Page 85 of Petite Fleur

I rush to get my leg on and rush into the bedroom to check on Maeve. It’s still pretty early, I only just cut the bar out two days ago, but it’s possible that she’s pregnant. It just seems unlikely that she’s already feeling sick.

However, the bar isn’t a guarantee, so maybe our first encounter was successful.

If that’s the case, she’s just under two weeks. It’s just far enough along to start feeling sick, especially with how little she’s eaten lately.

I’m going to be there for her just as I promised, she’s never going to trust me if I’m not by her side through this.

When I try to let myself in, the bathroom door is locked. That's great; she doesn’t trust me to take care of her.

“Can you open the door for me, ma fleur?” I ask as I knock a few times.

There’s silence for a minute before I hear the toilet flush. “Please leave me alone.” She replies quietly.

I lean against the doorframe, trying to be patient. I’ll wait as long as I have to. “Let me help you.” I beg.

I hear her sniffle from the other side right before I hear more vomiting. I hate hearing her in pain, I need her to let me in and let me help her.

I feel stuck.

She’s not going to trust me to take care of her if I stay on this side of the door, but she’s also not going to trust me if I bust through the door after she’s clearly stated that she doesn’t want me around.

Honestly I'd rather have her mad that I stormed in than to feel abandoned.

I can't imagine how scared and uncomfortable she is right now to be sick and have no idea why.

Fuck it.

I promised her that I was by her side and I'm not letting her down. I grab the key to the bathroom and unlock it, and the smell hits me immediately. I've read that diarrhea can be a symptom of pregnancy, but it's not a common one. I guess it's possible since she hasn't been eating that dinner has upset her stomach further.

My poor girl is sitting on the toilet with her face buried in a trashcan.

She's pale and covered in sweat, and while I can't see her face, I know she's probably crying, too.

I keep going towards her, even when she sticks a hand out to stop me. I want her to know that her bodily functions don't bother me.

Nothing about her bothers me.

I rub her back while she throws up into the trash can. "There you go, get it all out. I'll get you some water when you're done." I say calmly while my hand rubs circles on her back.

Maeve coughs a few times before spitting into the trash can. "You said I could trust you." She says, glaring up at me with a few tears running down her tan face.

I give her a reassuring smile, my hand still rubbing her back. "You can, ma fleur. I'm going to be there for you every step of the way. I'll set you up with an OB appointment in the morning." I promise her.

Her glare somehow deepens; I didn't realize that was possible. "I'm not pregnant, you butthead. You glutened me!" She yells at me before the other end of her bodily functions takes over, and she covers her face with her hands in embarrassment.

"I glutened you? What does that even mean?" I ask her.

Maeve sighs and reaches back to flush the toilet again before leaning against the back of the toilet and wiping the sweat off her forehead. I quickly take over, wetting a washcloth and wiping her sweaty skin for her.

Fuck, her skin is ice cold.

"You said you knew. You said I could trust you. You gave me gluten." She says sadly.

I don't know why it hurts that she's disappointed in me, but it does.

I squat down in front of her, ignoring the pain in my leg when I do so. "I didn't give you any gluten. It was just vegetables, seasoning, chickpeas, and olive oil." I explain. My hands rub along her thighs, staring up at her worriedly.

I hope she doesn't have hyperemesis, but I'll take care of her if she does.