Page 57 of Made for Cyn
“What?” I grumble, wincing when another wave rushes through me, and I moan.
“What the fuck is going on? Why are you in pain?” Cyn asks, clutching my hips.
With an incredulous look, I pull from his lap and lie beside him, grasping my stomach and muttering, “Seriously. I’m on my period, ass.”
“Okay,” he says cautiously.
“Ohh, fuck,” I groan, wincing before huffing, “I have cramps.”
“Oh,” he says, rearing back and looking at me blankly.
Chuckling morosely, I close my eyes and bury my face in the musty couch pillow. Even though I’m annoyed by his interference and clear revulsion at my issue, at least he pulled me out of school so I can ride out my misery here.
“Ah, yes,” Jig says behind me in a wise tone, “period cramps. Mandy used to have those real bad, puking and everything. She said once she doesn’t know how she lived through the shit with the amount of blood leaking from her vag.”
There’s a moment of silence, where I process his words and glance at Cyn, who’s still staring at me with a weird expression before I sigh into the universe, and mutter, “Shut the fuck up, fuckwit.”
Jig laughs out loud. “See? Cramps.”
Rolling my eyes, I groan again, fighting back the tears, but I can’t because it just hurts. Beside me, Cyn grunts before picking me up and heading back for the door.
“I can’t go home,” I whisper, and he drops his gaze to mine.
“Why?”
“I just can’t,” I say, stiff as a board in his arms.
He tightens his grip infinitesimally. “I’m not taking you home.”
“Oh, okay.”
After that, it’s a blur. Cyn takes me back to his bedroom and lays me on the bed before giving me painkillers and sliding in beside me. I spend the afternoon alternating between vomiting, crying, and sleeping, and when I wake hours later, Cyn is no longer beside me.
Laying there tiredly, I smile slightly because there’s hope for Cyn yet, but it fades under the words Rand spoke and the knowledge that Cyn told people we were together.
Plus, my back burns from Uncle John’s warning. I don’t know what to do, but I can’t tell Cyn. I can’t tell anyone unless I’m willing to hurt my parents. I feel caught and completely terrified at the thought of what John might do next, the knowledge of which is barreling down on me heavily.
With a wretched sigh, I pull my aching body from the bed and peek out the door. It’s quiet, empty, and I make my way back through the house and out to the garage uneasily. I don’t know his grandmother, and I’d hate to come across her in this state.
I still feel gross, and on top of that, I’ve been puking and sweating for hours. Not a great way to make an impression, not that I should be worried about that.
The garage door is open, and when I poke my head bashfully through the door, I find the guys lounging around and playing video games. Cyn is standing before the other two, with his back toward me, and I pause in the threshold, suddenly shy under what transpired.
He held me through my pain, and it wasn’t in expectation of sex. It wasn’t in anticipation of anything—I hope.
“There’s still the question of Saul,” Cyn says sourly.
“I thought you were getting the info,” Bastion says caustically. “Pussy must be good.”
“Fuck off,” Cyn bites out.
“I don’t know why the fuck that dick cares about Iris anyway,” Bastion grumbles.
“Who the fuck knows, but we need him to stay off our back,” Cyn says.
“Tired of that stupid fuck,” Jig chimes in.
Dumbly, I step back out and lean against the wall outside the door. This wasn’t what I expected, even if my damn cousin has been insisting all along, and it leaves me with no idea what to do. All I know is my chest hurts like a motherfucker, and I want to cry—again, but I’m stuck here, with no vehicle and no clue where I actually am.
