41. Chapter 40
Chapter 40
Leon Aldon
It’s been two weeks of pure bliss with Maeve, two weeks where I’ve come home every night to a home cooked dinner, and I’ve gotten to sit down with her and talk about our days.
She doesn’t say much, but obviously it’s because there’s not much to say. She’s been studying for her finals like crazy and I’m so proud of her.
I know she’s going to do excellent!
When I walk in the door tonight, ready to see my girl and curious about what she’s made us, I see nothing.
The kitchen is untouched, it doesn’t smell delicious like it has every night, the TV isn’t on, and I don’t see Maeve.
“Ma petite fleur?” I call out as I walk through the house. When I finally find my girl, it’s because the bathroom door is locked and I can hear her on the other side.
Really, I don’t know why she still bothers to lock it, she knows I have the key and she knows that I will use it.
I let myself into the bathroom to see Maeve sitting on the toilet. She looks alarmingly pale and exhausted, immediately alarming me. I hurry my steps and squat down in front of her, rubbing my hands up her thighs for a moment while I check her over. “Are you alright?” I ask sweetly.
I don’t know what could possibly be the issue now, she’s not hunched over the toilet, so I know it’s not morning sickness, and I know there’s no scenario in which she could have eaten gluten, I made sure this entire house was gluten-free and scrubbed clean.
You could perform open heart surgery on my kitchen table with how thoroughly I scrubbed it and every other surface that has ever handled food.
“Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” I insist. She’s my girl, and I think by now, she knows that I’ll do anything to help her.
Maeve sighs and covers her face with her hands as if she’s embarrassed, but that won’t do. I uncover her face and take her hands into mine while my thumbs stroke over her knuckles. “Help me. Tell me what’s wrong.” I practically beg.
My girl’s face is red as a tomato, and while it usually would be fucking adorable, she’s white as a sheet aside from that. “You didn’t buy me any tampons or anything.” She says quietly.
Ahh, so my girl isn’t pregnant. Quite the opposite, actually.
I hadn’t bought any feminine hygiene products because I expected she’d be carrying my baby by now, but it seems my arrogance has done nothing but harm her.
“I’m sorry, fleur, I’ll go buy whatever products you prefer. How about you lay on the couch while I’m gone?” I suggest.
I want her to be comfortable, and if she’s cramping, she won’t feel any kind of relief while stuck on the toilet.
But my girl shakes her head and somehow her blush stains her cheeks a shade darker. “I can’t, mine are…heavy.” She almost whispers as if her confession is embarrassing.
Nothing about my love could ever be embarrassing, but it does worry me that it’s very possible that she’s been sitting on the toilet all day long. “Have you been sitting here all day?” I ask, praying my assumption isn’t correct.
My heart breaks when my girl stares down at her hands in her lap and nods.
Fuck!
How the fuck am I the man who is always prepared, yet I didn’t prepare for something as simple and predictable as a period?
No wonder she thinks I’m a monster…
Okay, I know that’s not why she said it the other day after her last gluten attack, but it fits this situation pretty well.
After an argument that, frankly, I was annoyed that I even needed to have, I got Maeve situated on the couch.
I laid her down on several towels, put a heating pad on her lower stomach, and gave her the remote while I took off to the store.
I can’t imagine she was comfortable at any point today, so I have a lot to make up for. In fact, when I got her up, her legs were asleep, and I had to carry her to the couch while she called me a butthead and insisted she could walk.
She insisted that she’d ruin my towels and possibly my couch, but I don’t give a fuck about the towels or the furniture.
I care about Maeve and that’s it.
A very small part of me is nervous that when I get home, she will have made her way back to the bathroom to avoid bleeding on the towels, but I need to be wrong about that.
I can’t punish her while she’s not feeling well, but I’d be pretty tempted to.
I grab Maeve chocolate, ice cream, salty snacks, and just about every period product I could find in store. I didn’t know what she preferred and I didn’t want to screw up twice in one day.
Shockingly, Maeve is still on the couch when I walk through the door.
