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The pain starts before the sun has even risen over the horizon, and that’s how Ocean knows it’s not going to be a good day. When she grabs her phone from where it’s charging on the nightstand, she sees that it’s 5:42 in the morning. She should still be asleep, she has at least an hour left of resting time, and yet she’s awake because of some uncomfortable stabbing sensation in her stomach.
At first, she thinks she’s actually been stabbed, it certainly feels that way, and she worries that one of her parents had attacked her in her sleep, but when she peeks beneath her blanket, she sees no knife and no injury of any kind. And yet, the pain prevails, spasming wildly in her lower stomach.
She tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but it’s a persistent annoyance that nags at her, tearing up her insides with claws made from iron. It’s an off-and-on sort of thing, but every time it fades away and she’s about to finally drift off, it flares up again. Ocean is left dozing in a half-awake state, tormented by pain before dawn has even kissed the sky. That alone is enough to absolutely ruin her mood, but then she discovers something else, something that makes everything make sense.
When Ocean finally hauls herself out of bed to get ready for the day, there’s this really weird feeling in between her legs. It’s like the afterdamp of wading around in a river with pants on, except this is…sticky. Like honey, almost. But she doesn’t think honey should be down there.
That’s not right.
She decides to go to the bathroom to figure this out. It’s in there that she discovers that the thing she is feeling is definitely not honey. It does, however, smell sweet enough to be honey, though. A very, very gross, rotten, messed up honey, that is.
Her underwear kind of looks like the aftermath of a cannibal feast. All red and gooey and wet.
Blood. It’s blood.
She’s started her period.
Whereas most girls get their periods around the ages of eleven and twelve, maybe even sometimes ten, this is Ocean’s first time ever. She’s held her non-menstrual status with a sort of pride, happy to know that she’s been left out of the torture that is having a bloody vagina every month for so long, but now that crown has been ripped from her, and she’s hitched onto the period bandwagon with every other person who bears the uterine curse.
How annoying.
But even more than that: how embarrassing. There aren’t any sanitary products in her house, aside from the tampons that her mom uses, but she refuses to let those things go anywhere near her vagina, so that means she has to reach out to someone and ask for pads. This is the only time she’ll ever do something like this—asking for help—because bleeding on herself would be absolutely disgusting and even more humiliating than a simple request for a pad.
She reaches out to Constance, sending her a quick text telling her that she’s started her period, and then hops into the shower to clean herself up. The warm water feels amazing against her cramping stomach, and she wishes she could stay in here all day, but she has school, and she can’t ruin her perfect attendance because of a little period pain.
Though, “a little” may be a bit of an understatement. Ocean had always known that cramps caused by periods hurt, she’s seen and heard both Penny and Constance complain about them before, but she never expected them to be this bad. It feels like a group of deranged maniacs are Donner Partying her uterus, tearing her apart from the inside out.
Why did her body have to go and bestow her Eve’s curse? She was perfectly happy being vagina blood-free!
When she gets out of the shower, Constance has texted her back, telling her that she’s got pads and Ibuprofen prepared. She doesn’t make it weird or anything, and Ocean silently thanks her for that.
Ocean stays in the bathroom until Constance gets to her house, afraid of staining any more clothes. Her vagina seems perfectly happy to imitate an open window during a hurricane, not at all concerned about what it gets blood on, as long as it can get blood on something. When Constance finally arrives, she takes the pad she slipped her through the door and puts it on, then finally gets dressed fully.
In the hallway, Constance gives her a sympathetic smile. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Like a bottle of ketchup being run over by a monster truck,” Ocean answers, her entire body tense with discomfort.
Constance laughs softly. “Yeah, that’s basically how it’ll feel. I’ll give you some Ibuprofen in the car. Let’s get going.”
The Ibuprofen certainly helps, muting the fierce cramps to a dull ache, but by the time choir practice has rolled around, the pain has returned with a vengeance, absolutely enraged at her for trying to make it go away. Her uterus is just trying to give her the “Female Experience” after being left out of it for so long, and she’s turning it down! How rude!
Her entire body is unnaturally heavy, and her head feels hot, as though she’s stricken with a fever. Sweat dampens her brow, and her limbs quiver with exhaustion. Worst of all, an invisible ice cream scooper repeatedly sinks into the soft flesh of her cramping stomach, slowly but surely shoveling out her guts.
And then there’s the nausea.
Out of nowhere, Ocean streaks away from the group and grabs the nearby trash can, barely making it in time before she starts to vomit. Throwing up causes the muscles in her stomach to convulse violently, which makes her feel even sicker, bringing up another torrent of acidic bile.
Cool hands sweep back her long hair, holding it out of the way. Someone starts to rub her back comfortingly, and she feels a powerful flush of embarrassment flare through her. She can’t believe people have to see her like this. It’s so pathetic.
“Just get it out, honey,” Constance murmurs. “You’re okay.”
Ocean spits out the remainder of the bile in her mouth, then groans. “God…”
“Feeling better?” Constance asks her softly.
“Not really,” Ocean mumbles.
Constance gives a light chuckle of sympathy. “I expected as much.”
“Good Lord, gingie,” Noel says. “Are you okay?”
“No, I think I’m dying,” Ocean gasps.
“She’s not dying,” Constance says, rubbing Ocean’s lower back. “She started her period.”
The boys all grimace. Not in disgust, Ocean notes, but in the empathetic sort of way only non-uterus havers can manage from an outside perspective, never quite knowing the full experience of a period.
Ocean used to have that kind of mercy on her body. Not anymore.
Penny, on the other hand, looks weirdly excited about this fact. Her expression is all lit up in the strangest way, and she skitters over to where Ocean and Constance are kneeling.
“You finally made it into the Period Gang!” Penny cheers. “Congratulations!”
“This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that should be celebrated,” Ocean says. “This sucks. Is it always gonna be like this?”
Penny laughs. “Yup! Just wait until you get the cramps that shoot all the way into your clit! Now THOSE hurt!”
Ocean stares at her in dismayed horror. “I’m going to get a hysterectomy.”