Devoted To You || Gilbert Blythe

XXXIII

~𝒜𝒹𝒶~
Migraine. A noun. Meaning an extremely severe paroxysmal headache, usually confined to one side of the head and often associated with nausea.
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⚠️Mentions of SA⚠️

"Marilla won't let me go to Aunt Josephine's party. Can you believe that?" Anne asks, making my head hurt even more.

"Really? How tragic." I reply, keeping my head down.

"Right! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and she won't let me go." Anne huffs loudly.

My head remains down, shielding my face from the prying eyes of my classmates. I can't bring myself to look anyone in the eye, the weight of my own concerns keeping me isolated even in a crowded room.

"Is that all? My time?" Mr. Phillips raises his voice as he talks to Gilbert. "Tell me, should your father simply give his crops away because someone wants them? Feels he deserves them? No. He should not. Time is money, Mr. Blythe."

"My father's dead, sir." Gilbert says, making the classroom go silent.

"Yes. Well... the metaphor still plays." Mr. Phillips replies coldly.

Diana rushes inside to her seat by Anne. "Where were you? I waited." Anne asks.

"Father has a cold." Diana huffs. "We're not going to Aunt Josephine's party either."

"What? But..."

"Alright, bright little minds, open your readers. Let's pick up from where we last left off." Mr. Phillips calls out.

I can't focus in class. My thoughts keep eating at me.

I haven't had a cycle in almost three months. Not since he touched me. I haven't told anyone. I can't. They would make it out to be something it isn't. The decision weighs heavily on my shoulders as I contemplate confiding in someone, anyone, about the growing unease within me. The echoes of the lesson fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic pulsing of my own heartbeat, a reminder of the personal struggle I can no longer keep hidden.

***

I emerge from the suffocating classroom, eager to escape the lecture. A sea of students surrounds me, but I can't shake the feeling of isolation. The weight of my secret, coupled with the ever-present headache, intensifies the sense of detachment.

Gilbert, sits beside me and vents his frustrations about Mr. Phillips' unwillingness to provide extra help. His ambitions for medical school clash with the teacher's lack of support, aggravating his frustration. As he voices his annoyance, I feel a twinge of sympathy, recognizing the injustice of his predicament.

Yet, my own internal turmoil simmers beneath the surface. Eventually my patience wears thin. The pounding in my head intensifies, and I snap at him, "Would you please be quiet, Gilbert? I don't have time for this right now," I snap, the words leaving both of us momentarily stunned by their uncharacteristic edge. "I—I need to go." I stand and start to walk towards our trail home.

Gilbert's brows furrow in confusion, he follows after me. "Ada, what's going on? You've been distant all day."

I exhale, frustration and fatigue coloring my tone. "I have a pounding headache, Gilbert. I just need some space, okay?"

His concern is evident, but my internal turmoil makes it difficult to appreciate. "Ada, if something's bothering you, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

"I appreciate it, Gilbert. I just need to be alone right now," I reply, my tone softer but firm. The weight of my unspoken troubles hovers between us.