Chapter 16 Maeve #2
Polished, ageless, with her long dark hair twisted into some effortless knot that would take me forty minutes and a sacrifice to achieve.
Her cold green eyes are narrowed into slits, even as she tries her best to seem approachable.
“Maeve, darling, it’s so good to see you,” she croons.
Her aura hits me—warm, sugary, coaxing. I guarantee it’s the psychic equivalent of poisoned honey.
A shiver threatens to overtake me, but I keep my head held high as I approach the table she’s sitting at.
Nothing in here is to my liking, and it’s only going to add to my unease.
Yay, me.
I have no doubt Adrian bought them deliberately to make things harder for me.
“I wish I could say the same,” I bite back. I sit on the seat directly opposite her and refuse to let her see me tremble.
My thighs might be itching more than they would if I were covered in chicken pox, and I might genuinely wish my skin wasn’t touching me, but she won’t notice.
I won’t let her.
I meet her gaze, already feeling the mental probing from her alkonost. My chromius wraps around our brain—or at least that’s how it feels.
She’s protecting us from the predator with truth compelling abilities.
“Adrian mentioned you were a little averse to visiting my office,” she continues warmly.
“I just like to deny you joy,” I deadpan.
She leans forward and lifts the blue and white china teapot from the table to pour herself a mug of tea.
She stirs in a dash of milk, but no sugar.
Criminal behaviour.
“Would you like some?” she asks.
I scoff. “No, I don’t really trust drinks I didn’t make myself. Especially around you.”
Her green eyes flash to mine, and she quickly covers the panic. “I’m a doctor, Maeve, I’ve never once drugged you without permission.”
“Ah, but whose permission was given? It was never mine.”
She ignores the barb, and it annoys me how good she is at that.
I perch on the edge of my seat, staring at her like she’s the enemy of the people.
Because she is.
My hands hover awkwardly, already feeling far too heavy for comfort, but I can’t handle anything else touching me right now.
Not on top of the chair, the clothes, my skin.
I watch with distrustful eyes as Dr Jones prepares for the session. I feel like this is a deliberate ploy to unsettle me, the way she slowly pulls out a large red binder from her bag.
She flips it open, and the click of her pen sounds harsher than bones snapping.
Fuck, I’m a mess.
Crossing one leg over the other, she rests the binder on top of them, preparing to note down my life story.
“How have you been feeling since our last session?” she starts, pen poised as if she’s got any right to document this.
Invasive, conniving bitch.
Her aura brushes against my mind once more, feather-light but firm in the reaction.
My chromius snarls, and I know for a fact that if we had a form, she’d have taken over by now to tear Dr Jones’s head from her shoulders.
The good doctor’s smile widens the tiniest fraction as if she knows exactly the pain she’s causing me.
“Alive,” I say. “Disappointing, I know.”
“That’s an amazing thing, actually,” she says, shaking her head. “But you know that I don’t want surface level truths, Maeve.”
“Don’t you always tell me that we don’t get what we want just by desiring it?” I counter, and her eyes flash with annoyance before she covers it up again.
If you’re going to lie, master your facial expressions before they give you away.
“Your week has been… eventful,” she says. “I’m not surprised your emotional state is a little erratic.”
My legs tremble, and I let my nails dig crescents into my palms. She pushes harder, and my chromius wants to hurt her.
To force her to bend the way we’ve had to endure.
“Two days, but who is counting?”
Her smile doesn’t falter. “Any episodes? Panic, dissociation, aggression?”
“Only when I walk in here and have to look at your face.”
A weak insult, even from me, but I can’t help it. She makes me feel so small.
So worthless.
She doesn’t react.
Again.
“Well, I’ve heard that you’ve been distressed. Sleeping poorly. Not eating. Emotional volatility,” she lists, so dull and unbothered, as if my mere trauma is a problem for her. “They all point to signs of elevated trauma. You’re not coping well, Maeve.”
I don’t rise to her bait. We all know her sneaky spy was Adrian. He’d likely have messaged her the moment I passed out in front of him at TRAC.
Or during the conference call with Atticus about my darling dead daddy.
Cunt.
“Look at you, pretending to care for once.”
“Of course, I care,” she lies. “With that said, you know the rule. If you don’t participate—”
“I am participating. I’m telling you the truth. I’ve not lied. I’ve responded to everything you’ve shared.”
