Chapter Twenty: Cramps

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You lie in a ball on your bed, menstrual cramps taking over your body. You hear the front door slam shut and Tom's voice echos through your apartment.

"Bea! You home?"

You groan quietly. Tom's in town for a few days and, his hotel only being a few blocks away, you gave him a key.

"Bea?" You hear his footsteps make their way toward your bedroom.

Why did I give him a key?

"Hey. Why didn't you answer me? And why are you still in bed?" he questions, standing in the doorway.

You shoot an icy glare his way and he instinctively steps back.

"What have I done to deserve such a look from my lovely girlfriend?"

Flattery. How dare he think his charms can make me feel better?

"You're a man."

"Um, yeah, last time I checked. I thought you liked that about me."

"I hate that about you."

The cramps worsen and you grimace in pain, pulling yourself tighter into a ball. A look of understanding washes over Tom's face.

"Is this wrath aimed specifically toward me, or just men in general?"

"I hate men. But especially you."

"I see," he chuckles, earning him another glare.

He makes his way toward the bed, your eyes watching his every move. He lies down next to you and presses his warm body against your back. A growl escapes your throat as a sign of protest, but he ignores it and presses his lips into your hair.

"Is there something I can do to make it better?" he whispers.

"You can stop being so freaking perfect and understanding all the time," you hiss.

"Ah. Well, unfortunately for you, I don't think that's going to happen. Is there anything else that I can do?"

You think for a minute. "French fries. And ice cream. And Doctor Who."

"You want French fries with ice cream and Doctor Who?"


"I can manage that."

He hops out of the bed and leaves the room. You hate that you miss the feeling of his body against yours. Nearly a half an hour later Tom's dragging you out of your warm bed and into the living room. There are French fries and bowls of ice cream sitting on the coffee table, and Netflix is turned on, waiting for you.

"Do you still hate me?" he grins.

"Yes. I just hate you a little less than I did."

"I love you, too," he smiles.

You plop onto the couch and reach for a fistful of fries as Tom starts the show. You decide that you want to be mad at him for just a little bit longer, but a few minutes later your head is resting on his shoulder and his arm is wrapped tightly around your waist. He looks down at you and lifts your chin, his lips press gently against yours. They're sweet from the ice cream he's been eating, and you don't want to pull away from his embrace. He breaks the kiss and smiles down at you.

"I still hate you," you breathe, wishing he'd kiss you again.

"I know," he chuckles.

You move yourself so you're lying on the couch, your head resting on his lap. One of his hands makes its way to your stomach and traces patterns against your shirt.

"Are you always going to be like this?" he asks.

"One week every month unless I get pregnant."

He raises his eyebrows and grins.

"Don't get any ideas."

You finish the episode before you launch yourself off the couch and make your way into the kitchen. You dig through cupboards, looking for one thing in particular.

"Damn it," you whisper.

"What are you looking for?"

You turn around to see Tom leaning against the counter, watching you.

"Chocolate," you sigh.

"I figured you'd want some," he smirks, pulling a grocery bag from behind his back.

Your eyes widen as you open it, seeing it filled with chocolate.

"I love you," you smile, grabbing the bag from him and making your way back into the living room.

"You're going to share some of that with me."

"Says who?"

"Says your wonderful boyfriend who went out and bought you food."

"Don't forget that your girlfriend is in a lot of pain and has the potential to rip your head off without feeling guilty."

Tom pouts. "But Bea...I want chocolate, too."

"Don't you think you eat enough sweets the way it is?"

"No! What makes you think that?"

"Tom, you're obsessed. If Luke and I would let you, you'd never have a decent meal. You'd eat sweets all day."

"Mmm, pudding," he grins.

You roll your eyes and throw a candy bar at his head. His hand reacts and catches it before it can smash into his face.

"Nice throw," he chuckles.

"You've seen me play baseball."

"You ready to start another episode?"

You nod and he sits next to you, his arms sweeping around you and pulling you onto his lap. His face nuzzles into your neck and you sigh.

"You know, I don't feel so bad when you hold me like this."


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