Page 20 of Scar

Maeve falls asleep against my chest shortly after I bring her in here. I'm glad that she's able to rest, even happier that she didn't try to run away from me when I pulled her against me. I know she didn't stay against me because she's not angry anymore, but because I'm warm and she's exhausted. But I'll take any win I can get. And having Maeve's body against me is a major win.

I take my prosthesis off while she rests, knowing this is the first chance I've had to do so since she came, she's far too weak to get up and run. And while I'm afraid that she'll wake up and see me, I'm in too much pain to care. I'm not meant to be wearing that fucking leg around the clock.

Not yet, but soon I will show Maeve the monster that I am and pray that she actually wants something to do with me after that. I mean, it's not like she has a choice. But I would prefer it if she was willing, of course.

I work on my patient notes while Maeve rests. I send an email pleading my case to get my schizophrenic the electroshock therapy that I think he needs, I check in with the treatment facility that is currently treating my newest patient, and I set up a few consultations for new patients. Overall, this has been a very productive day, even if I haven't left the couch since sunrise.

I even take the time to look into everything I need to know to make sure that I never make her sick like this again. I look up how to disinfect surfaces specifically for her, I look up items that are most likely to be accidentally contaminated, I look up an entire list of safe foods for her, and I even order a plethora of groceries to be delivered to the house. All suitable for her to eat. I fully intend to throw out anything and everything that may be unsafe for her. Later. When she's not asleep against my chest, because right now I'd be a damn fool to move and miss out on this moment.

Maeve has been asleep for the last five hours and realistically I know she needs several more. She needs as much as she can comfortably get. I'm not going to move her or risk disturbing her, so it looks like this spot on the couch is my permanent residence until she wakes up.

I look up her old roommates, stalking their social media accounts to see if they've even noticed or cared that Maeve is gone. I can't see much of their profiles, a lot of it is private. But so far nothing about my girl being missing. I'm not surprised, it's only been a few days, and I packed her things so they should just assume that she moved out. I mean it's not like I can't prove that she's alive and well. Okay, alive. I fucked up the well part last night.

I checked after she snapped at me last night, the olive oil that I used was made with smoked garlic. The smoked flavor was added with barley. I can't believe I missed that, I can't believe I didn't realize she had celiac. I'm pissed at myself for it, but I know I'm not nearly as pissed as she is disappointed in me, and that hurts even worse.

Maeve lets out a tiny whine in her sleep, making me hurry and move my laptop from its place on my thigh. I rub my hand along her still bloated stomach, waiting for her to wake up and need something or tell me to fuck off. I have everything I need to help her within arms reach. I have a new bag of fluids, more nausea medicine, some water, extra blankets, and even some gluten-free crackers if she thinks she can handle food.

I'm already anticipating her not trusting me to cook again for a while, so I already have more than enough packaged foods on the way that I know she will be comfortable with. "Ma fleur? You okay?" I ask quietly. My hand still rubs against her stomach, hoping to soothe any pain that she's in because of me. But my girl lets out a groan, adjusting her head but not bothering to open her eyes. "No." She finally says after a few minutes. "I'm cold and I hurt." She confides in me.

I hate that Maeve is feeling so sick because of me, but I love that she is telling me what she needs so I can help her. Our home is nowhere near cold right now, I'm sweating with Maeve against me and the fireplace on in freaking May. But she's cold, so I grab an extra blanket I had ready for her and tuck her in tightly. "I'll add some more anti-inflammatory to your IV, okay?" I ask her quietly.

I press my lips against the side of her face, kissing her perfectly soft skin. She's feeling warmer, so that's a good sign. She was cold as ice a few hours ago. She nods, groaning as if she's in pain and breaking my fucking heart. I hurry with the IV, adding the medicine for pain and a touch more for nausea, just to be safe. If she doesn't need it, that's fine, it won't hurt her. But if she does, it will help her.

Maeve falls asleep pretty quickly after that, probably only having woken up because she was cold and sore. That's okay, as long as she's feeling a little better. But fuck, I'm sweating like crazy.

I have to be very careful when maneuvering myself without waking her. But somehow I manage to sneak out from behind her and strip out of my pants, leaving me in my boxers and a t-shirt. I don't feel comfortable risking Maeve seeing me shirtless yet, not until we've had a talk about my past. I can't even have that talk with her until she's done hating me for making her sick. But at least I'm a little cooler when I sneak back in behind Maeve on the couch, leaning her against my chest to resume our day.

Chapter 29

Maeve's POV

When I wake up, I'm actually feeling a lot better. I'm still dealing with some cramps, and my joints are still sore, but I'm feeling good enough that I don't want to lay with Leon anymore. I can't trust him right now. The lingering pain in my joints is a reminder of that.

