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Silently, so silent it was almost impossible, Shane Hollander carefully removed himself from his and Ilya’s queen bed. The thoughts racing around his head were disinhibiting, rendering him nearly stupid, but one sentiment was frighteningly clear: he could not let Ilya know about this.
Chastising himself for not being better prepared, he carefully inspected the damage he had left under him. The bedsheets where he had been sleeping were hot and sticky, covered in menstrual blood in one big bloody splotch. Shane’s eyes drifted towards his boyfriend, worrying his bottom lip red as he decided what the best next step was. He hadn’t gotten his period in two years, and given he was nearly five years on testosterone, this was as entirely unexpected and entirely horrific.
Panic began to settle across Shane’s shoulders like a heavy coat, and a thick film of gender dysphoria wrapped around his throat. He hadn’t felt so specifically dysphoric in so long that the feeling was almost shocking. He wasn’t like this anymore, didn’t have to go through this, didn’t have to worry about what time of the month it was or how many pads he had on him. This wasn’t him, this had never been him, and it dawned on him that he would truly never be able to escape his autonomy. He has worked so endlessly hard to get to this point, to be stealth to the general public, to be able to walk into the boy’s bathroom without fear, to be on a men’s hockey team. And all for what? He was always going to be a female.
Breathing out a shaky sigh, Shane tried his best to blink away his awful thoughts and make some sort of a plan. Running his hand down his face, his anxious mind put together a step-by-step list of what needed to be done: 1) wake up Ilya and ask him to go sleep on the couch, 2) go to the bathroom and clean himself up, 3) make a makeshift pad, 4) clean the sheets, 5) go to the store and buy pads and pretend it doesn’t make him feel like dying, 6) everything will be okay and he can pretend this isn’t happening. Easy. Everything is going to be fine, he just needs to manage this tactically and strategically.
With shaky hands, Shane tentatively begins nudging Ilya awake, careful not to alarm him in the process. In response, he merely mumbles something in Russia, turning away slightly.
“Ilya. Ilya you need to get up,” Shane whispers, moving to stand above his boyfriend on his side of the bed. His voice cracks pathetically, almost mockingly to his desperation, and to his horror he feels tears start to prick his eyes sheepishly. It's okay, he tells himself, he just has to follow his plan and everything will be okay.
“Shane?” Ilya asks from under him, breaking him from his spiraling thoughts. Sensing something was wrong, Ilya jumps up quickly from his resting position, searching Shane’s eyes for what the problem was. “What’s going on, дорогой?”
“Ilya, I’m sorry. Please get up and go to the couch, just for a bit, I promise,” Shane whispers quickly, falling over his words and looking strictly at their comforter, “Please.”
Now entirely concerned at his boyfriend’s uncharacteristically sheepish behavior towards him, Ilya sits up fully and gently grabs Shane’s broad shoulders, “Shane, what is wrong? Someone has hurt you?”
Shaking his head almost feverishly, Shane shakily sputters out, “No, no, no. It’s okay. I’m fine, just please, please, I need you to go,” cringing as his voice cracks mercilessly once again.
Frowning, Ilya scans over Shane’s figure in the dark room. “Relax, my Shane, it is okay, yes? Tell me what is going on.” When Ilya looks back up at Shane’s face, with a jab to his heart he realizes there are tears quietly running down his boyfriend’s cheeks, like rain on a cabin window. “Oh малыш, what is wrong? Please tell me.”
Unable to hold it in any longer, Shane lurches forward and begins sobbing in Ilya’s chest haphazardly. “I’m sorry, please don’t be upset. I fucked it up Ilya, I messed up our sheets I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I haven’t gotten it in so long. I’m sorry, I’m so gross, I’m sorry,” Shane hiccups out in between sobs, clutching Ilya’s pajama shirt harshly. In his frenzied state, he half-believed Ilya would be disgusted at his wicked female-ness, sickened at his inherent autonomy.
As Ilya rubbed soothing circles onto Shane’s back, he looked over his shoulder and spotted what he had suspected, and even in the dim light of their bedroom he understood quite quickly what was going on. “Sweetheart,” Ilya started gently, “Do not say such mean words. Is okay, sweetheart. Shh, I’m not upset. Is fine, I am here.”
After several minutes of Shane using Ilya’s quiet affirmations to center himself, he minusculely pulls away to look Ilya in the eyes. “Ilya, I am so sorry. I just haven’t gotten it in so long, I’ll clean it up I promise, I’ll go right now,” Shane says wobbly, moving to leave Ilya’s arms and move towards his side of the bed.
