Written for the Rainy Beginnings contest by WattpadLitFic.

*****

"Not again," I muttered, breaking into a run as the rain began to fall. Why couldn't I just remember that stupid umbrella? I hadn't used it once since I bought it. It just sat in the trunk of my car, lonely and forgotten and completely useless. And my car was more than a mile away. I really needed to start paying attention to the weather forecasts. And the time. The sun must be setting behind the clouds. Soon it would be night, and I was alone, in a strange park, in a strange city.

My cell phone was in my car, too, wasn't it? I was really batting a thousand today.

And so were my keys.

I came to a sudden stop as the realization dawned on me. I'd locked my keys in my car. With my cell phone and my umbrella. And my wallet.

Brain fog is a horrible thing.

You need to get outside more, they said. You need to exercise regularly, they said. It'll help with your migraines, they said.

Well, weather and stress were two of my biggest triggers. I was already getting dizzy. Just what I needed - to pass out in the middle of a park in the middle of the night.

I took a deep breath. One foot in front of the other. Don't run, just walk. Try to focus on something else, something happy. Maybe a new story idea? That could work. How about something with a ditzy blonde who suffers from migraines and makes the mistake of moving away from all of her friends and family to a place she's never been?

Okay, maybe too close to home.

"Hey, wait up!"

I looked around in surprise. A guy in a black hoodie was coming up behind me. And he had an umbrella.

"You're getting soaked," he said, coming up beside me. The blessed umbrella was big enough to shelter both of us. He pulled his hoodie back and grinned at me, his bright white teeth standing in stark contrast to his milk chocolate skin in the darkening gloom.

"I forgot my umbrella in my car," I said sheepishly. "My name's Arabel. Arabel Kingsley. And you are...?"

"Treyvon Davis. It's a bad night to get caught in the rain."

"Is it ever a good night to get caught in the rain?" I asked, laughing.

He shrugged. "I guess not."

"You don't happen to have a phone on you, do you?" I asked. "I forgot mine in my car."

He reached into his pocket, shaking his head at me. "You're pretty forgetful. Here." He unlocked his phone and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said. "And it's worse than you think. I also forgot my keys and my wallet in my car. Do you know a good locksmith around here?"

He laughed. "You'd forget your head if it wasn't attached, wouldn't you? Sorry, no. I've never needed a locksmith before. You can Google one, though."

I sighed as I typed in the search. "I wish I could forget my head," I muttered. "It's killing me."

"Can't help you there," he said apologetically.

I tapped the first number that popped up and held the phone to my ear as it rang. The guy who answered didn't sound too thrilled. "Um, yeah, I'm locked out of my car. Any chance you could help? Um..." I covered the mouthpiece with my hand. "What's the name of this park?" I asked Treyvon.

"Greenleaf."

"Greenleaf Park," I said, resuming my phone conversation. "It's the main parking lot, I think. White Ford Taurus. Fifteen minutes? Oh, my gosh, thank you so much. See you soon." I handed the phone back to Treyvon. "Thanks," I said, flashing him a grateful smile.

"No problem. What's your number? You know, in case you get in trouble again and actually remember your phone." His dark eyes twinkled at me.

I blushed. "You're going to find this really hard to believe, but it's a new phone, and I haven't memorized the number yet."

We were both still laughing when we reached my car. It didn't help my head much, but it was a nice distraction.

"Do you go to college here?" Treyvon asked as we waited for the locksmith.

"Yeah, I just transferred this semester. I'm a junior, majoring in English. You?"

"Senior, engineering major. I haven't seen you around on campus before."

I massaged my throbbing right temple. "That would be courtesy of my head. I take most of my classes online."

"Migraines?"

I looked up at him. "Yeah, how did you know?"

He shrugged. "I get them, too. Yours must be pretty bad."

"Unfortunately. Still haven't found anything that really works, either. What do you take?"

"Nothing worked for me, either, until the -gepants came out. I have a daily oral, a monthly injection, and another oral for attacks."

