at the chateau

You sigh as the wave of pain relents its hold on you. “Not really, but it’s gone for now.”

You manage to sit up a little and Steve moves his hand from your back to lace his fingers through your own. “You sure you’ll be able to make it through class today? You can always skip and hang out at work with me,” he smiles.

You shake your head. “It’s the last day, I can power through. Besides. I’m not even on my period yet, so that helps.”

Steve nods, silent for a moment as he keeps driving down the country road, plains of corn zipping by outside of the windows. “Well just call me at work if it gets worse. I’ll tell Keith you need help and he’ll let me come get you.”

Another cramp zings up your stomach and you double over again, sharp breaths leaving your nose as you squeeze his hand, nodding. “Ugh, mmmm,” you whimper, waiting for the pain to stop again. Steve looks over at you sympathetically at the red light. When the wave passes, you look over at him, anguish in your features. “Sorry you have to deal with this every month,” you sigh.

Steve furrows his brows. “Hey, are you kidding me? What I have to deal with, while you’re the one who can’t sit up straight? What’d we talk about last time? You’re not allowed to apologize for things you can’t control.”

You’re silent as he pulls into the lot of the community college and puts the Beamer into park by the curb. “Hey, come on. Last day before spring break! Can I at least get a goodbye kiss?” Steve makes an exaggerated pouty face, innocent hazel eyes on full display. Your mouth betrays you and quirks into a smile as you lean in, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“Love you, pretty girl,” you feel the shape of each syllable on his lips against yours.

“Love you too, Stevie,” you whisper back before pulling yourself away from him and opening the door, waving over your shoulder as you head in for class.

You can’t remember exactly when your PMS symptoms got so bad. It started as the normal ticket items described in the books your mom got you growing up: mild cramping, sore boobs, some minor food cravings and then a week or so later you’d get your period. But as you got older, the symptoms got worse. Mild cramping turned unbearable, causing you to drop your books in the hallway and pull over on the side of the road if you were driving, car in park with you doubled over in the driver’s seat until you were sure the waves had passed. Irritability turned into full-blown panic attacks, terrifying irrational thoughts, and depressive episodes that had you fearing your period every month.

Your parents tried to help, taking you to numerous doctors who put you on the pill, then the shot, neither of which helped enough without their own onslaught of side effects for you to use them long term. You had read early studies of cystic ovarian syndrome and its impacts on the female reproductive cycle. It sounded eerily familiar to what you were going through. Getting a diagnosis was a different story, with formal criteria not even established. So, month after month, you went through the agony alone, finally reemerging as the whole version of yourself at the end of your period.

Then, you met Steve. The first couple of months, you tried to keep it from him. You cancelled dates and said you were sick at first, and later told him you get pretty intense periods when you felt bad for lying. You thought that would gross him out, and he’d leave you alone for the week to keep dealing with it yourself, but he just shrugged when you said the words to him, hushed over the lunch table. “Doesn’t mean we can’t hang out. Cozy up, watch movies? That’s what Carol used to ask Tommy for when she.. you know, got hers,” he suggested, tone a little hushed.

You agreed reluctantly, hoping your flares wouldn’t be as bad this time. You were wrong, of course. It was the same timing as usual, a few days before your period was due. You and Steve were holed up in his family bonus room, a movie on the TV that you were both half paying attention to as Steve pressed soft kisses to your face any chance he got, relishing in making you giggle and the moments when you’d turn your face to his and lean in, connecting your lips to his with a hum. You were about to lean in for another when it happened. The same as always, lightning bolts of pain in your lower abdomen and back. You gripped Steve’s shoulders as you gasped in pain, whimpering out a string of “ah!”s and “oww”s. Steve frantically looked you over as you crumpled into your self next to him, breathing steady, short huffs of air as you waited for the cramps to fade. When they did, you turned to Steve, cheeks red with embarrassment. “Told you… it gets pretty bad.” Steve’s eyebrows creased with pity and he pulled you into his arms. You told him everything that evening between small sniffles, and he swore he’d help you as much as he could.

Steve showed up every day since then, buying heat packs, then cold packs, then ibuprofen, and so on when every method to ease your discomfort eventually failed. He rubs your back and holds you and any time you sneak down to your family landline when it’s too much to bear in the middle of the night, he picks up every time and soothe you back to bed.

A terrible, nagging line of guilt works its way through you that you put Steve through this every month. You tell him as much every time, and he reassures you back down from your shattered headspace. The feeling still lingers, but Steve eases it to the back of your mind with his words.

-

You manage to make it through the day, walking out of the lecture hall to see Steve and Robin in his car. You walk around to the drivers side and lean in to give Steve a kiss through the window, to which Robin gags, per usual, before sliding into the backseat behind Steve.

Robin flips over in her seat to face you as soon as you’ve closed the door. “Sooo! How was it?” She asks.

You shrug. “Good I guess. I’m, y’know, PMSing again so that didn’t really help, but I’m okay.” Robin’s known about your symptoms since you and Steve met her last year. She, like Steve, has never made you feel like an inconvenience. “Well, school sucked. We had to listen to Jason Carver give a pseudo-religious speech during the assembly and I failed my world history quiz.”

Steve cuts in, “Don’t deflect, Buckley. Are you gonna talk to Vickie tonight or what?”

“I don’t know, okay! If I’m wrong and she gets weirded out, I’m so beyond screwed that I might as well drop out now,” she throws her hands up, exasperated.

