Page 98 of Petite Fleur

"I was hysterical when it happened, they had to put me in a psychiatric facility for two months because I couldn't figure out how I felt about it. On one hand, I was distraught that my mom was dead and that I killed her. On the other hand, I was relieved but confused that I felt relieved." I explain.

I won't go into more details than that, but that fucking facility was more traumatizing than killing my own mom.

She doesn't need to know that.

She doesn't need to know how broken I was at 16 or how, to this day, I'm still not sure if I'm whole.

Maeve surprises me by taking my hand and linking our fingers. "I'm sorry." She repeats.

I just nod, my eyes fixated on the ceiling.

Some days I don't feel like a person.

I feel like a monster that my mother created, and I hate that.

I hate to think about the man that I could have been today if I was whole. He slowly started to shrivel and die when my mother made me her test subject. I finally killed him the day I killed my mother.

I wouldn't recognize that man if he were standing in front of me right now.

I bet Maeve would have preferred the man I should have been. He wouldn't have fed her food that made her sick. He wouldn't have had to kidnap her so she'd love him.

She would be better off with him, but he's been gone for a very long time. "Me too, ma fleur." I say after a long silence.

I don't know if I'm apologizing for what I'm doing to her or if I'm just sorry about what happened to me.

Probably both.

“Why do you call me that?” She asks quietly and I can tell that she’s fighting off sleep again, but we’ve already made it this far in our little confession game, why not tell her what she wants to know?

“I told you, my love, it’s french.” I remind her, although I know she was drunk when I told her that.

She gives me a little huff, but her eyes are locked onto mine, even as they get heavier. “Are you French?” She asks.

I shake my head, smiling just a little bit at the very few and faint memories of my childhood that weren’t all bad. “No, ma fleur. My mother was a single mom, my dad ran off before I was even born and it was her researchers and assistants who helped raise me. One of her interns basically raised me, her name was Lya, she was from France. She taught me French, took care of me when my mother couldn’t be bothered, and reassured me that the things my mother did weren’t my fault.” I admit.

Lya was more of my mom than my own mother was. She did her best to stop my mothers torment while trying to stay on her good side enough to keep her job, if only for my sake, but she eventually failed.

When my mother cut me open and removed my ribs, Lya went a little too far to protect me, and it cost her job and the only piece of safety that I had.

“Where did Lya go?” She asks curiously.

I love that she’s asking questions, it solidifies this belief that she either cares about me or that she could some day.

Why else would she give a shit about the woman who taught me French?

“She died, officially it was a car accident, but I’m not that naive.” I admit.

I know she was killed to keep the secrets safe, that she knew too much by working under my mother and that what she’d done and seen couldn’t make it out of the lab.

I know the only woman who ever stuck up for me was killed and that it was indirectly my fault.

Chapter 38

Leon Aldon

Unfortunately, I had to head back to work the next day after taking care of Maeve. I would have preferred to take the next day off and make sure she doesn’t need anything, but missing on such short notice put me too far behind, plus I have several new patients and two of them have their first appointments today.

For my first appointment, I have a young man who actually goes to the same college as Maeve.