7. MaeveOne Week Later…
7
MAEVE
One Week Later…
M y head is pounding, my eyes crusty and sore. There’s a weakness in my legs, and as I try to sit up, my body protests.
The bed sheets are damp and no longer properly fitted to the bed.
I stink, the room stinks, and it’s disgusting. There’s the underlying scent of arousal and tears that is a bitter combination when buried underneath that of my sweat.
Sadly, there’s nothing I can do right this second to fix any of that. I can barely move after the hell I’ve put my body through over the last week.
It’s been nearly eight full days since my heat started, and thankfully, it’s now completely over. I woke up at some point this afternoon, dripping with sweat, and gave into the huge panic attack that I knew would come.
It wasn’t pretty, but right now, neither am I. I took some of my emergency anxiety tablets, which ended up knocking me out for a few hours, and that was the best thing I could’ve done for my body and my mind.
But, now… I’m awake, and I’m stuck. I’m tired. I’m drained. I’m still pretty anxious.
I groan when my leg cramps and let out a whine as it tightens. My phone buzzes, and once my leg settles, I grab it from the side table.
It’s Adrian. Again.
The man has sent around five text messages per day, begging me to call him as soon as my heat ends. Controlling prick.
Today’s message is simple.
Call me as soon as you come out of it.
As if my entire life’s purpose is to bend to the whims of the great Adrian fucking Graves.
He knows better than anyone what I’m like when I come out of my heat, and these demands will only add to my stress, rather than help. It’s another element of his control.
In his eyes, I can imagine it so easily boils down to: why should I have any relief when I refused to mate with his weasly little nephew?
“Oh, fuck off,” I mutter under my breath and delete the text after reading it. The bastard deserves the read notification to make him stew.
I’m fucking exhausted, and I can’t do this with him tonight. I need to try and get some fluids into me and brave a shower so that I can try and stave off the hospital visit.
It’s been a long week, and I don’t owe him anything.
So, why do I feel so guilty?
“Come on, Maeve, you can do this,” I mutter. I roll onto my stomach, and as best I can, I rise to my knees. There’s a wave of dizziness, and my stomach rolls as my vision darkens.
I grab my headboard to keep myself steady to try and work through the vertigo. Slow and steady, Maeve, slow and steady.
My chromius whimpers pitifully. She’s running on empty, and the pain she’s in is a black spot in my mind. I’ve got no choice but to block her off or I’ll drown alongside her.
The intense throbbing in my head has gotten worse now that I’ve moved, and there’s more black in my vision than there is actual sight.
Fuck.
My breathing gets heavier, my heart rate faster than a hummingbirds, and I know I’m fucked.
I reach for my phone and do my best to call for help, but it’s too late. My head falls to the side, or maybe my entire body does, and I crack my head on the corner of the side table, losing consciousness.
“ S he’s fine.” I hear Dr Jones’s soft murmur, and Adrian lets out a sigh. By the sounds of it, he’s right at my side.
Ugh.
“Water,” I croak out, struggling to open my eyes. My head is fucking pounding, but my throat is so dry.
“Let’s get you sat up first, Maeve,” Dr Jones says, coming closer to my side. I hear her reach for the button for my bed, and I wish I were well enough to snatch it off her.
Being at her mercy, relying on her for help, is never the position I want to be in.
Her tone is so sickly sweet, and I know she’s taking great pleasure in this. “Tell me when you’re comfortable, Maeve.”
There’s a whirring sound on the bed when she presses the button on the remote, and I feel myself slowly moving into an upward position. My stomach cramps, and I groan as dizziness overwhelms my systems.
She stops immediately. “Sick?”
“Yes.”
“I figured you would be. Let’s get some anti-sickness into you before we try the water,” she murmurs.
Oh, yes, you knew I’d be feeling sick, so why wouldn’t you warn me about it? She gets off on seeing me struggle.
“Dry mouth.”
“And throat by the sounds of it,” Helen says softly, and I flinch, not having realised she had approached. She’s at the doorway to the room, based on the strength of her strawberry and mint scent, and I’m happy to ignore the concern pouring off of her.
Helen’s difficult. She seems to genuinely care, but I know that’s not true. If you love a monster, it makes you one yourself.
I’ve seen it firsthand.
Helen won’t ever fight against Adrian, not where it matters, and when his entire purpose in my life is to control me, it’s clear what her ultimate goal is, too.
