Queen

Fuck!

I looked down at the front of my shopping cart. It was nestled neatly into someone’s groin. He’d just appeared round the corner and stopped right in my way, so technically it wasn’t my fault, but still, acid humiliation started burning my insides. 

He made a half cough, half retching noise and I glanced up, taking a deep breath. He was bent over slightly due to the impact of my groin invasion, dark golden locks flopped over his forehead, whisky eyes swirling with shades of amber and honey. His camel-coloured topcoat was close fitting, and I got the distinct impression it was hiding some impressive muscles. Especially if those thighs trying to escape that expensive Tom Ford suit were anything to go by. I started getting hot under the collar.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped onto the cart's metal frame and I stared hard at him, tilting my head slightly to the side. Shit, I just ruined his chances of reproducing. I should apologise, not just stare like some simpleton. Christ he's good looking. 

I was pretty sure I’d never seen him before in my life, but he was now staring at me intently; something like hope in his eyes. 

“I can’t believe I’ve finally found you”

Was it my imagination or did he sound breathless? Ha, I scoffed inwardly, probably because I’d just sent his balls up into his stomach. 

Wait. What? I snapped back to reality, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” 

“No, but I’ve been looking for you for a –" he stopped, was he correcting himself? “- what feels like a lifetime” 

What a weird thing to say to a stranger. That humiliation turning my insides to sludge slowly froze into fear. My hot flush stopped abruptly: weird things are said by weird people and the gods know I’ve met enough of them. 

I choked back the new lump in my throat “Well, in that case, please take your hands off my cart and get out of my way” 

The man did a double take at my sudden change of tone. Good. He let go of the frame. This is going well. Then he took a step back and I moved to go round him, heading toward the checkout. I’d already spent too long in this godforsaken ‘supermarket’ strip-light hell hole and my patience was running out. “I need your help!” The man blurted out, panicked. 

I felt my lips stretch into a thin smile and bit back my snarky response. “I’m busy” I strode off. 

Getting through the checkout line and back to my little hatchback, I heaved the bags out of the cart and into the boot. I slammed it shut and went to return the cart; looking up I noticed him again. He was staring at me half determined and half forlorn. I groaned and resisted rolling my eyes but steeled my resolve: If he was a weirdo then it was better to pretend that I hadn't noticed him. I slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled away, telling myself he was an inconsequential part of my day. My teeth pulled at my bottom lip as I saw dark golden hair in my rear view. Surely, he can’t move that fast?

***

I sighed as I wedged the cheese into my overstocked fridge. Did I need more cheese? No. Was I going to eat it anyway? Hell yes. Cheese is protein and that means it’s healthier than pie. Plus, it pairs well with my fermented grape juice. I snorted, then sighed. I’d always thought I was funny but maybe not? Not that it matters now; He’s off fucking models in Monaco. I shook my head to dispel any thoughts of Him, glancing at the pale band on my bare finger; I still felt naked without it. 

I guess you can’t have it all. Fighting to be taken seriously as a woman in academia had left little time to nurture my relationship. Late night pie dates had slowly given way to nights spent alone in cold research libraries. He’d stopped following me to my overseas conferences and I’d stopped paying attention to his personal training consortium. Slowly our horizontal – and vertical, and diagonal – training had dissipated too. But I still believed my college sweetheart was meant to be mine. Felicia had arrived around the same time I’d gotten sick. I huffed; fucking Felicia. The irony of the bitch named ‘happiness’ destroying mine was not lost on me...No. I shook my head again; naïve romanticism might not have done me any favours, but neither would internalised misogyny and hate. I’m tired. 

I’m always tired. At first, I’d thought it was from working too hard, so I started working less. Then it became apparent that my relationship was dead in the water and somehow, I’d missed the death throes. That led to not sleeping very well so I was constantly fatigued. The divorce was finalised quickly – I think He was shocked I wasn’t interested in his empire; but it wasn’t mine and I had no claim to it – not that I wanted any reminders of Him and Felicia anyway. If I could carve the image of them on the exercise ball from my mind, then I would gladly bear the scar. I shuddered. The constant travelling had kept me fairly slim, but I’d started back at (a different) gym to work off any remaining stress and get my energy levels up. It didn’t work and had, somehow, made my boobs sore, no matter which expensive sports bra I bought. Then I started forgetting things; I’d always been fairly good at recalling information but now I needed seven notebooks and a reminder on my phone to remember anything. 

