Ugh, history. Seriously? Your brain was basically mush. All those dates and dead guys just bounced right off your skull. You were rocking the classic "chin-in-palm, staring-into-the-void" pose.
"Yo," Pope whispered, nudging your shoulder. "Notes? I zoned out during the whole 'taxation without representation' thing."
"Nada," you mumbled, not even bothering to look at him. "Brain's on vacation." He just shrugged and hit up Kie instead.
Meanwhile, JJ was straight-up staring at you. Like, laser-focus, worried-eyebrows staring. You knew he was clocking your every move. Especially the part where you kept clutching your stomach and wincing.
Period cramps? Yeah, they were kicking your ass.
Your head thumped onto the desk. So comfy, right? Not. Just trying to avoid the waves of pain. You could practically hear JJ's internal monologue: "She's gonna keel over."
Last night, he was all, "Stay home, babe. Netflix and snacks. Period. End of story."
"Nah," you'd mumbled, half-asleep, half-stubborn. "Gotta, like, learn stuff." "Yeah, learn how to curl up in a ball and moan," he'd muttered, rubbing your back. "That's what you'll be doing anyway."
He wasn't wrong.
A crumpled-up piece of paper smacked the back of your head. You opened it. "U good? Look like a zombie. -JJ"
You glanced back. He was leaning forward, all concerned. You just shook your head, a tiny, miserable shake.
He just sighed, and you saw him clench his jaw. "She's killing me," you heard him mutter under his breath.
"Should've chained her to the couch."