I release a soft hum when he urges, “Tell me.”
“Carnegie.” The truth slips out before I even think about it.
“What?”
I take a second, and then decide to give him this piece of the real me, revealing, “He’s a caterpillar who lives in a magical forest. Well, actually, he’s a prince, but his father had the kingdom’s sorcerer turn him into a caterpillar.”
“And why’s that?” he asks, brushing a lock of my hair behind my shoulder.
“Because the king was upset that his son kept sneaking out of bed at night to steal juice from the kitchen.”
“Is that so?” he teasingly questions, but when I don’t give him any hint of a smile in return, he drops it as he scans my face.
“I’m a caterpillar too; Carnegie’s my friend.” The words hurt coming out as I begin fighting the razor of pain that’s carving its way through my heart, exposing the blood through my eyes.
“Why are you crying?” he asks as he watches the tears slip out.
“Because it’s a lie.”
“What is?”
“Dreams. They’re nothing but lies trying to trick me into believing life could really be like that.”
“Sounds more like a fairytale than a lie.”
“Fairytale is nothing but a fancy word for a lie used to deceive little kids,” I tell him. “A false perception of reality used to give them hope in a hopeless world.”
The look in his eyes causes me to close mine so I don’t have to see the sadness he’s feeling for me. Reality is a fucked-up head-trip that I’ve numbed myself to, but my dad, I’ve never been able to control the emotion when it comes to him. He’s always been my one and only soft spot—until now—until Declan.
“Do you wish you were a caterpillar?” he asks as I feel the warmth of his thumb dragging across my cheekbones, collecting my tears.
“Yes.”
Declan’s arms envelop me, and I curl into him when he whispers, “Then go to sleep, darling,” before kissing the top of my head and tucking it under his chin. “Go be a caterpillar.”
ANOTHER THREE WEEKS have gone by since I’ve seen Pike. Bennett has been home for the most part, and whenever I can find time to slip away, I’m with Declan. I’ve been skirting around giving him a definitive answer on going to Scotland with him, but he’s starting to grow irritated with my avoidance.
The bitter cold of snowy winter has finally let up, even though the city never seems to get above fifty, even on a good day. A gust of wind picks up, nearly blowing the door right out of my hand as I open it up and head inside the building where Dr. Leemont’s office is located.
I’ve suffered from excruciatingly painful periods for around ten years; they are what led me to seek medical help, which resulted in my endometriosis diagnosis. About six months ago, I decided to try hormone therapy again to help with the pain but had to quit after a few months due to complications with side effects. Since December, the pain has been much more tolerable but the past few days have been nothing but razor sharp aches and pain, rendering me bed-ridden, practically unable to move.
Bennett’s been a worried mess, taking off work to stay home, doing whatever he can to comfort me. The soonest I could get in to see the doctor was this morning, which really upset him because he had to go to Miami for business. He was supposed to head out a few days ago, but he refused to leave my side and pushed back all of his meetings, but he couldn’t delay the trip any longer and wound up leaving late last night.
After signing in, leaving a urine sample for the nurse, and giving blood for the lab, I strip down, covering myself with the provided robe, and wait on the exam table for the doctor. As soon as I told Bennett about my diagnosis, he found Dr. Leemont, ensuring she was the best gynecologist in the state. I’ve been seeing her for over three years now, and when she finally walks in and I see her familiar smile, I release a heavy sigh, hoping she can do something for this pain.
“Nina, it’s good to see you, although I hear you are dealing with some discomfort,” she says as she walks across the exam room with her electronic notepad and sits down on a stool by the desk.
“Yes,” I respond. “For the past few days.”
As she looks at her notepad, she says, “Okay, so I see it’s been about four months since you came off the hormones, correct?”
“Yes. Around late November, if I recall correctly.”
“That’s what I’m showing here on your chart,” she remarks and then looks up at me, asking, “Have you experienced any other pain or cramping since coming off the pills?”
“A little, but it’s been minor. Nothing that a few painkillers can’t take care of.”
“And do you recall your last menstrual cycle?”
“Umm, well, it would have been right before I started on the hormones. So . . . back in August or September,” I tell her.
“What you are probably experiencing is the last of the hormones leaving your system,” she starts saying when a nurse walks in.