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“This is going in your bathroom,” Rachelle says as softly as possible, rushing back into the bedroom. “Theo came out to tell me you’re not feeling well. I’m so sorry I forgot.”

She hands me the nasal spray, which just goes in one of my nostrils and then I’ll snort it into my system. I don’t make the rules, I just want to feel better, and this is supposed to do that.

Pushing myself into a sitting position, I make a face after I take the medicine, feeling it slide to the back of my throat.

“Water?” she asks sympathetically, magically handing me a water bottle. At my surprised look, she shrugs, “I read that there’s a metallic taste to it. I came prepared.”

“Thank you,” I croak, drinking the water. “I’m going to crash again and hope I wake up pain free.”

“Okay. I’ll keep the door cracked,” Rachelle decides, stepping back. Her blue-green gaze moves to the nightstand, where she frowns. “Where is your phone? I want you to be able to text us if you’re not feeling good. I swear I plugged it in when I dropped your things off yesterday.”

Ducking to the floor, she finds it there and lays it on the nightstand. I have to say it makes me feel better. I guess I knocked it off last night.

“Thanks, Rachelle,” I murmur, watching as she nods and leaves.

Closing my eyes as I get comfortable on the bed, I breathe slowly in and out, telling myself that I don’t need my knife. The meds will do their job, they have to.

Please, God.

My body begins to relax slowly, and my jaw stops clenching as well after a few minutes. Fuck, that was fast. This part is always the worst, the rest will slowly fade away too.

I’m in awe that I’m not still a crying mess. The tears fade, and slowly so does everything else as I fall asleep again.

When I wake up, I feel really good. I sit up slowly, waiting for something to signal that I’m wrong. It’s like the jump scare of, “just kidding, bitch!”

Gingerly dropping my feet to the floor, I find that my mouth is a little dry, and my nose is clogged. Those two shouldn’t work together, but they do for me. Sighing, I walk slowly to the bathroom and flip the light on experimentally.

When nothing tries to stab my brain, I close the door behind me to pee, shower, and brush my teeth. Slowly, I begin to feel more human. I avoid looking for too long at the mirror, not really wanting to see how bad the bruising is today. I’m not exactly hungry even though it’s a little after noon, but that’s okay.

This is why gaining weight is a pain. I’ll be happy with the baby steps.

I even get dressed in my favorite pair of gray cargo pants, a cute crop top that sits at my waist, and throw a bunch of product in my hair to let it air dry. I don’t really want to sit with a hot blow dryer right now, so this is as good as it gets today.

Walking out of the room, I wait to see if any of the other lights will bother me. Sometimes low bulbs are cool, but the sunlight is my worst enemy. It’s honestly a crap shoot of what will hurt my head or not.

“You’re up,” Elijah says, seeing me as I practically tiptoe out into the house. I don’t trust the magic of this medicine.

Should I laugh, cry, or scream at how easy it should be when someone actually listens to me?

“I am,” I say, my voice still kind of raspy and hoarse.

“How are you feeling? Can I ask that?” he asks.

“I’m starting to feel irrationally angry,” I sigh. “Ignore me.”

“Ah, so I’m not going to do that,” he drawls. “Why are you getting mad?”

“Because I feel amazing!” I yell, wincing as I swallow hard.

“The kids are outside playing. They’re not going to hear you yelling,” he says sagely. “So the meds work. Isn’t that shitty?”

Huffing out a laugh, I nod as heat grows behind my eyes. I can’t cry now, not when that could cause a rebound migraine.

“It really is,” I respond before giggling. “I could feel amazing every day, but instead my migraines can last days. I’m out of commission during and after them, which makes it difficult to function. It’s very shitty my doctors would ignore me.”

“How long did it take for the meds to start working?” he asks, leading me further into the house.

“Ugh, like five fucking minutes. How is that real?”