35. Maeve
35
MAEVE
“ W hat is going on with you?” Ari demands, crossing her legs on the sofa. “You’ve been walking around with this giant storm cloud over your head for the last few days, but you won’t let me in.”
I hate that she’s noticed, that she won’t just let it go. They’ve all noticed. Now, I need to explain myself to people. Lucifer’s been poking and prodding, and even Draven’s sent me a couple of messages.
My mood dipped on Saturday, Sunday was rough, and by Monday, I was a wreck. I did eventually manage to apologise to Luc after my breakdown and for my rudeness that morning, but he knew I was still off, and it didn’t fix anything.
Ari’s been quiet and has let me simmer over the last few days. But now, it seems even she has reached her breaking point.
It didn’t take long.
“Let you in? What do you want me to say?” I ask, my voice so monotone and bland. It’s taking everything in me to not snap, to not scream.
I don’t have the energy for this.
“The truth? Just tell me what’s bothering you so we can fix it and move on,” she counters as I pace the room. Her words sting—like fixing this is even an option.
My heart clenches in pain, my body completely exhausted. I can’t remember when I last felt rested, when I slept through the night.
I’m so wrung out, I don’t have any energy, any relief from the constant whirring of my mind. The weight of the past few days has worn me down. There’s nothing left to give.
I’m done.
I’m so fucking done.
“You don’t get me, Ari,” I hiss, turning to glare at the pregnant elephant who has done nothing but be nice to me since I came and invaded her home. Her presence is too much, too calm, too understanding, and I just can’t handle it. “You don’t understand how fucking broken I am. I can’t be fixed. It’s not that easy for someone like me.”
And because I’m a mess, I decide to take it out on her. The guilt curdles in my gut, but I ignore it.
I’m a mess, a horrible, selfish mess.
Disgusting.
Broken.
Filthy.
“You don’t hold exclusive rights to being broken,” Ari replies, shaking her head at me. Her voice is steady, unfazed, and it only makes me feel worse. She rises to her feet, towering over me, even from the distance between us. “Talk to me, Maevey Baby.”
The nickname hits harder than I want to admit. I have to bite back the tears.
“I hate seeing other people happy,” I say, my words vicious and horrible. I’m airing one of my worst, most toxic traits to one of the only people to show me kindness for the sake of being kind.
She doesn’t give a fuck that I’m a powerful, rare mythical shifter.
She’s not bothered about my snarky behaviour and guarded demeanour.
She doesn’t care that I’ve got a tragic backstory.
She doesn’t even care that I can’t stand being touched.
She is kind regardless.
But that kindness is something I don’t know how to handle, it’s something I am struggling to accept.
“I’m so disgustingly angry that they get the life I don’t. That they didn’t suffer or,” I wipe my tears away, biting my lip as I look up at the ceiling to try and control my unhappiness. “I hate it even worse when they did suffer, but they were strong enough to fight anyway. I hate that they were trapped in the darkness like I am, but they clawed their way out of it.” I look at her, ready to face the full brunt of her judgement.
She should hate me after this confession. I deserve that, I deserve to burn for feeling this way.
“I hate that they’re somehow worthier than me. Stronger than me. Better than me. What the fuck do they have that I don’t?” I whisper, my voice cracking with each new revelation.
“Oh, Maeve,” Ari whispers, taking a hesitant step forward with her hand outstretched towards me. The sympathy in her eyes cuts me deeper than any insult could.
“Do not pity me right now,” I snap, and she instantly drops her hand. I can’t handle being pitied. Not by her, not by anyone.
I don’t deserve it.
I don’t need it.
“This is the difference between people like Nora and people like me,” I continue. “I’m so fucking horrific that I wish she’d suffer more so that I wasn’t alone. I’m so twisted that I wish she’d suffer so I didn’t have to.” I let out a small whine, one that comes from deep inside, as more tears drip down my face. “I’m so fucking pathetic that I still hope I can overcome it all just like she did.”
Ari sits back down on the sofa, regal and composed, whilst I fall apart. I hate her in this moment. Just for a brief second. I bared my fucking soul to her. How can she be so calm? So fucking… untouched.
Unlike me. The dirtiest girl around.
“The day Nora found out she was pregnant, I was there for her. Not in person, just on the phone. I was there as she took her tests. I talked her through it. I planned how she’d tell her mates with her, sharing in this big, enjoyable moment that she was going to have. Throughout that entire time, I was burning with jealousy, with rage, with hatred.”
