“He closes the door with a determined click, and I hear him call to a flight attendant, and I sink down onto the toilet seat, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands as I listen to him through the door. "I'm sorry to bother you but my wife," he says, and then pauses. With the last word he says, my heart begins to hammer. "The one who now got sick? She's started her... cycle? And I'm wondering if you keep any, or rather if you have... something?
You see this all happened a bit fast and she packed in a hurry, and before that, we were in Vegas. I have no idea why she came with me but I really really don't want to screw this up. And now she needs something.
Can she, uh," he stutters, finally saying simply, "borrow quelque chose?" I cover my mouth as he continues to ramble, and I would give anything at this moment to see the expression of the flight attendant on the other side of this door. "I meant to use," he continues. "Not to borrow because I don't think they work that way." I hear a woman's voice ask, "Do you know if she needs tampons or pads?" Oh God. Oh God. This can't be happening. "Um..." I hear him sigh and then say, "I have no idea but I'll give you a hundred dollars to end this conversation and give me both.”
― Christina Lauren, Sweet Filthy Boy
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