“Shh, don’t be stupid. Is fine. Am not grossed out. I promise, sweetheart,” Ilya soothes, pulling Shane closer to him, “How about we run bath, yes? Make you feel better?”
Sniffling, Shane looks down on his boyfriend, biting his lip in worry, “But, Ilya, I need to clean this up, and then I have to get pads and probably some sort of pain medication and-”
“Shh, my любовь, always so stressed,” Ilya cuts him off, “Is okay Shane, promise. I will run you bath, you will enjoy bath, all will be okay. Yes? Yes.” Matter-of-factly, Ilya stands up and gently grasps Shane’s hand, leading him to their apartment’s bathroom without further room for debate. Shane stays silent, overcome by something not as sharp as shame but not as cruel as guilt. The feeling settles deeply in his chest and feels wrong inside him.
Upon reaching the bathroom, Ilya turns on the bright overhead light and drops Shane’s hand in order to lean down and begin to run the bath. Awkwardly, Shane shuffles his feet side-by-side and watches his boyfriend test the temperature of the water like he was running a meticulous lab experiment that requires exact accuracy. The action of moving his thighs served to remind him of the problem between his legs, the blood hot and slimy against his thighs.
“Um,” Shane verbalizes, not sure what the rules for this scenario were meant to be. Ilya had never been with him when he had gotten his period, so this was all entirely new territory for the two of them, “I need to clean up. Before, I mean.”
Ilya, who was looking over his shoulder, nodded in understanding, “Oh yes. Is okay I’m here? Or do you want me gone?”
“Do you want to stay, Ilya? I know it’s sort of… gross. And you didn’t sign up for any of this, um, girl stuff, when you started dating me, so I understand if you don’t want to be here for this. You could just go to the couch for the night and I could take it from here, I promise.”
Furrowing his eyebrows, Ilya regarded Shane in confusion, “Girl stuff? You are not girl, how could be girl stuff?”
“Because, I mean, boys don’t get their periods,” Shane all-but whispers, and Ilya realizes this was coming from his, evidently viscous, gender dysphoria.
Letting the bath tub start to fill up, Ilya walks towards Shane and shakes his head in a quick manner, “You are boy, Shane. Man, very manly muscular man. You are my boyfriend and no silly bleeding can change this. Is not for discussion, sweetheart, understand?”
Against his wishes, Shane feels hot tears begin to fall from his eyes once again, and he nods slowly to Ilya’s words. Almost sluggishly, and while watching Ilya like a half for any signs of discomfort or disgust, Shane pulls his pants down and assesses the mess. His inner-thighs are stained vibrantly red from the menstrual blood, and he feels clots of blood in between his legs.
Seeing his boyfriend’s discomfort, Ilya grabs Shane’s chin and kisses his neck lovingly, “See? Just little mess. All good. No less man.” Moving to look into Shane’s eyes, he carefully asks, “Is okay if I clean you up?”
Visibly shocked at this, Shane questions Ilya with wide eyes, “You want to? It’s really okay, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Shh. Shut up. I want to. Let me take care of you, упрямый мальчик. So stubborn,” Ilya rejects gently, cupping Shane’s face in between his hands. “Shane. I love you. Let me take care of you.”
Tears spilling down his face once more, Shane meekly nods and lets Ilya guide him to sit down on the toilet. Ilya grabs the wet wipes under the sink cabinet, the wipes Shane insisted on buying “just in case”, places his gentle, warm hands on Shane’s thighs, looking up at him for permission. Shane nods before squeezing his eyes shut, not willing to watch the disgust on Ilya’s face when he sees him in his entirety. The disgusted scoff, vomit, shocked gasped, whatever Shane was expecting, however, never comes. Instead, Ilya gently begins to wipe down his thighs, whispering sweet nothings like, “Very good, Shane. Good boy,” and “Very handsome, just a bit of blood. Is perfect.”
Cracking open his eyes, Shane is met with the sight of Ilya carefully, yet oh so meticulously, wiping the blood off of his thighs. He has never been particularly good at reading other people, but he knows every shade and hue of his Ilya, so he knows immediately that there are no signs of disgust or horror. Noticing the pair of eyes on him, Ilya looks up at Shane from his thighs and flashes the smile Shane loves so much.
“Ilya,” Shane calls.
“Yes, дорогой?” Ilya answers.
“I love you, too.” Ilya smiles at this, before leaning down and kissing Shane on the top of his kneecap. “I know. You are crazy for me. And my ass.”
“You’re so stupid,” Shane barks back, but he can’t hide his smile.