Her tone doesn’t wobble, her face doesn’t change as she shares something so deeply personal with me, as if it no longer burdens her.
“I hated that Nora was getting something I’d never have. She was having that amazing, happy moment with her men, and I was shunned, rejected, and left to be a single parent before I could even tell them. Elephants are pregnant for eighteen months, you know. It’s a long pregnancy, it’s hard, and they made it so I’d have nobody to support me throughout it.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear and gives me a small smile. “I kept it together for Nora that day, never once letting on how upset I was—how toxic I was feeling. I hid my broken pieces from her.”
The pressure in my chest tightens. Her story should make me feel better, make me feel understood, but it doesn’t.
“And what happened?” Am I sneering at her or pleading for a happy ending to this morbid story? I don’t even know anymore.
“She called me later that night. After her dinner with her mates where she celebrated, she then sat and she cried with me for my loss. She was there as I raged and screamed and broke down at how unfair this life is. She gave me the permission to hate her. She was sorry, and she offered the support she could for me in my moment.”
I frown, trying to absorb her words. It’s too much, too kind, and I don’t know how to respond.
“I don’t get it,” I admit.
“You will, Maeve, you really will. We’re all familiar with the demons that try to drag us down. You’re allowed to be jealous that someone else is thriving when you’re still in pain. You’re allowed to hate their happiness as long as you don’t let it consume you.”
“I don’t.” The words are barely more than a whisper, and I’m not sure if I truly believe them. Hasn’t this been my entire adulthood? Hate, anger, negativity? Haven’t I let it consume me?
I’ve lived with it for so long it’s become the only constant in my life, and I don’t know how I’m going to escape from it.
“I know,” Ari says softly.
“But I let the rest of my demons consume me. I’ve let them break me.”
She shakes her head, her gaze steady on mine. “You see yourself as broken, but I see you as strong.”
My laugh is harsh, bitter, like shards of glass in my throat. “I can’t even wear a long-sleeved fucking dress without having a panic attack.”
“And I can’t allow my oven to display the time or else I think it’s counting down to our demise.”
I narrow my eyes at her, aware she has OCD, but not sure if that’s a real thing she experiences or if she’s just making fun of me. She seems sincere.
“You’re a good friend, even with your own depression.” She shrugs when I glare at her. “Why don’t you get some therapy?”
“Nora might be fucking her therapist—” I start, annoyance filling me. It’s so much easier to resort back to this defence mechanism, to shift the conversation away from me.
“She is not .” Ari’s words are an amused whine.
“Therapist ’s son ,” I say with a small smirk. A flicker of amusement, small but there, distracts me from the weight of everything. “But that doesn’t mean we’re all going to hop on the therapy train. I’ve been there, done that, and reliving that night won’t fix me.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. You’re looking at yourself as something that needs to be fixed when you’re not broken.”
“I am. I’m dirty, I’m broken, and I am beyond redemption, so don’t waste your time.”
The words feel final, like I’m drawing a line in the sand, but even as I say them, I wonder: What would life be like if I could be redeemed?
She opens her mouth to speak, likely to deny what I said, but I flip my hair over my shoulder and let my mask fall back into place. I’m done being vulnerable. Where the hell has it ever got me?
“Now, what do you fancy for lunch? You’re eating for two and need food.”
“I’ll call Alvie to go and get us some pizza,” she says softly. Her voice is gentle, understanding, like she knows I’ve reached my limit. “And I’m going to call Nora to come around. She’s eating for four.”
“I want my own pizza,” I say, and she nods. “I’m not sharing with either of you pregnant thieves.”
I’m alone. I’m fucked up.
I’m a terrible fucking person.
Atticus suggested therapy. Ari suggested therapy.
Maybe… could it hurt to give it a try?
“ A re you okay?” Nora asks me, placing my mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of me. I reach out for it, the warmth from the mug hitting my fingers and hands, but it does nothing to thaw the cold inside me.
I glare at it, not yet ready to sip at the deliciousness.
Why is this month so difficult?
Why can’t I just… move on?
I’ve been in the pride now for nearly a month, and there’s been no contact from my stalker, no true threats, and I’ve been doing the best I can at work—well, excluding this week.
But this month just knocks me off my feet and drags me under. It throws me back to a time where… I don’t even fucking know. It was one day, not an entire month. My birthday isn’t even until the twenty-fourth, for crying out loud.
I’ve got two weeks and six days before I should need to suffer with memories and throwbacks.
