It was a Thursday. I like Thursdays because I get to leave early (relatively speaking). After 20 days of NOT bleeding, it began again. Luckily I had been paranoid to constantly (usually) remember to wear a panty liner! Noting that it was "starting", I hightailed it to my purse for one of those "over night" type pads that I wear. You see, the flow is so heavy that it would be ridiculous to buy any other kind.
The technology of padding has changed significantly since I was a child. Now there are pads that, if I am correct, are filled with a powder, that changes to a gel upon contact with anything wet. The wetness being my brilliantly colored blood that seeps out of me in great spurts. My observation? It's a wiley red liquid. It WANTS to get all over my panties and my sheets. It's motto is: "anywhere but the pad!"
On Friday, the pain was so intense that I had to bend and clutch my stomach to reliever it. After a bit, the pain subsided, but the flow did not. I had 3 pads packed in my purse AND a super tampon, plus I had come to work wearing a pad (an "overnighter" to be sure). I used up every single one and barely made it home by 5:30. Heavy.
In other news, my car needed a little work so Lane called to offer me the assistance of his chauffeur. (He had heard from Agnes that I needed a ride.) I politely declined because I didn't want the embarrassment of arriving at work in a limo. Sure, I know, some people might be pretty proud to show up like that, but Lane's wealth had always embarrassed me a little bit, so I bit the bullet and rented a car to the tune of 130 dollars for two days. Over all, with my new job, I supposed I could afford it, but what rankled the most was that I COULD HAVE SEEN LANE and I chose not to. I chose to show him that I didn't need him. Except that I did. More than ever. And I wondered if he was suffering too.
On Friday, I came home and collapsed. I was exhausted. And bleeding. I took an iron tab from the bottle my mother had given me.
"You've lost a lot of blood," she had said. "Here, take these." So I took the entire bottle home with me.
And the doctor (yes, I now have health insurance) told me to take two a day.
Given that iron poisoning is pretty prevalent in the US, I have decided to take the supplements ONLY when I'm bleeding. Which, as far as I know, might be indefinitely.
At the book club that evening, Lane approached me. He was pale and instead of ignoring me, or trying to talk to me, he just came up to me and held me.
"Smells good," he said, releasing me.
"What?"
"You smell really good."
"Oh, Lane. I smell like a stevedore." And it was true, I did. When my time is upon me, I need at least 3 showers a day to feel like I don't stink.
He just shook his head. "Can we talk?"
"Um, okay," I said.
He took my hand and led me out to the patio, where everyone was smoking. He guided me over to a bench that was away from everyone else and took a deep breath.
"What is it?" Fear rankled in my chest. He had something horrible to say, I could sense it.
"All these months, apart, I-"
"What is it?"
"I have to tell you something. I mean. First, do you love me?"
"What kind of question is that?" I snapped. "Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? Do you even know?"
He hung his head.
"That's right. I've been crying and crying and nothing seems to make it better. Not even that idiot I slept with had any effect."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I tried to get over you, I tried. I really tried." I burst into tears. "I felt nothing for him, but I hoped that being with him with help reset me, get me back to where I was before we even met, but it just made it worse." I glared at him through my tears, "And yes, I DO love you. More than I've ever loved anyone."
"I love you too," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I drove you to that."
"Well. You did," I stated plainly.
"Did he use a condom?"
"Yes," I giggled. "In fact, while he was out in search of, I nearly got dressed an left. I was that NOT into him."
"I wish you had."
"Me too."
"Well, it doesn't matter anyway. What I have to tell you has been nagging at me, ever since I knew that I loved you. I mean," he paused, "I tried not to love you, but it didn't do any good. I kept thinking about you. Couldn't stop."
"Why didn't you ever tell me you loved me?"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well, the man has to say it first."
He laughed. "All right. I'll say it, Hilda, I love you. I love you more than you could possibly fathom. I love you so much it hurts. It hurts," he paused, "it really does hurt."
"I know."
"I cried too, you know."
"So why did you break up with me in the first place?"
"Well, it's about my secret. It's not that I couldn't trust you. It wasn't that," he shook his head.
"Well?"
"It's complicated."
"Really? Enlighten me."
"All right, but you might not quite believe me and you might get mad-and I, I don't want to lose you forever."
"Spill it, Stark."
"I'm a vampire."
"You're a vampire?!"
"Yes."
"Okay. Granted we live on the edge of reality in a land dubbed Fictionata, but seriously? I mean is there nothing sacred these days? Does every fictional piece have to descend down to this lower level? Does it really?"
He gave me a sheepish smile. "I can smell you right now. I can smell the blood. Let me help you get rid of all that stuff. I know about all the pads and tampons you have to use and the worry of getting it all over everything. Let me just suck it out of you, so you won't have to worry. Plus, you taste so good."
I gave him a look.
"What?"
"Are you serious?"
"I am serious! I'm a vampire. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Yeah. I can toggle between human and vamp. Kind of cool, right?"
"You sicken me."
"You just said you love me."
"Oh Lane. Oh Lane, you are seriously pathetic."
I sighed. For some reason, he didn't appeal to me anymore. Somehow his revelation had turned my stomach in an unheard of direction: for whatever reason, I was now, finally and forevermore OVER Lane Stark.
I remain,
Hilda Stinson
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