I sighed again. It felt like I’d been waiting all my life to follow Amalie Kirk into secure ward oblivion. My mother had been attentive throughout my childhood, but she was convinced that I was destined for greatness. Not just generic parental blindness either – I wasn’t perfect but I would be important; good marks in school, lots of friends and a determined sense of adventure weren’t enough though. According to my mother, my import wouldn’t be found in a successful career or a happy life; I was genuinely destined to save the world. The older I got, the more she insisted I be ready to answer the call of fate. It was already debilitating for us both, but dad her committed when I was twelve, after she tried to push me off a small boat on holiday. We were meant to be swimming with dolphins, but she insisted I could walk on water. Then dad shipped me off to boarding school and died three years later on a research trip to Denmark.   

I sighed for what seemed like the fiftieth time in ten seconds. I might have put all my faith in Him, but ultimately what hope did He have to save me? With a father who valued adventure over family and a mother who valued my supposed higher purpose over me as an actual person I was probably always destined for the nuthouse. Academia seemed like a safe choice to maintain a sense of readiness and adventure, but these memory problems threatened to rip that safety net away from me too. It was probably just my own madness finally manifesting itself. I suppose in a way it was validating for it to finally be upon me. Could do without the sore tits though. 

I checked my phone: 18:20. Just about enough time to wander round the corner and speak to Dr Vanum. The man was pleasant enough but gods he was the definition of ‘nice’. The original definition though; a village idiot who’d sit and let me talk at him but never really provided any answers. Perhaps today would be the day I finally throttled him and ended up in the secure ward in half the time? I smirked to myself. 

***

Sitting in Dr Vanum’s office, I crossed my legs under his uncomfortable gaze. 

“The symptoms you’re describing can form part of the perimenopause”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation “It’s not that Doc” 

“I think it might be something worth considering, hmm?” His smooth voice and calm tone were irritating me today.

“Doctor – it’s not” 

He tilted his head to the side like a patient, patronising parent “And why is that Mrs Knox?” 

“I’m not Mrs Knox.” I scowled, “And I’ve got my – er – monthlies. Does that not rule any menopause stuff out? Besides, I’m not even 40!” I mean, I’m 39 and 7 months. To hell with averages! 

He tapped at his keyboard. “Interesting. And you say that these symptoms have persisted for around 2 months?” 

“Yes –” I didn’t get a chance to finish my thought, let alone my sentence “How long have you been bleeding?” 

“Well, what a question! I –” I stopped myself abruptly. How long had I been bleeding for? “I’m not really sure” I said quietly, the various certificates behind Dr Vanum’s head suddenly became interesting as I racked my brain, searching for the answer. 

“Hmm. Your notes don’t show any history of cancer” I looked back at him sharply “Perhaps it’s an idea for us to consider endometrial atrophy? It could explain the prolonged abnormal bleeding. Plus, it can happen as the body goes through menopause, which would explain your other symptoms, including the memory loss.”

Endometrial wasting? That sounds terribly unpleasant, but, well “I’m not going mad?” I forced the words out in a quick breath. Surprise flashed across his face, but he recovered his stoic professionalism quickly. 

“No, I think that’s very unlikely.” He smiled his small, calming smile and I suddenly felt a rush of gratitude for this man who has listened to me rant about my fears of following in my mother’s footsteps.

“Let’s send you across to the nurse, shall we? She can perform a pelvic ultrasound today and we’ll see what further steps we need to take after that, hmm?” 

I took a deep breath “Yes, thank you Doctor.” I had to admit, I was feeling pretty small right about now. 

“Before you wander over, I’ll set up a prescription for some oestrogen cream – don’t forget to collect it from reception before you go.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” I was almost whispering now; I haven’t felt quite this small in a long time. 

“No problem Adelaide, I’ll see you soon” Ok, I’m not feeling quite so guilty about my ‘nice’ thoughts from earlier now. Adelaide. What a name! I shook my head as I left his office on my way to Nurse Sue.