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Darkness envelops you. The pain is so intense, it feels like your uterus is hosting a battle royale. Every cramp hits like a freight train, and you’re convinced you’re about to give birth to a Rosemary’s baby. You curl up under your blankets, wishing you could just time travel to a world where cramps don’t exist. Maybe one where you’re a queen, lying on a bed of roses, and no one ever expects you to do anything besides eat snacks and watch bad reality TV.
You’re fairly sure your body is a medieval torture device right now, no ransom in sight to make it stop. You whimper, clutching your stomach like it’s your last lifeline and your own brain mocks you with images of rivers of blood from The Shining and the bed vomiting blood in Nightmare on Elm Street. You’ve never craved death more.
And then, just as you’re about to text your best friend to complain about God giving you a womb, the mattress dips beside you. A warm, reassuring presence hovers near, and you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder. You peek an eye from under the bed covers, half-expecting it to be a figment of your imagination, but no, it’s Viktor.
His voice is quiet but firm, the kind of tone he uses when he’s trying to convince you of something totally unnecessary but well-meaning. “Baby, you should eat something.”
An angel coming to your salvation, in your delirium you are convinced he is bathed in holy light and in a moment his wings will spread to shield you from this atrocity of an organ that is the uterus. As soon as you scramble up to a pathetic half-sit, the illusion shatters, and you nearly whine with disappointment to discover that the nutrition comes in the shape of healthy sandwiches.
“Please, let me be,” you plead weakly, trying to be as polite as you can while sliding the plate away from yourself with a face that screams disgust. You probably look like you're about to faint, but you're definitely too stubborn to give in.
“Ah, no such option is available. But I come prepared,” Viktor only smiles, reaching under the bed beyond your sight, and you catch the glint of something suspiciously indulgent.
“But I’m so gross,” you whine before you can see it. You can't help it—he's still looking at you like you're some otherworldly beauty, and you feel like a crumpled tissue in comparison.
“You are never gross,” Viktor reassures you, his voice warm, and you nearly giggle and the way gross sounds in his mouth. “And here,” he grins and presents you with the bucket of ice cream, “this is far more appropriate.”
“Fine. You’ve got my attention.” You snatch the bucket from him like a victorious conqueror, your mood lifting just a little. “This is more like it,” you mumble, suddenly all too aware of the aching throb that’s still going on inside you.
“There is more where that came from,” Viktor continues, shifting in front of you. He taps the ice cream bucket. “I also bring… more sustenance,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “a film,” and then, “And a hot water bottle.”
“These can actually cause more harm than good,” you mutter, glancing at the water bottle suspiciously. The last thing you need is something that could make the heavy flow, well... heavier.
“You will forgive me, but what kind of scientist do you think I am?” Viktor’s smile widens, smug and playful. “I have done my research, and they are only harmful when heated up to the point of burning. This one is the exact right temperature.” He gestures to it, clearly very proud of himself.
“Viktor, respectfully, but you have no idea about periods,” you counter, eyeing him like he’s just suggested you try eating fire.
“I know they are,” he starts, clearly excited to demonstrate his new-found knowledge, “a monthly occurrence where the uterus sheds its lining and can cause discomfort, cramps, and—”
“Now you are gross,” you cut him off, wincing slightly at the accuracy of his overly scientific description. You can't help but roll your eyes.
“Then it seems we fit together well, no?” Viktor teases, raising an eyebrow.
You swat at him playfully, laughing despite yourself, before adding, “You forgot the pain factor and the fact that my insides are being slashed across with a barbed wire, but yes, congratulations on your thorough research.” You let out a dramatic sigh, just for the effect, though the ice cream’s starting to calm your mood.
His expression grows thoughtful for a moment as he takes the bucket from you, cracking it open with a smooth gesture, and scooping out a generous bite. “Remember, I am no stranger to pain,” he murmurs, bringing the spoon to your lips, his eyes softening. “But of course, I can only imagine how horrendous this feels.”
You blink, a little startled by the unexpected tenderness in his voice. The heat starts to gather in your eyes as you realize how insensitive you’ve been to his kindness. You cover your face with your hands, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.
“Fuck, I’m such a wanker. I’m so sorry,” you mutter, unable to look at him.
Viktor just chuckles softly, lifting your hands from your face gently. “There’s no need for apologies,” he says, offering you a soft smile. “I’d never mind taking care of you. Even if you’re a little dramatic,” he adds with a wink.
You discard the bucket to the bedside table with a huff, deciding the warmth of Viktor is worth more than the cool of ice cream. It’s the way he sits next to you, his presence somehow soothing the chaos inside you. Viktor strokes your hair gently, and in that moment, he becomes an angel once more in your delirious, cramp-riddled mind—or, better yet, a knight who’s somehow lulled the roaring dragon between your legs into a contented snooze.
“And what’s in the repertoire today?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, though it’s clear you’re only half aware of your surroundings.
Viktor smiles down at you, his fingers still working through your hair as he leans back and reaches for his laptop. “Ah! Something romantic,” he declares dramatically, presenting the screen with flair.
You blink at the title and nearly burst into laughter. “A documentary, I should’ve known.” You can’t help but giggle, despite the drama of your situation. “Because nothing says romance like volcanoes, right?”
Viktor looks at you with a small, knowing smile, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. “Oh, but it’s not just any documentary,” he says, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s Fire of Love—about a couple of volcanologists, deeply in love, exploring the most dangerous and awe-inspiring natural forces on Earth. You see, just like us, they’re scientists, driven by passion for their work, and by each other. It’s... rather romantic, really.”
You stare at him, completely dumbfounded. "How are you so ridiculously brilliant?" you say weakly, no longer sure if it’s your uterus or your heart bleeding now.
Viktor raises an eyebrow, clearly satisfied with himself. “I take it the film choice has been endorsed?”
You let out a small sigh, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Everything you do is endorsed from this point forward."
A wicked smile plays at Viktor’s lips as he puts the film on, his fingers drifting to gently rub at your aching belly. “Careful with such promises,” he teases, his voice low and smooth. “I can think of a million ways to hold it against you.”
You roll your eyes, the warmth of his touch soothing you even as his words send a playful shiver down to your toes. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, though you can’t suppress a smile tugging at your lips. “But I guess I’m stuck with you now.”
You watch the two scientists trotting between the gates of hell spilling out lava in a fiery rage, while another gate to hell lingers open within you. But somehow, your brilliant boyfriend, the knight that he is, manages to tug them slightly less open. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless, as the warmth of his hand against your stomach soothes you in a way that makes it feel like maybe, just maybe, the worst of it is behind you.