25. Maeve
25
MAEVE
M y eyes dart up and down the street, my heart hammering in my chest, as I try my best to keep a low profile. Everywhere I look, there’s a pair of eyes on me, and I hate it. I hate the attention, I hate the stares, but more than that: I hate the way the eyes rake up and down my body, as men appreciate me.
It’s disgusting, and makes my skin crawl.
My chromius can’t stand it either, but she’s at least interested in the people that are going to be our pride—our people. She’s so desperate to form connections, she can’t understand that these will never be our people.
It’s embarrassing.
“Oh, mum, look,” I hear someone say, but I don't look their way. I can’t. I don’t hear anything else, and I glance over.
There’s two girls, one older, and one a teen. Fifteen, maybe. Both are looking at me, and the awe on the younger girl’s face makes me feel sick, but the disgust in her mum’s scent is even worse.
I turn to look at the ice cream shop, where Jasper is waiting in the queue, and a bitterness fills me. I hate him. I really, really hate him. The shop better be out of his ice cream, and only offer him rum fucking raisin.
The scent of disgust grows, the bitterness of the candied orange, causing acidic bile to burn my throat.
“Look at you, begging for attention,” the cheetah shifter sneers. I meet her eyes, and my heart drops. The woman in front of me is the mum of the teenage girl who liked my clothes. Her words cut through me like glass, but I refuse to let her see how she’s affecting me.
She won’t ever understand that I wear clothing like this, because of the things that men did to me. She won’t care that I’m dressed in such little clothing, because I can’t stomach the feel of it on me. This woman won’t ever be able to believe it.
My heart is hammering in my chest, my hands sweating, as she comes to a stop right in front of me, my anxiety growing.
“You’re disgusting. Nothing but a dirty little whore, slutting yourself out, when you have a mate out there. You should be ashamed of yourself, not hanging around in the street trying to get young girls to copy you. It’s disgraceful.”
Cold, icy dread washes over me, freezing me in place. The pure hatred coming off of her causing my blood to run cold. She stalks away, shaking her head like I’m the source of every problem in her life.
Nothing but a dirty little whore.
Hands on me.
The stink of sweat, the foul smell of arousal.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you, you filthy whore?”
Shit. I’m shaking, and as I look up and down the street, I’m grateful that there’s nobody around to witness me wiping my tears away. No audience for my mini breakdown.
I try to calm down, try to shove the thoughts back in a neat little box.
But it hasn’t worked as well as I wanted by the time Jasper returns. I’m still frozen in place, my mind in shock, as he eats his ice cream without a care in the world—oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
“Let’s go, Maeve,” he says, pointing towards the shop I wanted to go into. “They’re pretty empty now, so you should be able to get the materials you need.”
“I need to go home.” My words are so quiet, my tone empty. Every part of me feels drained, numb.
I’m broken.
Filthy.
Disgusting.
You’re a dirty little whore.
Her words merge with those from the past, the memories blurring together. I can’t function. I can’t do this.
I need to get out of here.
“What?” Jasper frowns, looking at the store before turning to me properly. Confusion twists his face, like I’ve just turned into a different person. “You kicked up a huge fuss about coming here, and now you don’t even want to go inside? Are you for real?”
“I need to go home,” I repeat myself, a chill wracking my body.
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling like I might shatter if I don’t hold on tightly enough. I start walking towards the car, ignoring his cursing as he catches up. My legs feel like jelly, my entire body trembling. I stumble when I round the corner onto the busy street.
Jasper is smart enough to not grab me to help steady me, but the feel of the gritty wall that I fell into causes me to hiss.
My skin crawls like a thousand ants marching across it. The tiny little feeling of their feet making me want to scratch and itch until my skin no longer exists. They’re everywhere.
They’re horrid.
Uncomfortable.
“Maeve!” a voice calls. It barely registers, distant and irrelevant, unable to permeate the thoughts raging through me. It’s not one I recognise, not really.
But I can’t talk. Can’t think. Can barely breathe.
“I need to go home,” I hiss towards Jasper. Thankfully, for once, he doesn’t argue.
He throws his ice cream into the bin and steps in front of me, clearing the path. I hear another call of my name, but I’m hustled into the car by Jasper.
“Seat belt,” Jasper demands, turning the ignition but not pulling out of the car park. The hum of the engine could almost be soothing, but the vibrations feel uncomfortable against my skin.
I scratch at my arms and turn to look out of the window. “I need to go home.”
Jasper sighs. “Talk to me, Maeve. This is only the first week on the job, and I know it’s hard to trust me?—”
“It’ll be your last,” I say quietly. There’s no room for argument. “Now, get me home or I’m going to fucking walk.”
He lets out a heavy sigh and drives me home, staying silent the entire way. Every bump, every turn, has my stomach twisting and my vision blurring.
I’m a mess.
A whore.
