face instantly feels hot, joining Jack’s face in its own shade of what’s probably a bright magenta. He swallows hard, nodding.
“I, uhh…I got you your painkillers.” He grins sheepishly, softly shaking the bottle of clear blue pills. I gape at him as I connect the dots. THAT’S what he was leaning down to grab.
“You….idiot!!” I grunt, lifting myself the rest of the way off of him. “You could have gotten yourself killed!!” Why is this kid so stupid??
“Hey!” He protests, sitting up as I lean back on my hands to catch my breath. “You’re welcome, by the way!”
“We could have just grabbed some AFTER we killed the monster!” I gesture towards the collapsed aisle, littered with bottles of painkillers.
“Oh.” Jack says, and I growl and press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets until I see stars. At least we got the Ibuprofen.
~
We arrive back at the treehouse still alive, thankfully. I stuff the bottle in my jacket pocket as I climb up the ladder, wishing we had stairs.
Dirk and Quint are in the living room, talking about some invention he’s working on, when I walk through the door.
“Where you guys been?” Dirk asks, and Jack says something about an ‘epic quest’ to go refill the first aid kits or something. I don’t remember because as soon as I get to the upstairs ladder, I tune all of it out. Thankfully, all I get is a few weird stares as I go up to my room instead of actual verbal questions. When I get to said room, I choke down two pills and fall back asleep for a few hours.
Unfortunately, one thing I had forgotten before taking the ibuprofen is that if you don’t eat anything with it, there’s a pretty good chance it will upset your already upset stomach. I realize this about 4 hours later, when I am rudely awoken by a lurching feeling in my stomach, followed by a hot-cold-nauseous flash of sickness.
‘Oh no, ’ I think, starting to panic as I deliriously sit up. The action alone nearly brings bile up, and I choke it down just in time to freak out some more. I have to find something, I CANNOT vomit all over this floor and deal with the stench. I jump out of bed, running out of my room and flying down the ladder.
I can see Dirk on the couch, Quint working away at some gadget at his little workspace in the corner of the room. They both sit up at seeing me run, but I don’t even hear them as I race to the door. I don’t even consider the toilet bucket as an option, and honestly, I’m glad I don’t.
I make it out to the porch in the nick of time, but I trip over a loose board, and it sends me hard on my knees, knocking the wind and all the puke out of me. I heave nothing but water and bile up over the side of the deck, not having eaten yesterday due to my stomach being off. It feels like my ribs are breaking into my lungs as I vomit, my cramps worsening tenfold. It’s genuinely the closest I’ve felt to dying in a long while, not counting the monster attack this morning.
As my stomach eases up on the cramping a little, the puking turning to dry heaving, I notice my hair is behind my head, not around my face like I’d assumed. I look over my shoulder a little, panting hard from the energy of puking my guts out.
Jack is behind me, his brow furrowed with worry. He’s holding my hair away from my face. That alone makes grateful tears spring around my eyes, but most of them are from the dry heaving. I didn’t even realize he was out here, that he must have been sitting out on the porch or something. I don’t care, honestly, but I am more than a little embarrassed that I threw up in front of him.
“Okay, you’re clearly sick,” Jack states, tucking my hair behind my ear. “How did you even get so sick so fast?” He wonders aloud, peering into my face. I probably don’t look so hot.
But I don’t have time to ponder how not good I look, because another wave of nausea racks through me, and I only have time to think about turning my head before I spew more vomit onto the grass below us.
I try to focus on Jack’s touch through it. I feel him hurriedly grab my hair and pull it out of my face again, and he…sets his hand on my back. It’s such a little thing, but it cuts through all the pain, because…because it reminds me of my mom.
When I would get sick, she would hold her hand on my back and tell me “Todo va a estar bien,” or do her little rhyme of, “Sana, sana, colita de rana, si no sana hoy sanará mañana.” That would always calm me, always make me fight the sickness a little harder.
I would do anything to have her here right now.
The pure weight of the gesture and the lack of my mom hits me like an arrow to the heart. Tears form in my eyes, and I’d probably be sobbing right now if I had enough energy. I don’t even care anymore. I’m in too much heartbreak and pain to even care what’s going on around me.
I cover my vomit-coated mouth with my hand as I cough and dry heave, upsetting my stomach even more. I try to bring in gulps of air, but I hear a thump next to me of someone sitting down fast. He’s pushing me, with help, onto my butt, forcing me to sit upright. I look to who it is, and Quint’s sitting right next to me, his own face contorted with worry.
“June,” Quint says calmly but firmly, “You’re going to asphyxiate if you don’t take slow, deep breaths.”
I want to scream, ‘Gee, thanks, Quint!! I guess I was just overreacting. I really did think choking on my own vomit during a panic attack was a good idea until you brought that up. Guess I’ll just get up now!’ But I obviously don’t, because even if I had the breath, I’m not stupid enough to say that to someone who just wants to help.
Quint starts breathing slowly and dramatically, and for some reason, I follow along without even thinking. My mind is still racing, my thoughts incoherent, but I’m not quite panicking anymore. I groan, tucking my legs under myself as I lean forward, pressing my forehead against the boards of the deck. Tears leak down my cheeks, but I feel slightly more protected with my face hidden.
“Dude, are you okay?” I hear Dirk’s voice behind me, clearly more concerned than confused. I don’t have the energy to respond, so I just let them talk with each other.
“Uh, clearly freaking not, Dirk!” Jack answers, his voice and volume making my head pound. His hand is still on my back.
Quint gently nudges me, so I decide to lean my head up off the ground to look at him. He’s a little blurry, from the tears or the headache, I’m not sure.
“June?” He asks, searching my face. “Do you know what happened to you to make you this sick?” He searches for anything in his brain that could possibly match up with the symptoms. “Did you eat something bad, or-or something water related, maybe?”
I whimper pathetically as my insides feel like they’re becoming my outsides, twisting in my body like someone’s trying to take a giant fork and swirl my intestines around it like spaghetti. I hate being weak, being sick, especially in front of the boys. I hate being forced to rely on someone, sometimes.
“Just…” I rasp, my throat burning from the bile coating it. “Just help me to bed?” I ask, and I hate the tremor in my voice.
There’s a moment of silence before I feel Jack take my arm, putting it over his shoulder, and lifting me up gently with the help of Quint. Of course, they can’t take me up the ladder, so they set up a little bed for me on the couch, putting blankets on the cushions.
I lay back on the sofa with a soft groan of pain, wincing as my back hits the cushions. My head is spinning, my eyes twitching with that back-and-forth motion you get when you have a migraine, or read too much at one time. Quint and Jack are sharing worried expressions with one another, and Dirk silently watches me in the corner of the room with a frown.
“June,” Quint says softly, which my headache appreciates, “Do you feel like you’re going to vomit again?” Just the word makes me nauseous, almost to the point of gagging, but I manage somehow. “Any dizziness, lightheadedness? Vertigo?”
