With a trembling hand, I flick back a month and count, telling myself that I must have fucked something up.
I have to have done, because anything else just isn’t an option.
Four weeks. Just like it should be.
I go back further. It’s pointless, because I know I’ve tracked my cycle diligently.
When I first started my periods, they were erratic as fuck. But in the past year or so, they’ve settled down to the point I can pinpoint the exact day. Or I did until Daemon turned my world upside down.
I stumble back, my calves hitting the sofa, and I lower my arse down.
I’m numb. Utterly fucking numb.