Even more shocking is that she smiles at me when she sees me.
It melts my fucking heart at the thought of my girl missing me while I was gone.
I rush to put away all of the snacks and get the bath ready for her, it might be a little sore on her piercing, but she’s allowed to take a bath after two weeks and we’re right at that mark, so it’s safe for her and that’s all that matters.
Besides, it’ll help ease her cramps.
I walk back into the living room when everything is set up in the bathroom and smile at my girl. “Come on, ma fleur.” I insist.
I’m pampering this girl in hopes that it can make up for how uncomfortable she was forced to be all day because of my negligence.
I scoop her into my arms before she has the chance to protest and hold a towel under her ass while we walk into the bathroom; yet again, my girl insists that she can walk and argues to be put down.
Not happening.
“Of course you can walk, ma fleur, but I’m going to help you anyway. Did you not hear me the other day when I vowed to wait on you hand and foot? Did you think that was a bluff?” I ask casually.
Her lack of an answer tells me that she did in fact think it was a simple bluff, something I said in the heat of the moment while finger fucking her sweet little cunt.
That’s okay, I’ll prove to her over time that none of my threats or promises are empty.
When I lay Maeve in the tub, I take a seat on the floor in front of her. Normally I would join her, but my leg has been so sore that I’d likely never get back out of the water, and tonight isn’t about me or my discomfort.
I would ask her how her day has gone, but that feels insensitive since I know her entire day was spent on the toilet, so instead, I’ll sit in comfortable silence with my girl.
“How was your day?” She asks quietly, surprising the hell out of me.
I didn’t think she actually cares how any of my days go.
Even though nothing about our relationship is conventional and I know that she has nobody to tell, I won’t go into too much detail about my day. I will still respect the privacy of my patients, but I do vaguely explain that I’m seeing a new patient this week. That she’s having a hard time regulating her emotions and only just found out from me that it stems from deep childhood trauma.
I don’t want to tell Maeve, but I fear she is going through the same thing.
She cries a little too easily sometimes while others she doesn’t react or respond to obviously upsetting situations at all.
It’s as if she’s scared to show her true feelings because nobody has ever actually cared or considered her feelings before me.
It stings to think that my girl has been neglected and abused her entire life, she’s too beautiful and wonderful to have been treated how she has, but never again.
I will never allow another person to disrespect my girl again.
It surprises the hell out of me that she listens to every word I say, she even makes small comments or asks questions as I talk, just so I know she’s really listening.
It feels nice to get things off my chest, even if I’m only able to tell her the smallest snippets of my day.
This is nicer than when I got to confess and vent to Turner.
I like it.
When Maeve starts to relax further into the water and I notice that her eyelids are getting heavy, I pull the plug and help her out of the tub.
Before I slip her into the period panties that she swears are her favorite method, I clean her piercing and make sure she’s healing okay.
As I do, my girl rambles on about how fantastic these period panties are.
I guess they’re better for the environment since you can reuse them over and over. They’re also better for cramps since nothing is going inside of you like the cup.
I gotta make a mental note to buy more of these weird ass panties and to throw away the other products I had bought.
After she’s in her strange underwear, I help her into a pair of my sweatpants so they’re loose on her stomach and one of my shirts.
I know she has her own clothes, but fuck, she looks hot as hell in mine.
Should I throw her clothes away? That way she wears what’s mine all the time?
No, fuck, that’s inconsiderate.
Maybe when she’s not on her period, I can make a rule that she must sleep naked or in my clothes.
I’ll think about that more another time, when my girl isn’t exhausted, uncomfortable, and actually depending on me to make her feel better, because right now, I’d be a damn fool to pass up on this opportunity.
“Alright, ma fleur, we’re going to spend the whole evening on the couch, okay? What food is your favorite when you’re cramping?” I ask as I carry her out into the living room.
I love that she’s letting me. She hasn’t insisted that she can walk or called me a butthead once since I helped her out of the tub and it’s making my chest swell with pride.
She shrugs and keeps her head on my shoulder with her face buried in my neck, fuck I love this moment.