“I thought she was a Scorpio.” Dirk says, and Quint looks at him with a baffled look on his face.
“Not Virgo!” Quint huffs, “Vertigo!” Quint exclaims, and Dirk shrugs. I’d laugh if I weren’t in so much pain.
“I…I don’t think I’m gonna…again.” I say, swallowing hard. I’m not even sure I have more to puke up.
Jack huffs and looks down at the ground, and…he’s angry. Practically seething. It shocks me a little, watching his set jaw and the deep furrow in his brow, and I sit up a little straighter because of it.
“Why did you go out if you weren’t feeling good?” Jack asks, and his face is genuinely hurt. My eyes widen as he stares at me, searching for an answer. “I asked you straight up if you were feeling bad, and you ignored me.” My heart pounds with anxiety as I listen to Jack rant. It feels like I’m being scolded, like I’m a little kid or something. Even Quint and Dirk can sense the energy shift in the room.
“We fought a monster, June!! You could have gotten yourself killed!” He points at me, and the place where my fury usually lies in these arguments I have with him is replaced with…shame.
Because he’s absolutely, totally, completely right.
I could have died today. No, scratch that, WOULD have died today, if he hadn’t been there. I could have handled that monster on my own if I were healthy, but I’m not. No matter how much I wish I were, I’m not. In my attempt to make myself seem okay, I put my and his life at risk. My stomach churns with nausea and anxiety, making the cramps in my back and hips flash bright red.
“I was alright at the end!” I argue weakly, my tone more pleading than I mean it to be. Wow, it is NOT comfortable being in the wrong. How does Jack manage this daily? “If you’ll recall, I saved your butt too!!” I say.
“Yeah, Jack,” Dirk says, his voice as confused as it is offended on my behalf. “Why are you so worked up about this?”
“You were off your game today, and you KNOW IT!” He snaps at me, ignoring Dirk, and my stomach sinks. Tears blur my eyes as I squeeze them shut, holding my hands over my ears as my headache throbs in my skull from his volume. I don’t have the energy to fight right now. I just want to go to sleep.
He never acts like this; it’s so out of his character. He never raises his voice, not like this. And it pierces the heart I usually keep armored up for this exact fear. Disappointing people.
“Not the time, nor the place, Jack.” Quint steps in between Jack and me, staring him down with a glare. His voice is even and controlled, and it just puts me more on edge. It’s like everyone has flipped personalities.
“Our main priority now is making sure June gets better. We’ll discuss this matter when she’s well.” Quint states, and oh boy, I can hardly wait for that conversation.
Jack is still angry, but visibly calms a bit when Quint tells him off. He even looks a little…embarrassed. He swallows hard, nodding.
“Yeah.” He sighs, not looking at me. “Yeah, you’re right.”
There’s a silence for a moment, and it’s really unsettling. I don’t know how to feel. All I feel like I can worry about is my lightheadedness and aching body. Even though they’re less frequent than they used to be, I really wish my periods would just disappear. I wish I could just disappear right now.
Jack turns on his heel, walking out the door silently and quickly. I don’t look at him, just staring at my lap and wringing my hands as I hear the door close with a slam. I bite the inside of my lip as tears bead up in my eyes. Today has been even more awful than I could have ever imagined. Quint sighs as he watches him leave, looking back at me with a regretful look on his face.
“I’m sorry he spoke to you like that.” Quint apologizes, and I don’t look at him. “And by the way he left, I’m almost positive he’s sorry as well.” He tries to smile reassuringly, and I do look up at that, smiling at him.
“Thanks,” I say, and for a moment, I feel a little better instead of increasingly worse.
“Alright, dork, let’s get you some fluids,” Dirk says, and pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on.
I nod, but as I try to sit up further, my insides get twisted up again by cramps, and the one-two punch of the rise in elevation and the stabbing pain in my guts makes my stomach churn dangerously. Thankfully, there’s an empty bowl for popcorn next to the couch from one of our movie nights, and I grab it, narrowly avoiding redecorating the wooden floors with bile.
My vomiting doesn’t last very long, thankfully, but the sounds ring through the metal of the bowl, making me more sick and dizzy as Quint and Dirk wince at the noises.
“And perhaps a bucket?” Quint calls out to Dirk, and I groan as my stomach cramps again. Can’t wait for day two.
~
I don’t end up throwing up again, thank god, but I’m still super dizzy, and the cramps have gotten worse from not being able to take any painkillers for the moment. I really only have enough energy to go to the bathroom, more often than not, to change my pad. I was smart enough to put some in my back pockets, so I don’t need to go to my room to get any, but at the rate I’m going through them, I’ll need some more tomorrow from the stash in my room.
I come out of the bathroom from my third pad change in the last two hours, and it’s getting dark. The sunset is leaking orange beams of the sun’s last light of the day into the treehouse, bathing everything in a soft orange glow. I’m about to sit back on the couch when I see Jack, standing in the living room.
“Jack?” I ask softly, and he turns around to face me. His face is much softer than it was earlier. He looks…really ashamed. It’s almost as uncomfortable to see as when he was angry.
“Oh, hey!” He greets softly, wringing his hands nervously in front of him. “How you feelin’?”
“Better,” I admit. I mean, it’s not a high bar, but anything’s better than throwing up. “I mean, a little bit.” I swallow back the memory, frowning a little as I look around the treehouse. “Where’s everyone else?” I ask.
“Oh, they wanted me to tell you that they’re going to get you some water and Gatorade and stuff at Walmart.” He says, and I nod silently as I sit on the couch.
There’s a moment of silence again, a rare type of silence after our arguments. Usually, we don’t have the luxury of letting arguments simmer. It’s a talk or forget about it kinda deal. Which is great most of the time! I love some good, honest, direct communication. But sometimes, it just makes the small silences that are there even deeper and more awkward.
We both messed up. Me, mostly, because I did the exact thing I criticize Jack for, which is hiding things from people for no good reason other than to make them think you’re stronger than you actually are. But he definitely handled his confrontation poorly, and it’s written all over his face that he knows it.
He breaks the silence by reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a water bottle, and offering it to me.
“Here,” He says, smiling sheepishly. “If you can keep it down.”
I look at the bottle. Honestly, it’s well needed. I’ve been trying to ignore the taste of puke in my dry mouth this whole time, and it’s not very pleasant. I smile back at him, grabbing the bottle.
“Thanks.” I twist off the top and take a little sip, and it’s amazing.
You know that feeling when you’re running around for hours as a kid, and you’ve been playing so much your lungs hurt from just breathing, and you get your first sip of cold water? That’s what it feels like. I can practically feel the crispness of it branch out into my veins as I swallow it. I guess I didn’t realize how dehydrated I was.
He sits on the couch next to me, looking down at the floor. He looks really uncomfortable, and I’m guessing I do too. I can’t take this silence any longer.
“So, listen-”
“I just wanted to-”
We both stop, staring at each other over the overlapping words we just said. I laugh a little bit, which makes Jack smile.