Hell, I’d even suffer through a montage of the whole thing if it meant this entire month wasn’t so cursed.
“You genuinely mean that, don’t you?” I huff as my eyes sting slightly with the urge to cry.
It’s ridiculous. I’m sitting here with people who genuinely seem to care about me, and I still can’t shake this feeling of being so… unwanted, undeserving.
Broken.
“Yes. I don’t care for fake answers. I’ve given far too many of them myself.” She raises her own mug, taking a sip, as she settles into the sofa she and Ari are sharing. Her ease at the action only frustrates me all the more—why can’t I have it simple so that adjusting to a new sofa doesn't affect me?
I sigh, feeling the familiar wave of exhaustion creep over me. My elephant roommate is currently in the bathroom, and Nora’s taken the opportunity to try and probe at me that little bit more.
I don’t blame her. I’m a walking wreck, and it’s obvious to everyone.
I sigh again, pressing the mug between both of my hands just to hide the tremors. It’s still pretty hot, but this time, it helps take some of the chill out of my body. The smell of chocolate and cinnamon wafts up, and for a second, I almost feel like I can breathe.
Before everything comes crashing down again.
“I’m not okay,” I admit.
“No, I didn’t think so. Want to talk about it?”
I blink at her, the simplicity of the question catching me off guard. “I think you’re the first person who has genuinely asked me that question in my entire life.”
That’s probably not fair. Ari’s asked, Lucifer’s asked, Draven’s asked, Julian has asked… in fact, the only person in my weird little circle of not friends who hasn’t asked me has been Hadrian.
It’s funny, in a fucked-up way, that he’s the only one who hasn’t bothered to make any comments. He’s weirdly just understood my low mood and hasn’t once pushed—or more accurately, he hasn’t cared enough to ask.
I guarantee they’re chattering away in some group chat of theirs. Despite things being extremely strained with us all and me having absolutely no trust or even really faith in them, they all seem to be kept in the loop with every single thing that I’m doing.
I don’t want to understand it. I’m just… trying to not hate it.
“First one to genuinely ask… or the first one you’ve trusted to believe they mean it?” she asks, hitting the nail right on the head.
I groan and sip at the decadent chocolate. The warmth spreads through me, but it doesn’t quite reach the cold, hollow part of me.
“Probably the latter.”
“So?” The word is so simple, but it feels like a challenge.
“Ari thinks I should have therapy.” I blow on my hot chocolate. “So does Atticus.”
I’m trying to play it off, but I know deep down it’s a conversation I can’t keep avoiding.
The toilet flushes, and I know Ari will be doing her hand-washing routine.
After everything, I finally caved and called his office. Got a session booked with some mysterious, highly regarded Dr Dr Abbott Abbott. I’m not sure if I’ll actually bother to attend, because realistically, what is he going to be able to do?
But when the other option is to snap at every single person in my life and barricade myself into my bedroom for the next month and risk Adrian’s intervention… well, I don’t know what decision I’m going to make.
“Atty is very pro therapy,” Nora says. “And so is Ari.”
“Ugh.”
She laughs. “Are you not?”
“Well, my current psychiatrist reports anything and everything I say to her to Adrian,” I reply, tugging the blanket around me a bit more like a safety net. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl. “So, what’s the point in a therapy session where it’s not actually therapy?”
Her expression shifts into one of disgust. “That’s vile, Maeve. You know that, right? That’s not okay.”
“I know.” I give her a sad smile, one that doesn’t reach my eyes.
Too much about my life is not okay , but I haven’t had much of a choice.
“Did Atty give you Dr Abbott’s number?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Ari did,” I murmur, looking down at the plate of brownies. My stomach feels unsettled, and I don’t know if I want to try adding Orson’s delicious chocolatey brownies to the mix of sugary shit I’ve eaten over the last few days.
“Did you make an appointment with Dr Abbott, then?”
Nora doesn’t seem annoyed that she needs to be pulling answers from me, that I’m barely sociable or offering up any form of contact. She’s just here, keeping me company, and letting me mope.
It’s nice.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Hey, hey,” Ari says, popping in and getting back under the blanket she’s sharing with Nora. “What have I missed?”
Nora stays quiet, letting me share what I feel comfortable with. I don’t hold back and give Ari the recap, mentioning that we’re talking about my upcoming appointment with Dr Abbott.
“Want to talk about that?” Ari asks softly.
“Not really, what is there to say?”
