Menstrual Flow

The Advanced Literature classroom reeked of cheap floor wax. For ninety minutes, Cathy sat at her wooden desk while the lecturer droned on, too stiff to shift or adjust her position.

When the bell finally rang, the lecturer gathered his files and walked out. Cathy stood up, her limbs rigid.

As she moved, a pen rolled off her desk and clattered onto the floor. She bent down to retrieve it, completely missing the heavy warmth that had leaked through her undergarments and soaked straight into the white cloth of her pleated skirt.

She straightened and turned for the exit.

"Hey. Hold up," a voice drawled behind her.

Cathy stopped. Alex Vance sat kicked back in his chair, a smirk pulling at his mouth while his friends watched.

He stood up, pointing a finger straight at her.

"Everybody look," Alex said, loud enough to cut through the noise of the clearing room and snap every head around. "Is that blood on her skirt?"

The room went dead. Cathy froze, a hot spike of panic hitting her chest.

Alex stepped closer, his upper lip curling.

"Look at her," Alex sneered, loud enough for the hallway outside. "This Cat girl is foul. Walking around leaking all over the school like a stray dog. Doesn't she have any home training?"

Laughter broke out around him, quick and sharp. Fingers pointed.

"Gross."

"Get her out of here."

Heat rushed up Cathy’s neck. She grabbed her bag and bolted.

She dashed down the corridor, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes, hoping against hope she wouldn't run into anyone. Then she rounded the corner and nearly plowed right into Mrs. Rose coming out of the staff office with a stack of papers.

Mrs. Rose grabbed her arms, her expression sharpening as she took in Cathy's pale, panicked face. "Cathy? What is it? What happened?"

Cathy’s chin shook. A raw, ragged sob broke past her teeth. "It's my cycle... it leaked through my skirt."

Mrs. Rose didn't hesitate. She dropped her folders onto a bench, took Cathy by the wrist, and pulled her straight into the nearest empty restroom, locking the door behind them.

"Oh, so sorry dear Cathy," Mrs. Rose murmured, her hand rubbing firmly between Cathy's shoulder blades. "Come on, let's get you out of those clothes."

She unzipped her tote bag, pulled out a clean set of spare clothes she kept in her locker, and dug deeper for a pack. "Here, take this pad."

Cathy snatched them with shaking fingers, ducked into the end stall, and bolted the door.

Alone in the small cubicle, the reality hit her hard. She stared at the partition. Her period wasn't due until the 28th—today was only the 21st.

She hadn't known that grinding, constant stress—the endless night coding sessions, the mounting hospital bills, the sheer exhaustion of just trying to stay afloat—could throw her body completely out of whack and force her cycle a full week early.

She slid down the door until she hit the cold tiles, pulling her knees up and pressing her face into her arm. Sobs tore out of her, muffled against her sleeve. All the bravado from the night before felt completely useless now. What good was running a digital empire behind a screen if some spoiled rich kid could break her down in a hallway in broad daylight?

After a few minutes, the crying tapered off into a flat, heavy quiet.

She reached into her backpack and pulled out her battered silver laptop. The screen flickered to life, casting a cold blue glow over her face. She opened her chat app. Garrison Vance's message was right at the top.

Cathy stared at the text. Her jaw locked, and her hands stopped shaking, turning cold and steady.

Let them laugh. Let Alex Vance own the halls for now.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.