“You go ahead.” He says, and I take a deep breath.
“I’m just…sorry. For not telling you earlier.” I say, tapping my fingers against the bottle. “I wasn’t thinking straight, I guess.” I sigh, looking at him. He nods, his brow furrowed.
“And I’m sorry too.” He says. “For just…being a jerk. I feel really bad about it. You already weren’t feeling good, and I just made it worse.”
“No, don’t be,” I say, but he shakes his head.
“It’s just…I care about you. A lot. And…I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He clears his throat, poorly concealing a break in his voice. “And today, I…it was close.” He tilts his wrist up, looking at the small scar the King Wretch left there.
“But I also can’t criticize you for hiding that you’re not feeling too good without looking like a total hypocrite.” He chuckles, and I laugh softly with him.
“I get it,” I say, feeling the weight of anxiety come off my chest. “Thanks for looking out for me.” And he smiles, which makes me smile, both of us grinning like the dorks we are. And I swear I can see Jack’s cheeks redden a little.
But since my period must ruin every nice moment I have, it’s only for a moment before I feel the first wave of cramps leading up to one that’s gonna HURT. You can just tell, sometimes. My forearms clamp around my belly, like outside pressure will either stop this or hurry it up already. I guess one good thing about this being out in the open is that I don’t have to pretend I’m feeling okay right now.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I put my head between my legs. The pain is crippling, doubled by the weight of being immobile for so long. The weird thing about periods is that usually, the more I move around, the better I end up feeling in the moment. I guess fighting monsters and running distracts from the pain. Obviously, I don’t overdo it, but it’s really hard to motivate yourself to get up when you’re sick and bleeding.
I exhale a shaky breath, and I hear the metal clank of a bucket handle. When I open my eyes in surprise, the bucket is in front of my face, and I feel slightly sweaty hands gently pulling my hair back away from my face again.
“I’m not gonna puke, Jack.” I say, my voice shaky from the pain.
“You sure?” He asks, and honestly? No. I’m not entirely sure I won’t puke/pass out from the pain I’m feeling right now, but other than just feeling dizzy in general, I don’t think I’m at high risk, so I nod.
He takes the bucket away, letting my hair fall back down as the cramps ease slightly. I try not to pay attention to the pang of disappointment I get when he lets my hair go. I exhale again as I feel the pain ebb away a little, and sit back upright. Jack looks worried, and he wipes his hands off on his jeans with a grossed-out look on his face.
“Ugh, gross…” He whines, “Now I’m gonna get your germs.” The way he says it like a whiny toddler makes me giggle, and I shake my head gently.
“It’s not communicable.” I say, and he raises an eyebrow at that.
“So, what? You get food poisoning or something?” He asks, and I scoff.
“I’d KNOW if it was food poisoning,” I say, and try to tamp down the memories of the last time I got it when I was 11. Not fun times.
“So…what is it?” He asks, and my heart starts pounding.
I hate the way my face heats up, but I feel a wave of pure embarrassment wash over me. I have no idea why I’m reacting this way! It’s not even that big of a deal to tell him, but…something in me is ashamed. Humiliated, even, to talk about this. I need to get over myself. It’s the freaking end of the world, and I’m afraid of talking about some blood? But Jack is already sensing the very strange feeling of embarrassment from me, and he interrupts me.
“June,” He pipes up, “You don’t have to-”
“I’monmyperiod.” I mumble, mashing it all into one word. He looks at me, frowning in confusion.
“What?” He asks, and I groan, knowing I’ll actually have to tell him.
“I’m on my…period.” I sigh. Well, guess it’s out now.
Jack just…stares at me. It’s almost unsettling how long he stares into my eyes, with the most incredulous look on his face. It’s not disgust, like I’d feared (well, maybe just a tad), but it’s not overly kind either. He’s mostly surprised, his eyes wide and searching, before they narrow a little bit, like he’s trying to process something.
“I…” He sighs, shaking his head a little. “You…okay, pause.” He says, turning his body to me completely. I sit up a little straighter. “I’m not good with girl…stuff. I mean, I can be.” He looks up at the ceiling, fumbling for words. “I’m-what I’m trying to say is, I don’t know a ton about female…” And he gestures towards me, making my brow furrow as I turn my body towards him too.
“So you’ve been throwing up, not been able to fight properly, been pale as a ghost, more moody than usual, and a whole bunch of other really alarming stuff…all because of your PERIOD??” He asks, and the way he asks offends me for a second before I look into his eyes.
There’s not an ounce of hate or teasing there. His face is genuinely scared and confused, but he’s trying to hide it so he doesn’t freak me out, I guess. It makes me a little bit more open to talking about it.
“Yeah,” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s…I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s probably one of the most painful times of my life.” I swallow hard. I feel an ache growing in my pelvis again, so I grab one leg and hug it close to my stomach and chest.
“June, I…” He starts, “I’m so sorry. I kinda just thought periods were a little annoying for a week, and then you go back to normal.”
“I mean, I guess it is for some girls. But not me.” I say, and something hits me in the chest, flavoring my mouth with the stale scent of…home. And it’s metallic, a warped recipe that doesn’t taste as good as your mom made it.
“You know, when I first got it, I was so scared.” I tell him, “I hated the idea of not being able to control when I became a 'woman', I guess. But my mom, she just…” I trail off, and I really have to take a moment. The weight of not having my parents here hits harder when my emotions are already high, and I know I can’t stop the tears that form in my eyes.
“She didn’t tell me any of that cliche stuff. She didn’t say I was growing up, or that I’d be changed forever, or any of that crap. She just…told me no matter what, I’d always be her little June-Bug.” I sniffle, and my eyes sting.
“I want her here,” I admit, and my lip quivers at the confession. “I want her here, always, but I don’t think I want her more than I do when I have to go through this.” And I can’t hold it back anymore. Tears roll down my cheeks, and the dam I’ve felt this whole ordeal today finally breaks. Jack’s eyes widen at my crying.
“Oh my gosh, hey!” He tries to comfort, his voice soft and worried. He wraps his arms around me, and the warmth shocks me for a moment, right before I break down into tears.
“Everything h-hurts, and I’m tired, and I’m just…a kid.” I say, my chin resting on his shoulder. It feels like now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. Every horrible thought I’ve been bottling up since the beginning of the apocalypse bubbling up like a shaken soda.
“It’s so stupid.” I chuckle wetly, “But…I remember when she would talk to me in Spanish, tell me everything was gonna be alright, you know?” And my voice is barely a whisper when I say,
“I miss mamá.” And I sob into Jack’s shoulder.
He holds me through my hiccuping sobs, all the trauma and grief from everything pouring out in waves of built-up anguish. But as it purges my body, there’s something that feels…lighter. Not the sadness, but…not pretending the sadness isn’t there. It feels…good to get this all out, I guess.
