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Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She’s on top of this — usually.
Her period hasn’t been on the most regular schedule these last eight years, but for the most part that’s always meant she could semi-reliably assume that if she was expecting it on the ninth, it wouldn’t arrive until maybe the seventeenth. More than just semi-reliable, she’s always been able to count on the dull aches in her back and a level of anxiety bordering on unbearable that tells her she has two days left.
She wasn’t expecting it until the ninth, which means really she was hoping it’d wait until the twelfth at least, and certainly means that now, on the third of the month, after no cramping and only the appropriate level of stress for moving across the country, she’s sitting on the toilet in her new home, staring at a larger than preferred bloodstain in her underwear, feeling pretty damn lost.
Fuck.
She’s been taking painkillers for a few days after she’d bruised her wrist trying to catch a falling moving box — it hadn’t exactly crossed her mind that it might suppress any early warning signs, too. She hadn’t considered to take that into account on the third of the month.
She closes her eyes for a moment, willing it all away, but when she opens them, she’s nowhere closer to being past this.
With her skirt around her waist and nothing else around her ankles to catch it, CJ watches a droplet of blood fall from the fabric to the bathroom tiles. She almost snorts.
She could save the panties, in theory. If she cared to; she could put them aside carefully and treat them the way she will the skirt later. She can’t be bothered — pure frustration burning in her fingers when she takes the damn thing off and shoves it in the small trashcan to her left angrily.
She wipes, looking around their brand-new bathroom as if that will magically make her stash of pads and tampons from home appear here. There’s nothing. Nothing, because she thought she had at least a week, and because when she and Danny went shopping, she hadn’t wanted to bring up something as mundane and embarrassing as her menstrual cycle to a man she’d just moved across the country with.
She’d figured she would have time this week to get supplies herself; she’d figured there was no reason to clue him in on this particular aspect of her life just yet.
“God dammit,” she mutters out loud to an empty room, eying the bathroom door with an anger it doesn’t deserve. She’s tired — she wonders how the hell she didn’t realize she was this tired before.
CJ wipes again, just to be sure, and prays to God that when she gets up and makes a bee-line for the bedroom, her body has some mercy on her. What follows is a ridiculous, fast-paced walk (but not a run) to the bedroom, a calm but frantic search for a clean pair of underwear she doesn’t mind ruining, and an awkward walk back to the bathroom.
She can’t remember the last time she fully relied on stuffing toilet paper down her panties, but she assumes she enjoyed it about as much as she is right now. She feels like a teenager again.
There’s a small stain in her skirt, too, which she ignores to the best of her ability when she puts on gym shorts underneath the skirt, just in case, and leaves the blood on the bathroom tiles for what it is right now. Cleaning supplies are in an unpacked box somewhere and she has no desire to go rummaging yet.
When she tries to think of her next step, she finds she misses Carol. Carol would have magically conjured up a loose tampon from CJ’s desk, from a drawer she didn’t know could open, and saved the day.
No such luck.
She could walk — though with the toilet paper stuffed between her thighs it feels more like she’s waddling around the house than walking — to the corner store a few blocks away. She could pick up some detergent, too. She might even be home before Danny gets back from the grocery store; he wouldn’t even have to know.
She blinks rapidly at the thought of that being her introduction to whoever mans the store. Her legs feel heavy, her arms too when she picks up the phone. She should get some water — should get something sugary for the dizziness that’s not there yet but she knows won’t wait that long.
She has to call Danny first.
Part of her thinks it might be easier to just call Carol and tell her to book her a flight back to DC; she tries to forget that thought quickly.
It won’t be such a big deal, she tells herself. It’s just a period. He’s a grown man who’s not Josh, Sam, or Toby, and surely that means this won’t be a big deal.
CJ tilts her head back, tired of standing like this when her legs feel like lead, but not wanting to risk sitting down on brand-new furniture when she doesn’t have to.
It’s not a big deal.
Just one call she didn’t want to make today — or ever, preferably. First and last, she tells herself.
CJ takes a deep breath before she dials Danny’s number, still standing with her legs pressed together in their living room. She hopes he won’t pick up — she’s not sure what she’d do if he didn’t. Before she’s had time to think of that, Danny’s voice rings cheerfully through the speaker.
“Heya,” he greets, joyfully and like he’s only half paying attention to the phone. In turn, she's only half annoyed at how comforting the sound of his voice is. “D’you need anything?”
She closes her eyes. No would be a simpler answer. The damp tissue in her underwear says it’s no answer at all. She waits too long, because Danny sounds a little more serious when he asks “CJ? You there?”
“Yeah,” she answers quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”
“What do you need?”
CJ sighs. She’s glad he can’t see her cheeks burning. “Are you still at the store?”
“Yeah, just finishing up. Why? Need me to come home?”
She loves him, she thinks, for how quick he is to offer.
“No, no don’t— no. Just uhm,” she sighs a bit louder. Her head’s starting to hurt. “Could you— grab some pads while you’re there?” she asks, forcing the words out quickly, and trying not to read too much into the beat of silence she might very well be exaggerating.
