The Apocalypse

27

"You have to wake her every hour or so if she has a concussion!" Sophie told Maurits, who nodded at her words. He looked down at Maeve and placed a wet, cold cloth on the swollen side of her face.
"Are you good with your wound, Derek?" Maurits asked, examining the red patch on Derek's leg.
"Yeah, all good," Derek replied, slowly taking off the bandage. He bent down and began to stitch his own leg.
"A good thing Maeve is asleep!" Dylan chimed in with a laugh. The group, though facing challenges and injuries, found a moment of camaraderie in Dylan's light-hearted comment.
They drove away from the blood bath and on their way back home.
.
He had woken her two times, and now he was carrying her to their home. Maurits remained silent, not responding to Johnny's inquiries about what had happened. The weight of Maeve in his arms, her stillness and vulnerability, amplified the gravity of the situation.
As he approached their home, Maurits focused on finding a quiet, secure space for Maeve to rest and recover. Johnny's concern lingered in the air, but Maurits, preoccupied with caring for Maeve, offered no explanation.
He gently laid Maeve on the couch, his hand caressing her cheek with tenderness before deciding to prepare dinner for both of them.
"M-Mauri-I-its," a weak voice stuttered, causing him to drop his knife in surprise. Hastening to her side, he reassured her with his proximity.
Seated beside her, he held her close as she whispered, "a-a-a-Are you mad at-t m-m-me?" Her fear evident, she closed her eyes, awaiting his response.
"Of course not, my darling. Why would I be mad at you?" he asked, carefully placing her head on his lap and soothingly massaging her temples.
Tears welled in her eyes as she whimpered, "I couldn't handle the man." A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.
Maurits gazed down at the girl he loved, his affection for her immense. The fact that she couldn't fend off the man didn't matter to him; that was why he existed. He was her protector, finding joy and a sense of power in that responsibility. He relished the knowledge that he held control in their relationship, and she needed him in this world.
Every time she faced harm, it only reinforced his position as her safeguard, a role he embraced wholeheartedly. She belonged to him, and her vulnerability made this even more apparent. He took pleasure in the realization that her well-being relied on him.
Despite his fierce protective instinct, Maurits had a simple condition for his unwavering support—she must listen to him. The only time he would feel a tinge of anger was if her injuries stemmed from not heeding his guidance.
"Did you listen to me like a good girl?" He asked her softly. Her eyes closed as if she had to think about his words before she slowly nodded.
"Then if you were my good girl why would I have a reason to be mad?" He questioned her kissing the girls lips tenderly. Her eyes fluttered closed and a tender look came over her face.
"I love you." He whispered in her ear.
"I love you." He muttered back before she fell asleep.
-
Days passed, and Maeve barely left the house. She stayed in bed, with Maurits taking care of her. Her concussion was a particularly severe one, and Sophie often came over to check on her, but Maeve scarcely spoke, and when she did, it was only to Maurits. It was as if all the progress she had made in coming out of her shell had suddenly vanished into thin air. Just because of that fateful night bringing so many bad memories back.
One morning, Maurits entered the dimly lit bedroom, his patience wearing thin. "Darling, get dressed. We're going to see the horses," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. Maeve shook her head and turned away from him, burrowing deeper into the bedclothes.
"I didn't ask, Maeve. Get up, or I will make you!" Maurits threatened, his tone harsher now. He was desperate to get her out into the sunlight, knowing she needed to stay healthy. Despite his own possessive desires, he didn't want to become the kind of person she had feared for so long. Miss Chumson had treated her so poorly; Maeve deserved better. She deserved a life outside, filled with the things she loved.
"You will go shopping later today with Sophie!" he added, hoping to entice her with something she enjoyed. He walked around to her side of the bed, his hand moving gently over her hair. Her eyes fluttered open, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and resignation.
"Talk," he commanded softly but firmly.
"O-o-o," Maeve stammered, then closed her mouth, hiding her face in her hands. Maurits' frustration grew, but he softened his voice.
"Maeve, you know I don't like that. Speak!" he urged her sternly yet kindly.
"Okay, m-m-Maurits," she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were wide with trepidation, but there was a flicker of hope in them, a glimmer that suggested she might still be reachable, might still come back to the world she had retreated from so completely.
Maurits sat beside Maeve, his frustration giving way to a gentler resolve. He knew that patience and tenderness were his greatest allies in coaxing her back into the world. "Come on, darling," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "Let's get you ready."
With great care, Maurits helped Maeve sit up in bed. He chose a soft, pastel dress from her wardrobe, one she had always looked adorable in. "Arms up," he instructed, guiding her gently as she complied. The dress slipped over her head, its light fabric falling gracefully around her.
Next, Maurits turned his attention to her hair. He retrieved a brush and slowly, methodically, began detangling her long, golden locks. Each stroke was deliberate and tender, meant to comfort. He then led her to the bathroom, where he applied toothpaste to her toothbrush and handed it to her.
When she had finished, he wiped her mouth with a damp cloth, his touch infinitely gentle. "There you go," he said, smiling down at her.
Maurits cupped her face in his hands, lifting her gaze to meet his. "I love you. I need you to know that nothing will ever happen to you again. I will protect you, always."
He leaned in, kissing her deeply, pouring all his love and promises into that single kiss. Maeve's initial stiffness melted away slightly, her hands reaching up to grasp his arms. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. "You're safe with me," he assured her. "Always."