And as Jack tries to comfort me, he puts his hand right on that spot on my back, near my right shoulder, right where he placed it when I was puking off the side of the treehouse porch. The place that my mom always touched, always made me feel safe. Right now, it’s close enough. It’s all the same feeling of warmth and love.
My cries ease after a while, tapering off slowly as I hold onto him like we’re gonna be separated by a hurricane at any moment. He’s holding me just as fiercely, and it feels…really nice. The deep pressure helps my body aches, and the warmth from his skin shoots endorphins into my bloodstream. He very gently releases his grip, moving back to look at me. I really wish he wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this without your mom.” He says, gently wiping away the tears on my cheek with his thumb. “But, for what it's worth…I’m glad you’re here.” He smiles, and it’s a soft, fragile smile. “I mean, who else would chew me out when I do stupid stuff?” And I chuckle, the rest of my tears starting to either fall out or dry up.
“I’m sure Dirk would. And Quint, if you pushed him enough.” I smile, and Jack huffs a laugh out of his nose.
“Wouldn’t be the same.” He says. And then he looks a little…uncomfortable? Not exactly uncomfortable so much as he’s thinking about something. And then he looks at me, and he looks bashful.
“So, uh…sorry if this is weird, but…” He avoids eye contact with me, which paints an amused grin on my face. “Can I…would you mind me asking some questions? About…” And he gestures again to me.
“What, my period?” I ask, wiping away the rest of the tears on my cheeks, and Jack’s face reddens a little. “You can say the word.” I tease, and he smiles.
“Yeah. I just…guess I’m wondering why you get so sick?” He asks, and his fingers softly tap on his leg. “I mean, I never learned about this stuff in school…” And I frown at that.
“What do you mean you never learned about this stuff?” I ask, “You never took a sex-ed class before?” I joke. And he’s completely silent for a moment. My eyes widen as the silence stretches on. Holy crow.
“It’s just…some places have different ways of teaching it, I guess? I mean, when I was old enough to actually be able to learn about that stuff, I kind of lived in more…conservative areas? Like in the south and stuff. At least at the schools I went to, I don’t think they’re required to teach you about all that.” He explains, and isn’t that a thought?
“Never had a foster parent that cared enough to give me 'The Talk', so I…still don’t know enough about it.” He admits, then looks back at me. “You don’t have to if-”
“It’s fine, Jack.” I giggle, and he relaxes a little bit. “To be honest, I don’t know why I get so sick. I get cramps, like REALLY nasty ones. In my back and belly, usually, but sometimes my whole body hurts.” I explain, and he’s listening to me intently. I’m kind of impressed by how mature he’s being about this.
“If you don’t mind TMI, I bleed. Like, a lot.” I say, sighing. “That’s probably why I get so pale. I get dizzy really easily, too. Like when you stand up too fast, and those little dots flare up in front of your eyes, and you have to sit back down for a minute. But, like, all the time.”
“You…now I’m just wondering how you managed to keep this hidden from all of us every month.” He says, and I chuckle.
“I don’t. They don’t come every month for me.” I say, and he tilts his head in confusion. “Usually, they're supposed to, you’re right about that,” I try to explain, “But not mine. I think it’s probably the stress of…” And I gesture vaguely all around me. “I’ve only had a handful of periods since this whole end of the world started.”
Jack nods, but doesn’t say anything. He’s thinking, looking down at the floorboards. I take another swig from my water bottle as I wait for the gears to stop turning in his head. My stomach twists from hunger, but it’s soothed a little by the water.
“Watcha thinkin’ about?” I ask, and he looks up at me.
“Oh, I just…” And then he smiles, cracks a little laugh. “I was honestly just thinking about how to make you feel better.” And oh, that sends a warmth through me that makes me glow down to my bones. I try to tamp it down a little, but I can’t conceal the absolutely dumb-struck, dorky look on my face, but if he notices, he doesn’t mention it.
“Well, uh…” I think, and I feel the empty pit of my stomach twist again. “You mind grabbing me some food?” I ask, and Jack nods, then pauses as if he’s realized something.
“Holy crow!!” He exclaims, shooting up off the couch. “You haven’t eaten today!!” And my own eyes widen. Oh. Forgot about that. Whoops.
He quickly rummages through his jacket pockets, and one makes a crinkling sound before he pulls it out. An old chocolate chip Clif Bar, in more decent condition than I expected for something that came out of Jack’s pocket.
“No wonder you’re so weak! Here, have this.” And he hands the bar to me. “I grabbed it after you went back to sleep this morning. I forgot it was in my pocket.” He smiles, and I definitely don’t smile as our hands touch again when I take the bar out of his hand.
Usually, I don’t really like Clif Bars. They’re not bad, just not my thing. Too many sporting events I’d go to where it was about the only snack option. But right now, when I’m starving and desperately want to take some medicine? It’s worth its weight in gold.
I rip open the packaging and take a bite. Immediately, my mouth waters. It tastes so good, I nearly feel tears spring up in my eyes again. Hormones are so weird. If anything, it’s a little dry. But it’s food, and it’s sweet, and it has PROTEIN, something my body can’t get enough of when I’m menstruating. The double combo of chocolate and something to sustain my body enough to finally take Ibuprofen again blooms relief and bliss into my head, and I practically wolf it down.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I sheepishly look back at Jack. He nods, and as I suck melted chocolate off my thumb, I notice he blushes a little. That makes me self-aware enough to stop, and I can feel my own cheeks warming up.
It’s kind of weird, just the two of us alone. I mean, despite all the time we spend together, it’s always with Dirk or Quint with us. And I like it that way! The more people, the merrier. But…sometimes, I like one-on-one time with Jack. He acts… differently around just me than he usually does. I know why, of course, but when we get over that initial awkwardness, he’s…actually decently charming. But maybe that’s just the impaired blood flow to my brain speaking.
I take the last bite of my bar, balling up the wrapper and putting it in my pocket. I reach into my back pocket and pull out the two Ibuprofen tablets that have been taunting me since I threw up this afternoon, and pop them into my mouth.
“Now I know the real reason why you wanted to go to CVS!” He chuckles, and I take a drink of water to wash down the pills. I hate the taste of partially dissolved pills in my mouth. “I knew you hadn’t been checking any first-aid kits.”
“Hey, I might have!” I say defensively, “I like being well stocked.” I snark back, and Jack shakes his head.
“Nah, you would have gone overboard if you really wanted to be stocked up. Like, gotten more than just one bottle of painkillers. You don’t half-do things. You’re June Del “Type-A” Toro!!” And I blink. Sometimes, Jack’s observational skills come out so rarely and randomly that you have to stop and appreciate them, like an endangered bird.
“June Del “Type-A” Toro, huh?” I ask, and as he gives me a knowing look, I roll my eyes and scoff, “Whatever,” As I smile and lean back on the couch. My cramps aren’t easing up, but the dull ache is better than sharp pains, at the very least. It’ll be a minute before the painkillers kick in, but knowing they’re in my system does help my peace of mind a little.
