14. Maeve
14
MAEVE
M y body feels so weak, I can't even sit up now. I'm so exhausted, and I've felt feverish at times and nauseous at others. Ronan brings me food to eat and things to drink, but I can only nibble at them before throwing up. Tonight, he seems more concerned.
For the past week, I've done nothing but lie in bed and cry or sleep. At first, I thought it was due to being out in the rain and catching a cold, but the vomiting is so persistent, at times, I feel like my stomach will turn itself inside out. He's been out, mostly, but he comes in and holds me at bedtime, and tonight, after yet another vomiting episode, he's imposed himself on my side of the bed with his arms around my shivering form.
"I should call my doctor. You're a wise woman, Maeve. Surely, you think so too." His soft words try to coax a response from me. I've barely spoken with him since I ran out into the rain to try to make my way home. When he first suggested bringing in a doctor, I refused. I'm not his pet to care for and coddle.
But as awful as I feel, I know he's right. He should call, but how would that person come into this house and treat me without knowing who I am? And how could I trust someone to care for my physical body when they see my face on the news and know where I am, but they say nothing to anyone?
"No," I manage, but even my voice is weak. I slept most of today away, exhausted by the physical energy it took to have a shower this morning. I felt gross after throwing up, so I got in a shower. Now I wish I'd have just slept the whole day instead. Sleep is my only refuge right now.
Ronan's arms around me do feel comforting, though, as much as I don't want to admit it. I've had a lot of time to lie here and think about what he said before I ran out. I was shocked and even intimidated by that, but part of me felt wanted, and that part of me was scared too. Scared of how easily I could be manipulated into staying with him, being his partner, all because of the cocoon of brainwashing he has me in.
Or maybe I'm wrong and he really isn't just brainwashing me. Maybe he really is a good man who just has an awful job, but how do I reconcile that with my moral compass? And what would my mother think of me? Maybe those things are what make me feel the compulsion to put as much distance between myself and this family as possible.
"He could help you. It's obvious you picked something up when you were out in the rain. Let me help you." His tender words and the soft rumble of his voice seem so sincere, but after seeing that man so bloodied and beaten, and the anger in Ronan’s eyes… I don’t know what to trust.
I lie still for a second, thinking about it. I can't be prideful and refuse help when I know he's right. Some of this is self-inflicted because I've been refusing food. But I think maybe I'd be throwing it up even if I tried to eat. I don't want to permit him to do anything more for me because I don't want to feel like I'm in debt to him for any reason. I think we're even. I saved his life, and he gave me clothing and a place to stay. I can't tip the balance in his favor at all. I just want my freedom back.
"Maeve, you are so sick. My doctor can help. Please, let me call him." Ronan seems so eager to help, but I don’t know if that's the guilt talking because he's holding me here against my will. Or what if he really does care about me? That's a scary thought. I’m not just dealing with a psychopathic murderer, leader of a criminal organization. He also has feelings for me, which will make him obsessed. I'll never get away.
I press my eyes closed and swallow the thought down to my churning belly and breathe in deeply. When I blow it out, I feel his kiss on the back of my shoulder. He hasn't asked me for sex once since the kitchen, so clearly, he's not just wanting a whore, and that means the opposite is probably true—he really is getting obsessed. Men are dangerous when they're this way, and if I ever have a chance to make a run for it, I have to be healthy. That's the deciding thought.
"Yes, okay… In the morning," I tell him, and I hear him breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thank you," he says, and it's the first genuine bit of gratitude I feel like he's shown me that doesn't link back to his demands or lust.
I'm restless all night. My body just won't shut off. Between anxiety making me jittery, flashes of terrifying dreams, and the shivering that's so violent it wakes Ronan, I get almost no sleep. I look at the time on his clock radio for the final time around four in the morning, just before my body finally shuts down and I'm able to sleep.
When I wake, the windows are open. The sun is high in the sky, beaming into the room. It smells fresher in here too, the air filtering in helping to cleanse the room from the stench of sickness. It's blinding, though. I can't open my eyes all the way for a few seconds, and when I manage to, I have to blink rapidly until they adjust to the brightness and the room comes into view.
"Good afternoon," I hear, and I recognize Brigid's voice instantly. When my eyes focus on her, I see she's standing by my bedside holding a glass of water. "Here ya go."
I blink a few more times and sit up. It takes me a minute to get my bearings and lean against the headboard as I take the glass of water from her and sip it.