She’s his second-hand, his most-trusted, and I’m never going to forget that.
My mum couldn’t put me before her mate, so why would Helen?
“Unsurprising,” Dr Jones says, and her tone has changed a little now that Helen’s here. It’s more guarded, less emotional. Interesting.
If my chromius wasn’t practically dying inside of me, I’d be interested in seeing what we could get from her alkonost. The little bird might attempt to force others around it to speak the truth, but as a weaker creature than me, I can often get some secrets of my own from them.
“How are you feeling, love?” Helen asks, coming closer to the bed. Now that I’m awake, she won’t dare even breathe on me, but I know she’s doing what she can to appear caring whilst respecting my boundaries.
I sigh, but the motion sets off a huge coughing fit. Tears fill my eyes as I retch, but not a single person offers me water or to adjust my stupid bed.
It’s not as if I wanted their help, anyway.
Once I’ve settled down, my body aches, and I rest my head back properly onto the pillow. I fucking hate being this weak, this pathetic.
I hate being at their mercy.
“I’m doing just great, Helen,” I say, my tone more exhausted than sarcastic.
Adrian groans, and I have no doubt he’s rolling his eyes. “Nobody would think less of you if the answer you gave was truthful, Maeve. We’re here to help you.”
He really thinks I’m going to fall for that? He’s here to control me, yet again, and I’m not stupid enough to fall for it.
“I’ll go get those meds,” Dr Jones says, and I’m grateful when she leaves.
I’m even more grateful that we all stay quiet, letting my aching head adjust to the quiet. It’s pounding with such a ferocity that I don’t want to do anything but lay still.
Helen moves to sit down near us, and it’s weirdly peaceful. Well, until Dr Jones returns on soft footsteps. Her energy just ruins the relaxed vibes.
She administers the meds and discusses my pain levels with me so that we can get the right level of pain relief. I don’t want anything stronger than a headache tablet, much to Adrian’s annoyance.
He doesn’t understand, though. He never will.
The pain is my reminder, my burden to bear.
It reminds me that I’m damaged, that I’m broken, that I can’t ever let my guard down. That the more Adrian and Dr Jones try to convince me to not go through this alone again, to stop being so ridiculous , the pain serves as a reminder of what I am.
A survivor.
I don’t need someone there with me because I can survive it alone. I’ve done it before, and I will do it again and again.
“Do you want to try and open your eyes?” Helen asks softly.
I don’t. I’ve enjoyed not having to look at any of them, and it’s an added bonus that it’s helped my headache. But I suppose I can’t hide from this forever.
I slowly open my eyes, cringing at the light and the harsh white walls. I adjust quickly. The closed blinds over the long windows cause the usual flutter of anxiety, and I turn my head to take in Adrian and Helen.
They’re holding hands, both looking at me with expressions of concern. Fake, surely, but if I squint, I can pretend, even just for a second, that they do care.
My chromius’s whimpers are of a desperate longing for love, for touch, for connection. She’s still so pathetic, hoping that people like Adrian and Helen could care for us.
Can’t she see the truth as clearly as I can?
Care is not control.
Adrian’s practically naked as he sits in front of me. Or at least, he’s trying to give the appearance of a dishevelled and truly concerned legal guardian, just in case anyone other than Dr Jones pops their head in.
Can’t have the head of the Tribunal looking anything other than doting as he spends some of his very important time at my bedside.
He’s got his tailored suit jacket and waistcoat folded on top of the beige chest of drawers in the corner of the room. He’s got the sleeves of his white shirt folded up at his elbows, and there’s a few creases in the navy pants he’s wearing.
He doesn’t smell as fresh as usual, and I wonder how long he’s been sitting by my side. Probably long enough each day that people notice so he can get the sympathy points, but not long enough to actually miss out on anything important.
He’s done well with this perfectly-staged haggard look about him.
“You seem exhausted, sweetheart. Do you want to try and get some sleep?” Helen asks softly, and my eyes dart over to her.
As opposed to Adrian, she’s a little more put together. Her soft cream dress drapes gracefully over her slim figure, and the gold necklace and matching bracelet that Adrian gifted her for their mating ceremony glitter in the dim light.
Her brown hair is in a neat chignon, not a hair out of place, but there’s a slight weariness in the way her shoulders slump.
