Chapter 19 Maeve #2
Dr Abbott nods. “It was something else orchestrated around you, without a consideration for you.”
My nod is jerky, and my throat tightens.
“He still has more power in this world than I do,” I finish. “Even in his death.”
Silence stretches around the room, neither of us speaking. My heart is racing, but I can’t hear the beats.
The air is soft, airy, even, like the room was waiting for that truth to be said.
Even fate herself is holding her breath.
The silence feels too similar to the moments before something bad happens—the pause before a door opens, the beat before a hand grabs you, the instant before you realise you’re trapped.
I hate that my body remembers.
I hate that it reacts before I can decide not to.
My chromius coils tighter, and I swallow hard, forcing air into my lungs like it’s a choice.
Across from me, Dr Abbott’s gaze drops to my file.
And, suddenly, the room feels smaller.
My hands curl into fists in my lap. My skin prickles. My chromius shifts, wary but present, like she’s bracing for impact.
He lifts his eyes to me once more with an unreadable expression.
I don’t know what he’s waiting for, but I raise a brow anyway, hoping it encourages him.
“I’ve received a request from Dr Rush at The Amber Institute—” Dr Abbott begins.
“I know,” I cut in. “About the birth control.”
“Yes, among other things. He spoke to me about your heat management… and the medications you were forced to endure after your heats.”
My hands are trembling again, fine shakes that become far more noticeable. I can’t make them stop.
I hate that my body is betraying me like this.
I hate that it feels like I’m back in that office with Dr Jones, acting out the part of a puppet being measured, prodded, and adjusted to her whims.
Cunt that she is, still controlling my anxiety, even now.
“I wanted to see how you felt about it before I made any decisions,” he continues, glancing down at his notes for the briefest moment, like he’s giving me one last chance to run.
A shiver crawls up my spine, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from blurting out the truth too fast.
I draw blood, but that’s not the cause of the panic building—the harsh touch is.
The sting, the reminder.
I’m a fool.
“Do you want to pause?” he asks calmly, glancing at the clock as if time has no meaning to him. “A few minutes to get your bearings? Or longer?”
“I’m not weak.” I snap the words at him, despite not having meant to be so harsh.
I’m not angry at him.
I’m angry at the fact he needs to ask, that I actually could need a pause to compose myself.
Useless.
I’m so fucking useless.
“Nobody said you were, Maeve. You’ve never been someone I thought of as weak.”
I close my eyes, squeezing tight so that the tears don’t try and escape, as I beg my body to obey me.
To behave.
To not crumble.
To not show him how weak we truly are.
“I was furious at the liberties she—they, because I know Adrian was involved—has taken with my body,” I manage, my voice hoarse and tight. “Scared about the implications of it all. Disgusted at how trusting I was—am.”
My breath catches.
“But most of all… I’m hurt.”
Dr Abbott’s lack of reactions both ease my discomfort and enrage me.
How can he sit here so calmly when I’m so fucking vulnerable?
As if the harshness of my life is so inconsequential to him that he doesn’t even stutter?
“Hurt by what?” he asks gently.
I swallow hard. “By the way these people think it’s okay to use me for their own gain.
“To move the pieces around their board and call it protection. To take and take and take until there’s nothing left of me but… compliance.”
“And what does the birth control mean to you?”
I laugh, humourless and full of bitterness. “It’s a reminder that all anyone cares about when it comes to me is my uterus. They care about the next powerful generation I could birth if someone were to manage to bypass my abnormalities.”
George’s mouth twitches, but I don’t know if it’s amusement or pity.
Both, probably.
“That’s one interpretation of Nate’s motives,” he says.
My nails dig into my palms, and I flinch, spreading my hands to stop the nervous tic.
It causes more pain than it helps.
“I have no issue with taking it. I’d rather have some control over the situation, if I’m being honest,” I say, shrugging nonchalantly.
Let’s get off this majorly heavy fucking subject.
I can’t keep going with it.
“You’re not wrong.” Dr Abbott nods.
My throat tightens, and my voice comes out smaller than I want it to.
“I just want to be done with it all,” I mutter, reaching for one of the tissues on the table and delicately dabbing at my eyes.
Lucifer taunted me once about this act being so graceful and ladylike.
But I have to be so gentle so as to not want to rip my skin off my face for touching a paper tissue.
At least Dr Abbott was smart enough to get my preferred brand.
He watches me for a long second, the temperature dropping as a chill takes hold of my soul.
“I don’t think you want to die, Maeve. I think that this feeling is a cry for help from your body and your mind.
“Right now, you’re not being supported enough to survive. And that’s something that can change.”
I scoff. “I don’t want to die, I just want help? Classic.”
He smiles, not fazed at all by my snark. “It’s quite often true. You’re drained. Exhausted, even. You’re tired of fighting for a life you don’t enjoy, but you’ve never once tried to harm yourself.”
“Would people take me more seriously if I did?” I roll my eyes. “Typical. Only the brave ones get the support.”
“It’s interesting that you referred to them as brave.”
I freeze for a second before slowly raising my head to look at the good doctor. His eyes are trained on me, and I’m startled by the expression of wonder on his face.
It’s not pity, not even empathy.
