Poker Face

Chapter 52 - Wandering Mind Syndrome

"But why?" he asked, but she didn't answer. "And how long were you in there?"

"Not long. Ten minutes maybe."

"Jeez, why did you run the water so cool?" he asked. "I figured you were in there a while and it got cold. We have hot water for a fuckin' reason, doll."

"What? No," she said, puzzled. "I ran it really hot, because...what, it isn't still warm?" She hadn't noticed the temperature when Negan pulled her from the tub.

"Doll, you were shivering," he replied, leaning back and tilting her chin up to look her in the eye. "It wasn't freezing but it hasn't been hot for a while."

"I...uh..." she breathed, shaking her head. She assumed she was just over-tired; Dr. Carson said she'd feel "severely out of sorts" until she recovered fully. "I guess I kind of spaced out. I told you, it's not great when my mind wanders."

"Right..." he said skeptically. "And just where exactly did your mind go?"

"I don't know," she grumbled, hoping that would be the end of the conversation but knowing it wouldn't.

"Yes you do." By now, Aven had broken eye contact and was staring straight at his chest with a fearful pain etched in her expression.

"Can you heat up that heating pad?" Aven said, changing the subject and pointing to the heating pad she'd unplugged and tossed away from the bed. Negan didn't move for a moment, staring down at her with deep concern, but finally shifted to lay her down in bed, making sure to keep the big, white towel wrapped around her so she wouldn't get cold.

"What's this for?" he asked, plugging it into an outlet between the bed and the bedside table.

"Cramps," Aven replied. "Really bad cramps."

"Oh," he said with a frown at the sadness in her voice that didn't quite seem to him to match the subject. He knew women got emotional on their periods but this looked like downright depression at what her own body was doing. "How bad?" Aven stared up at the ceiling and sighed, her hands clasped and putting pressure on her lower abdomen to try to keep the reemerging pain at bay.

"It feels like if I were pregnant and the baby was clawing its way out of my stomach."

"Like Alien?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he sat next to her on the bed and began stroking his hand through her dry, auburn curls, down to the ends that were wet from dipping into the bath.

"Exactly like Alien."

"I guess it doesn't fucking help that you're bedridden," he said sympathetically, his hand leaving her hair to trail the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

"Well I'd be bedridden either way," she replied with the same sadness. "It gets really bad."

"Oh, come on," he said dubiously. "You can handle a little PMSing."

"No, I really can't," she said seriously. "Negan, it's, like, really bad. It's not just PMS."

"Wait, you're not pregnant are you?" he asked, his face and voice falling hard.

"No," she sighed, becoming frustrated that he wasn't understanding. "I'm definitely not pregnant. I just get really bad symptoms. Like, really bad. Completely debilitating pain, dizziness..." She paused and glanced at him before turning her eyes back to the ceiling. "Mood swings, suicidal thoughts."

"Doll..." he breathed with a hint of something like shock. "You don't...you don't feel that way, do you?"

"Not...really," she said, the look on his face falling even further. "I mean no," she said more firmly, but the sentiment didn't feel right and she didn't like lying to Negan. "I mean...yes, but it's not like I'd ever do anything. It's been this way forever. You said it yourself, if I wanted to die I'd be dead. It just....sounds really, really nice sometimes and hormones make everything feel so much worse." Negan again swung his legs up onto the bed, handing Aven the now warm heating pad and wrapping an arm around her as she positioned the pad on her stomach and groaned, half in relief, half in pain and discomfort. "Really, it's a chemical thing. I told you I'm not killing myself."