Page 88 of Petite Fleur

Chapter 33

Leon Aldon

Maeve falls asleep against my chest shortly after I bring her in here. I'm glad that she's able to rest and even happier that she didn't try to run away from me when I pulled her against me.

I know she didn't stay against me because she's not angry anymore, but because I'm warm and she's exhausted, but I'll take any win I can get, and having Maeve's body against me is a major win.

I take my prosthesis off while she rests, knowing this is the first chance I've had to do so since she came. She's far too weak to get up and run, and while I'm afraid that she'll wake up and see me, I'm in too much pain to care.

I'm not meant to be wearing that fucking leg around the clock.

Not yet, but soon, I will show Maeve the monster that I am and pray that she actually wants something to do with me after that. I mean, it's not like she has a choice, but I would prefer it if she were willing, of course.

I work on my patient notes while Maeve rests.

I send an email pleading my case to get my schizophrenic the electroshock therapy that I think he needs, I check in with the treatment facility that is currently treating my newest patient, and I set up a few consultations for new patients.

Overall, this has been a very productive day, even if I haven't left the couch since sunrise.

I even take the time to look into everything I need to know to make sure that I never make her sick like this again.

I look up how to disinfect surfaces specifically for her, items that are most likely to be accidentally contaminated, an entire list of safe foods for her, and even order a plethora of groceries to be delivered to the house—all suitable for her to eat.

I fully intend to throw out anything and everything that may be unsafe for her. Later. When she's not asleep against my chest because right now, I'd be a damn fool to move and miss out on this moment.

Maeve has been asleep for the last five hours, and realistically, I know she needs several more.

She needs as much as she can comfortably get.

I'm not going to move her or risk disturbing her, so this spot on the couch is my permanent residence until she wakes up.

I look up her old roommates, stalking their social media accounts to see if they've even noticed or cared that Maeve is gone. I can't see much of their profiles; a lot of it is private, but so far, nothing about my girl being missing. I'm not surprised; it's only been a few days, and I packed her things, so they should just assume that she moved out. It's not like I can't prove that she's alive and well. Okay, alive. I fucked up the well part last night.

I checked after she snapped at me last night; the olive oil I used was made with smoked garlic, and the smoked flavor was added with barley.

I can't believe I missed that; I can't believe I didn't realize she had celiac.

I'm pissed at myself for it, but I know I'm not nearly as pissed as she is disappointed in me, and that hurts even worse.

Maeve lets out a tiny whine in her sleep, making me hurry and move my laptop from its place on my thigh. I rub my hand along her still-bloated stomach, waiting for her to wake up and need something or tell me to fuck off. I have everything I need to help her within arms reach. I have a new bag of fluids, more nausea medicine, some water, extra blankets, and even some gluten-free crackers if she thinks she can handle food.

I'm already anticipating her not trusting me to cook again for a while, so I've ordered more than enough packaged foods that I know she will be comfortable with.

"Ma fleur? You okay?" I ask quietly.

My hand still rubs against her stomach, hoping to soothe any pain that she's in because of me, but my girl lets out a groan, adjusting her head but not bothering to open her eyes. "No." She finally says after a few minutes. "I'm cold, and I hurt." She confides in me.

I hate that Maeve is feeling so sick because of me, but I love that she is telling me what she needs so I can help her.

Our home is nowhere near cold right now, I'm sweating with Maeve against me and the fireplace on in freaking May, but she's cold, so I grab an extra blanket I had ready for her and tuck her in tightly. "I'll add some more anti-inflammatory to your IV, okay?" I ask her quietly.

I press my lips against the side of her face, kissing her perfectly soft skin. She's feeling warmer, so that's a good sign. She was cold as ice a few hours ago. She nods, groaning as if she's in pain and breaking my fucking heart, so I hurry with the IV and add the medicine for pain and a touch more for nausea, just to be safe. If she doesn't need it, that's fine; it won't hurt her, but if she does, it will help her.

Maeve fell asleep pretty quickly after a few minutes, probably only waking up because she was cold and sore. That's okay, aslong as she's feeling a little better, but fuck, I'm sweating like crazy.

I have to be very careful when maneuvering myself without waking her, but somehow, I manage to sneak out from behind her and strip out of my pants, leaving me in my boxers and a t-shirt.

I don't feel comfortable risking Maeve seeing me shirtless yet, not until we've had a talk about my past. I can't even have that talk with her until she's done hating me for making her sick, but at least I'm a little cooler when I sneak back in behind Maeve on the couch, leaning her against my chest to resume our day.

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