Page 105 of Petite Fleur
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.