Jay doubled over on the bed, clutching her abdomen as a sharp wave of pain sliced through her. She rolled onto her side, curling in on herself, her knees drawn up, as if the posture alone might shield her from the torment inside. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Her hands trembled. Her spine twitched with every jolt of pain, each one a stab through her center.
She had known this kind of stomachache before — familiar and cruel. It came without mercy, often in the stillness of night, after the weight of a long day or some quiet emotional blow. But today... it came out of nowhere, ambushing her during her rare moment of peace. She had been enjoying some self-time. A little solitude. A breath. And now she could barely breathe.
She tried to think — to calculate the origin — to trace why she was suddenly feeling this pain. Maybe something she ate? Maybe not eating at all?
Then a flash of realization struck her like a second knife.
She hadn't taken her medicine. And like a cruel echo came the next blow: She hadn't eaten either.
Her stomach twisted, not just in agony, but in confusion — a body rebelling against itself. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The ceiling spun slowly, blurring at the edges of her vision.
She whimpered.
"I… can't…" she gasped, the words dry and cracking under their own weight.
Her entire body was tensing and curling, like she was folding in on herself. But she needed the medicine. She needed it now.
Dragging herself up with what little strength she had, she reached for the edge of the bed. Her bag — her lifeline — hung there, just a few feet away, swaying slightly from the bedpost like it was mocking her.
Jay stretched her arm. Her fingers brushed the strap.
She pulled. Nothing.
The bag didn't move. It was heavier than it should've been, or maybe she was weaker than she realized. Another wave of pain racked her core and she hissed, biting her bottom lip until it almost bled.
Her knees pressed into the mattress. Trembling, she forced herself upright, bracing against the headboard with one hand.
Black spots danced across her vision.
"Just—get the damn bag," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Summoning every scrap of will, she lunged forward and yanked the bag toward her. It slid off the post and collapsed onto the bed with a dull thud.
Fingers shaking, breath staggered, she clawed at the zipper. It felt like trying to open it underwater.
"Come on, come on, come on," she murmured like a mantra.
The zipper gave way. Inside was chaos — pens, scrunched receipts, keys, wrappers. She fumbled through it like a person half-drowned.
Then — there. The orange pouch.
She grabbed it. Yanked it open. The silver blister pack inside glinted mockingly in the light.
The tablets were sealed tight. Her fingertips slipped, useless. The foil refused to tear. It was thicker than it should've been — or maybe her fingers had forgotten how to function.
She pressed. Nothing.
Pressed harder. Still nothing.
A sob escaped her lips — enough to shatter the heart of anyone who if saw her in this state.
"Please," she whispered, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "Please, just—"
Desperate, she bit into the edge of the pack. Tore it open with her teeth like a cornered animal. The foil gave with a sharp rip and the tablet finally popped free into her trembling palm.
She held it up, ready to swallow — and then stopped.
Water.
She looked around. Her blurred gaze scanned the room. Nothing. Not a glass. Not a bottle.
Then her eyes darted toward the window. The water jug — the one with the sapling in it — sat there on the sill, just a few feet away, bathed in soft daylight.
She tried to rise. Her legs buckled and her body screamed with every pore that I cannot.
With a broken sound, she collapsed backward onto the mattress, her arm draped over her stomach.
The kitchen was too far. The hallway too long. Her bones too heavy. The jug too distant, like it belonged to another world.
With a deep, broken breath, Jay threw the tablet into her mouth and swallowed it dry, chasing it with nothing but her own saliva. It stuck in her throat like chalk. She coughed — gagged — forced it down.
Her head dropped forward. Her whole body throbbed.
She curled up again, face pressed to the sheet, her arms hugging her midsection like she could hold herself together.
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. She didn't know.
Tears leaked quietly, one after another, tracing warm lines along her temples into her hair.
Her breath was ragged. Her mouth dry. The pain still burning.
Then something caught her eye near the pillow.
The small glass bottle. It was Peppermint oil.
She blinked to think clearly.
Without thinking, her hand reached for it — slow, uncertain. She fumbled the lid open and brought it close.
The sharp menthol smell filled her senses instantly. She inhaled. Deep. Again. And again. Each breath piercing her nose, cutting through the haze like a cold wind. She pressed the bottle against her lips — not thinking at all about any pros or cons and took a small sip.
It burned her mouth. The taste was Bitter and sweet all at once. Her body jerked slightly.
Her hand flung out, pushing the bottle away from her in panic. It rolled across the bed, landing safely on the bedside table.
"No," she whispered hoarsely. "Don't… be stupid."
Her fingers trembled around the sheets. She curled into herself once more, heart pounding, muscles twitching.
"I don't want this," she whispered into the pillow.
No one answered. No footsteps. No door creak. No voice asking Are you okay?
Just the echo of the ticking clock. And the far-off noise of the world outside her four silent walls.
Jay's limbs ached with the weight of her own body. Her breaths grew shallower.
Her fingers loosened. Her shoulders sagged. And slowly, quietly, like a light flickering out...she fell unconscious — her body still, her face tear-streaked — a single droplet trailing down from the corner of her eyes.