Dare I say it, but things have been sort of... weird, between Hendrix and me. Okay, not sort of. They're weird.

Completely and unequivocally my fault, and I don't doubt that for a second. All Thursday and all Friday I completely ignore him. I don't react to his jibes; I pretend not to notice him in the corridors. It even raises some suspicion from Seb and Collins. Of course, Lena knows my reaction is all down to 'eye contact' and she thinks it's utterly hilarious.

Not me though, I've been completely restless, tossing and turning all night as I over think everything. What was it? Yes, eye contact, but there was a hint, an undertone of something else. Usually, when I see Hendrix, I envision nothing more that ramming my foot so far up his arse that is pops out of his mouth. On Wednesday though, there was none of that. No murderous desires, no death glares, no immature comments, just eye contact. And, the more I think about it, there was something else that hung in the air. I dare not to even name it, because I must be so wrong? It's impossible, right?

I'm not often appreciative of my period, but when it makes its grand appearance on Thursday evening, I can't help but click my heels, knowing I've got the perfect reasoning for that weird afternoon. Obviously, mother nature was playing puppet master on my rather fluctuating emotional output. It all makes sense now. There was no moment, none at all.

However, right now, with a cramping stomach, throbbing head, tired eyes, and an onset of nausea, I wish mother nature would cut me some slack. I haven't slept for two nights and what with me having Ellie today, it's far too tempting to just lock her outside so I can have a good nights rest. Who'd have ever though I'd have hung up my dancing shoes and succumbed to motherhood on a Saturday night? More so, I was dead set on being in bed by eight tonight, but Ellie just will not shut up. God, my daughter hates me.

"Please Ellie!" I beg, rocking her in my arms as I hold her dummy against her mouth, despite her still crying against it. "I've done everything. What do you want from me?" I continue to ask with a hoarse voice, changing her position so that I can soothe her back. Hendrix says that's how he gets her to quiet down, but apparently, I don't have daddy's magic touch.

She continues to cry and cry until I'm nearly crying too. I put her in her car seat, pack up her pink satchel, and then knock on Ezra's door.

"I need you to take me to Elijah's."

I'd like to say the car ride is a quiet one, but what with Ellie screaming in the backseat and me sobbing in the passenger, it's anything but. I'm hormonal okay; I'm tired and I cry unnecessarily. I keep turning around, trying to shush her, but of course, she's not real and without contact, she won't be quiet.

"God, if Ferne's baby cries anything like that, I'm shoving it back up there." Ezra grumbles from beside me. I'd laugh, but I'm too absorbed by self-pity to actually emote anything other than tears. We pull up outside and I climb out. "Do you need me to wait?"

I shake my head and tell him that I'll have Hendrix drop me off, so once I've gotten Ellie out, he drives off and leaves me on the pavement. Still sniffling, I knock on the door. When Hendrix answers, slightly blindsided, he raises a brow at my condition. "She won't stop." I stagger out between my crying. Crying, in front of Hendrix. I'll be embarrassed about that later.

He takes the baby from me and ushers me inside, taking us towards his room as I, very unattractively, being sniffing up my snot and wiping my eyes on the sleeves of my jumper. Honestly, I'm such a catch.

When in Hendrix's room, I curl up on his bed and close my eyes, trying desperately to drown out Ellie's crying. "You've tried everything?" Elijah asks me.

"Everything. Fed her, changed her, rocked her. Had an exorcism. She just won't stop." I groan, clutching my stomach and writhing in discomfort. "I'm a terrible mother!" I declare before shoving my face into a pillow, staining the cotton with my remaining tears. As if to certify my claim, Ellie immediately stops crying. I spin around and look at Hendrix rocking her with a smug smile. "She hates me!" I exclaim.

"Probably." He returns through a grin. I scowl and throw a pillow at his head before thumping my head back down on the mattress. "God, who lit the fuse to your tampon?" I scowl into the bed. Funny you should mention tampon.

"Hendrix, I need a hot water bottle." I tell him through a muffled groan.

"What, why?" He asks. I clutch at my stomach, willing the cramps to stop, but of course, to no such luck. Why must women suffer? All because the devil tempted her with an apple. I really don't think that an apple justifies a weeks' worth of agony once a month.

"Because my uterus is punishing me for not bearing child. Not that I'd want to, after how disastrous this is turning out to be." I grumble, my self-depreciation certainly not lacking.

"It's not disastrous. She's just high maintenance." He tries to assure me. I turn around and look at him with a deadpan expression.

"Whatever she is, she's already convinced me that I'm not cut out to work with children and I'm going to have to just become a crazy snake lady like Chandler from Friends." He rolls his eyes at me and throws the pillow back on the bed.

"I thought you were dramatic without your period. You might as well star on Broadway show now." He mumbles as he leaves the room.

"I want chocolate!" I call after him.

"I'm not running a B&B here, Osborne!" He shouts.

"Well if you were, you'd be getting 0 stars on TripAdvisor!"

