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Still, breathing through it is better than numbing it out.
It’s the first time in three years I haven’t made it to work with the pain. The implant in my hip usually suppresses enough hormones that I don’t have a cycle, much less one this brutal.
But Mother Nature is a witch and this week, my uterus is her cauldron. “Double, double toil and trouble” and all that.
I’ve tried warm baths and ice compresses, long walks and not moving, dissolving into distractions and focusing on the area and breathing into the pain.
No change. No differences.
Just debilitating pain.
Bean:Checking in on you. Is it any better?
Me:Not the worst I’ve had, but jockeying for position.
Bean:Can I send you an UberEats delivery?
Me:You’re sweet, but I’m okay.
Bean:Steak would probably make it better.
Me:Don’t even joke about that.
Bean:I only get one a year. I have to bide my time and use it wisely.
Me:Go eat your vegetables.
Bean:{gagging}
Me:Whatever.
My phone vibrates as we’re going back and forth and the messaging app shows a new notification.
I’d be lying to say my heart doesn’t flutter even a little when I see that. I know better than to think it could behimafter all this time.
But a little piece of me still hopes, even if for nothing, that Layton Ranger will reach out.
History has proven otherwise.
Unknown:Can we talk, Livy?
Me:Who is this?
Unknown:Tommy. We need to talk.
Me:What’s with the new number?
Me:Never mind. *We* don’t need to do anything.
Stop engaging, Livy.
And stop thinking of the wham, bam, without even a ‘thank you, ma’am’ from the funny, charming player who played you.
It’s not like I needed sweet nothings, but the bang and bounce coupled with refusing to see me afterward was rude in a way I didn’t think Layton had in him. He effuses charm.
It didn’t seem right to turn on all that charm just for a great romp. He seemed genuine when he was with me. Deeper and kinder than I expected.
But what he seemed and who he is are two different things.
