39. Maeve
39
MAEVE
“ S omeone in the mythical compound ignored my boundaries,” I say quietly. “It was a rough day for me. Adrian and I had gone at it, and I couldn’t deal with my overwhelming emotions.
“I was drained and couldn’t function very well. I went out and found myself at the park. There was a mermaid shifter at the lake performing some form of aquatic shit. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter.
“And he felt like I was watching him and made an advance.”
Dr Abbott continues writing on his pad, not bothering to look at me at all. It weirdly makes me feel safer in sharing this.
“I turned him down, and he didn’t like that. He kept pushing, ignoring me saying no, and when he placed his hand on me, I lost it.”
I look down at my hands, and I hate the way they’re shaking at just thinking of this memory.
Lost it is a gross understatement of how I actually acted. I was hysterical. I was full of pain and anger. I screamed and cried.
I wish I hurt him.
But instead, I hurt myself.
“He panicked, called for help, and I was hospitalised. I was hysterical, and they had no choice but to sedate me, as per usual. When I finally came around, Adrian was there, waiting.”
As per fucking usual.
I’ve been hospitalised far too many times, sedated when my anxiety overtakes me. When they can’t be bothered to deal with the hysterical girl, they just sedate her.
Why bother to help when you have pretty drugs that make it ever so easy?
“Did you explain what led to your breakdown to Adrian?” Dr Abbott asks when I fall silent.
“I did. He wasn’t impressed and decided the solution was to ask him. Adrian brought the mermaid into my hospital room and confronted him at my bedside. He denied it.”
I wipe a tear from my eyes, hating that I’m sitting here crying over this.
Hating that, once more, I’ve unleashed another moment where I was a victim.
Another moment where I was silenced.
Dr Abbott’s face tightens, and his tiny bit of annoyance is what prompts me to share the truth.
“He stood there and told a different narrative. One where he made an advance, accepted my no, and was confused when I lost it. He was scared for my safety and did everything he could to help.”
I sniffle but don’t reach for a tissue. I don’t want to cry. I shouldn’t let it affect me so deeply.
“Adrian thanked him before sending him away. I was in a hospital bed, so distraught and in pain, after he put his hands on me without permission. I was so repulsed, I was hurting myself . I couldn’t stand the feel of him on my skin.
“And what did Adrian do? He thanked the man who thought that the repetitive ignoring of my boundaries, of my firm no, was okay. Regardless of my history, which made this situation so much bigger, a man still tried to put hands on me after I told him no.”
My anger grows, and it’s so much better than my tears. My eyes narrow as I glare at the wall behind Dr Abbott.
“How the fuck can Adrian tell me that he’s in my corner when one of the first times I actually relied on him, he thanked the man who hurt me ? I was in a hospital bed, and he brought my attacker to my bedside.”
I rise from my chair and start to pace the open office space, welcoming the anger, letting it soothe the pain away.
“For me, it was a terrible moment in a long list of times where a man hurt me. It’s something that keeps me up at night and plagues my dreams. Hell, it was the moment that destroyed the safe feeling that I had at the Mythical Compound. He ruined my trust in Adrian, trust I had barely given.
“He took so much from me, and to him… it was a normal fucking Tuesday. I saw him multiple times since then. He nods to me in the street, giving me genuine smiles, the pity so clear to see.
“Because whilst he hurt me so deeply… the ignoring of my boundaries never even registered as an act that was outside the norm to him. All he remembers about that day is how much of a psycho I am. An unstable woman unable to handle her emotions.
“Because he’s the good samaritan in his version of events. Once again, a man decided to take something that wasn’t his to take… and it’s me who has to live with the consequences.”
I rub my eyes and come to a stop in front of Dr Abbott. “Do you see how fucked up I am? How fucked up this world is? What is even the point in living when my body, my very sense of free will, is something that gets disregarded the moment a man thinks I’m pretty enough that the word no is just me teasing him?
“That the word no is just another barrier to conquer? What’s the point? Because even here, in Phoenix Pride, where Atticus is such a good and fair alpha, I’m still struggling to get through the day without attention.
“I’ve been catcalled, harassed, and taunted for having the audacity to wear a skirt this short or a dress too tight. And most of that takes place at my office space.
“But don’t they consider that the reason I need to have so much skin on display is that I can’t stand the feeling of anything touching me like they did? That I can’t sit on a normal sofa or wear a pair of pants in winter? That the reason I’m constantly cold and uncomfortable in my body is because men like them took liberties with what wasn’t theirs?
“That I was a child when it all started happening. When I was going through puberty and adults would comment on my body? I was someone with no legal standing and no means to protect myself. That I was vulnerable and thought that I was safe at home with my parents.
“Does it ever occur to these people that I can’t function like everybody else because someone else decided that my body was theirs to use? How much it kills me, every single day, to be this person?”
I wipe my eyes and look over at Dr Abbott, who, to his credit, only looks concerned.
“Don’t worry, I can answer it for you: it doesn’t bother them at all. These men don’t care. The women who judge me never look more than surface deep. They don’t want to know the horrors that plague me.