"Tried that. Didn't do a thing for me." I sighed. "My doctor wants to try Botox next, and if that doesn't work, I think we're going to look at devices."

A pickup truck pulled into the parking lot next to my car, and an older man with what looked to be a permanent frown emerged. "You called for a locksmith?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you so much for coming," I said, truly grateful in spite of his apparent attitude problem.

"It's gonna be $150," he stated, getting to work on my car door.

"Ouch. Well, my wallet's in my car. Do you take cards?"

"Yeah."

The door popped open almost immediately. "Wow, that was fast!"

He shrugged. "$150."

I ducked down into my car and had to catch myself on the console as a massive wave of dizziness hit.

"Arabel? You okay?" asked Treyvon.

I eased myself into the seat and leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I just need a minute. Dizzy."

"I don't have all day," the locksmith interjected irritably.

"Just wait a second," Treyvon said.

I opened my eyes and reached over to my purse, rummaging around until I found my wallet. "Here," I said, passing my debit card out to the locksmith.

The payment process took longer than it did for him to unlock my car - or maybe I was just exponentially more miserable thanks to my head. Finally, he handed my card back, and I signed his phone screen.

"Have a good day," he said, not sounding at all as though he meant it, and then he was back in his truck and driving away.

"Are you sure you can drive right now?" Treyvon asked, ducking down to look in at me.

I shook my head. "My apartment isn't far from here. I'll be fine."

He frowned. "No, you won't. Come on, I'll give you a ride." He held out his hand for me, and I took it, reluctantly. I could barely see straight at this point, but I still didn't like to impose.

"Your hand is really hot," he commented as he led me to his car. I didn't catch the make or model. I was too busy trying to walk in a straight line.

"Allodynia," I explained. "I bet my right ear is really red, too. It feels hot."

He opened the passenger side car door and helped me inside. "You're right. It's super red." He touched it lightly. "And it's even hotter than your hand."

The sound of the car door slamming shut was deafening. I closed my eyes again, leaning back against the seat.

"And nothing helps?" he asked, taking the driver's seat and starting the car. Another painfully loud sound.

"Ice packs. I've got a few headache hats in the freezer. They only stay cold for about fifteen minutes, though, and I get the allodynia all over. Sometimes, I wish I could just fill the tub with ice and lie down in that."

My stomach was churning as the car began to move. Deep breathing, in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four, and repeat. Useful for anxiety and carsickness.

"Where do you live?"

Oh, yeah, kind of an important detail. If only I weren't in so much danger of hurling just by opening my mouth. I swallowed hard and told him the name of the apartment complex.

"No kidding? I live there, too. I'm in 5D."

"3E," I said simply.

Thankfully, it really wasn't far from the park at all. The car slid to a smooth stop, and the engine turned off. Another excruciatingly loud slam of the car door, and Treyvon came around to open my door and help me out.

"You're probably not up for dinner, are you?" he asked, steadying me as we made our way to my apartment. At least I'd been able to get one on the ground floor. Stairs were not a good idea for a dizzy person.

"No, sorry."

"How's breakfast, then? My first class is at 10, so maybe 9:00?"

I looked up at him and smiled. "Yeah, that would be good. My place or yours?"

He shrugged. "Or the Waffle House down the street."

"Mm, that sounds good." I unlocked my door and stepped into the blessed dark and quiet. "Thanks again for everything, Treyvon. If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know."

"I'll need your number for that," he said, smiling teasingly.

"Right." I unlocked my phone and pulled it up. "Here you go."

He typed it into his phone and sent me a text. My phone dinged immediately.

"Got it," I confirmed. "Well, I've got a date with an ice pack, so I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"You bet. And if you're not feeling up to it, just let me know. Maybe we can eat in."

I nodded appreciatively. It was so nice to meet somebody who understood. "Thanks. Bye."