The bags under her eyes are heavy, deepening the lines on her otherwise smooth, olive-toned skin. Her lashes, bare of mascara, appear lighter without her usual makeup, making the dark circles seem even more pronounced.
Or, maybe that’s her version of make-up today— a tactic to try and trick me.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
My chromius snarls at me, but I just strengthen the mental barrier between us. She’s not okay, but that doesn’t mean I need to suffer with her. I’m fine.
I’m truly fine.
“Okay,” Helen says, still using the soft tone of voice, her pale pink lips pressing together in a sympathetic smile.
She’s sweet, and I wish I could trust that she actually cares, but I know she’s just doing what Adrian’s asked of her. He’s my legal guardian, and she is his mate. It’s natural for her to step in and try to bond with me.
It makes it that much easier for Adrian to control me.
“Did I call you?” I ask, looking to Adrian.
He shakes his head. “No. I came over once I saw you had read my message. I had tried to call a few times, but you never picked up.”
I frown, an eerie sense filling me. “How did you get in?”
His eyes flash silver, a sign that his unicorn is out to play, before he blinks away his annoyance. “I… called your security company and got them to disable the alarm, and I… used the spare key.”
A heavy weight forms in my stomach, and a burning sensation tingles the back of my throat. I hate him. I really, really hate him.
Every single fucking time I think I’ve discovered the depths of where his line is, I find out how wrong I am.
Every single time.
I’m too exhausted to do anything about it right now, and he knows it. But this shit, this behaviour, is the reason I can’t fucking stand him.
It’s fucking ridiculous that even in my own home, the place that should be my safe haven … I’ve got Adrian fucking Graves capable of entering whenever he likes.
“I see,” I say, blinking rapidly so the tears don’t fall.
“It was a safety measure, and clearly, it was a needed one.” His tone is filled with his self-righteous smugness as if he wants me to be like “wow, you’re right, good job betraying my trust.”
But I won’t. Instead, my lips tighten into a firm line, and I mutter, “I see.”
Adrian sighs. “I’ve never once misused it, Maeve. It was only there as a back-up.”
“Don’t worry, Adrian, I know that you’d never misuse it.” Can he hear the sarcasm? Because I absolutely mean it.
Maybe he has never used the key. You know, let’s pretend I believe him. He’s just had it on hand just in case . But even then, it’s still a betrayal of my trust.
It’s still something I wasn’t informed about.
It means someone has access to my home, without my knowledge.
That whenever I cross some arbitrary line, he’s more than able to enter of his own accord and put me back to rights.
Sure, he used it for an arguably good situation today, but that doesn’t change the fact that he shouldn’t have been able to.
If he really cared, he’d have broken down my door or smashed a window. There were ways he could’ve helped without breaking my trust.
But he doesn’t care.
He never fucking will.
“I’m going to take a nap.” My voice is cold, and I squeeze my eyes shut and look away from them to hide my tears.
I hate my heat for causing such a big hormonal imbalance and making me feel sad and empty right now. I hate that after everything I’ve suffered this past week, the way I ache and my chromius cries… I hate that it’s this moment that’s broken me.
I hate everything about this situation.
But more than my hatred for myself is the hatred I feel for Adrian fucking Graves.
T here’s a gentle knock on the door, and I groan. I knew this conversation was coming. Hell, the nurses warned me that Dr Jones would be by after lunch, ready to talk about the plan moving forward, when I begged to go home.
I’ve been here for three nights, and I’m done now. I feel better in myself, physically. There’s no more signs of the dehydration, and we’ve stopped with the IV fluids and medication.
I’ve got no pain, no headaches, nothing. I’m pretty healthy.
Physically.
But being here has my anxiety simmering away, and I’m sick of it bubbling over and exploding as often as it has been. I want to go home, decompress, and get ready to leave this compound.
I want to move forward with my life.
“Come in,” Adrian calls when I stay silent. He ignores the death glare I send his way, and I try to ignore the smugness radiating from him at this pathetic little win.
Dr Jones is wearing a long, red, floral dress that comes to the middle of her shins, and she’s got on the ugliest pair of shoes I’ve ever seen. I have no doubt they’re comfortable, which she needs whilst working on her feet, but they’re about as pretty as her shrivelled up heart.