You snicker. “Jeez, Robs, straight to dropping out huh?” The three of you laugh and you feel lighter, like this is what your life is: laughing with your friends, driving down the backroads to that evening’s event the whole town was watching, your lovely boyfriend bringing his old letterman jacket for you to wear. Not your body, the ways it hurt you and kept you at its mercy for half of a month, every month. You took a deep breath, soaking up the moment before it could escape you.

The three of you weaved through the crowds of students and into the gym, robin splitting off with her trumpet in full pep band gear towards courtside while Steve led you up into your seats. He made sure you were settled, then disappeared to the snack line, coming back with pizza slices, sodas, and a popcorn. “Eat up, yeah? Did you have time for lunch today?”

You nodded, touched at him remembering. Making sure you had enough to eat day to day, preferably of the right nutrients but ultimately enough food in general, seemed to help your symptoms. You reached for the slice of cheese pizza in his hand but he jerked it away, tsking. “Babe, you know the price,” he lilted, teasing. You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway, smacking a dramatic kiss on his lips. He handed you your slice as you pulled away, dopey smile dizzying across his features.

“So, are we waiting for Dustin or Mike?” You asked between bites. Steve shook his head.

“Don’t think so. They have that hellfire thing tonight.”

You stopped mid-chew. “Wait, but Lucas is playing tonight! It’s the championship, what if he gets to play?”

Steve shrugs an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I don’t know.. Sinclair’s a freshman, so, unless someone’s hurt he’ll probably be on the bench for this one.” Your shoulders sag a little but you nod in understanding as the logic works over in your head.

You see Nancy file in with the school paper crew, pad in hand and face set in that serious line it gets when she’s focused on a good story. Tammy Thompson completely butchers the national anthem, and you and Steve have to hold your laughter in to avoid getting kicked out before the game starts. You nudge Steve’s elbow when you notice Robin make Vickie laugh, he squeezes your waist playfully. You wish things could always be like this. Good. Easy. Carefree. You push the thought as far into the back of your mind as possible, grounding yourself in the present.

The next hour is filled with pep songs, shoes squeaking, whistles, and the crowd losing it any time the Tigers get a basket or force a turnover. You grimace as one of the star players goes down and the coach signals up…

“LUCAS!!!” You squeal, jumping up and down and gripping Steve’s sleeve. He’s jumping with you, yelling, “YEAH, SINCLAIR!” And whistling. Lucas looks up in your direction, bashful for a second before you see him focus. The last basket plays out like a movie: time stretches, the Tigers are down by one point. You see Jason Carver take the ball as close as possible before he’s jammed up. You think it’s over, but then he passes it to Lucas, who takes a leaping jump. You swear the ball is in the air for a full 5 minutes before it catches the net and the room erupts.

Steve picks you up, your hands in the air, shouting the theme song. He brings you down and kisses you hard. You’re panting from the sheer adrenaline of it all, but you manage, “We should wait for Lucas and Robin outside!”

You and Steve lean up against the Beamer as Lucas and Robin make their way out of the gym. You run up to Lucas and give him a hug, telling him how awesome he was during the game. Steve claps him on the back and asks if he needs a ride home as two other players come up and invite him to an after party. Lucas is about to answer when the sound of faint cheers carry out from the school exit a few yards away. You all look over to see Mike, Dustin, and… “is that Erica?” You murmur, confusion across your face. It’s mirrored on Steve and Robin’s, but Lucas just looks crushed. You knit your eyebrows together.

“It’s fine, guys. I promise. I do think I’m gonna go to Jason’s house though,” he says, and the two players high five each other.

“Be smart,” Steve says. Lucas nods before turning to join his teammates.

Robin loads her band uniform in the trunk and lets you have shotgun. The three of you spend the drive to her mom’s place reminiscing on the game, Vickie laughing at Robin’s joke (to which Steve says “of course she did, it’s my joke!” And you elbow him in the ribs), and how you hope the kids can work out whatever’s going on between them. Eventually, Robin hops out and heads into her house, her mom waiting at the front door and waving you and Steve goodnight.

Steve looks over to you. “You wanna sleep over?”

You smile. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll call my parents from yours.”

You’re starting to think the cramps from earlier will be all of the symptoms this time, that you’re getting a rare mild cycle ahead of spring break when a headache develops halfway to Steve’s. He glances over and immediately knows something’s not right with how you’re scrunching one eye closed, then the other, grimacing.

“Headache?” He asks. You nod.

“I usually don’t get these as a symptom, though. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline wearing off,” your voice is gravely from the cheering.

Steve’s hand finds your own as he turns onto his street. You get up to step out of his car when the pain wrapping around your skull sharpens, causing your vision to blur as your legs buckle and you’re stumbling into the passenger mirror, gripping the car for stability.

“Babe! Hey, what’s going on?” Steve rounds the hood and puts his hands on your shoulders. The pain whites out for a moment and then stops as quickly as it began. Your breathing is heavy as you look up at him.

“I.. I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t drink enough water? It’s gone now though. Sorr- I mean, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you say. Trying at a smile, which fades when you see the concern on his face.

“What?” You ask.

His hand frames your jaw as he swipes his thumb under your nose. It’s bloody when it comes away and you gasp, your own fingers flying up to feel for damage.

“I-I don’t.. I have no idea,” you sigh in defeat. What if these were new symptoms? Would you have to add splitting headaches and nosebleeds to the list of things you had to keep an eye out for every month?

Steve sees your spiral before you can name it and gives you a sympathetic smile, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“Let’s just get inside, yeah? It’s been a long day. Get some sleep and then we can go to the lake tomorrow if you want.”