Well, I'd made a friend. Mom would be happy to hear that the next time we talked. But right now, every inch of me felt like it was on fire with thousands of needles pricking my skin, and the very shirt on my back hurt. I pulled off my clothes and grabbed a headache hat and some ice packs from the freezer. No homework tonight, I thought, collapsing into bed. Maybe tomorrow.

I knew it was really bad when I had a migraine in my nightmares, too.

My alarm went off, each chime a stab in my eardrum, and I stumbled out of bed to dismiss it. A flash of lightning burst through the cracks in the blinds, followed shortly by a massive roll of thunder. I felt my way through the dark apartment to the bathroom to throw up. This was awful, worse than usual. I didn't even have anything on my stomach to bring up, and each heave sent another wave of pain through my head. Maybe it was time for another emergency department visit, my first one since I'd moved here. Not that the previous ED had helped much. The most I'd ever gotten was a two-day break from the pain, but I was so doped up that I still wasn't functional. And there was that one time when the oral steroid taper my neurologist prescribed to break the cycle ended up clashing horribly with the intravenous steroids the ED gave me, and I'd gone into a complete panic and ripped my IV out before fleeing the hospital. At least I'd had the presence of mind to call a friend as I wandered aimlessly in a field, sobbing hysterically. My head had to get bad, really bad, before I'd go back to the ED after that.

I was almost there.

Maybe a cold bath would help. Definitely not a hot one, not when I was burning up like this. I fumbled with the plug and faucet and crawled into the tub, praying for the pain to end, or at least one symptom to go away. If it were just the pain, I could handle that. It was all the other mess that went along with it that sent me over the edge.

My phone dinged from the other room.

Who could that be?

I couldn't think through the fog, and I lay still, shivering more and more as the cold water advanced across me. It reached my neck before I realized.

Treyvon.

What time was it?

I turned the water off and pulled the plug, fumbling for the all-important safety rail as I forced my frozen legs to stand. My phone dinged again as I reached for a towel, drying myself with one hand as best I could, unable to release the rail without a serious risk of falling. My teeth were chattering from the cold. At least the allodynia was better now. That meant I could put my bathrobe on without feeling like I was wearing something made entirely of the scratchy side of a Velcro pad. I kept a hand on the wall as I took step after unsteady step back out to the main room, collapsing at the table where my phone screen lit up to ding again.

Hey, just wondering how you're feeling.

Arabel?

Are you okay?

Not at all. I clumsily typed out a short response.

Really bad. Not going anywhere.

I set the phone down and put my head in my hands. Should I call an ambulance? Was it bad enough for me to risk the steroid injection? Every single time, I had to tell the receptionist, the nurse, and the doctor, over and over again, no steroids. Not unless they wanted me ripping my own IV out and freaking out in a random field somewhere.

One doctor had the nerve to crack a joke about it. "That could be fun, under different circumstances."

His bedside manner needed work.

Ding.

What do you want from the Waffle House? I'll pick you up something.

I stared at the message. Why was he being so nice to me? We'd literally just met yesterday, and I'd been nothing but a ditzy mess.

And I really didn't even want to think about food right now.

But missing meals only made it worse, and I did have some ginger candy on hand to help a little with the nausea...

Chocolate chip waffles.

At least chocolate wasn't a trigger for me. But I should put some clothes on before he got here. I stood up and reluctantly turned the light on, squinting as a wave of pain went straight through my eyeballs. Ginger candy, get dressed. I could handle that. And these new ginger candies were fruit flavored, so they didn't set my mouth on fire. I popped one in my mouth, strawberry, and made my way to my laundry hamper. A pajama set would be fine, as long as I wore a bra with it. It's not like he would be staying, anyway. I tossed the bathrobe on the bed and pulled on a pair of underwear and shorts.

Ding.

The phone was still on the table. I sat down on the bed and felt warm moisture beneath me. The ice packs. Not doing me much good this way. Finish dressing, put ice packs back in the freezer, check the phone. Still doable, even in my condition.

Coffee?

A shot of caffeine might help.

Yes.

I slumped over the table, resting my head on my arms. Sometimes, pressure helped. This was one of those times.