My hair falls in front of my face as I look downwards, reminding me that I still have it down. It feels weird without its usual ponytail. I reach up to pull it to the side, ruffling it slightly, and feeling my scalp tingle from the movement. I really need to wash my hair. It’s oily at the roots and frizzy on the ends from being in a ponytail for the last 4 days.
I notice Jack staring at me, and I glance over at him with my hair falling around my shoulders. It’s gotten so long now, I’m gonna have to cut it sooner or later.
He’s completely enamored, staring at my hair like it’s one of those clocks hypnotists use. I smirk at him, but before I can say something snide, he blurts out,
“Can I…do something? I mean-try something. With your permission.”
And my own eyes widen. My heart starts pounding, and my adrenaline soars, but in a good way. Is he…really? But then I realize that he’s probably not going to do what I think, and that I’m being a weirdo.
“What is it?” I ask, and he looks down at the floor for a moment.
“I, uh…I used to have this foster-step sister. She was being fostered by one of my old families before me, and I joined in a couple of years after she did. I was pretty young. Like, 8 or so.” He pauses, and I tilt my head to look into his eyes as he talks.
“I would have these really bad stomach aches when I was little,” He continues, “And the couple who were fostering us…didn’t really care. But she did, a little. Sometimes, when I was really in pain, she would let me lay my head in her lap, and she would pet my hair.” He looks at me with a hopeful smile, if a slightly nervous one.
“Anyways, I just…I could…” He trails off, looking down at his lap, and I freeze as I get the implication. Oh. OH.
“I mean, not in a weird way!” He quickly butts in, the panic in his eyes apparent at my silence. “I was just thinking that’s what-you obviously can say no, I just-”
“Jack, it’s fine.” I chuckle, watching him flounder for words. “Take a breath.” I tease.
And I don’t even think about what I’m about to say before I say it.
“That would…be nice.” I say, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, but still feeling a warmth crawl into the soft hollow of my neck and the bridge of my nose.
“Yeah?” He asks, and he does the most genuine, heart-melting smile I’ve seen him make in a while. God, kill me if he ever reads this. One energy bar and a bottle of water have turned me completely weak.
“Yeah.” I nod with an awkward chuckle, we both blush and fumble for a second before he sits back. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” I threaten, and he just pats his leg with a theatrically suave smile I’m almost 85% sure he’s practiced in the mirror before trying it on me.
“M’lady.” He says, waving over his lap. His smile is so goofy, I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re a doofus.” I giggle, pulling my hair back a little as I lean down. My head lands on his lap, and I try to get comfy. It’s kind of awkward, considering this guy’s legs feel like they’re straight bones, but I tuck my shoulder under my neck, and it feels…nice.
His pants smell kind of funky, but he’s warm. I can feel it radiating off of him, and it makes me feel safe. A kind of safe I haven’t really felt since before the apocalypse. I will never, ever be a damsel in distress, let’s get one thing clear. I’m perfectly fine by myself. I CHOOSE to be around my friends because I love them, and we work best as a team.
But…something about this casual intimacy, this calmness, soothes an ache in my heart that’s been bleeding since that day everything started. Right now, at least, it feels nice to know I’m protected. That we’re both protected.
When Jack’s fingers start to touch near my ear, I almost flinch. I almost forgot why he was even doing this. His fingers are hesitant, like I’ll disappear at any moment. But he starts moving my hair around, his fingers gently sinking into the curls. My eyes flutter as he plays with my hair, the exhaustion from all the pain I’ve been in today starting to catch up to me. The painkillers have kicked in, and the dull ache is pretty much the only thing keeping me awake.
And before I know it, I’m drifting off to sleep surrounded by warmth and mostly cramp-free.
~
My eyes feel like they’re glued together by lead when I open them, my head pounding from a headache. Everything’s fuzzy, more so than when I normally wake up. But the first two things (or more accurately, blobs) I see are standing right in front of me, which makes my eyes fly open.
Dirk and Quint are watching me with their mouths agape, a slight smile curving on Dirk’s face, while Quint is straight up in shock. I sleepily furrow my brow, trying to understand why watching me sleep would be so surprising, until I lift my head a little and see Jack’s mortified face above me, and remember exactly where I am.
I immediately push off his lap, my face burning and my heart racing. I sit straight up, which makes me really dizzy, but I manage.
“We left you alone for like, two seconds!” Dirk laughs, and I HATE the way my face burns. I can feel my body heat up again, and I tilt my head down to the ground as I try to hide my face in my hands. My hair helps with hiding my face, too, the curls falling around it.
“You must REALLY be ill, June!” Quint chimes in, and I growl.
“SHUT UP!” Jack and I both say at the same time, in the same tone of voice, and we glance at each other before our faces glow even brighter red in embarrassment. I’m mortified, and Quint and Dirk chuckle again before deciding to lay off.
“Okay, geek, we just wanted to say we got you some Gatorades and waters and stuff.” Dirk clears his throat from laughing. “Don’t try to drink it now, just when you feel good again.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, crossing my legs. As I do, I notice that my painkillers are working and the cramps have subsided for the moment, but there’s clinging wetness in my jeans that feels disgusting. Guess it’s time to change my pad.
I stand up very, very slowly, and Jack still gets up to help me, grabbing my arm gently. My heart flutters at that. I really need to get it together. The rise in elevation makes my head swim, but it’s a little better knowing I’m leaning on someone. I blink hard to keep awake, my head feeling like it’s filled with cotton candy.
But the spots clear, the ringing in my ears fades, and I’m somewhat aware of my surroundings again. My back still has that dull ache in it, but no gut-wrenching cramps follow.
“Uh…June?” Quint asks, and the way he says it makes my brow furrow. Dirk looks worried too, glancing between me and the couch. “Are you…hurt?”
I’m hurtING, definitely, but not in a way that should be apparent to them, so I just stare, trying to figure out what he means.
“You’re…bleeding.” Dirk says, and he points back to the couch. I look back, and right where I was lying, there’s a dark patch that ripples into the fabric. There’s a freaking blood spot on the couch. I bled on the freaking COUCH. I twist my already aching spine to glance at my butt, and my suspicions are immediately confirmed by a giant red-brown stain on the back of my pants.
“No!” I groan, hiding my face in my hands. This day just keeps GOING.
I’m instantly mortified, my blush burning hot on my face, and for some strange reason, I feel like I’m gonna cry all of a sudden. I want to sink into the floorboards and never come back up again.
I chance a look at Quint and Dirk. Quint just looks baffled and worried, but Dirk looks confused for a moment, then he fits the pieces together, and his eyes widen with realization, a faint blush painting his cheeks. Great.
Then, he does the strangest thing. He takes off his jacket and offers it to me.
“Here, wrap this around your waist, if you want.” He says, avoiding looking at me a little, and I’m stunned.