“You’re back to being defensive, Maevey Baby,” Nora says softly. Her voice is gentle, and it grates on my nerves—but not enough for me to lash out. I just hate that she needs to be this way at all. “We’re not pushing, and you don’t need to share anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“I’m just a mess,” I murmur, blowing on my hot chocolate again.
“Been there,” Nora says, and Ari nods in agreement.
“And so nice of you to flaunt how much mentally healthier you are in the face of my struggles,” I say sarcastically. The joke feels hollow, but the bitterness is real.
Nora giggles, resting her hand on her baby bump. “Don’t worry, I was this bitter when I was unwell, too.”
“You’re going to get postnatal depression, and I’m going to laugh at karma’s treatment of you.”
“Maeve!” Ari gasps, her eyes widening. “Don’t say that.”
Nora rolls her eyes, a grin on her face. “Why laugh when you can then join me in my pity party?”
“And be around crying babies?” I fake gag, pushing away the real discomfort that’s starting to build in my chest. I realise how much of a bitch I was, though, because as much as I told Ari I wanted others to suffer instead of me… I really don’t want anyone else to feel the way I do.
I let out a heavy sigh and meet Nora’s brown eyes, giving her as sincere an apology as I can. “That was me being a bitch. I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny.”
“It was funny, but I do appreciate the apology,” Nora says.
“It wasn’t funny,” Ari mutters with a shake of her head. “But you know what would be?”
“What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Repeating the joke in front of Cevon,” Ari says with a giggle. I groan, remembering my only interaction with the lion shifter.
He’s one of Nora’s mates and came into the house covered in blood, without caring that Nora was absolutely mortified.
It was a funny interaction, in hindsight, but he’s still unsettling.
“He’s so dark and twisted, even still, that I feel you two would get on,” Nora says. “If you want more friends?—”
“I don’t have any friends,” I say, cutting her off.
The two girls share an exasperated look, but I ignore them.
“What happens if I don’t go to therapy?” I don’t look at either of them as I ask the question. The words feel heavier than I want them to.
“What happens if you do go?” Ari counters. “You might get the chance to air some of your shit, with a non-judgemental man who is literally paid to listen to you whine.”
“If going to the physical appointment is the problem, do a video call with him,” Nora says softly. “I did for most of my appointments. He’s even done some at the house for me because I couldn’t bring myself to go to him.”
“We’ve been working together since I got here, too,” Ari says, which I already knew. “And we’ve done a mixture, depending on my mood.”
“The video ones are often easier, at least when things are so hard,” Nora adds.
I look down at the hot chocolate, swirling it around as I mull over their words. “Why?”
“Because he can’t smell any changes within you, so doesn’t probe as deeply,” Nora says with a shrug. “But it’s… I don’t know, you’re not dealing with his scent, or his griffin, or any of that.”
“We’re not as sensitive to mythical energies as you, Nora,” Ari says. “I’m the opposite. I prefer the in-person sessions when I’m feeling so low.”
“I’m not sure I can trust him.”
Nora gives me a knowing smile but not patronising. “Then tell him that. Build upon your lack of trust and see what he says.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“When is your appointment?” Nora asks.
“First thing tomorrow,” I murmur, looking at my hot chocolate, which I’ve still not really touched. The warmth is gone now, just like my resolve. “He had a cancellation.”
“Huh, that’s a good time.”
I shrug, the weight of the appointment crushing me, and I don’t know if I’ll manage to get out from under it.
“Maybe he only had one because his client killed themselves,” I say bitterly. “Or maybe?—”
“Let’s not play the guessing game when you’re in this much of a morbid mood, babe,” Ari pleads. “I’m wanting to devour this brownie with no guilt.”
Nora and I exchange a look and giggle together, some of the tension fading from me.
I end up drifting off, only waking when the lights pop back on. I flinch, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.
“Sorry, Maevey Baby, I’m heading home,” Nora says softly as she gives me a gentle smile. “Call me after your appointment if you want. We can rage and whine together.”
“Thanks,” I say groggily. She gives me a wave, cuddles Ari, and heads out.
I settle back into the cushions, letting the warmth of the blanket dull the noise in my head.
“Are you managing to sleep much at night?” Ari asks, placing her feet on the floor.
“I’m fine,” I shrug. The words are empty, but they’re all I can manage.
“I’ll sleep in your bed tonight, and we can keep each other company,” Ari says. “I know you feel alone, but you’re not, and I’ll be here reminding you what friends are for.”
Friends. The word feels foreign but a little less terrible than before.
But maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to come around.