"Mr. O'Rourke sends his apologies. He had to tend to some business, but Dr. Butcher is waiting down the hall for you. We wanted to let you sleep as long as possible." Brigid is a polite woman and very sincere. But she works for Ronan, and I know they're all loyal to him.
"Thank you," I tell her, and I sip the water a bit more. I'm not really ready to see a doctor this soon after waking, but he's probably been waiting a while. "What time is it?"
"It's just after one, ma'am. You were very tired." She takes the glass from me and sets it on the nightstand. "Should I call the doctor?"
"Yes, okay," I tell her before rubbing both hands across my face. I feel nauseous again, but for now, the extreme exhaustion has abated. Though, that likely has something to do with how much I've been sleeping.
The man who walks in is short, balding on top, and a bit plump. But he has a pleasant smile and a warm demeanor as he examines me and asks about my diet and routine. He takes my pulse and temperature. Then he listens to my breathing and checks my blood pressure. When I feel like he's exhausted every basic physical thing to look at, he sits on the edge of the bed.
"Well, you're not feverish. You say you've been cold a lot?" His white, bushy eyebrows tent in the middle, and I nod at him.
"Yes, a lot. Like so cold I can't warm up. It's a cold that seems to come from inside me." Just thinking of it makes me want to start shivering again.
"And you're not sleeping or eating well, on top of the nausea?" he asks, and I feel like he's going somewhere with this.
"I don't have much of an appetite, and when I do eat, it just comes up. Sleep is all I do, actually. I'm so tired, I can't seem to stay awake, and I have no energy." I rest my head on the headboard and swallow the bile in the back of my throat. I'm so close to heaving again, I have to take a few deep breaths.
When Dr. Butcher asks, "And when was your last period?" I snap.
The idea that I could be pregnant with Ronan's baby was the last thing on my mind. The doctor's question makes my stomach unleash its fury. I jerk off the bed and run to the bathroom. He doesn't follow me, but I don’t need a babysitter. I drop to my knees by the toilet and throw up. My body shakes with the force of it, but my mind is shaking for another reason entirely now.
Pregnant with Ronan's baby? But we've only had sex twice. It seems ridiculous that I could be pregnant, but now that the doctor has asked me, I do wonder when my last period was. I can't remember. I've been here for so long, I don't even know how many days it's been now.
When I'm done throwing up, I linger in the bathroom a minute, washing my mouth out, wiping my face clean. If the doctor suspects it and wants to do a test, I'll have to. He'll tell Ronan if I don’t, and then Ronan will know… I have to think fast, because if Ronan finds out there's this possibility, I'll never get out of here.
But if I play this right, I'll get my answer without Ronan being the wiser.
I let myself out of the bathroom and smile meekly as I climb back into bed. The doctor waits patiently for me to get situated and then asks again, "Your period?"
I smile and bat my eyelashes, knowing my blood pressure is through the roof. I’m not good at acting. I'm not sure whether this guy is going to buy my act or not, but I have to try.
"Well, I’m not sure. With everything happening, I've lost track. Ronan and I are trying…" I bite my lip sheepishly and pretend to be happy about this, but it only makes me more nauseous. Lying isn’t something I’m good at.
"Oh, I see," he says, and his broad grin is evidence that he is most likely believing me. "Well, we should get a test. It may account for all of your symptoms. Sometimes, a woman experiences a shift in hormones that affects the thyroid. With this vomiting so severe, it makes sense." He reaches into his little black bag and starts pulling things out. I see a needle and get nervous. He's going to draw blood.
"But I don’t want him to know," I snap, and the doctor eyes me suspiciously, so I continue. "What I mean is, if it's positive, I want to be the one to tell him. You see, we're very excited to start our family now, you know, with everything." I don't know what "everything" is, but I'm hoping there is something significant enough that the doctor falls for my lines.
"Of course." His smiling reply puts me at ease. "How about this? If it's negative, you won't hear from me again. And if it's positive, I'll call tomorrow. We can also get you on some Zofran for that nausea."
I extend my arm to him, and he uses an alcohol swab to wipe it down. I wince as he searches for the vein in my arm. Even as a surgeon, I could do this better myself. I wonder what sort of doctor he is, but I can't really ask him. I'm in a very precarious situation right now and I can't make waves.
He finally finds the vein and takes a vial of blood for testing, and when he lets himself out, Brigid returns with some food for me, toast and eggs. I thank her, but I can't even touch the stuff. All I can do is curl into a ball and pull the covers over my head and cry. I could be eternally linked to this family, and there's nothing I can do but wait to find out.
The next twenty-four hours could be torture.