To say I was not expecting Dirk to offer up some sort of comfort in this situation is an understatement. The dude is great at a lot of things, but emotionally, he’s not really your go-to guy. Doesn’t mean he’s not emotionally intelligent, but this is so weirdly nice.
I stop gawking at the coat, take it, and tie the sleeves around my hips. It’s surprisingly well taken care of, the normal rips patched up with care. It stinks, though.
“I’m…” I start, and I have no idea how I’m gonna finish it. What do I even say? For the first time in my life, I’m speechless. I’m humiliated, in pain, and my pad is still clinging disgustingly to my skin. My blush just burns hotter as the silence kicks in, and Quint finally looks up at me with his Quint-Co patented look of realization.
“Oh!” He exclaims, like he’s figured out a formula. “You’re menstruating!!” And the way he says it makes me groan and bury my head in my hands again. Kill me now. I feel a comforting hand on my back, and I’m decently sure it’s Jack’s.
“Duh!” Dirk says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why you were so sick.” He says, and Jack pipes up.
“Come on, guys, lay off.” He says, and both of them look at him strangely.
“I wasn’t making light of the situation!” Quint defends, and Dirk nods in agreement.
“Yeah, I know better. My big sister used to have gnarly periods.” And that piques all of our interests, the attention thankfully fading away from me and onto Dirk, who looks at us confusedly. “What? I’ve talked about her before, haven’t I?” And we all shake our heads.
“I totally have, but whatever.” He scoffs. “She worked for a moving company, toughest woman I know. But holy crap, if those things didn’t wipe her out.” He shakes his head, and I blink in silence. The thought of any woman related to Dirk who couldn’t handle period cramps makes me feel a whole ton stronger for dealing with my own.
“She could lift twice her freaking weight any day, but she needed basically a full week every month to recuperate from those things. Known better than to make fun of a girl for dealing with that stuff since I was 10.” He finishes, looking at me. “Kinda makes sense, looking back. You’ve been a little off this week.”
My brain still hasn’t processed the boys being quite so…understanding. Heck, even Quint doesn’t seem grossed out, and I’m probably the first girl he’s ever interacted with other than his mother!
“You guys aren’t…grossed out?” I ask, and all of them glance at each other, then at me. Dirk shrugs, and Jack shakes his head, but Quint hesitates.
“Not…grossed out, per se,” Quint says, and I’m expecting him to say something that’ll guarantee I’ll want to knock him upside the head, but he finishes it with, “I’m more…concerned than anything.” And I frown.
“What do you mean?” I ask, and he looks kind of bashful. Which means he wants to ask questions.
“Do you always feel this…awful, during this?” He asks, and I sigh. No use in keeping it to myself now.
“Yeah,” I answer, simply. “Today was worse than it normally is, since I puked, but…it’s never been easy.” I pull the hair out of my face, and I can see everyone a little more clearly now.
Not a single one of them looks anything but sympathetic to the pain I’m in, and it really shocks me. I mean, more teen boys really should know about periods, but most don’t. It’s whispered and almost shameful, the way most people talk about it. But I guess the boys aren’t most people.
“My whole body hurts, and I’ve lost a ton of blood,” I say. A pang of cramping pushes against the barrier the painkillers have put up, but they don’t break it. It’s a distant echo of the pain before, but it’s still uncomfortable. “It's not just the bleeding. I get dizzy when I stand up, and I get really bad headaches, too.” Quint pauses at that, tilting his head.
“Severe pain, headaches, heavy bleeding…” He mumbles to himself, putting a finger to his lips in thought. “Do you get mood swings, fatigue, or hot flashes? Any flu-like symptoms?” He asks me, looking into my eyes, and I frown.
“Uh, yeah.” I answer honestly. It feels like I’m going to the doctor. “All of those, actually.”
Quint ‘hmms’, clicking his tongue.
“Perhaps I’m not qualified to diagnose you, but I believe you might have a condition called ‘Endometriosis’.” He says, and I’m lost. I blink at him blankly, trying to get him to elaborate.
“End…ender…what?” Dirk asks, giving up halfway on trying to pronounce it, and Quint sighs.
“Endometriosis,” Quint enunciates, “is when uterine tissue grows outside of the uterus. It responds the same way as regular uterine tissue during menstruation, which can cause the symptoms you listed.” And I stare at him.
“How do you…know all this??” I ask, genuinely baffled that Quint would know more about periods than me.
“My mom required that I study the scientific aspects of female reproduction as well as male reproduction when I was twelve.” He explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“She was quite irate at the number of male scientists who didn’t know the basic functions of women, and made sure I was never as ignorant as her peers if I was to become a good scientist. Her words.”
Wow, Quint had a good mom.
“Okay…” I close my eyes, trying to process all this new information. “So you’re saying this…isn’t normal?” And he hesitates for a moment before shaking his head.
“Based on your age, BMI, and previous health, there should be no reason why your body goes through such enormous amounts of stress while menstruating.” He sighs, and I look down at the floor. “It’s a disease.” Great. So I have something wrong with me.
“Wait,” Jack interrupts behind me, “If it’s a disease, there’s gotta be a cure, right?” And I look at Quint hopefully. I know there’s not a cure for regular periods, most of the time, but maybe if there’s something out of the ordinary, something in my body that’s not supposed to be there, maybe there’s something I can do to cure it?
But Quint is silent, and my face falls. Thought so.
“A chronic one.” Quint clarifies solemnly, and there’s a beat of silence. I try to get my mind to catch up with the fact that I might have some sort of illness, that this isn’t normal. That’s probably the weirdest thing about this whole deal.
For so long, I just thought everyone who bled had these issues. From what I’d learned from periods before, they were pretty much universally hated by everyone who got them. And, of course, most bad things are exacerbated by the apocalypse, especially medical stuff. Looking back, I guess it makes sense.
“But this is progress!” Quint pipes up, with a more optimistic tone, “Now we know the cause of your illness this afternoon, and can act accordingly! I wish we had known sooner…” He says, and I bite my lip nervously. I can feel Jack glance nervously at me.
“I, uh…I already kinda knew.” I admit, and Dirk looks truly baffled. “About me being on my period, not the endo-whatever stuff. I got it this morning.”
“Then why didn’t you TELL us, ya dork?” Dirk asks, “We probably would have let you sleep in a little longer, gotten you some real food.” And before I can tell him how I technically did eat something, I cut myself off for the earful I’ll get from him about how pre-packaged foods don’t have any ‘nutritional value’.
I sigh, setting my jaw as I look up to the ceiling. I mean, there are a lot of reasons why I didn’t, and I’ve forgotten all of them. To be honest, the only thing I was really afraid of was…
“I was…I didn’t…want to tell you guys because…” I cross my arms as I struggle for words. I feel really vulnerable right now, completely unshielded and unprotected.
“I hate being weak.” I say, and it leaves me in a heavy rush. “I hate this whole thing, I hate being in pain, and it just seemed…easier to deal with it than to get you guys involved.” I shrug.
