“I
won’t be long.” John shouted through the bathroom door.
Laura cringed and continued to ring out the water from the panties
she had been hand-washing.
“Fine.” She replied; what else could she possibly say?
She felt the first cramp grip her stomach like a vice, twisting
her insides to the same degree that she had rung the water from
her delicates.
That unmistakable foreboding of her period had hit this morning
with the onset of PMT. A day trip into the city centre had left
Laura feeling irritated and -in her mind -quite capable of committing
first degree murder.
This was nothing new. However each month seemed to be getting worse.
This rage inside of her was increasing and becoming more difficult
to contain. The slightest things annoyed her: from the elderly people
walking oh-so slowly in front of her, to the sound John made while
chewing gum.
In truth, the others were not responsible and basically they were
doing nothing wrong. It was all down to Laura’s mood, and
she was well aware of that fact. Being honest with herself, Laura
would admit that it scared her.
Six months ago she had never suffered any apparent form of PMT,
or at least definitely not to this level.
She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She felt like shit.
Her stomach was bloated and her skin still felt dry, even though
this very morning she had smothered her flesh with baby oil after
bathing.
“What’s wrong with me?” She questioned the reflection
that stared back from the mirror.
At times there were calm moments, when Laura could feel her heart
rate settle and her blood reduce to a gentle simmer rather than
boil, but these were few and far between. At these times she felt
some semblance of sanity and reason.
Then just a split second later, she was saying things she didn’t
mean and feeling a type of hatred that she never thought possible.
It was at these times that Laura needed to escape. She did this
by being at home and being naked. Clothes were so restrictive; anything
she wore felt uncomfortable around her waist from the bloating.
Silently, she cursed Eve for the curse placed upon women for the
crime of taking one fucking apple.
Laura studied her stomach in the mirror again; she still could not
believe how bloated it could get before her period.
It was really distended and although water retention at this time
of month was common, Laura knew it was not water making her look
so hideously fat.
It was blood.
Usually, about two weeks before Laura’s period was due, the
bloating would begin. Slowly at first and then finally in the few
days before the first drop of blood, her stomach would be this huge
blob. Laura swore that if you listened carefully you could hear
the blood swishing around inside of her uterus.
She would pray for the blood flow at these times; once the flow
started her stomach would start to go down. She always bled heavily.
“Tablespoon of blood my arse.” She scoffed. “What
type of woman did they get that measurement from? A pygmy?”
By the last day of her period; which usually varied from between
two days up to a week – Laura was by no means predictable
in menstruation- her stomach would be down again.
Once, Laura had read in a magazine about some Doctors in the middle
of nowhere who could literally suck the blood from your uterus with
some kind of device when your period was due.
Absolutely brilliant.
On consultation with her Doctor, she was left disappointed and frustrated.
“It ‘s practised only in America, and even then the
Doctors providing this service are few and far between.” He
had said. “It cannot be guaranteed safe after prolonged usage.”
“Not safe?” Laura had thought to herself, “And
the tampon companies had no say in this?”
Laura knew better.
The medical business, was just that. A business. It needed patients
and money. When something revolutionary came along that threatened
it’s monopoly, then suddenly that “something”
was ‘not safe anymore.’ That, or a more expensive brand
of antibiotic would be prescribed to keep the cash flowing into
the right coffers.
So, like millions of other women Laura was forced to accept everything
associated with menstruation.
However, surely this level of PMT was not acceptable.
Lately
though, John- her own husband- was becoming scared of her; and spent
most of his time avoiding her at this time of month.
Understandable she supposed.
Women have killed whilst being pre-menstrual and have been acquitted
of murder because of it.
So Laura needed to find some solution to her rapidly expanding (in
more than one sense.) “problem.”
The Doctors didn’t listen. Not even the female ones. “You
need to take a special iron supplement.” They would say, pens
poised to write out another subscription.
“Yeah, and Iron solves so many female problems.” Laura
spat bitterly at her reflection.
“I eat plenty of green vegetables and red meat.” She
said aloud, the vision of ripping raw meat from the bone, filling
her mind.
Laura shook her head and the vision departed, she laughed.
“Well, at least my imagination becomes more fruitful.”
She
couldn’t take her eyes off her stomach. It even appeared to
have expanded since she had fled to the haven of the bathroom.
“Fucking typical!” Laura cursed, smashing her fist against
the mirror with anger and frustration.
The silver backed glass splintered under her fist and left a jagged
web of lines across its full length.
“Fuck!” Laura sobbed to herself as the first flow of
steamy tears began to pour down her cheeks. Seven years of bad luck.
Laura wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. Blood had
begun to flow from the small gash in her hand. She felt no pain
from it though; not in comparison to the cramps that persisted to
plague her stomach.
Laura studied her hand. It was almost hypnotic the way that the
blood flowed. Incessant. Inexorably making it’s way over her
palm, spidering its way through the lines that could apparently
foretell her life.
It was so simple.
Laura’s hand moved to the broken mirror and carefully pulled
a wedge of glass from its frame. Amazingly, the rest of the pieces
remained unmoved.
Holding the glass, Laura caught a partial glimpse of her face in
its reflection.
Her hand moved towards her stomach and suddenly, as if on some bizarre
whim, plunged the jagged edge into her abdomen.
She crippled over. The pain was beyond feeling.
Again and again she gouged her way through the flesh. The blood
flowed freely from the wound and her torn uterus. No, not “flowed”,
it poured from her. This, the very same blood that once held the
possibility to begin life, now mingling with the blood which was
her life. She watched in the broken mirror: a ghastly apparition
with blood flowing down her thighs, a torrent of scarlet.
“Laura.” Called a voice in the background.
“Laura!” the voice came again, this time with more concern.
She continued to watch the blood.
The door crashed inwards, waking Laura from her vision, the blood
still flowed down her thighs.
“Christ Laura, put a fucking tampon in.” John said,
seeing the broken mirror. “How the fuck did you do that? Don’t
you know how much it cost?”
Laura felt the jagged piece of glass still held tightly in her hand
and turned to face him.
“You fucking bastard.” She cursed as the first blow
hit him, driving the piece of broken mirror through the flesh of
his scalp.
He screamed like a stuck pig.
Laura raised her arm again and the blows rained down until his body
lay on the floor, twitching in the last death spasm; his blood soaking
into the carpet.
“It’s all your fucking fault..