She can almost hear Danny’s easy-going smile when he says “sure, anything specific or do I use my best judgment?” like it’s the most normal thing.
She doesn’t want to explain anything more than she has to, and really she doesn’t care that much; anything to get her through the next few days or until she can go back and get whatever she really wants herself. “No just— anything, anything will do.”
“You got it,” Danny chuckles. “Anything else?”
“Any stain remover with hydrogen peroxide.” CJ tries to sound more casually, tries to mimic the calm tone of his voice. She shifts on her feet, leaning against the wall slightly. “Something appropriate for clothes.”
Danny hums. “Rough day?”
She laughs, tears forming in her eyes without any real cause. “You could say that. I’m sorry to put it on you.”
CJ knows he’s shaking her head even through the phone. She can see it clearly in her head. “I don’t mind,” Danny assures her. “I’ll be home in a bit, okay? Take it easy.”
She promises she will, hangs up the phone, and then heads out of the kitchen to retrieve a box she’s almost sure contains cleaning supplies from the garage. It nauseates her a bit to bend over the way she has to to look through it; she ends up kneeling on the floor, fidgeting with the stupid gym shorts so they don’t shift, until she’s found the detergent she’s looking for.
By the time Danny gets back, she’s cleaned the bathroom floor and changed her skirt — depositing the stained one on top of the washing machine where she’ll take care of it later. She’s taken another pain killer to stay ahead of it and has nervously checked the state of the toilet paper twice, just to make sure.
She’s still standing when he comes in, leaning against the dinner table and tapping her foot either nervously or impatiently — something she’ll leave for Danny to decide.
“Hey, how’re you doing?” he asks first thing, entering the house with a smile on his face that loosens up some of the tightness she didn’t realize has formed inside her chest.
CJ looks at him, forcing a smile even though she’s not sure how to answer that honestly. “Fine,” she tells him. Not a lie; it’s really not that bad. She just wishes he didn’t feel the need to ask. “You got—”
She leaves it hanging, but Danny nods. “Yeah! Made quick friends with one of the clerks there.”
She chuckles at that, endeared and not at all surprised, as Danny unpacks the shopping bag slower than she’d like. She tries not to show her impatience, but one look at the arms she has wrapped around her body and Danny picks up his pace.
“I was advised to look for wings,” he informs her. “You didn’t ask for them, but I got tampons too. Without the plastic thing because I’m not sure what the added value is and we might as well save some turtles.”
He puts two boxes down on the table, sliding them towards CJ with a smile. “If you want the plastic thing, I can drive back and yell at the clerk,” Danny promises. She laughs despite herself, but immediately freezes when she feels blood escape her during the sudden movement.
She hates the worry in Danny’s well-meaning eyes.
“This is fine,” she tells him. Trying to subtly tug at the shorts beneath her skirt before she grabs both boxes and manages a smile. “Just— I’ll be, you know— right back.”
She bites her lip, hovering for a moment as Danny tells her “take your time,” before she hurries out of the room and up the stairs.
Danny has unpacked the rest of the groceries by the time she gets back downstairs. There’s a mug of tea sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for her. Danny is sitting at the table with a newspaper and a small bowl of chocolates in front of him. “Courtesy of the clerk’s advice, but I would’ve come to that conclusion by myself, too.”
“I put the cleaning stuff by the washing machine,” he tells her. “Saw the skirt and thought you might prefer if I didn’t try to clean it myself.”
“Thought correctly,” she says, feeling quite sheepish when she sits down next to him with her tea. “Thank you,” CJ adds, as she takes a sip of tea but leaves the chocolate for what it is, her stomach turning slightly at the sight.
“Not a problem,” Danny says, turning a page in the newspaper. “I was thinking we get Chinese take-out for dinner? I really don’t feel like cooking, and we haven’t yet tried that place on 17th street we saw the other day.”
She knows damn well what he’s doing, but she’s too grateful for the chance to move on like nothing’s happening to call the kindness out. CJ leans in to kiss his cheek when she tells him that sounds like a great idea, chuckling at the pleasantly surprised smile he gives her when he turns to her to kiss her lips in return.
“You’re feeling okay?”
She should’ve known he would not be able to resist. She rolls her eyes. “Stop asking, please.”
“You got it,” he promises, with just cheeky enough of a grin that she doesn’t quit believe him. Danny gets up, kissing her again as he does so. “I’ll call the place.”
CJ says nothing more, but she leans back in her chair after he’s gotten up, watching him with a silent smile as he pulls out his phone. One of her hands rests comfortably against her stomach, hoping it’ll settle enough before the food arrives. Danny catches her eye across the room, and his face lights up in a comforting grin that she returns only a little less convincingly.
She closes her eyes, listening to nothing but the sound of Danny’s voice, wishing she hadn’t stressed as much over the idea of moving here with him. It couldn’t be falling into place any better than it is.