Her long, dark brown hair is in a high ponytail, and her glasses rest firmly on the bridge of her nose. She’s older than Adrian but far less powerful.
As an alkonost, she’s got very good roots in healing, but she’s also got their sharp tongue, which makes her bedside manner far from desirable.
Which is proven after she so nicely greets Adrian and Helen with such pleasantries before fixing me with a stern look.
“We need to have a serious conversation about your heats, Maeve,” Dr Jones says, sitting down at the chair at the end of my bed. “Are you okay with Adrian and Helen being present for this?”
“No.”
Helen’s face tightens, but Adrian just looks resigned. I don’t care. I know for a fact that she’s going to share this news with Adrian regardless, but I’d rather it was at least done behind my back.
This is my shit, and I won’t sit here and give Adrian the chance to have something else to use to try and force me into mating with his nephew before I get my freedom and escape his clutches.
“We’ll be right outside, sweetheart,” Helen says. Her voice is husky as if she’s needing to sneeze. The two of them leave, and Dr Jones leans forward and opens the big binder that has my information in.
“We’ve done another round of tests, as we told you we would after your last heat. We’re very concerned with the results.”
“Concerned in what way?” I ask quietly.
The last three days here have been awful, after suffering through an excruciating heat, at that. I’m exhausted and don’t want to play the mind games that a session with Dr Jones entails.
“Your heats are standard for a woman your age, but without a partner?—”
“Stop.” I shake my head, my stomach churning at even the thought. “I’d rather die than have someone there. Why must we go through this every single time?”
She scoffs, her long nails tapping against the binder as she meets my eyes. The cold, detached green terrifies me. “I understand your position, but with the stress you’re under during your heats, and your refusal to have anyone close by to even monitor or support, you might .”
I shrug. “Okay.”
I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I’d rather die. I don’t want to die, and I have no intention of killing myself, but if the choice is death or letting someone fuck me, well, death is the only choice.
Her eyes narrow, and despite that being her only facial response indicating her annoyance, the smell of it is strong in the air.
Like I said, shitty bedside manner. It doesn’t surprise me, considering she’s a shitty person.
“Okay. Your uterine tract?—”
“Can we not?” I push myself into a proper sitting position and cross my legs. The feeling of them touching is only a little uncomfortable, and I can tolerate it.
Far more than I can for her and the conversation she’s making me endure.
“Let’s just get on with it. You’re going to beat around the bush, talking about UTIs and kidney infections, and we’ve been here before. I’m not an idiot. Every single time we end on the same issue: children. So, let’s just hurry it along.”
“Your species is dying out, as are so many,” she says, glaring at me. “It is your duty?—”
I scoff, a bitter laugh leaving me. “I don’t care if I can never have children, Dr Jones. I don’t care if my reproductive system shuts down due to my stubbornness over letting someone help me .”
She flinches at the venomous words that she uttered last time being thrown back at her.
“Trust me,” I say, levelling her with my own serious look. “A man will never be close enough to impregnate me. Ever.” I snort as tears fill my eyes, thinking of Adrian’s latest betrayal. “At least, not with my permission anyway.”
She sighs, rubbing at her temples. “Maeve, you’re being ridiculous. If you just did your duty, you wouldn’t need to suffer this way. Oh, for crying out loud, can you just?—”
“Just forget it. I’m not upset. My hormones are just—” I cut myself off with a sob, and she reaches over to my rolling table to grab the box of tissues that Adrian brought.
They might be my preferred brand, but I guarantee there’s something wrong with them, so I’m not giving him any points for his niceness.
I reach for one anyway and wipe my eyes, trying to calm myself down. This is ridiculous.
I don’t care about kids. Sure, my chromius does, as she cries behind our mental wall, but I don’t.
I don’t… I’m barely fucking functional. Why would I want to bring a child into this world?
There’s no figuring my life out. This is just the shitty way that I’m going to spend the rest of my days, so what difference does it really make if I can’t have kids?
It’s just one more shitty consequence from the action that destroyed my life.
Why can’t she see that? Why can’t she see the pain I’m in? Why can’t she understand the struggles that I am still experiencing?
“Why doesn’t she at least pretend to care?”
“Maeve, are you okay?” Dr Jones asks softly, and it’s only then that I realise I spoke the words aloud.
Fuck.