“June,” Jack says, stepping in front of me and putting his hand on my shoulder, “You’re literally one of the strongest people I know!” And warmth flushes my face at his honesty.
“When you’re sick, you’re sick. Nothing you can really do about that.” He shrugs, “And you must be practically on death’s door to be literally anything less than perfect.” I smile at that, though I try to tamp it down. “When our family is hurt, we don’t think they’re weak! Especially not you.” He grins.
“We all need someone to lean on, friend.” Quint says with a sympathetic smile.
All of the embarrassment, shame, and guilt I feel wash away in an instant, replaced by a more fulfilling feeling. Belonging. My body is still sore, and I’m still tired, but I feel lighter, knowing the boys aren’t going to judge me or make me feel bad about something I can’t control. That even though it’s gonna suck, it’s gonna suck slightly less being around people who care. And that realization makes me teary-eyed.
“Thanks, guys.” I chuckle wetly, definitely not wiping tears off my cheek with the palm of my hand.
“Now don’t get all emotional on us,” Dirk grins, and I punch him in the arm.
“Well, you’d better get some rest.” Quint says to me, “I suppose you need all the energy you can get.” And as much as I want to debate it, I really am tired.
Guess I’ll take care of the stain in the morning.
~
When I wake up on day two, it’s excruciating. But it feels much easier with the boys knowing I’m sick. I mostly sleep, fitfully.
At one point, Quint remembers he has an old hot water bottle he kept with him as a kid. Something about his parents not always being home, and how he would hug it when he slept. I remember that part because I had to hold back tears at the gesture and the story.
It’s quiet, mostly. No grand adventures or monsters trying to kill us. And for that, I’m extremely grateful. It’s peaceful, and that’s really something you tend to take for granted before the apocalypse.
I’m bundled up in warm blankets on the (now clean) couch, hot water bottle tucked in between the covers, and my migraine has finally gone away for a moment when I open my eyes. And it’s…empty. I sit up, ever so slowly, and look around. Nobody.
It’s pretty strange when you’re so utterly alone all of a sudden. It’s kind of funny, I wanted nothing more than to be alone at the beginning of all of this. Now I’m wondering where they all are.
I get up, and my back puts up a heck of a protest at the action. It buzzes low with a dull throbbing pain, which seems even more infuriating than the red-hot agony that blooms inside my lower abdomen sometimes. Probably time to take more Ibuprofen and find some food.
I stand up with some effort, still wrapped up in all my layers of blankets, and take about three steps before I hear squeaking, coming from outside. The porch?
I glance over to the window, and I can see the tips of dirty blond hair moving with the breeze outside. He’s hunched over, like he’s protecting something? It looks defensive, like he’s cradling a baby kitten or something. And my curiosity takes over. I put down a couple of blankets and my hot water bottle, just opting for one throw over my shoulders to keep the wind off, and I open the door outside.
Dirk is immediately frightened, putting whatever it was in his pocket and scowling, before he sees it’s me, and his face is just surprised again. Man, I really hope it wasn’t a baby kitten now.
“June? The heck are you doin’ up?” He asks, his voice low.
“Dunno.” I shrug, pulling my blanket closer to my body. “You were just the first person I saw. Nobody else was in the house.” Dirk rolls his eyes, sighing.
“I think nerd and nerd squared are in their rooms,” Dirk explains, pointing back at the treehouse with his thumb. “It’s late.”
“Then why are you up?” I ask, and he sighs.
“God, does that journalist in you ever get tired?” He chuckles, and it makes me laugh a little.
“Just…” He trails off, looking at the stars. I take a seat next to him, on the bare boards of the treehouse deck. “Thinking. Nice to think while everyone’s not yappin’.” He says, with an air about him that sounds…carefree. It’s refreshing.
“You said it.” I nod, looking up at the night sky. It’s crisp with a new kind of air. The coldness is a bit nippy, a little sharper than before. It feels like we’re counting the seconds until December, when winter finally sets in and does what it will. I hope, for everyone’s sake, it’ll be a kind one.
“You doin’ okay?” Dirk asks, looking away from the night sky to make eye contact with me. It’s really uncomfortable, to be honest. Such a tough guy, asking me if I’m alright, with a soft tone he rarely uses. It makes me feel a little…coddled. But I know he doesn't mean it like that, so I just nod.
“Other than my insides ripping themselves apart?” I ask lightheartedly. “Yeah, totally good.” Dirk chuckles softly, then looks down at his feet.
It definitely weirds me out. I mean, it’s weird how…mellow he is right now. It feels like I’ve interrupted something personal. Dirk’s a tough guy! It’s like watching your dad get depressed. He’s such a rock to this group, a reliable guy. I really don't know what to say or do to make him feel better. I’m not a super great comforter.
I pull my blanket tighter to my body, and I remember the jacket I’m wearing underneath all my layers. Dirk’s jacket, that he gave to me. He doesn't seem cold, even though all he’s wearing are a pair of pants and his ripped-up tank top, but I decide I probably don't need it anymore.
“Here,” I say, taking off my blanket for a minute and untying the jacket from my waist. “I didn’t mean to steal it,” I say.
“You can keep-” But there’s a pause, and his brows furrow, just slightly, before taking it. “Uh…thanks.” He says.
He doesn’t put it on, just…holds it, looking at a worn spot next to the zipper. It’s frayed, but it’s got uniform stitching over it, almost the same color as the jacket. I didn’t even notice it. It almost looks machine-done, it’s so perfect.
“Did you sew that?” I ask, pointing to the patch. He looks up, a little confused, before realizing what I’m talking about and shaking his head.
“Nah, I wish.” He chuckles, “My sister did that.” There it is again, his sister. The immediate urge to press further sits on the back of my tongue, but I shut up to try and get it organically. “If you think I’m good at sewing, you should have seen her.” And his smile turns saccharine sweet.
“She gave me this jacket, too,” He says, “12th birthday. Dad was out of town again, so she took a day off work, and we had this awesome chocolate pie.” He doesn’t look at me the whole time he talks, just staring at the tag of his coat.
“She would wear this thing all the time. Tough ol’ Carhartt, about 20 years old when she gave it to me.” My eyebrows go up at the number, but I stay quiet. “She said I was helping her out by taking it off her hands.” And then he falters, his smile sagging.
“She would always say things like that. Try not to make it a big deal. But it meant a lot. To me, anyway.” He sighs.
My heart aches at the look on Dirk’s face. Like, straight up ripped out and stomped on. I don't think he’s talked about his family ONCE since this whole thing started. I was so caught up with knowing there might be other humans out there with the radio, I guess I didn’t even consider he might have some family he’d like to get back to.
“Your whole…” He gestures vaguely to me, “Thing,” He decides, “Got me thinkin’ bout’ her.”
