Misfits

38: Chipotle... I Hate Him

I should be at work right now. I should be on my lunch break. I should be chatting with Lindsay before Brent calls or FaceTimes. Though, I am not.
That damn monthly bitch is here and I woke up at the ass crack of dawn with my stomach in painful, twisting knots. I could hardly get out of bed. I could barely talk. I had to text my boss, who fully understands, and told me not to worry about anything, that I'm good for the day and to take it easy. I didn't tell her much, just told her I wasn't feeling too well, but I know she knows from the fainting incident. Honestly, I wouldn't want an employee of mine coming into work if she's been known for fainting. I wouldn't want that on my hands.

* * * * * *

"Hey, how's–you're home!"

I nod. "Mmm-hmm..." I cozy up in the comforter. My eyes are closed and I can't open them. My head perfectly cradled in my pillow which isn't helping my eyes with trying to open.

"Babe, are you okay?" Brent asks. I shake my head. "Willow baby, what's wrong?" Voice soft as silk. Sometimes that voice makes me emotional.

"Cramps... Not the bad ones, but enough to make me stay home..." I mumble.

"Baby doll..." Not the silky soft voice, but not a oh-poor-Willow voice, and definitely not a woe-is-her voice. A caring voice. A voice that tells me he wishes he was here, holding me, cuddling the pain away. I wish he was here, too.

My right eye fights open to look at my cute boyfriend. "They're going away. I should be fine in an hour. Can I call you then?" My eye shuts again.

"Yup! Rest, baby doll, I love–"

* * * * * *

"Willow..." A hand shakes me. "Willow honey..."

I roll onto my back to Patricia sitting on our bed. "Hmm?" I rub my face and sit up.

"Sweet girl, how are you feeling?" She brushes my rats nest of my hair. When my hair is tangly and someone aka my boyfriend plays with it it makes me self conscious. Let alone his mother!

My eyes shoot to the clock on the wall. It's one. Shouldn't she still be at work? "Better than earlier. Not fully there, but better." The last thing I remember is Brent quietly saying, "I love" before I went back to dreamland.

"Well, I brought you some lunch if you're up for eating." She places a Chipotle bag between us.

"Your son is the worst..." I fall back to my pillow.

She chuckles. "Yes, I know he is."

"It's chicken, right?"

"With extra hot sauce and guacamole, mm-hmm."

"I'm gonna kill him..." I dig through the bag and grab one of the bowls with the familiar writing on the foiled top. "We should probably eat downstairs. This is gonna get messy." P nods and grabs the bag the same time I grab one of Brent's hoodies off the floor. Call me gross, but it was the last one he wore while being home little over a month ago, and I've been wearing it on and off since, without washing it because his body wash and after shave scent still fills the threads. "When did he call you?" I ask at the table.

She looks at the microwave for the time. "About an hour ago. He called, well he said he called you about two hours ago. Told me to take my time and let you sleep..."

I watch Rowan chase the raindrops on the windows in the family room. Her little paws smacking the glass. "Gah, I love him so much..."

She smiles. "He's a cutie that for sure. He also loves you a lot. Cares so much about you, Willow. I couldn't ask for a better boyfriend for you, or a better girlfriend for him. I love you like you're my own daughter, sweet girl."