Ding.

I'm here.

Bless him for not knocking.

I stood up and unlocked the door. He greeted me with a bright smile and a plastic bag of deliciousness.

"You look awful," he commented. "Mind if I come in?"

He didn't have a hand free for his umbrella, and the rain was coming down in sheets. I'd have to be a real jerk to say he couldn't come in, especially when he was bringing me breakfast. I stepped aside for him to enter, shutting the door behind him.

"Sorry, I...feel...awful...too." Great, just what I needed. Difficulty speaking.

He set the bag and drink tray on the table and started taking the Styrofoam packages out. I collapsed into my chair.

"Do you need any cream or sugar?"

I shook my head and brought the black coffee to my lips.

"Ouch!"

"Might wanna let that cool down," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, forgot to tell you earlier."

"It's fine."

"Chocolate waffles, coming up. Chocolate doesn't bother you?"

"No, thank goodness." I prized the tab on the little butter packet open and dropped the whole square on top of the waffles. "Thanks."

He shrugged, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Syrup next, and then to start forcing it down. The first few bites would determine if I ended up in the bathroom again, or if I was suddenly ravenously hungry and bolting the rest down. Fortunately, it ended up being the latter. The coffee was cool enough for me to take a careful sip by the time I finished the waffles.

"Do you have class this morning?"

"Yeah, ten o'clock. But it's recorded, so I can replay whatever doesn't sink in."

My speech was getting better, too. That was a relief.

"Don't you need to get going?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Class was canceled. I can leave, if you want."

"You can finish your food first." I opened my phone and pulled up the weather. "It's supposed to rain all day. Great."

"Want some bacon?"

Now that the nausea was better, the smell was really enticing.

"I don't want to take your food," I said hesitantly.

He reached into the plastic bag and pulled out another Styrofoam container. "The waffles came with a meal. I know you didn't ask for it, but you seem like you're hungry."

I smiled. "Are you my guardian angel or something?"

He grinned. "Or something. But you really shouldn't be walking around the park by yourself like that."

"I wasn't thinking. Clearly."

Oh, that bacon was good.

"Why'd you transfer here?" he asked.

"New migraine specialist, actually. My last doctor didn't want to start Botox yet because of the allodynia, and that was her last idea. My first appointment with the new doctor is next week."

"What does the allodynia have to do with Botox?" he asked curiously.

"Burning at the injection sites. It's supposed to be temporary, so I'm still willing to try it. I don't see how it can make anything worse, to be honest."

And there were scrambled eggs, too. I'd have to treat him when I was feeling better.

"So, engineering. What kind of engineering?" I asked.

"Structural. I'm looking into steel metal building companies for a job after I graduate. A lot of work can be done remotely if my migraines get out of control again. I guess COVID was good for something."

I chuckled. "Do you know how many COVID tests I've taken, hoping this time that's what's causing all the migraines?"

He laughed. "Been there. Mine have only been good for about a year. How long have you had yours?"

"I think I had them as a kid, but they weren't frequent enough for my parents to realize anything was wrong. They went chronic three years ago, and they just keep getting worse." I sighed. "I really wanted to be a biology major, but wet labs can't be done remotely. And it turns out writing is something I can do most of the time, unless the migraines get really bad."

"Writing, huh? I can't even read when mine are bad."

"Neither can I. That's what makes it so weird."

He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Well, I know you're not feeling great, but it's been fun talking to you. I'll get out of your hair now so you can go back to bed."

I stood up, too, and walked past him to the door. "Sorry I couldn't be more fun."

"I get it. Mind if I text you later?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't mind. But I might put my phone on 'do not disturb,' so don't freak out if you don't hear back from me right away."

"Got it. Hope you feel better." He flashed me a brilliant smile, and then he left.

I turned the light off and bypassed the dirty table, collapsing back into bed. He was really nice. When my head cleared up a bit, maybe we could go out for real. He was pretty cute, too. Milk chocolate skin, dark chocolate eyes. I always had liked chocolate.