38. Maeve
38
MAEVE
“ W hat the fuck is this?” Lucifer snarls, glaring at me over breakfast.
I shrug and sip my coffee, scrolling through the group chat to catch up from where I went to sleep. Ari’s whining about how hard it is having someone be so devoted and obsessed with her, Nora’s calling her out on the hatred she pretends she has, whilst also trying to be positively supportive.
“You ruined my life, you worthless bitch,” Lucifer reads, his eyes clutching a letter in front of him. I freeze, the words no longer sounding as if they come from Lucifer’s tone of voice.
It’s his voice. The one who started it all.
“The day you decided to cry about the opportunity I gave you was the day you—” Lucifer continues.
“Enough,” Hadrian hisses, snatching the letter from Lucifer.
“What the fuck is that?” Lucifer demands, leaning over the counter with a serious expression.
“My stepfather,” I say softly. I look up at him and sigh. “Adrian usually filters through them and confiscates the letters. He’s clearly not doing that anymore.”
“Then I will,” Hadrian says so firmly I flinch. I take in his tense stature, the true anger pouring from him.
His anger normally amuses me or annoys me.
But, this time, it is in defence of me. That’s so different, so… likeable.
“No,” Lucifer says with a shake of his head. “Atticus will need to be told, and this is something that needs to be stopped at the beginning. If Adrian has been monitoring this, then we’ll need to be on top of it.”
“Do what you want,” I say, giving him a salute, as I shovel a mouthful of eggs into my mouth and pretend like the words don’t hurt.
Like they don’t bring up awful memories.
Like, with one simple note, he hasn’t just catapulted me back to the night that started it all.
“ M aeve!” Nora cheers, a grin on her face, the moment we reach her doorstep. “You didn’t reply to my message about nails. Are you wanting to come?”
I give her a side-eye, and she shrugs. “I know you won’t want yours done, but you’re still invited to come with us. We can drink, well, you can, and we can talk shit.”
“Not today, little wolf,” Lucifer says, beaming at Nora.
“He’s not here, so it’s not going to work,” she says with an eye roll. “Now, move, so my friend here can come inside.”
Lucifer does as he’s told, and I walk past him, following Nora through the house. She tells Luc that Atticus is in his office and takes me through to the kitchen instead.
“Thanks for rescuing me from that conversation,” I say with a heavy sigh.
Her brows raise. “What is it?”
“Just more drama in the life of Maeve,” I say with an eye roll. “There’s nothing better than fate getting her daily dose of fucking with me.”
Nora grimaces. “I’m sorry, babe.”
I shrug, my head starting to hurt. “It is what it is.”
She offers me tea, coffee, anything that is a liquid, but I refuse, and she comes to sit at the counter with me.
“How did therapy go? You never said,” she says.
“Not terrible,” I lie. “He prescribed me some sleeping tablets.”
Which really fucking helped, and I’m quite enjoying life with some sleep. It helped me tone down the bitchiness, at least a little, and it’s made the world a little less… awful when I first wake up.
I quite like them, even if I won’t use them long-term.
“Bleh. What else did he saddle you with?” she asks, scrunching her nose up like it’s the worst thing she’s heard of.
I raise my eyebrow. “I thought you liked this man?”
“I do. But when you’re drowning in the darkness and some man in a sweater-vest promises you he’s got good meds and nineteen diagnoses to see you through…” she trails off, a blush on her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. He’s lovely, really, I just…”
I snort. “Yes, you did mean it. He gave me some anxiety medication, which I’ve not yet been brave enough to take, and some sleeping tablets, which are miracle workers. He confirmed my anxiety disorder, haphephobia, my lovely diagnosis of PTSD, and added in a sensory processing disorder. I’m really gifted, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“Oh, yes, the PTSD.” Nora laughs, and her upbeat side of things really helps pull me out of the darkness ever so slightly. “What’s your homework?”
“To sit on an item of furniture.” I wait for the next round of laughter, but to my surprise, she just nods.
“I can imagine that’s going to be difficult. Maybe we could make it a group thing? Ari and I can be there and help talk you out of the panic once it arises.”
I place my mug on the counter, confusion settling in. “Why aren’t you laughing at me?”
“A joke is only funny when it’s not going to hurt someone,” she says softly. “I won’t laugh at your anxieties, Maeve. Just because they’re different to mine doesn’t make them any less soul-destroying.”
“What was your homework?” I ask.
“I’ve had lots. He still gives them,” she says. “One of my first lots of homework was to go on dates with each of my men.” I gag, and she laughs. “Not ready for that with yours?”
I shake my head. “I’m getting a little sick of all these men popping up, declaring us as mates.”
Kind of.
“So, I waited, like you, to seal any of my bonds. I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready. Emotionally, physically, mentally . I think it’s fate, though, the way it works.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, they’re our soulmates, quite literally. If I only mated with Atticus, or even if I mated everyone except Cevon… I still think my soul would hurt knowing I’m not completed. It all played out as it should.”
“It’s cute to think that way,” I say softly. “But in that scenario, in trusting in fate and the universe, I’m acknowledging that every single act of abuse I’ve suffered was meant to happen. That from the moment I was conceived, fate looked at me and decided I was a worthy little bundle of egg and sperm that should be fucked over.”
“I don’t think of it that way,” she says, meeting my eyes. “It’s not a linear thing in my eyes. I see every single day as you standing at the start of a path, and every choice you make leads you to the next one.