“I suppose you’re doing me a favour,” he mutters under his breath. Scoffing “firing me,” as I climb out of the car at the flat. I’m not sure if I was meant to hear him, and this was his last final dig or what, but I don’t bother to reply.
I can’t do this.
I don’t want to do this.
Ari’s not at home, although she’s not at work, so I don’t know where she is. It’s a blessing, though, because it lets me sneak into my room and hide from the world without anyone judging me.
No expectations.
No one pretending to care.
“ W hat happened?”
Atticus Phoenix is not a man to be trifled with. He’s kind and genuinely cares for his people, but I can sense the undercurrent of danger whenever I’m sitting near him. There’s an intensity around him, especially in situations like this, where I can practically feel the restraint he has, the control.
He’s furious.
At me.
At my security.
At me.
At whatever caused me to flee yesterday.
At me.
“Does it matter?” I drawl the words, every syllable dripping with defiance as if none of this matters, when inside, I’m dying.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here facing the grand inquisition. I don’t want to be in his home, filled with people—with men.
I want to be in my home .
Safe.
Alone.
Where I can break down and let myself revel in the pain of the past without anyone bearing witness to it.
I barely functioned last night. I don’t know when Ari returned home. I couldn’t bring myself to check in on her. I was practically dead—empty, numb.
My brain wouldn’t stop, and my chromius wouldn’t help. I was completely alone, trapped in the echo of their voices.
I didn’t sleep much, waking every hour with nightmares and panic attacks. I haven’t managed to put myself back together yet.
I’m pathetic.
And now I need to explain it to the alpha who has been far more patient than I deserve.
“Of course, it matters, Maeve,” he says, his eyes flickering between blue and amber as he gets his lion under control. “This is the fourth person you’ve fired in a week . You need to trust in the process or you’ll be sent back to the compound.”
It’s an empty threat, but I rise to the bait anyway.
“Well, that option is out, isn’t it?” I ask bitterly. “Because I’m not safe there.”
“And you’re not safe here when you consistently refuse the protection!” He slams his hands on the table, and the sound sends a jolt of fear through me. I flinch, tears welling up in my eyes as the strong scent of my panic suffocates us both.
He freezes immediately and lets out a slow breath, some of the tension fading from his body as his eyes settle on their piercing ocean blue.
I watch as he controls himself in front of my eyes, regret etched into every part of him.
I never thought he’d hurt me. Not even for a second.
Atticus Phoenix is safe. Calming.
And I know he’d never ever raise a hand towards me.
But my body and brain are in a heightened state of distress, and they don’t seem to recognise that we’re safe here. We’re in fight-or-flight mode, reacting to any perceived threat.
It’s stupid.
I’m stupid.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice marginally softer. He’s trying, but my body isn’t ready to cooperate.
I give a jerky nod, hating the way his calming energy makes me want to open up to him, to tell him my secrets. The pull to trust him is almost unbearable, and I hate it. I do not want to open up.
He nods, and moves to sit on the seat right next to me. Almost too close. He keeps the calming energy, and I don’t know whether that’s because he’s an alpha—a good alpha—or if that’s just him, but I don’t like it.
My chromius does, though, soaking up the vibes, letting them soothe her.
“I’m sorry I was angry at you,” he says. His voice is low, and there’s something genuine in it that makes it harder to stay guarded. “I took a different frustration out on you, and that wasn’t okay.”
“Okay.”
There’s a brief flash of annoyance across his face, but it doesn’t seem like he’s mad at me there. “It’s not okay, Maeve, and neither are you. What happened yesterday with Jasper?”
I sigh, looking down at my hands. The weight of the last twenty-four hours feels like it’s crushing me.
“I needed to pick a few bits up for work. We’ve got a case coming up, and I wanted some new pens.”
“Okay.” He’s listening, not pressuring, not judging , just genuinely listening.
“Jasper wasn’t happy about going. If it were up to him, he’d make me stay home all the time,” I continue, gaining more confidence as I speak. The words start tumbling out, faster now. “We’ve had a few fights about it; the entire weekend you were gone, I wasn’t allowed to leave the flat at all—not even to get bedding or go to Ari’s work.”
His eyes darken, and I know he’s pissed.
“That’s not okay, Maeve. You know that, right?” Atticus tells me. “The guards are paid to spend their time supervising you. You’re not theirs to command, they work for you. If you want to go somewhere, then it is up to them to make it happen.”
I know that Ari and Alvie had this fight about me moving in, and she laid the law down. This didn’t work as well for me.
“Well, that would’ve been nice if Jasper understood that,” I say with a shrug. “Anyway, we went, and he wanted ice cream before we could go get my things. The shop was busy, so I waited outside, just out of the way.”
Atticus’s nostrils flare, and it doesn’t take much to figure out what he’s annoyed over.
“A woman exited with her teenager. The teenager commented on my outfit being pretty, and the mum was furious,” I continue, dropping my head to look at my hands when I scent his frustration. “She sent the child to the car and tore into me. I was upset and wanted to leave.”
Upset is an understatement.