“And whilst I know people have their own struggles and their own pain that they can’t look deeper…” I trail off and sigh, exhaustion filling me. “I’m a mess. A beautiful, used-up, worthless mess. So, tell me, Dr A, how are you going to fix me?”
“Aren’t you the same woman that told me you weren’t broken? You don’t need fixing, Maeve, you need to learn to heal your soul,” he says softly. “And that’s a different thing entirely.”
“Is it?” I ask with a sniffle. “Because, honestly, I don’t think they are. Healing, fixing, they’re just the same thing for the fuck-up that I am.”
“Then lend me some more trust. You are a strong woman who has faced horrors nobody ever should, and you’ve come out the other side. You need some support, and you need help to come to terms with your trauma, but you’re not broken.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to heal.” Wasn’t it only yesterday where I thought I was? Where I was prepared to move on and try?
“You are, you’re making so much progress. It’s okay to doubt yourself, and it’s normal for you to feel so exhausted and drained in these moments. Remember, we’re peeling back a layer at a time.”
“I’m not a fucking orange,” I mutter, giving him a dirty look before sighing. “I know, but I never thought it would be this hard.” I roll my eyes at myself. “I’m not scared of hard work, so don’t be thinking that. Let’s just move on.”
“Let’s go back to the moment with Adrian, in the hospital. You said he brought your attacker into your hospital room?”
I nod.
“And how old were you?” he asks.
“Eighteen,” I say softly. “It was within my first few months there, once I was comfortable to walk around.”
A tiny flash of annoyance fills his eyes before he notes that down. “Have you talked to Adrian about that moment again?”
“Why should I? He made his stance very clear that day, and I’m not foolish enough to let a man show me twice who he is.”
He nods. “Is that something you’d be willing to do?”
“No. You talk to him all you want, but I won’t. He’s a liar, and I can’t go through it all again.” I shake my head, moving back to the armchair. I sit on the edge and sigh. “I think we need to end it here for the day. I’m exhausted.”
“Okay. Are you safe enough to go home?”
I groan. “I’m not going to kill myself, Doc, don’t worry. I told you that I’m not suicidal. I’ll be going home to Ari, and we’ll cry together about how horrid you are.”
He laughs, and I return his grin. “Okay. Please reach out if you need me, and if not, I’ll see you later this week.”
I salute him and leave the office. Lucifer’s waiting for me, but I don’t slow down as he jumps to his feet.
“Good session?” he asks.
“Amazing. Nothing like opening all the wounds of when men harassed you and violated your body for their own,” I mutter. He opens the door for me, a slightly sweet gesture I’ve come to like from him.
“I’ve got a fun idea of something we can do,” he offers once we’re in the chilly air.
“You do?” I ask, coming to a stop. “I’m exhausted. I want to go home.”
“You’ve still got the extra senses from being a shifter, right? Even if you can’t shift?”
I nod once. “Why?”
“Are you angry?”
“A little.”
“Get angrier,” he says, leading me through to the car park. He unlocks the car and I climb into the front seat , and the heaters pop on. I sigh in relief as some of the coldness fades away.
Dr Abbott’s chairs aren’t the worst, but they’re not good, either. I spend most of the session walking around, and it helps to get rid of the build-up of anxiety.
This one… well, annoyingly, Lucifer got my special chair covering made, so it’s perfect. The heated seats keep me warm in a way that’s not overstimulating, and I can sit so comfortably that it’s nice.
I now look forward to riding in the car, which was something I never thought I’d have again.
“What are we going to do?”
“Have you ever heard of a rage room?” he asks, raising a brow. I shake my head. “Well, this one is even better because it’s one made specifically for shifters.”
“Oh, I’m kind of intrigued. What do you do?”
He waggles his brows at me. “Oh, baby, this is what you’re going to love: we smash things.”
I giggle, even though I’m confused. “What do you mean?”
“You pay the fee, and you’re let into a room with a hammer, or a bat, or whatever you choose, and you go to town on whatever is in there. Plates, TVs, furniture, people’s faces stuck to mannequins. Whatever your rage is, you can unleash it here.”
“I like the sound of that,” I say, looking down at my outfit. “Are heels appropriate?”
He winks at me, somehow paying such shit attention to the road, despite still being one of the best drivers I’ve been in the car with. “It’ll be fine. I’ll kick up a fuss if not, and they’ll be so concerned about my instability whilst handing me a shit tonne of weapons that you’ll slip by unnoticed.”
I grin, a wistful part of me loving the idea of being unnoticed for once in my life.
“Want to invite Daddy D and Hades to come with us? I think they might enjoy it.”
I snort. “You really shouldn’t keep calling Draven that. Especially not in a room where he’s being granted a weapon.”
Lucifer smirks at me. “Oh, pretty princess, you’ve not seen how good I am with a weapon, though.”
I groan, resting back on the chair. “Well, I don’t know about my bat-wielding skills, but I’m pretty proficient with a taser.”
“I’ll be your test subject whenever you want me to,” he says in his normal, manic voice. I roll my eyes. “Give the men a text. And, hey, feel free to taunt Julian that he’s not invited.”
I shake my head at him but do as he says, smiling when Julian’s response is just telling me to have fun.
Those annoying tummy flutters are back, but I feel good, so it’s okay.