The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine Chapter 101: Cramps

Ella’s POV:

For fuck’s sake, why did this month’s cramps feel like they were auditioning for a horror movie? Seriously, what did I do to deserve this? Did I unknowingly piss off so cosmic force? Because, honestly, it felt like my uterus had gone rogue and was now leading a full-on rebellion against the rest of my body.

I groaned, curling into the fetal position as if that would magically make the pain stop. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Nope, this month, my body had apparently decided to channel its inner sadist, cranking the pain dial all the way up.

AAARGH.

It felt like a tiny army was inside , ard with pitchforks, setting fire to everything in sight. Each stab of pain was like a personal insult. A middle finger from my reproductive system, reminding who’s really in charge here.

Normally, my cramps were bad—but bearable. Pop a few painkillers, drown in caffeine, throw on a rom-com, and suffer in relative silence. But no. Not this month. This month’s cramps decided to crank it up to level 10: Ultimate Boss Battle Edition. Every stab of pain felt personal, like my uterus was holding a grudge I didn’t even know existed.

Why, uterus? Why? What did I ever do to you? Ate too much chocolate last month? Laughed too hard at a bad joke? Forgot to hydrate? Was there a secret checklist I missed?

I tried everything. Heating pad? Check. Strong coffee? Double check. Painkillers? I took two, and it felt like they were mocking for even trying.

Laying there, I muttered every curse word I knew under my breath, and then invented a few new ones because why not? It wasn’t like anyone was here to hear lose my mind.

Popped more painkillers, adjusted my heating pad for the millionth ti, even begged the universe for rcy. But nothing was working. My cramps were on a mission, and apparently, the mission was to ruin .

"I swear," I muttered through gritted teeth, "if this doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to make so very dramatic life choices. Like... I don’t know... becoming a nun. Or getting rid of my uterus entirely."

Another wave hit, and I let out a sound that was sowhere between a growl and a whimper. Screw those people who say "embrace your femininity" during this ti of the month. I wasn’t embracing shit except maybe a baseball bat, which I was ready to swing at whoever invented periods.

"You know what?" I groaned to the empty room. "This is it. This is how I go. Death by cramps. Let’s just call it."

Dramatic? Maybe. But if you’ve ever experienced the kind of gut-wrenching pain that makes you question your entire existence, you’d get it. And for so reason, this month was the worst one yet. Like my uterus woke up and said, "Let’s make her suffer. Really make her feel alive—or dead. Either works."

Why couldn’t I have been born a sea cucumber or sothing? They just clone themselves. No cramps. No drama. No stupid boys calling you when you’re on the verge of tears because everything hurts.

Nope, just peaceful, jelly-like existence.

I reached over for the heating pad I’d thrown on the floor earlier and slapped it against my stomach, hoping it could provide so relief. It didn’t. Great. Now I was just lying there, sweating under a heating pad and a blanket, and still feeling like I was dying.

What was even worse was the thought that this was only day one. Day. One. I had several more days of this nonsense to look forward to. Yay, womanhood.

All I could do now was lie there, groaning, and hope my body would eventually chill out. Because if this got any worse, I was seriously considering drafting a letter to Mother Nature and demanding compensation for emotional damages.

Honestly, the only thing keeping going was the vague promise of chocolate at the back of the fridge and the hope that tomorrow might suck slightly less than today.

But right now? Right now, I was firmly planted in Why , God? territory.

As I lay there, ntally drafting my resignation letter from being a human, I made a note to myself: Next month, stockpile all the chocolate, heating pads, and wine I could find. Because if I had to go through this again, I was doing it on my terms.

I let out another groan, flailing around dramatically in my blanket cocoon. God forbid I had a mont to just exist without feeling like a demon was clawing its way out of my abdon.

Tomorrow better be better. Hell, tomorrow better involve a damn parade in my honor after surviving this. With chocolate. Lots of chocolate. And maybe wine. No, definitely wine. But for now, all I could do was lie there, cursing the universe, my uterus, and whoever decided nstruation was a thing in the first place.

I was finally starting to drift into that sweet, blessed sleep—the kind that ca only after you’ve been in so much pain you start to wonder if you could just slip into a coma for the next few days and wake up pain-free. My body was starting to relax, the cramps were fading into the background, and for once, everything seed... tolerable.

That was until the godforsaken doorbell rang.

Ding dong.

Are you kidding ? Who the hell was ringing my doorbell at this hour? Who in their right mind would be dumb enough to interrupt my much-needed escape from reality right now?

I clenched my teeth, already feeling my stomach tighten again. No, please, no.

But of course, the universe had other plans for . I was being pulled out of my peaceful, pain-relieving fog and thrust back into reality—right back into the world of aches, annoyance, and... them.

Whoever the hell had the nerve to co to my door at a ti like this was about to et a much darker version of Ella than the one who had been curled up in bed a few minutes ago. This wasn’t a "please co in, I’m feeling peaceful" kind of situation. This was "I’m going to throw sothing heavy at you if you don’t leave alone" level of mood.

My head was pounding again. My cramps were, quite frankly, back with a vengeance, making wonder if my uterus had hired a team of ninjas to wreak havoc. There was no way I was getting up to answer that damn door.

I tried to ignore it. Maybe whoever it was would just leave. Maybe they’d think I wasn’t ho. Maybe they’d just go away and let sink back into blissful oblivion. But no. The bell rang again.

Ding dong.

Okay, fine. If it was really that important, if the fate of the world depended on opening that door, then so be it. But I was not going to open it and just be nice. Oh no. If soone wanted to disturb , they were going to get an earful. They were going to get the full force of my frustration, my pain, and my pure hatred for them.

I threw the blankets off with an exaggerated motion, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot through my abdon like a lightning bolt.

I got to my feet slowly, careful not to double over in agony, and shuffled toward the door like an angry zombie.

"Fucking hell," I muttered under my breath.

Maybe this was the day I would commit murder. You know, just throw caution to the wind and go full criminal on whoever was dumb enough to ring my doorbell. Because, quite frankly, this day had been one giant ss of pain, frustration, and utter stupidity—and whoever was outside my door was about to get a piece of it.

Ding dong.

I swear, the sound of that damn bell was like a bullhorn in my skull, and every nerve in my body scread in response. Who in the hell did they think they were, interrupting my painfully hard-won peace?

I was literally this close to an emotional breakdown, tangled in a battle with my cramps and struggling to find comfort in the confines of my bed. And then this moron had the audacity to ring my doorbell, dragging back into reality. The universe was obviously out to get .

I took a deep breath, like that would do anything to calm the rage bubbling under my skin. Who was it? Jason? Max? Maybe it was Dylan, the guy who was getting all smug with his stupid "I like you" confession earlier in the day.

But no. I wasn’t going to deal with any of them right now. Not like this. Not when I was battling my monthly biological war and every inch of was screaming for peace.

The bell rang again.

Ding dong.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scream or throw sothing. So instead, I muttered every curse word I knew under my breath, feeling the familiar surge of frustration that had been brewing all day. By the ti I reached the entryway, I was gripping the doorfra to keep myself from falling over. Maybe if I ignored it, they’d go away. But no—stupid had to check the peephole.

And of course it was him.