Blood and Bone

The pain didn't wake me up gently. It never does. But this time it wasn't the familiar dull ache I'd learned to breathe through, the one that came every month like a bad tenant who always paid rent on time. No. This was something else entirely. A fist closing around my lower belly and squeezing until I saw white behind my eyelids.

I opened my eyes to the gray light of my bedroom, the one that filtered through those cheap curtains Mamad kept promising to replace. My phone said 7:14. Too early for anything to be this wrong.

I tried to sit up. My body said no.

The cramp rolled through me like a wave, and I heard myself make a sound I didn't recognize. Something between a gasp and a whimper. I pressed my palms into the mattress and pushed, managed to get halfway upright before another one hit. This time I couldn't hold it in. I cried out, actually cried out, and collapsed back onto the pillow.

Okay. Okay, Kadee. You've done this before. You know what to do.

Meds. I needed my meds. The prescription ibuprofen that Dr. Diallo gave me last year when I finally admitted the pain was getting worse. I kept them in the bathroom cabinet, behind the expired cold medicine and Mamad's contact lens solution.

Getting out of bed was a negotiation. My legs didn't want to cooperate. I swung them over the edge and planted my feet on the cold tile floor, and for a second I just sat there, hunched over, waiting for the room to stop spinning. The pain was different today. Sharper. More insistent. Like it had something to prove.

I stood up. Bad idea. The cramp that hit me then made me grab the doorframe, and I slid down the wall until my knees hit the floor. That's when the tears started. Not from sadness. From sheer physical overwhelm. My body was betraying me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The bathroom was maybe ten feet away. Ten feet. I crawled.

I'm not proud of it. But when you're in that kind of pain, pride becomes a luxury you can't afford. I dragged myself across the tile, palms flat, knees scraping, until I reached the cabinet under the sink. I yanked it open. Cold medicine. Band-aids. An old toothbrush. Mamad's razor. Where were they?

I pushed everything aside. The bottle wasn't there.

"Non, non, non," I whispered, and my voice cracked on the last one. I checked again. Then I checked the medicine cabinet above the sink. Then I checked my bedroom, the kitchen, even Mamad's room, which I never go into because he'd kill me if he knew I was going through his stuff. Nothing.

I sat on the bathroom floor with my back against the tub and let the tears come. Stupid. This was so stupid. I was nineteen years old, crying on the floor because I couldn't find my painkillers.

Mamad. I needed to call Mamad.

I pulled my phone out of my pajama pocket and dialed his number. It rang four times before going to voicemail. Right. His exam. He'd been talking about it for weeks, some big accounting certification test that could get him a promotion at the bank. He'd left early this morning, probably before six, and he wouldn't be done until noon at the earliest.

I couldn't call him. I couldn't interrupt his exam. He'd worked too hard for this.

But I couldn't stay here either. The pharmacy was three blocks away. On a normal day, that's nothing. Today, I couldn't make it to the front door.

I scrolled through my contacts. Aminata? She lived across the city and didn't have a car. Fatou? Working. My cousin Aïssatou? She'd just had a baby and was probably up to her elbows in diapers and breast milk.

Then I saw his name. Kayis.

I stared at it for a long moment. Kayis. Mamad's best friend since they were kids, grew up in the same building, practically brothers. He lived in the next tower over, maybe a five-minute walk if you took the shortcut past the playground. We weren't close. Not really. We said salam when we passed each other in the hallway or the elevator. That was it. Except for that one time last month when he'd asked me to watch Luna for a few hours because his babysitter cancelled and he had an emergency at work.

Luna. Three years old, with her father's serious eyes and her mother's absence. I didn't ask where the mother was. Kayis didn't offer.

I shouldn't call him. It was too early. It was too personal. Asking a man I barely knew to buy me sanitary pads? Absolutely not.

Another cramp hit, and I doubled over, phone clutched to my chest. When it passed, I was shaking. My fingers moved before my brain could stop them.

It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, he picked up.

"Qui je dors là," he said, voice rough with sleep, and I almost hung up right then.

"Kayis?" My voice came out small. Pathetic.

A pause. Then: "Kadee?" He sounded more awake now. Confused. "Ça va?"

I closed my eyes. "Je suis désolée de te déranger. Je sais qu'il est tôt, et on se parle jamais, et je..."

"Kadee." His voice was steadier now. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"

The tears were back, hot and embarrassing. "J'ai mal. Vraiment mal. Mes règles, c'est jamais comme ça d'habitude, mais là je peux pas bouger, je peux pas aller à la pharmacie, et Mamad il est en examen, je peux pas l'appeler, et j'ai plus de médicaments, et..."

"Attends. Respire." I heard rustling, like he was getting out of bed. "Tu veux que j'aille à la pharmacie pour toi?"

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "Oui. S'il te plaît. Je sais que c'est bizarre, je sais qu'on se connaît à peine, mais j'ai personne d'autre."

"Donne-moi la liste."

"What?"

"Les médicaments. Dis-moi ce qu'il te faut."

I told him. The name of the painkillers, the dosage. And then, quieter, almost hoping he wouldn't hear: "Et des serviettes hygiéniques aussi. Les Always, celles avec les ailes."

He didn't hesitate. "Okay. Je viens."

"Kayis, merci. Vraiment, je..."

"Kadee." His voice was soft now, softer than I'd ever heard it. "C'est bon. Je suis là dans dix minutes."

He hung up before I could say anything else.

I stayed on the bathroom floor for another minute, just breathing. Then I remembered he'd have to ring the bell, and I couldn't get up to answer it. So I started crawling again, toward the front door this time. The hallway stretched out in front of me like a desert, white tiles and beige walls, and I dragged myself across it inch by inch, stopping every few feet when the pain crested.

By the time I reached the door, I was sweating. My pajama shorts were damp, and I didn't want to think about what that meant. I unlocked the door and then pulled myself up onto the little bench we kept by the entrance, the one where Mamad left his keys and his mail. I curled into a ball on it, knees to my chest, and waited.

It felt like forever. It was probably seven minutes.

The door opened, and Kayis stepped in. He was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, his hair still messy from sleep, and he was carrying a plastic bag from the pharmacy. He took one look at me and his face changed. Something flickered in his eyes. Concern. Real concern, not the polite kind you give strangers.

"Kadee." He crossed the room in three steps and crouched in front of me. "T'es toute pâle. Tu peux marcher?"

I shook my head.

He didn't ask permission. He just slid one arm under my knees and the other behind my back and lifted me like I weighed nothing. I should have protested. I should have said I was fine. But I wasn't fine, and he knew it, and honestly, being carried felt better than crawling.

He set me down on the couch, gentle, like I was something breakable. Then he went to the kitchen, and I heard him opening cabinets, running water. He came back with a glass and two pills in his palm.

"Prends ça d'abord," he said.

I took them. Swallowed. And then, immediately, my stomach revolted.

I barely made it to the bathroom. Kayis followed, holding my hair back while I threw up everything I'd eaten in the last twelve hours, which wasn't much. When I finally stopped, I was trembling, and he was rubbing slow circles on my back.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Ça c'est pas normal."

He pulled out his phone and dialed. I heard him speaking in low tones, explaining, asking questions. Then he hung up and looked at me.

"I called Mamad. He said he's coming. But he also said this isn't like you. The throwing up. He said you never do that."

I shook my head. "Jamais."

"Then I'm taking you to the hospital."

I wanted to argue. But another cramp hit, worse than before, and I felt myself go gray around the edges. Kayis caught me before I slid off the bathroom floor.

"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."