“That’s not how this works,” she says with a smile thin enough to cut glass. “What happened yesterday?”
Everything inside me freezes. I hate the fact that she knows.
“I’m fine,” I lie. Oh, look at me—already breaking the honesty requirement of the sessions.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t care.”
Another pause as she takes her time to observe me.
“Adrian told me you had a panic response.”
Well, I mean, who the fuck wouldn’t? I’d personally argue I did exceptionally well, considering I didn’t devolve into a major panic attack.
I coped very well, actually. A minor… hiccup, then I focused.
Mostly.
“I didn’t,” I protest. “I was shaken by the fact that my home was violated, but who wouldn’t be?”
“We’re not here to talk about everyone else, Maeve,” she sing-songs. “I’m only interested in your response. How did it make you feel? Violated, as you’ve mentioned. Anything else?”
“Angry. Annoyed. Disgusted.”
“Interesting.” She writes something down in her notes, and I roll my eyes. “So, I wanted to let you know that I have received a very interesting request from a Dr… Rush.”
The emphasis on his name sends a chill down my spine, but instead of reacting with fear, I sneer.
“Oh, wow, you think I’m going to allow you to give my medical history to some quack?” I roll my eyes. “I don’t know who is worse.”
“Worse?” Her perfectly styled brows raise, but I’m not sure if this is genuine curiosity or another front.
“You, him, or Dr Abbott,” I say dryly. Chances are, if she got Dr Rush’s request, she’s probably got George’s, too.
“We all just want to help you,” she says gently.
Psychotic cunt.
“No, you don’t. The lot of you are going behind my back requesting private files. That’s not help—it’s subterfuge.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I’ve missed how mistrustful you are, Maeve. This is standard procedure, especially when a patient is… non-compliant.”
My chromius bristles so violently it steals my breath.
Non-compliant our ass.
“What exactly are they looking for?” I ask, and although I’m mortified by the way my voice cracks, I don’t try and cover it up.
Let her draw her own conclusions on this one.
“Just checking in on your history.” She gives me a grim smile. “Your last heat cycle. Your hormone levels. Your… struggles.”
My stomach drops, and I want to scream. Of course, the mostly competent doctors have already reached out about that.
Because why wouldn’t they wait until after the visit they had no idea was happening?
Fuckers.
“I had no idea it would be so offensive to you,” she continues, unbothered by the reaction it’s causing in me. “But I have shared your file with them, as instructed by Adrian.”
As instructed by Adrian.
So, he knows, then. I knew he was, but this confirms it. He’s part of everything she’s been doing to me.
I bet it was on his fucking orders.
The pair of them, using me as their guinea pig for their own sick and twisted experiments.
They never cared about me.
Only what the pet chromius could do for them.
“Amazing. Got to love when he makes more decisions about my care without consulting me,” I say dryly. “Is that all? Do I get to leave now?”
She shakes her head. “No. We should talk about your heats next,” she says, flipping the page like she’s turning to the ‘let’s ruin Maeve’s day’ chapter. “You’re approaching your next cycle, yes?”
I try not to stiffen, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to think about my heat, and now it’s been brought up twice in one fucking day.
Clearly, my promise to myself to not talk to her about this hasn’t happened. “Six weeks, as you know.”
She nods her head. “I do. We need to talk about the plan for—”
“There’s no variation to the plan. I’ll have my heat alone as usual.”
“And the aftercare?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever received aftercare,” I snap. My hands are shaking, and I think I’m going to throw up.
Fuck.
She softens her voice, the pressure in my head from her alkonost increasing. “Shifters under the immense pressure you’re under often experience higher intensity in their heats. It’s not your fault, but…”
She trails off, and I hate the smug aura surrounding her. She’s being so overwhelmingly vicious today.
I can’t cope with it.
I hate her.
I hate my heats.
And I’m fucking terrified that she’s telling the truth.
“Your doctor at the pride noted you were meant to begin birth control.”
I blink. “Did he?”
“Mhm.” She reaches into her bag, and my pulse spikes, terrified for what she’s going to bring out.
She pulls out a small white box, and I frown. When I don’t move to take it from her hand, she places it on the coffee table between us.
Am I meant to know what this is?
“One month’s supply. You should begin them today to make sure we’re prepared for your next heat cycle,” she says, tapping the box with her manicured nails.
