Page 61 of Petite Fleur

I am the monster under her bed; I am what haunts and fills her dreams and her mind.

Me.

She shouldn't have a single worry in that pretty little head of hers but me.

Clearly, it has been a mistake to keep my distance. While I know she's overly independent, I know it's from years of neglect.

I know it will take time to chip away at the layers she piled onto herself like a suit of armor to protect her from the world, but I will do whatever it takes for the real Maeve to bloom.

It almost feels like this is what I was meant to do; this is why I became a psychiatrist.

“I can help you, ma fleur.” I promise her.

I pinch her chin between my finger and thumb and make her look at me. I can see the very moment that her composure cracks. The look in her eyes shifts just seconds before a single tear rolls down her cheek, and she swipes it away before it makes it past her nose.

I swipe the next few away with my thumbs, all while our eyes are locked onto each other, and the rest of the world fades into the background.

It's all irrelevant in comparison to my girl crying in front of me.

That is until some asshole lays on their horn, and Maeve jumps in surprise.

Fuck.

We are still in the middle of the road.

I situate her in the front seat before closing the door and rounding the car, but first, this asshole.

“Move it, dickhead!” He shouts as he hangs halfway out the window of his piece of shit truck.

I pull my gun from my waistband and shoot into the grill of his truck, grinning when smoke immediately starts to billow out from under the hood. “Have a good night.” I say with a laugh.

Now I can take my girl home.

When I get back in the car, Maeve looks terrified and confused. “What was that bang? It sounded like a gun.” She mentions.

I chuckle and pat her bare thigh. “Ma petite fleur, have you ever even heard a gun? That was the truck behind us. He revved the engine too much and blew his head gasket.” I quickly lie.

Judging by her little “ohh” sound, I'd say she buys it.

I don’t even know what a fucking head gasket is, but it sounds convincing enough.

The drive back to campus is eerily quiet other than the occasional direction from Maeve and the few sniffles she tries to hide behind a cough, but I don't comment on those.

There's nothing to say right now.

When we finally reach her complex, I shut the car off and finally face her again. “Now can you tell me what's wrong?” I ask.

I don't need her to tell me, but it would be nice to see that my girl feels comfortable confiding in me.

I want to know that she trusts that I can take care of her, but my stubborn girl simply shrugs. “I just had too much to drink.” She admits.

Yeah, that's fair and very much so my fault.

I may have enabled her a bit too much, but I wanted her to have fun. She deserved it.

“Okay, let's get you inside so you can sleep it off.” I insist.

Chapter 22

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