Page 122 of Petite Fleur

They’re who the signs around campus are warning us about!

"She was pre-law. Her grades were exceptional, and as far as I can see, she was well loved on campus. They're going to pay for what they've done, petite fleur." He tells me.

I don’t know how else to respond, so I simply nod.

I don’t feel like I have any other choices. I’m not a killer, I don’t even want to eat animals, but these men have ruined peoples lives and they don’t get to get away with it unharmed.

Leon loads up the other three men while I stay in the car. I hate to admit that I feel better knowing the guys won't tell all of campus what they saw tonight, I also feel better that they won't be able to hurt anyone else ever again.

Is it sick that I feel like this?

Am I as much of a monster as Leon?

Even if I'm not currently, I agreed to help him. I'm an accomplice.

When Leon gets back in the car, I'm so distracted that I jolt when he touches me. "It's okay, ma fleur. You don't have to help me." He says calmly.

I feel his thumb stroking my knuckles as he drives, and I don't know if what he says comforts me or pisses me off.

Does he not think I'm capable? Wait, do I think I am?

I don't know if I am.

"How many times have you done this?" I ask instead of commenting on his statement.

There's silence for a minute, for far too long. The silence hangs between us, making the air tense and uncomfortable, but he links our hands together on the center console after a minute.

"These guys will bring me up to 31." He answers.

I think I just stroked out.

Is this what a stroke feels like?

Do I smell toast?

No, I'm just losing my mind.

Stop being dramatic, Maeve. "Does that include your mom?” I say quietly, I’m not sure why it makes a difference, but I’m curious.

"No. She would be 32." He answers immediately.

Okay, I had sex with a murderer.

Why don't I care about that?

Why aren't I disgusted with the thought?

"You okay, ma fleur?" Leon asks me. He effectively snaps me out of my panic, making me turn to face him.

He's still somehow the same gorgeous man that was nice to me at the supermarket.

He's still the same gorgeous man that was in front of me in line at the cafe.

He's still the man who took care of me after I was glutened, but he's also still the same man who tied me up and kidnapped me, still the same man who tackled me in a field and stole my virginity, still the same man that put a shock collar on me like a caged pet and pierced me.

Why am I so conflicted? I want to want to be away from him. I want to be disgusted by him, I want to want to run, but I don't.

I don't want to run; I don't want to be away from him.

---