I sit up to go back to bed, but I stop when I see that he's stripped some of his clothes off. It isn't the clothes that surprises me, this man has tackled me and had sex with me in the yard, I don't think partial nudity is a problem anymore. No, it's his leg that surprises me. One of his legs is missing shortly after his knee. There's a metal rod sticking out of the skin that's heavily bruised and angry looking. I don't even mean to be staring, I just didn't expect that. I guess that makes sense why he was wincing when he got up from the ground. "I was fourteen." Leon says. I slightlyjolt, not even realizing that I was so obviously staring that he had to explain himself.

In a way, I kind of like that he isn't perfect. It humanizes him a bit. When I think of Leon, I think of how strong, powerful, charismatic, charming, smooth, and handsome he is. The fact that he also has money and is clearly smart just makes him even more intimidating.

To find a flaw makes me feel like he's an actual person. "I'm sorry." I say quietly. I can't believe I was rude enough to stare. I know how it feels to be stared at. I get enough dirty looks when I have to be so strict about cross-contamination, don't even make me start on the eye rolls and glares that I get when I tell anyone that I'm also vegan.

People look at it like it's a bad word, like not wanting to eat animal products is somehow a sin. I don't judge anyone on how they want to eat, I just don't want to contribute to the suffering of defenseless animals. So, I'm looked at like a freak show attraction, I'd never want someone to think that I looked at them how others look at me. It makes me feel sick to even think that Leon might think that, that he might have worried that I was judging him. I am for a lot of things, but not this.

"It's fine. It was a long time ago." Leon says to me. I feel his arms band around me, and as upset as I am with him and myself for last night. I find myself not moving out of his embrace. I'm going to tell myself it's because he helped me to feel better and that he's vulnerable right now. But really, it kind of feels right. I hate that it feels right.

I may not have had much of a life before this, but I was free. I wasn't wearing a dog collar and my food wasn't basically poisonous to me. "Whyis itso irritated if it happened so long ago?" I ask curiously, hoping I'm not overstepping by asking. Leon sighs, and I feel his arms slightly tighten around me, as if he thinks that his answer is going to make me mad. "I'm not supposed to wear my leg all the time, but I didn't want to risk you running again and getting hurt when I couldn't chase after you." He tells me. I feel his warm lips on the side of my face, right on my temple and I have to resist the urge to lean into him. "I just don't want you to be hurt. If you run past the perimeter it will shock you, if I don't have my leg on, I can't chase after you and pull you back before you're hurt." He adds in.

"Then take it off..." Ipleadwith him. I don't want to be wearing this collar. I feel like a caged animal in this thing. It makes me even happier with my decision not to eat animal products, because if this is how they feel before their slaughter, I can't support that. This is terrifying, this is humiliating. I don't feel like a person with this collar on, I feel lesser.

I want to cry every time I touch this collar, it's a constant reminder that I no longer have bodily autonomy, that I am an object that Leon possesses. I feel like I have the same value as a toaster. Or maybe more like one of those handheld objects guys can stick their cocks into and have sex with. That one feels more accurate since I am basically here to be used whenever he wants me.

I still don't understand why I'm here, but seeing as how he refuses to use protection, I would assume he's using me to start a family. It's embarrassing and part of me hopes that he lets me go if he makes me give him a baby.

Leon sighs again, rubbing his hands along my swollen belly, the lingering reminder of last night. "I can't do that. But I refuse to cage you in this house, so I just have to deal with the pain until you're comfortable enough here not to run." He says. I huff, frustrated with this entire situation. "If I was going to try to run again, I would have done it while you were at work." I point out.

Not entirely true, I did spend an entire day trying to cut this collar off. I don't know what the heck this thing is made out of, but the bolt cutters I found in his junk drawer did nothing to it. I'm not going to tell him that though. It's not like it makes a difference, I'm not going to run. I'm not even going to try because I know there's no point. There's no hope for me. I'm here until he decides he's done with me. "Why won't you let me leave?" I finally ask. I want tohear it fromhim what he wants from me.

Leon trails his hand down from my stomach to between my legs. His hand slides into my sweatpants until his fingers graze over my clit. "I told you. This is your home, you belong here with me." He says, kissing the side of my face. His fingers rub against my clit, making me have to bite down on my lip to suppress any noises. Why do his fingers feel so good? Why does his cock feel even better?

I shouldn't be enjoying the feeling of my captor violating me. But I do, I love it. "I can give you the life you deserve. One where you can grow a beautiful garden, where our babies can grow their own gardens. One where dinner will be waiting for me when I get home from work, but once I walk through that door you're not to lift a finger." He goes on to say. His fingers slide past my clit, circling my wet core. He slowly probes into me, a little at a time before two of his thick fingers are fully seated inside of me. I tilt my hips, giving him an angle that feels better for me.