PMS - Sam(POV)/Lara - SFW

becAUSE aSY FUCKING HATES EVERYTHING OKAY

sHE WROTE THIS IN 21 MINUTES

Okay, so, when I'm premenstrual, I don't get out of bed until three in the afternoon. When I finally do, I slowly work my way through everything in the fridge that contains sugar and/or refined carbs. If I run out of those, I go looking for all Lara's favorite hiding places. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I might manage to not spill food on my pajamas and spend four hours sobbing uncontrollably while scrubbing at them over the sink. Usually by nighttime I've graduated to crying about how my Mom will probably never love me as much as she loves herself and how everyone always thinks I'm stupid and naïve.

But when Lara's premenstrual? She gets twice the number of deadeye headshots on targets in half the time, starts and finishes some PhD-style essay on the history of Japan, submits it and has the professor actually call her and personally invite her to guest lecture, and then cooks a full, healthy dinner. She even works out. I'm not even kidding, that all actually happened this one time.

On top of all those things and probably heaps more, she generally has the audacity to go and lie face-down on her bed and cry about how she put one typo in some essay, or how she missed one target or how one of her feet is, like, a millimeter bigger than the other.

Since I'd been actually crying about real, serious problems and Lara is fucking perfect in every way, I climb on top of her and beat her repeatedly with one of my pillows. "Would you shut up?" I yell down at her. "You know how much it hurts to have people think you're this dumb bimbo when your girlfriend is basically crossed between a super hero and a MENSA candidate?"

She rolls over underneath me, her eyes so puffy it kind of looks like I've already punched her in them. "You don't understand, Sam," she says wretchedly, blowing her nose on an already pretty gross Kleenex. "My five mile times are actually getting worse. What if I'm slowly heading downhill and I don't even realize it but eventually I get us both killed?"

I pretend to smother her, because that's the only appropriate reaction to something so ridiculous. She's busy being so tragic she doesn't even make any sort of attempt to stop me, she just lies there completely still and lets me do it. I throw the pillow somewhere and lie down against her.

"I hate everything," I say into her shoulder, because there's no better way to articulate my family, myself or the fact I broke my favorite mug like ten minutes ago. Also, this month's casualties include my comfiest pair of panties. RIP, microfiber cotton-polyester blend that I can't find anywhere else on the internet. Of course I had to wear them today; further proof the universe hates me. "Like, actually, I hate everything. Not even chocolate can fix this."

"Which is probably for the best, since you ate all my chocolate," she says, kisses me, and then starts crying again.