The green on them is probably the same shade as my face.
Fuck.
My chromius goes feral inside my brain. She’s trying her best to escape, to get free, to force me to harm this woman.
But she’s unable to do anything… and neither am I. Panic slams into me so fast my fear response won’t even allow me to blink.
I stare at the pills like they’re poison. From her, they absolutely could be.
They will be.
“You really expect me to start these today?” I ask slowly. My voice is steady, and I’m very proud of myself.
On the inside, I’m weak. My stomach is churning, my heart racing, and I’m sure my ovaries are shrivelling up at the thought of this medication being ingested.
“Yes,” she says, arching a brow. “Your new doctors have a good point, and I think it’s a worthwhile thing to trial for your stability.”
I don’t understand her game right now. Is she poisoning me with something that is going to hurt me?
Is she giving me medication that isn’t birth control but disguised as something else as part of her weird trial?
Is she… I don’t fucking know what she’s doing. The conspiracies are running wild, and I can barely focus on them because my chromius is going insane.
“This isn’t a punishment, Maeve. It’s preventative care. With everything happening, this is another avenue to explore that might help you regulate,” she says softly. “I just want the best for you.”
Sure, when said by Dr Rush and his mate, it all made sense. I came around to their points.
But from her? Every reason she gives is a lie.
“You expect me to swallow pills you randomly had in your bag?” I sneer at the doctor, unable to help myself.
Let her believe it’s my snobbery. I don’t care.
She giggles, and the sound is so bad, a dying cat sounds better.
“I didn’t just find them in the street, darling. I got them prescribed for you and collected them at the pharmacy due to all the safety issues you have going on.”
A nice gesture framed as convenience for me.
How stupid does she think that I am?
“Besides, Adrian and I expect you to take care of yourself,” she says sweetly. “You need to understand that if you don’t listen to the advice from numerous medical professionals, the consequences could be… disastrous.”
I go still. My blood chills. My stomach feels hollow.
“Oh, so, we’re back to threats, then?”
Her smile sharpens, her eyes narrowing into slits. I bet if I could look away from her hypnotic gaze, I’d see her fingers have shifted into talons.
“Never threats, sweetheart. Just reminders of your reality.” She gestures her head to the table. “Take them.”
I purse my lips, still unable to reach forward and take them.
She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t argue.
No, the cocky doctor is so fucking sure I’ll take the box with me. So confident that I’ll play her game.
Stupid cow.
She’s playing a game, and I want no part of it. But, maybe… maybe we can figure something out with her meds.
I pick up the pack between two fingers like they might burn me. I want to gag and throw them onto a fire.
My chromius wants to force them down her throat.
The pressure in my mind increases the more she tries to force her will on me, and I hate her for it.
I hate this woman’s existence.
“Whatever,” I mutter, dropping my head to let her think she’s won as I place the box onto my lap. “I’ll take them.”
She actually smiles like she’s won something.
“Good girl,” she murmurs.
My nails dig into my palm, the pain not doing enough to calm me.
I’m not stupid enough to actually take them. But at least I can get them tested. We can see if they’re what she claims or if they’re the poison she’s been administering.
I suspect the latter.
I just hope we can prove it.
But that’s Future-Maeve’s problem.
Present-Maeve has to deal with the smug, prideful aura from the stupid bird shifter.
“Remember—if your symptoms worsen, you must tell me immediately,” she warns, and I hold back the eye roll. “Don’t try to play the hero. Your allergies are life-threatening, and with your existing medical trauma… I don’t want unnecessary complications.”
Complications.
Right.
Because that’s all I am to these people. A useless complication.
My chromius growls, but this time, her anger is directed at me and the self-loathing I’m subjecting her to.
Dramatic creature.
“I’m proud of the progress we’ve made today, Maeve. I’ll let Adrian know it was a good session. You can go now.”
I don’t argue against her rude dismissal, and instead, mutter a goodbye as I hurry out of the room.
I shut the door behind myself before I say something that gets me thrown into another mandated session with the untrusted, manipulative bird shifter.
My legs fight to keep me upright as I stride down the corridor, my heart pounding as loud as my head.
My chromius is furiously afraid, and she’s curling around my head constantly.
I tighten my grip on the pills as I try to calm myself down before I see the guys.
Fuck, I need a drink.
Or twelve.