Edams's Point:

I was going into heat earlier than usual, so Aunty decided to bring me some things in preparation. One specific thing I had taken to was a storybook, containing everything from romances to ghost stories. A lot of them were similar to the ones at home but with some different names or different words that could easily be translated if you knew the roots. So, that became my escape from the spikes of pain that shot through my body at random intervals. I had begun eating less, and Aunty had put down that I should at least eat some bread and water, at minimal.

There were moments where I passed out entirely from the fatigue, waking up to see maids coming in with camphor to light in the corner of the room. Eventually, the room was slowly sealed off with the only movement in and out being from Aunty and the occasional maid that wanted to check on me and bring me food. The same went for the bathroom, which I was expected to wash in at least twice a day, more probably when the slick began to produce.

As a whole, it was just going back and forth between sleeping, sweating, whimpering and eventually reading. This repeated itself until the afternoon, when Aunty heard a sound downstairs and made way to the door quickly, asking one of the maids to seal the door after her so that the pheromones wouldn't leak out. The room fell into an awkward silence and I rolled over, facing the wall in an attempt to escape their questioning eyes.

Raiel's Point:

"This tablet should be taken daily to help with hot flashes and nausea, but it will cause drowsiness and loss of appetite," the pharmacist said as she slapped the label on the final bottle. The specialist had given me a prescription for Edam so I could prepare for his heat next week. I smiled, the Aid having paid the cost, and I left her to work. Eventually, I was on my way home with the packet on the passenger's seat and the weight of the therapy on my mind. The driving was a  welcome refuge into auto-pilot mode, leaving me with a space to not think or act, but to simply just drive until I got home. 

Soon, I was in my driveway and slowly had to draw myself back into reality. The onslaught of thoughts from the therapy session came back and I knew I'd have to actually sit down and think them through. The therapist said I should look into keeping a journal with Edam, since we didn't really find major vocalization with each other. He also recommended me to a website that had some good techniques of coping with anxiety, especially amongst "newly-weds" as he put it.

I hate to say it, as much as it delights me to think so, but Edam and I already seem to argue like an old couple. Letting out a small staggered chuckle, I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. I don't know why I was so scared of going into my own home, my domain. Maybe it was because it brought an air of finality to the day, that as soon as I went back in, I wouldn't be in control anymore.

I stared at the steering wheel, trying to gain some resolve from thin air. My knuckles had lightened and I could feel the heat of my skin and the sweat against the wheel. My lungs began to constrict and I tried to swallow to soothe my dry throat. I jerked back, getting cut into by my seatbelt, when someone knocked on my window. It was Adda sitting outside, looking at me with concern etching itself across her brow and cheeks. I nodded, drumming my hands against the steering wheel until I opened the door.

She didn't take a breath before standing between me and the oustide, using the door as a cover for her words.

"You alright, boy?"

"Yeah, Adda, just feeling a bit sick."

"My boy, I've been with you long enough to know that that ain't sickness. Was it bad?" She said. I choked on my words, my stomach feeling as though it was collapsing on itself. She nodded, shutting the door and walking to the other side of the car. She was about to get in but saw the medication. Picking it up, she settled with it on her lap before looking at me. I tried my best to hide my frustration, rolling my head back and letting out a muffled sigh.

"Boy, listen, I know well enough how bad your attacks can be. If you need something, I am here," she said, raising her eyebrows to emphasize her availability.

"Am I a bad person?"

"Pardon, boy?"

"Am I like my father, Adda?" I said, trailing off with the words hanging between us. Adda looked taken aback, lying back against the seat as she thought over her words. Her hesitance was enough of an answer.

"In the same way that I'm like my mother," she responded quietly, looking at the garage door, but beyond it as well, "You don't choose the family you're born into. That is for the Great Life to choose. Similarly, you don't choose the personalities you grow up around, but you can surround yourself with better personalities later. That's why it's called living, it's always happening regardless of whether you're sleeping or eating, or shitting," she trailed off quietly, turning to me and patting my hand with her aged fingers. 

"Am I good enough for him?"

"It doesn't matter if you're good enough for him, boy, but it matters if you're willing to be there for him because you'll find your feet along the way."

I couldn't help but sniffle a bit, breaking the sharp exterior she was used to. When I looked at her, she had the same eyes of that lady who used to comfort me when I scraped my knee or arm. She tapped my hand again, comforting me.

"Now, let's get these to your husband then, and a big cup of tea for you?" 

A/N: She Nature on My Nurture until I Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.