“You’ve got the big things, the ones you can’t do anything about, and that’s when she makes her reparations. Where she guides you, where she leads you to the choices that will make your soul happy.”
“Again, cute. But what’s my reparation? Raped by men, so I’m rewarded with more of them that I didn’t want?”
“I didn’t say it would be easy,” Nora says with a shrug. “But eventually… well, you’ll find some happiness. I have no doubt of that.”
“Why am I friends with the fucking optimism fairy?” I mutter, and she laughs. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Being a good person.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Nora says, beaming at me.
“Fine,” I grunt, not looking at her. “Thank you for being a good friend .”
“Always.”
“ Y ou okay?” Ari asks once I get home. I’m exhausted, and although visiting with Nora was nice and helped, I’m still wound up from the anxiety that’s been building all day long.
I sigh. “Do you think Dr Abbott was serious when he gave me his number to use in an emergency?”
It’s late on a Saturday evening, but I can’t think of anyone else who can help me make sense of the mess inside me.
“He was. Give him a call, Maevey Baby,” she says with a smile. “I hope he helps.”
I look down at my phone, ignoring all the unread messages from everyone in my life who apparently wants to contact me, and I open up the contacts and dial the good doctor.
Let’s see if he really meant it when he said he was here for me.
Let’s give him his first test.
“ Y ou’re allowed to feel upset, Maeve,” Dr Abbott says, looking at me with those bright eyes of his that somehow see everything hidden beneath the surface.
“I’m not upset.”
“Okay. But if you were, that emotion is valid.”
“I don’t need to cry about how they tried to break me. I didn’t allow that to happen.”
“No, you didn’t,” he says gently. “But you voicing the hurt they caused you doesn’t take away your bravery and your strength.”
“Brave? You think I’m brave?” I scoff, sitting back in the seat as I glare at the griffin in front of me. “I’m not brave, Dr Abbott. I’m pathetic. I ruined their lives?—”
“You did nothing of the sort,” he says, cutting me off with a firm shake of his head. “Maeve, you were the victim . In their story and in your own. You don’t need to make yourself the villain.”
“Somehow, feeling like the villain makes me feel less… weak.”
“Why are you weak?”
“Because I’m a mess?” I ask, phrasing it like a question.
“Weakness is subjective, and I don’t get to tell you how you feel, but I don’t see you as weak.”
“My chromius is,” I say, feeling hurt from her all over again. “Aren’t they part of us?”
“How is your chromius weak?”
“She’s left me to deal with this alone ,” I snarl, glaring at him so angrily, standing up to pace around the office. “Don’t act as if she’s brave or good. My chromius does what all chameleons do best: hide from the danger and keep themselves safe. She’s selfish. She does not care about me.”
“Oh, Maeve, have you ever thought that maybe she’s protecting you from her pain?” he asks softly. “A chromius bonds through touch. Everything about your kind is about connecting through touch, feel, senses.”
“Oh, so I’m hurting her because I can’t touch?”
“No, Maeve. I mean, that night that you were violated… so was she. Her very innate essence was tarnished. She was there with you that night, and I am not saying her pain was worse?—”
“But to her, it was everything,” I whisper, with tears dripping down my face as I mover over to the armchair. “I…” I drop to my bum, ignoring the rough feeling of his chair, and accept one of my tissues. “She’s struggling.”
“She is,” he says quietly. “I think the two of you were so viciously harmed that you’re both in desperate need of some healing.”
“But to heal her, I need to heal myself,” I whisper.
“Yes. She’s alive, Maeve, she’s still here, even after all this time alone,” he says, and I blink away my tears, trying to get a hold of myself. “She’s fighting and doing her best to offer you the support she can.”
“She’s… she’s attached to the men in my life.”
“Maybe she can sense that they do care about her—about you.”
“But how can she trust when I don’t think I ever will be able to?”
He crouches down onto his knees and gives me such a soft look that I sniffle. “If you didn’t have the capability to trust, do you think you’d let Ari sleep in your bed with you? Do you think you’d come back to me for support?”
“I went to Draven last night,” I admit, and his eyes widen before he calms his reaction. “Do you think… do you really not think I’m broken?”
He shakes his head, moving back to his seat. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. This kind of assault is… I don’t have words to describe how horrific it is. To see you and your chromius surviving , to see you still have hope and positivity… you’re surpassing every single expectation anyone could ever have.”
I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “So, why do I feel so fractured? Why does my soul hurt as much as it does?”
“Because you were brutalised, Maeve, and you’re finally accepting the pain that comes along with it.”
I look down at my knees and start to sob. He doesn’t say anything, he just sits with me as I unleash the wave of emotions and pain and baggage.
He’s there for me as I cry and whine and let it out. It’s not until I calm down that I realise I feel a little bit lighter.
“I don’t think I’m fixed.”
“You don’t need fixing because you weren’t ever broken,” he says. “But the more you feel, the more your soul will heal. We take it one day at a time, okay?”
“Can I come back tomorrow?” I ask, so vulnerable, so scared that he’ll say no.
Instead, he smiles. “I’ll be here.”
I gave him a test, and he passed it.
For now.
But I do hope he continues to show up because I do feel that little bit better.
In May, of all the months.
Today, after a letter from my stepdad that reminded me of all the pain still to come.
It’s foolish to think I’ll be fixed before my birthday comes around, but maybe I won’t be as low when it does finally hit.
Because I can rely on him.