Hendrix comes back with a hot water bottle, chocolate, and a fleece blanket. To say I'm surprised is an understatement. "Here." He mumbles, throwing the items at me. I get myself comfortable earning a tut in disapproval. "I'm not exactly sure I'm content with this situation we have here." He tells me.

I turn to him with a hardened expression. "What situation?" I ask snappily.

"You, my arch enemy, having regular naps on my bed. I mean, once was anomalous, but I'm getting the feeling you're planning these out now, Osborne." I see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes and I know he's just trying to push my buttons. A man with a death wish, I'd say. Doesn't he know it's practically the first unwritten law to not annoy a woman that's facing the wrath of mother nature?

"Well I can't exactly leave, can I? Not without Ellie and she apparently thinks the sun shines out of your arse. So put Friends on, let me have a nap, then I'll be out of your hair." I retort through a scowl. He grumbles something about this being a complete liberty, but concedes, sitting himself of the bed beside me before turning on his TV. "See, not hard, is it?"

"You know, if I were you, I'd be a bit nicer to your host." He tells me. I cuddle down, breaking off a square of chocolate before smiling at the television.

"You're not a host. You're like an itch that you can't get rid of. I just have to tolerate you." He rolls his eyes. "Besides, you have only yourself to blame. If you hadn't thrown a smoothie at me, we wouldn't be enduring this torture together." I lecture him, tugging the cover up to my chin and not even making it past the theme tune before I'm out like a light.

~

Have you ever been that tired that you wake up, but you keep your eyes closed? Yes, well right now, that's me. It's almost as if they've been glued shut and honestly, I'm not complaining. I mean, it's been near enough forty-eight hours since I had some shut eye, so you can't blame a girl.

I'm warm, I'm comfortable, and I'm still very, very tired.

I shuffle slightly, furthering myself into the covers. At some point, my jumper seems to have raised slightly, exposing my back to a cold chill, sending shivers up and down my spine. In response, I edge away, more to the middle of the bed.

I sling my arm over something that's in the way, not really bothering to think much about what it is. Expect, I can't help but when it trembles slightly under my touch. I trail my fingers up, confused as to what this warmth is coming from. Then I feel something soft: hair.

Not long after, I realise that it's not the chill on my back that's making me shiver, it's fingers tracing soft, gentle circles on my bare skin. Naturally, I find the strength to open my eyes then, and when I'm met with Elijah's face hardly an inch from mine, our frames tangled together somewhat intimately - my leg thrown over his waist as his has situated itself between the both of mine, I can't help but scream a blood-curdling scream, shocking him awake from unconsciousness and sending him tumbling backwards off of the bed.

I jump up myself, completely breathless and hastily pull my jumper down to cover my skin. "What are you doing?" I yelp, brushing my hair out of my face, a conscious tremble in my hands.

"What am I doing?" Hendrix groans from the floor, his voice thick and husky from the remnants of sleep. It's actually quite attractive, though I shake my head clear of those thoughts. "What are you doing?"

"You, you were touching me! We were... cuddling." I say in a mortified whisper, my whole body shivering with the mere memory.

"I can't help it," Elijah grumbles as he climbs back on to the bed, wrestling lazily with the duvet. "It's my unconscious libido. When there's a pretty girl in my bed, I just tend to enjoy PG intimacy." I flush out of embarrassment. That, along with the fact he just called me pretty.

"I need to go." I mumble, searching for my shoes that have been removed from my feet. He took off my shoes for me?

"Lottie, it's three in the morning. I promise to keep my hands to myself." He mumbles, lazily gesturing me to get back on the bed, but I hardly pay attention.

"What did you just call me?" I whisper.

He groans as if in agony and worms his way beneath the covers. "Charlotte, sleep." I silently deliberate with myself. I certainly am tired, and I definitely want to go back to sleep, but surely, it's crossing some sort of line to sleep in the same bed as your nemesis. More than that, surely it's a crime to cuddle with them! But really, right now, I don't care about any of that. He didn't call me Charlotte, he called me Lottie, and I'm sure I recognise the weird flutters that seem to have erupted in my stomach.

Begrudgingly, I climb back into the bed, tucking myself into a small ball, much colder now without Hendrix cuddled with me. I mentally scold myself for even thinking about it. I shouldn't have liked it! Not with Elijah Hendrix of all people. God, that's just nauseating.

It's just my period. That's all. It's sending my hormones haywire and making me react to strange things in even stranger ways. Cuddles are nice, and my brain is just confused. I was sleeping - I couldn't fight it. Rest assured, I'm more than aware now.

That said, when his arm finds its way across my waist again in only a few minutes, I don't fight it. Instead, I turn to face him, studying his sleeping state, slightly embarrassed that he's topless, but who am I to judge? Technically, I'm in his personal space and I mean, he's got reason to show it off. No, I try to focus more on his expression; the subtle pout he does as his brows knit together as though in deep thought, evoking a slight crease between them which I have the odd impulse to iron out with my finger.

His long lashes, darker than his messy hair, that flutter over his skin, hiding his emerald eyes which so very often twinkle with mischief. He pulls me closer unconsciously – a true Hendrix move if there ever was one – but again, I let it happen. I just close my eyes and welcome the warmth.