“My cycle, I guess. It can be hormonal.”
“Got it,” he said briskly. He wanted to tell her that she could talk to him about anything, including her periods. But he could tell this wasn’t a subject she wanted to delve into. Once she was more comfortable with him, he could discuss them with her.
Oh yeah? And how long do you think she’s going to be around for?
“When you get a migraine, what helps?”
“I usually try to lie down in the dark and quiet.”
“Nothing else? Cold packs? Hot packs? Massage?”
“I’m not sure, I’m usually too ill to get any of that and I can’t massage myself.”
What the fuck? Was she fucking kidding him right now? He could tell by the lost, lonely look on her face that she wasn’t.
“Hasn’t anyone taken care of you during one of these?”
“Uh, no. My grandma used to help me lie down and stuff. But she just thought they were a bad headache. And Doug would just stay away until I felt better.”
“Mother-fucking bastard,” he muttered to himself. “Mind if we try a few things next time?” He thought about the ideas he’d read about.
“No, not at all.”
“Got some more rules.”
“Oh, awesome,” she said quietly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” She smiled brightly.
Brat.
“You feel a migraine coming on, tell me immediately.”
“Okay.”
“You start getting stressed, you tell me.”
She nodded, chewing at her lip worriedly.
“Words,” he prompted.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Gonna need a bedtime too.”
“A bedtime?” she squeaked. “I don’t think that’s really necessary.”
“Nine for your Little. Ten the rest of the time.”
“You . . . you what? I never go to sleep before one in the morning.” She stared at him with big, pleading eyes. “That’s so early.”
“You need a better routine. And more sleep.”
“Darn it.”
“Any idea how old your Little is?”