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A Terror, Every Month

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“You’re a devil when you’re on the rag,” Therese removed the heating pad off Carol’s abdomen when she complained it was burning her. She took it to the bathroom and came back out to witness Carol looking rather well-pampered and satisfied. Her skin was glowing like a ripe peach and her eyes appeared a darker shade of blue from the lamp’s dim-lighting.

“You must hate me for it,” she murmured, her painted toes wiggling at the foot of the bed with the Afghan blanket barely covering her kneecaps, she had such tall height!

“I will never hate you,” Therese stood over her, hugging her arms together.

“Lay with me,” Carol stuck her lip out in a pout which normally worked on most occasions but tonight not so much.

“There is still a few more prints I need to go over in the development room,” Therese explained, watching Carol spread her arms out for a hug, which she couldn’t resist and fell in her embrace.

She smelled like her butter bar soap and copper pennies. Therese had pulled away from Carol who felt bloated and miserable.

“We still have any more of that apple crisp left?”

“I’ll go check—I think you ate the rest of it the previous night,” Therese spoke carefully.