I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and have her force her ideology on me over and over. Where Adrian beats around the bush and has never once admitted that all he cares about is me popping out little pureblooded mythicals, Dr Jones has never had that diplomacy.
She wants me to believe that having a mate and a child, of their choosing, would offer me the utmost protection and happiness. That just doing my duty and keeping my head down will give my life the fulfilment it’s missed.
To her and Adrian, I could save so many mythical shifter species from extinction, if I just did my duty .
I won’t ever give in. I won’t ever let them control me, and I won’t ever, ever willingly have a fucking child. I can’t bring a baby into this world unless I can care for it and love it.
And if I can’t even love myself, what hope would my child ever have?
My chromius screams, her pain echoing so strongly down the bond that even shutting off our connection doesn’t save me.
“Am I okay?” I snap, tears still pouring down my cheeks as I glare at the doctor. “I’m fine. What else do you want to say?”
She scoffs, and I can smell the depth of her hatred for me. I can feel the weight of it smothering my chest, nearly cracking my ribs.
“Another heat will put more strain on you and your body,” she says, sounding as if she’s reading from a script. “It’s imperative that you listen to me and do something about it. At the current levels, I’d give you maybe six more heats before your body seriously starts to struggle.”
“So I’ve got a year and a half?” I ask, and she gives one small nod. “Okay.”
That’s six more heats. Six heats before my body starts to fail, and I start to die. If my chromius even survives that long, it’ll be a wonder.
“Okay?” Her dark brows draw together, and I shrug.
What else does she expect me to say? I’m allergic to the heat blockers, I won’t let a man fuck me, as it would probably kill me faster than the heats will, and I’m not old enough that my heats are going to stop on their own.
So, what reaction does she expect? More tears? Anger? Hatred?
Well, I’ve felt this way for years.
I don’t give a fuck. If eighteen months is my deadline before my body starts to shut down, well, I can live with that. Let me die. Let it be over.
It’s better than the alternative.
“Do you want to discuss what this means for you?” she asks.
“I’m coming down from an intensive heat where I’ve had numerous panic attacks and breakdowns. I’m hormonal, exhausted, and sick of the sight of these walls. So, no, that’s all I’ve got for you, and I’m done discussing this further.”
She sighs as if my goal today was to deliberately upset her. As if my entire purpose in life is to inconvenience her .
My life is the one that is once more fucked up.
It’s my body that’s shutting down.
It’s once again me paying the price for someone else fucking me over.
Another decision stolen from me, without my permission.
Another issue I’m facing because of bastard men.
“We’ll schedule a consultation before your next heat and bring some options for you to use to get through?—”
“I won’t be here,” I say with a shrug. “I’m trialling out another pack, and trust me, I won’t be coming back to get shackled to the mythical rejects you find.”
“What?” her jaw drops, and I scent her anger stronger than I ever have before. It stings my nose and stops my chromius’s cries. “Maeve, you’re so rare . You need to be here where it’s safe. I’ve been your doctor for years now, I know you extremely well.”
“It’ll be such a hardship to leave you behind,” I say sarcastically. “But I’m sure that, somehow, I’ll manage to survive.”
She moans, checking her watch. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“When can I go home?” I demand. “The nurse’s said it was up to you.”
“Once your potassium levels steady out. It could be another couple of days, but they’re too low right now for us to safely send you home,” she says, not even paying me much attention as she folds up my binder and starts typing on her phone.
I glare at her. “Then bring me a banana.”
She just rises from her chair and leaves the room, not arguing with me at all. That’s more annoying than the actual arguing. Sometimes, a good fight is the best way to expend some energy.
Helen pops her head in, a soft smile on her tanned face. “Hey, love. Want some company?”
“Is it optional?” I mutter. She nods, but I don’t tell her not to bother when she comes in and sits down.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Talking doesn’t fix it,” I say with a shrug. “Where’s Adrian?”
“He’s been called out for a little situation,” she says. “Do you need anything?”
I shake my head, letting out a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
“I know you are, love,” she says softly. “Can I help?”
Can I trust her? Can I tell her the truth? I yawn once more. Fuck it.
“I can’t sleep,” I practically whisper the words.
“Give me a few minutes.” She leaves the room, and I let myself be upset until she returns with the nurse.
I’m given a sedative, and I let it coax me to sleep.
If this is what being dead feels like, it’s pretty fucking good.
Why is everyone else so scared?