And I’m about to smile and tease him about his phrasing of my ‘whole thing’, but a cramp kicks me right in the guts. I suck it up because learning about this part of Dirk’s life is really interesting, and I don't want to cut it short. And I can see how his gaze has drifted to his pocket, his eyes drooping as the pain in my gut tapers off.
“She’s safe.” I say, looking directly at him with what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I know she is.” And at that, Dirk finally makes eye contact with me.
“Ya think so?” He asks, and I nod. His eyes are glassy, shining in the reflection of the stars.
“Totally.” I smile. And Dirk looks down at the ground for a moment before finally pulling out that picture in his pocket.
“I, uhm…” His voice gets really soft, and my heart drops. It’s like he can’t bring himself to speak; his tone is so gentle. “That’s her.” And he shows me the picture.
Dirk, the tiniest bit younger, looking like he’s 20 instead of his usual average of 25, fishing with a woman. The woman in the picture is tall, but not taller than him, and there’s absolutely no doubt that those two are related. But instead of the Ms. Trunchbull looking woman I’m expecting, she’s…surprisingly beautiful.
She’s strong, built tough like Dirk, but a little skinnier. Her arms are ripped, from what I can see of her back in the tank top she’s wearing. She’s wearing a baseball cap, her dirty-blonde hair pulled through the back, and I can tell it’s decently long. But her face is what sticks out to me most. She’s smiling, talking with Dirk about something with a beer in her hand. It’s such an organic photo, like looking at it brings back memories I never made, and I don't know how to feel about it.
“Wow,” I gasp, “She’s beautiful.” Dirk takes the picture back and smiles.
“Me and Greta, against the world.” He chuckles, “Straight with her words. I liked that about her. She would always try to guide me, y’know? Have the guts to tell me off for bullying some kid. Or tell off mom, for…” Then, his face turns cold again, and he chews on his bottom lip.
“I wonder if I’d be making her proud sometimes, y’know?” He asks, and thank the lord he doesn’t look at me, because I have no idea how to respond to that. “With all the bullying stuff behind me. Mostly.” His head hits the back of the treehouse as he looks up, and in the brightness of the stars, I swear I can see a wetness that wasn’t in his eyes before.
“Are you kidding? She’s totally proud of you.” I say, sitting up a little straighter. “I mean, name one other guy that can throw a wretch into a building with his bare hands.” And he chuckles, shaking his head. The tears haven’t left his eyes.
“It’s tough, sometimes. To think that.” He sighs. “I just…can’t let go of it. I was a bully. And I knew it was wrong, and I just…did it anyway.” His breath stutters a little as he reaches up to wipe his nose.
And I’m frozen. Because what do I say to that? It’s clear he’s wracked with guilt, over something all of us kind of forgot. Except for Quint, I guess. Part of me wants to tell him it’s okay, but it isn’t. It never will be. And he was to live with that. But saying all of that doesn't really help anyone, and might even hurt him in the future if he keeps measuring himself by what he WAS.
So, I do what every great reporter does. I improvise.
“Look,” I start, my brow furrowed as I try to get my thoughts together, “It’s…you said yourself that you liked it when your sister was straight with you. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. What you did was bad. We know that.” I sigh, and I fumble for words.
“You should be a professional pep-talker.” Dirk snarks, scoffing. “Almost as good as my mom.”
“Shut up.” I sneer, trying to get back to my point. “I can’t say I know what you’re going through, but…as far as fresh starts go, you’ve got a better opportunity for a cleaner slate than most people ever get.”
My mind goes back to before all the craziness, back when I had my whole life planned out. And all of it crumbled. But what I didn’t realize until Jack was that it was an opportunity. To figure out who I really was before making all these commitments. I’m really not sure I’d be who I am now without that.
“You made some mistakes. So what? Everyone does. It’s back in the world that doesn't have zombies and monsters.” I smile encouragingly, and Dirk looks at me again. “You made a choice to be a bully. Now, you made a choice to be better. That takes guts.” And I look down at that picture in Dirk's hands one more time, the carefreeness of the sun-bleached photo.
“And for what it's worth, I really do think she’d be proud of you.”
Dirk bites his bottom lip hard, and I can tell it’s to tamp down what’s most likely a sob. He looks down at that picture one last time and puts it in his jacket pocket.
“Thanks.” He whispers, and I nod.
“Don’t get all emotional on me, now.” I tease, and accept the retaliatory punch in the arm I receive.
“Worth it.” I smile.
~
“JUNE!” Jack calls, opening the door and letting a draft in that makes me hug my water bottle tighter.
“What?” I ask, sitting up on the couch. It’s day 3 now, and I’m feeling a ton better than I usually do. I had some real soup, made from Dirk’s veggies, and some sort of herbal tea. The tea didn’t taste great, but it warmed me up.
“It’s-it’s-!” Jack flounders for words, gesturing towards the door, and before I can make fun of him, Quint rushes in with a dorky smile that spreads across his face.
“SNOWING!!!” Quint exclaims, and I gasp.
“SNOW??” I beam, jumping up out of bed before I can remember that I’m supposed to be taking it easy. The dizziness quickly catches up to me as I stop myself for a minute to make sure I don’t faceplant as black dots race in front of my eyes.
“You okay?” I hear Jack ask, and I’m actually surprised I can see him by the time I look up.
“Uh, yeah!” I chuckle, sighing. “Just lost my balance.” And I’m up again just fine, if a little more cautious.
I open the door with the boys behind me, jacket forgotten, and look up. Tiny little flakes fall from the dark gray sky, drifting down lazily onto the ground below. I stare in awe as they dance around me, filling the air with a hazy, grainy look, like an antique picture.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jack whispers in awe, and a small snowflake lands in the palm of my hand, melting instantly.
“Yeah.” I sigh, seeing my breath puff like a dragon in the cold. The final nail in the coffin is set. In my book, the first snow means we’re officially in winter. It’s not unbearably cold right now, but it definitely will be. And if I’ve been keeping track well enough, it’s early. I hope we’re decently stocked up.
“We should make snow angels!” Quint exclaims, holding his hands together and beaming like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Are you kidding?” Dirk says, leaning on the railing of the porch. “We need to have a snowball fight first!” He says, grinning.
“This isn’t even the optimal snow texture for snowballs!” Quint lements, and Dirk rolls his eyes.
“Your face isn’t the optimal texture for not being a dork!!” His comeback is really weak, but I can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of me.
“We can do both!” Jack says, his gung-ho attitude leaking in his voice. “And sledding, and making snow-cones, and…”
I don’t really hear him after that. All I really remember is the feeling of change in the air. Something big about to shift. And, in hindsight, I was spot on, for several reasons. But, while snowflakes landed in my hair and clung to my eyelashes, I looked around at all these people affected by change. How far they’ve all come in the past few months. I remembered how much I hated change, how I wanted everything to stay the same and consistent. But that’s just not how real life works. And maybe it’s good that it doesn't work that way.
And as I watched my friends celebrate the snow, I wondered if maybe that change couldn’t be for the better.