Page 146 of Petite Fleur

I can’t not be touching her.

“I couldn’t leave her alone; she would have tried again. You know that, right?” I ask her. I hate that she’s mad at me right now. I’m doing my job. It’s not like I enjoy locking people in facilities. I fucking hate it, actually, but I had to make a professional decision.

I shouldn’t even have to explain myself to Maeve; I’m a fucking licensed psychiatrist, for fuck sake!

I’m considered the best in the business, yet here I am, begging a college girl to understand the decisions I make.

“This is what’s best, ma fleur. It had to be done.” I mention again.

Again, why am I explaining myself?

I doubt she’s even taken an Introduction to Psychology class.

Wait, why does it matter? Her feelings are valid; I just need to figure out what she’s thinking and why.

“Maeve…” I start, but she cuts me off with a loud huff.

“You were a butthole. Those places are terrible!” She says, finally turning to look at me.

Like I didn't already know that! “I fucking know, Maeve!” I yell.

Fuck, I immediately feel bad for raising my voice at her when she jumps at my tone.

I never yell at my girl, what is wrong with me today?

“I know, love. I’ve been in a facility just like that, but I can’t do anything else with her right now. She can’t be alone, she needs her medication adjusted, and she needs medical attention.” I explain calmly.

I’d be fine with an argument; she could slap me if she felt she needed to, but my girl doesn’t answer me; she doesn’t even spare me a glance.

I hurry up and pull over when I realize how upset Maeve looks. I don’t know if I scared her by yelling or if she’s genuinely this upset about me having to have Abby committed, but I intend to find out.

I put the car in park and turned to face Maeve. She’s staring out the window, refusing to make eye contact or even turn her head. I grip her chin, turning her to look at me. It breaks my fucking heart when I see my girl crying, that I’ve made her cry.

I wipe her tears with my thumbs, waiting for her to calm down a little before figuring out what is happening right now.

“This isn’t about Abby; tell me what’s going on.” I insist. I hold her face in my hands until she feels ready to tell me, that’s fine. I have all the time in the world for my girl. I’m just hoping she’s not upset because she’s scared of me right now.

I never want Maeve to be afraid of me; I can't believe I just raised my voice at her.

Unrelated, but I have to remind myself later to tell my girl that she’s a beautiful cryer. Her nose turns red, her lips get puffy, and her eyes look so beautiful with water clouding them, but now is not the time. Not when she’s sniffling and huffing to try and compose herself enough to talk to me.

“My mom had me committed when I was 12. She didn’t think celiac was real, and she kept feeding me food that made me sick. So I refused to eat; she had me committed for being anorexic. They treated me so poorly there! It took weeks for someone to actually listen to me and take me seriously, but when they did, they spent weeks trying to convince my mother that I was serious. It didn’t click for her until one of the nurses introduced my mom to her sister. She was celiac, and she was in rough shape. She had an ostomy bag and developed MS. She was in a wheelchair because her bones were so brittle.” She explains through little sniffles.

My poor girl, I keep stroking her face with my thumbs, keeping her close to me while she pours her heart out. “I’m so sorry, love. You should have never had to feel that, but I promise, I won’t let them treat Abby poorly. This is a nice place, the only place in the state I will send any of my patients to. You have to trust me on this.” I say calmly to her. She nods, sniffling a little. “Trust me, okay? I will have her out in a few days, I promise.” I say calmly to her.

She still doesn’t respond, but she does lay her head on my shoulder when I pull her against me and run my hand throughher hair. “I promise, ma fleur, I’ll make this right, okay?” I whisper on top of her head.

“Mmhm.” She hums, but I don’t need her to answer me; I only need her to trust me.

It’s all I will ever need of her. I can love her enough for both of us and our future kids, but I need her to have faith in me.

“Let's go home, okay?” I whisper after a few minutes of sitting in comfortable silence. She nods but doesn’t say much else the entire way home. Even when I stop at a local place and pick up takeout for my girl, she doesn’t say anything, but I don’t miss the light in her eyes that she can do the one thing she’s been talking about since starting college.

I’ve heard her talking in her sleep, mumbling about stopping for a quick bite after a long day at work. I want that for her.

That and anything else she could ever dream of. I want her to have everything.

Maeve lets me lead her into the bathroom as soon as we get home. I sit her on the sink and peel her shirt off. "How are you feeling, ma fleur?" I ask calmly. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, grazing my knuckles along her cheek. She nods but doesn't respond otherwise. "You know what I need to do, right?" I ask her.