The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine Chapter 100: Cramps Are Bitches

Ella’s POV:

So, guess what? It was the 24th. And yep, Mother Nature decided to pay her monthly visit, right on schedule. Fantastic. Just what I needed to cap off this already stellar day. At least the cramps waited until I was heading ho to kick in, and they were—thankfully—bearable for the walk. Small rcies, I guess.

But oh, you want to hear about the real fun part? The part where I roasted Max and Dylan to within an inch of their fragile egos.

Let set the scene. Max, ever the oblivious optimist, decided it was the perfect ti to complain about how I never gave him a second date. A second date. Like, buddy, did you seriously think this was the mont to bring that up? And the way he said it, all pouty and indignant, you’d think he’d just asked to donate a kidney or sothing.

So yeah, I reacted. Big ti.

I told him straight-up that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t give him a second date because he acts like a Golden Retriever that can’t take a hint. His face? Priceless. He looked like I’d just told him Santa wasn’t real.

And Dylan? Oh, Dylan. The man of the hour. The genius who thought it was a good idea to ask, "Hey, are you okay?" when I was clearly not okay. Guys, for the love of all that’s holy, please stop asking girls if they’re okay when they’re on their periods. Do you want a death wish?

So yeah, I gave Dylan my piece of mind too. Maybe a little too enthusiastically, because by the ti I was done, he looked like he’d been scolded by his mom in front of the whole school. But guess what? Mission accomplished. Max and Dylan? Two perfectly silent, well-behaved gentlen by the end of my rant. If that’s even possible.

Oh, and let’s not forget the bratty wannabe bag designer who decided to test my patience by changing her order not once, not twice, but three tis. Like, who does that? At that point, I wasn’t even mad about the order—I was just offended by her audacity. So yeah, she got a little taste of my mood too. The cherry on top? Watching her slink away with her overpriced latte after I "politely" suggested she try making it herself next ti.

By the ti my shift ended, I could practically see the relief on my boss’s face. He didn’t even try his usual "Smile! The custor is always king!" spiel. Smart man. He’s seen like this once a month for long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut.

As I finally clocked out and headed ho, I couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit smug. Sure, the day had been a disaster, but at least I’d put a few people in their place. And sotis, that’s all a girl needs to survive another 24th.

All I wanted was hot coffee, a fistful of strong painkillers, and maybe a cheesy rom-com to distract from the fact that my uterus was staging a full-scale rebellion. That’s it. Nothing fancy. Just , my bed, a mountain of blankets pulled up over my head, and a prayer that this miserable day would finally end.

The second I got ho, my first move was to check if a certain stupid, entitled, rich jerk had decided to camp outside my door again. You know, like the last ti, when Jason thought it was totally normal to just wait for , uninvited.

Okay, good. No sign of him. Small victories.

And my phone? Blessedly free of his annoying, self-serving texts about "accidentally" needing to co over. For once, it seed like the universe had decided to throw a bone.

I shoved open my door and tossed my bag onto the floor. Shower first. Everything else could wait.

The water was hot—like, scald-your-skin hot—but exactly what I needed to feel halfway human again. I took my ti, letting the steam ease so of the tension in my shoulders before finally dragging myself out. Toweling off, I made a beeline for the kitchen. Coffee. Stat.

I brewed the strongest cup I could manage and downed it like it was the elixir of life. By then, the cramps were really starting to kick in, so I popped so pills, muttered a few choice words at the ceiling, and trudged to my bed.

Finally. My safe haven. I curled up under the covers, balancing my laptop on my knees, and scrolled through my movie options. Sothing light. Sothing stupid. Sothing that wouldn’t remind that my life was basically a lodramatic sitcom these days.

And then—just as I was about to hit play—my phone buzzed.

Jason.

Of course.

His na flashing on the screen felt like the universe’s way of saying, "You didn’t really think you’d get a break, did you?"

Like, right. As if I was about to pick it up. What was he even thinking? Did he sense I was on the verge of finally relaxing? Was he sitting sowhere with his stupid smirk, thinking, "You know what Ella needs? . Right now."

I let it ring. And ring. And ring again. I was not about to let Jason "ruiner of peace" Whatever-His-Last-Na-Is sabotage my evening.

But deep down, as much as I hated to admit it, I knew this wasn’t the end of it. He wasn’t the type to give up after one call. Sigh.

Guess I’d have to add ignoring Jason to my to-do list. Right after survive this god-awful night.

And yep it rang again.

So, I did what any self-respecting girl on her bitchiest day would do—I rejected the call. Then the second. The third. The fourth. And so on.

But apparently, this idiot wasn’t getting the hint. Was there a mo I missed about persistence being a virtue? Because at this rate, it was less "romantic hero" and more "telemarketer who doesn’t know when to quit."

By the ti the eleventh call rolled around, I caved. Not because I wanted to, mind you, but because the sound of my ringtone was now the most annoying thing in my life—and that’s saying sothing, considering the cramps were already putting in overti.

I picked up the phone, fully prepared to unleash hell.

And like the dumbass he is, the first thing Jason said was, "Are you okay?"

Really? Really? The man had called eleven tis, interrupted what could’ve been the first relaxing mont of my day, and that’s what he ca up with? Genius. Pure genius.

I didn’t even have ti to verbally obliterate him, because right then—like they’d made so secret pact with the devil himself—my cramps decided to make an appearance so grand it deserved its own spotlight.

The pain hit like a truck, and before I knew it, I was doubling over, cursing loudly enough to make the neighbors wonder if I was summoning a demon. I dropped the phone, clutching my stomach as though sheer willpower could banish the pain.

"The fuck was I born a girl?" I managed to growl between gritted teeth. "Stupid, biased cramps."

Jason was still on the other end of the line, panicking in his own Jason way. I could faintly hear his voice through the phone, all frantic and concerned, like "Ella, what’s happening? Are you okay? Talk to !"

Yeah, boohoo, buddy. Like your worrying was going to make this any better. I didn’t have the energy or the patience for his theatrics.

I reached over, grabbed the phone, and hung up on him mid-panic. Sorry, not sorry.

But of course, my body wasn’t done torturing yet. The cramps ca back with a vengeance, like they were offended I’d tried to defy them by taking a call.

At this point, I was just laying there, moaning into my pillow, wondering what kind of karmic debt I was paying off to deserve this. Screw movies. Screw Jason. Screw everything. All I could do now was ride this out and pray that the universe would cut a little slack tomorrow.