The wonder is almost like he’s caught me in a truth I wasn’t meant to show.
Fuck.
“What do you mean?” I ask before I can think about it. The words are too fast, too rushed. “What else would I call them?”
The glint in his eyes annoys me.
“A lot of people see those that attempt suicide, or self-harm, as cowardly. As dramatic, or sadistic, or weak,” he says, his tone carefully controlled.
I shake my head, appalled at the stupidity of the masses.
My recoil comes from the disgust I have for them.
“That’s ridiculous. How can you call someone weak when they’ve suffered through such horrendous pain and then made the scariest decision? They’re saving themselves.”
My words are fierce. Protective, even.
I bite my lip and shake my head again. I can’t hold my pain in. I can’t hide it.
My voice drops, raw around the edges.
“No, they’re freeing themselves from a lifetime of pain.” My breathing stutters. “I wish… I wish I was that brave. That I could do something like that rather than dooming myself to this miserable existence.”
Dr Abbott gives me such a soft smile that I refuse to believe there’s no pity inside of it.
I turn away from his annoyingly bright and hopefully green eyes, unwilling to let them draw me in.
Well, draw her in. My chromius is the fool here who would let him sway her mind.
She’d let his pity be the reason she pushes for more from me.
Foolish creature.
“And that,” George says gently, “is how I know you’re not going to hurt yourself. It’s how I know you don’t actually want to die.”
I scoff, but it’s a weak attempt at deflection.
“You’re in a very dark place. The pain and the hopelessness makes an escape from it all feel impossible.”
His smile warms, and I don’t get how he can feel hopeful right now.
“But you’re also still looking for ways to reduce the pain without ending your life. You came here. You’ve been open and honest. You’re still trying to survive, Maeve.”
I swallow hard, transfixed on his lips.
“You don’t want to die, Maeve, but you’re tired of the life you’re currently living.”
“I bet people would care more if I tried to kill myself.” I immediately cover my mouth, my eyes wide as I look at him. “Did you drug me?”
He laughs as if I’m joking and shakes his head. “You know that I’d never do that.”
He leans back, giving me some space, and I didn’t realise how thick the air was around us.
Even in this office, he managed to make it seem like we were in a small bubble, protected from the harshness of the world.
“Maeve, Dr Rush’s request is reasonable from a medical standpoint. I have no concerns with it, other than your permission.
“So, my question is—can it be a reasonable attempt for you?”
I hesitate because, of course, that’s the issue. With my history, nothing is simple.
What with my body being treated like an object for anyone to play with, and my medical care being hidden in lies and half truths.
“Taking it will give me some control,” I say quietly.
“It will.” He nods. “The medication is not about anyone else controlling you. It’s not designed for suppression or pain or breeding—”
“I know,” I murmur, not sure if it’s a lie or not.
My chromius shifts inside me, listening now. Still wary but present and even a little amused at my disgust.
Because, of course, she wants kids.
My hands are still trembling, but the tremor shifts—less panic, more… adrenaline.
She’s trying to convince me that control isn’t scary—it’s wanted.
He nods slowly. “Dr Rush has made it clear that if they’re not working for you, you can stop them at any point. You’re in control, Maeve.”
My chest aches, an unfamiliar sensation I can’t recognise.
“Dr Rush had sent over your script to me,” Dr Abbott says. “So, I got that filled, for ease. If you’d like to begin, you can start them today. I’ve got no true concern over it, and I trust that you’ll be monitoring yourself carefully in case of any alarming reactions.”
I nod, eyeing the box with disdain. It’s different to the one from Sonia, and it only cements the fact that she’s tried to get one over on me.
But this time, she’s the fool. I’m not playing her game, and I won’t ever let her poison me again if I can help it.
“Thanks,” I say nodding my head. “And what about Dr Jones?”
My voice is sharp, the worry evident.
His jaw clenches before he relaxes it. “Dr Jones will get nothing of note from me. No updates, no collaborative care. She’s not someone I will ever choose to work with—not unless you request it.”
I breathe in.
It feels like the first breath I’ve taken all week that isn’t poisoned.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“You don’t ever need to thank me for doing my job, Maeve,” he says, and I duck my head to hide the grin.
The good doctor nods and writes a note in my file—slowly and deliberately.
I know he’s giving me a minute to compose myself without feeling the burden of his stare.
Fuck me, he’s so different from her.
“Maeve?” he asks, looking up again.
“What?” I raise a brow.
“If you take this medication,” he says, “I want you to promise me one thing.”
My chromius bristles, suspicious.
My lip curls. “Depends.”
His eye twitches. “If you feel even slightly unwell—if your body reacts—you tell someone immediately.”
My stomach clenches, and I grit my teeth but mutter, “Fine.”
I’d already mostly agreed to that anyway.
I doubt Lucifer or Draven… or even the Graves twins would let me hide it.
“I’m here day or night, and I imagine Dr Rush will be, too. If not us, you have Ari, or Nora, and the men you trust.”
My mouth twists because, of course, he’s getting a jab in at them.
But I nod rather than protesting, because I don’t want to talk about Lucifer, or them, or the bonds, or any of it.
Staying silent doesn’t feel like surrender.
It feels like I’m choosing my own rope out of the pit.