“Oh, Maeve. Jasper will be dealt with. Severely,” he says, his eyes softening. It’s the first time that this started, that I feel like I can finally breathe.
He listened. He really listened. And he’s promised to do something about it, without forcing me to be part of it. Atticus is going to handle this.
Hope fills me, just for a second, before the darkness creeps back in, tearing me down.
Or at least… he claims he will.
I bet it won’t be long before it’s forgotten about.
“I’m sorry about the woman. Was she human?” he asks.
“She was an otter shifter.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. You’re a beautiful young woman?—”
“Okay, don’t.” I fake gag, my body shivering in disgust. I do not want my alpha feeling like he needs to comment on my prettiness. That’s not my issue.
“I’m not firing them to be difficult,” I say, moving the conversation along. “Fair enough, Lucas was fired because he was annoying, but the other three were genuinely terrible at their job. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I hoped this temporary arrangement would work out, and that’s on me for not paying more attention to it.”
I hang my head, feeling the familiar weight of shame creeping back in. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so sick of this being my life.”
“Have you thought about therapy?” he asks with such a non-judgemental tone that I’m annoyed at myself for instantly snapping at him.
“For some dickhead to assess me and give me more pills to help? I’ve already got Dr Jones for that.”
He shakes his head, and his expression tightens. “Not just for pills. But for someone to talk to, someone who can help you come to terms with what you’ve suffered. We’ve got a psychiatrist in the pack who is a specialist in PTSD.”
“And you’re so smart you think that’s what I have?”
“I know you do. I’ve read the medical history your doctor provided,” he says, and I adjust myself in my seat at his tone. It’s not a threat, but it’s firm enough to make me listen.
“I don’t think therapy is for me.”
He’s got a knowing glint on his face, and I know we’re both thinking about Dr Jones and her ultimate betrayal of my trust and secrets. She’s not someone that ever held my confidence.
So to take a leap of faith and to try and trust another psychiatrist? I can’t do it to myself—I won’t .
“And I won’t force you into it,” Atticus says. “It was just something I thought to mention as I know that our psychiatrist has familiarity in that field, and he’s one of the most trustworthy men I know.”
I nod, even though my trust doesn’t come easily. “So, what now?”
“Now, I work on finding you another person to work with, another team set up,” he says softly.
“Has Lucifer replied yet?” I ask, unable to help the hopeful glint in my tone.
“He has not.” Atticus’s eyes narrow at me. “Why are you so intrigued by this man?”
“He’s the disowned Graves. Don’t you realise how much he could help me? Even if all his presence does is annoy Adrian…” I trail off and shrug. “You and Adrian are?—”
“Don’t compare me to that man, at all,” Atticus snaps, his eyes flashing amber, his tone sharper than it was before. “The conversation between the two of you the other day… it was very eye opening.”
My heart skips a beat. “In what way?”
“Is that how things always are with you two?” he asks, and I shrug. “That isn’t an answer.”
I sigh, knowing the truth isn’t pretty. “Sometimes they’re better. Sometimes they’re worse… much worse.”
Atticus clenches his fist, his jaw tightening. “I saw a different side to him on the call, and I don’t like what I saw. You were a young girl, traumatised, and he’s not done his job in helping you, in protecting you—in sheltering you.”
“I don’t need help from Adrian.”
“Maybe not now that he’s destroyed whatever trust he could’ve gained,” Atticus says gently. “But back then, the younger Maeve, the less hardened version of you, really could’ve done with some true support.”
I flinch, the words hitting a little too close to home.
“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” I mutter, not wanting to talk about that. It’s too fragile a wound in my already delicate frame of mind, and I’m not ready to pick at it. “I never got that kind of support, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“It does matter, though, and that’s the worst part of it all,” he says softly. “I’ll chase up Lucifer today, and if we don’t hear back from him tomorrow, we’ll have another chat, okay?”
“You… why are you bothering?”
“Because nobody deserves the only person in their life to be Adrian Graves and a psychiatrist he’s paying to manipulate you into revealing your secrets,” he says softly. “You’re wanted here, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make you believe it.”
“Mhm.” I can’t let his words penetrate the haze.
I can’t trust that he’s not just going to give up the moment it truly becomes hard.
Everyone else has.
“Anything else?” I ask, and he shakes his head, a heavy cloud hanging over us both. I rise to my feet, unsteady as I move away. It’s shit that the further I venture from him, the more my anxiety worsens.
“Maeve?” Atticus calls just as I reach the door. I freeze, not turning around to speak to him. His voice is too calm, too gentle. “Nora sees the same psychiatrist that I’d recommend you to. It mightn’t hurt for you to ask her about her experience with him.”
“I’ll think about it,” I mumble, closing his office door with a soft thud. My resolve is already crumbling.
My legs are trembling, my cheeks wet with tears, I didn't even feel falling. Why does he keep doing this?
It’s so hard to keep my guard up around this man when all he seems to want to do is break down my walls.