Do I have to sit her down or can I just hold her like this until she falls asleep in my arms?
“I just eat whatever the dining hall has, I can’t afford to be picky.” She mumbles into my neck.
I hate that this girl has had to accept the bare minimum for so long that she doesn't even know what she enjoys. I intend to change that.
I’m going to make up for the first 21 years of her life being shit by pampering her until her dying breath.
Although I’d love to hold my girl forever, I need to get her fed, so I lay her on the couch and tuck her in with a warm blanket. She even lets me kiss her on the forehead before heading into the kitchen to find her something to eat.
With how clingy and fucking adorable she is on her period, I’m really hoping she’ll be just as bad, if not worse, when she’s finally pregnant.
I’ll cater to her every need while she’s growing my baby, gladly so.
I’ll research what she needs to be eating to help them both, just like I am currently researching what helps women on their periods.
Apparently the answer is carbs and sweets.
I don’t know if that’s what actually helps, or just what most women prefer, but the other option was iron rich foods like steak, eggs, tuna, and beans.
While I’m sure beans would help her, I’d rather her enjoy herself.
I make her some crustless apple pie with vegan ice cream, brownies with some of her favorite pretzels and peanut butter at the bottom, and some gluten-free pasta with a vegan bolognese for a protein boost.
I don’t know if she’ll trust any of it after the last time she got sick, but I also have a few sealed snacks as well.
I climb on the couch and situate myself behind her, letting her lay between my legs with her back against my chest and her heating pad on her stomach. Honestly, I’m surprised she lets me, but she’s probably too exhausted to argue and simply settles against me.
I put the tray of food beside us and wrap my arms around her. “Everything is safe to eat, can you please trust me? I think it’ll make you feel better to get a little food in you.” I beg.
I know it’s a lot to ask, and I won’t be offended if she doesn’t trust me in this aspect yet, but I will need her trust at some point.
I won’t have my future wife pregnant, bloated, exhausted, and sore, but making meals for us and our children. I won’t have her lifting a finger during any of the pregnancies we have together, so she's going to need to learn to depend on me.
Not surprising, but my girl settles for the gluten-free pretzels and the ice cream, the only two things on the tray that are sealed.
I’m not going to take offense to it, she was in a living nightmare for an entire day after the last time she trusted my cooking and now I know it’ll take a little more time to gain that sliver of trust back.
I hold my girl while she snacks and watches some documentary about the rainforest and deforestation. I don’t see how she enjoys it, but I want her laying against me, so I don’t care what we watch.
We could watch the top 200 worst commercials of the decade, and I’d still happily sit here and hold onto my girl.
I occasionally rub her stomach when I feel her curl in on herself, but she declines my numerous offers for medicine, so she’s either stubborn, doesn’t want me to move, or is feeling okay enough to go without.
I’m going to go with her being stubborn based on the way she halts her breathing every once in a while and presses the heating pad into her stomach occasionally.
I should have prepared for this. I’ve read up on celiac, and I’ve studied Maeve; I know that her disease can cause more severe periods.
Why wasn’t I ready for this?
I'm always prepared for every scenario, but my arrogance got in the way on this one.
The longer I lay here with my girl, the more confused I am that she’s letting me hold her without making snarky little remarks or calling me a butthead or a jerk face.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll happily savor every moment that I’m given, but it’s not like her to give in so easily.
“You okay, petite fleur?” I ask quietly as I kiss the side of her neck.
It takes several minutes before she reacts in any way, but when she finally does, she shifts uncomfortably before looking at me with a nervous expression that I can’t quite place.
“Are you going to kill me since I’m not pregnant?” She asks.
I don’t know how I fucked this up so badly that she’s scared for her life around me, but I have to do something to fix it.
I tighten my arms around her, holding her against me and the heating pad against her. “No, ma fleur. I would never hurt you, you never need to be scared around me.” I promise her.
I need her to believe me on this.
I don’t care if I have to pray to whatever fucking God exists, I need her to know and trust that she’s safer with me than she’ll ever be with anyone else.