Dumped for being boring

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕♡︎

𝐈 stared at him, not sure I heard him right.

“What did you just say?” My voice shook even though I tried to hold it steady.

Daniel leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest like he was tired of me already. We were in his apartment, the same place I had spent most of my nights for the last year. 

The TV was muted behind him, and the soft glow of the lamp made his face look sharper, colder.

“You heard me, Alessia.” He let out a sigh. “You’re beautiful, no doubt about it. You’ve got the body every guy would kill for. But in bed?” He tilted his head, lips curling. “You’re boring.”

The word hit me like a slap. My stomach twisted, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe.

“Boring?” I whispered.

He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t just ripped open a part of me I didn’t even know was fragile. “You don’t… you know… spice things up. You just lie there. I need someone who can keep up with me. Someone who knows how to please a man without me having to tell her every step.”

I blinked, heat rushing to my cheeks. “So you’re breaking up with me because I’m - what - bad in bed?”

“Not bad,” he said, standing up and reaching for his jacket. “Just not exciting enough. And honestly, I’ve been feeling this for a while. Don’t take it personally.”

“Don’t take it personally?” My voice cracked. “Daniel, I loved you.”

He froze for a second, then slipped his arms through his jacket. “And I liked you, Alessia. But I want passion. Fire. I can’t settle for less.” He opened the door and gave me one last look. “You’ll thank me someday.”

The door slammed behind him, and I stood there in the silence, staring at nothing.

Boring.

The word echoed in my head over and over until tears blurred my vision.

***

I didn’t remember how I got home that night. All I knew was that I ended up on my bed, curled up with a pillow pressed to my chest, sobbing until my mascara smeared across my cheeks.

I was twenty-three, curvy in all the right places, with the kind of bust men stared at even when they thought I wasn’t looking. 

Friends called me stunning. Strangers called me gorgeous. But the man I loved? He thought I was boring.

Maybe he was right.

The thought made me choke out another sob.

***

“Alessia!”

The next morning, my best friend Mia stormed into my apartment like she owned the place. She tossed her handbag on the couch and marched straight to my bedroom. 

Her curly brown hair bounced as she walked, and her big hoop earrings swung dramatically.

“What happened? You didn’t answer my calls last night.”

I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head. “Go away.”

“No chance.” She yanked the blanket off me. “Your face looks like you cried an ocean. Tell me what happened or I’m not leaving.”

I sat up, hair a mess, eyes puffy. “Daniel broke up with me.”

Her eyes widened. “What? Why?”

I bit my lip, tears threatening again. “Because he said I’m boring… in bed.”

Mia’s jaw dropped. Then she gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “He did not.”

“He did.” My voice cracked. “He said I just… lie there. That he wants someone exciting, someone passionate.”

For a second, Mia was quiet. Then she cursed so loudly I almost laughed through my tears. “That bastard! Excuse my French, but what the actual hell? Alessia, you’re gorgeous. Any guy would be lucky to even breathe the same air as you. And he calls you boring?”

“He’s right though, isn’t he?” I whispered. “I don’t know how to… be exciting like that. Maybe there is something wrong with me.”

Mia sat down beside me and cupped my face in her hands. “Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. That man wouldn’t know passion if it slapped him in the face. He probably just wants some p**n-star fantasy every night. That’s his problem, not yours.”

“But what if it is me?” I whispered.

Her expression softened. She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Then you figure it out. On your terms, not his. You’re twenty-three, babe. You’ve got time to explore yourself, to learn what you like. And you know what? Maybe it’s time you talked to someone… professional.”

I frowned. “Like who? A therapist?”

“Exactly. A sex therapist.” She grinned when my eyes widened. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not crazy. You need someone who can help you see yourself differently. Someone who can guide you. Build your confidence back up.”

I hesitated, chewing my lip. “That sounds… embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing than crying over some loser who doesn’t deserve you?” she shot back.

I sighed, wiping at my cheeks. “I don’t even know where to find one.”

“Lucky for you,” Mia said, pulling out her phone, “I do. There’s this guy… Dr. Zayn Steele. People say he’s the best. Handsome too.” She winked.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s the last thing I need. A hot therapist judging me while I tell him all the ways I’m messed up.”

“Or maybe,” Mia said slyly, “that’s exactly what you need.”

I groaned, but when she handed me her phone, my eyes fell on his profile.

Dr. Zayn Steele. Sex Therapist.

The picture showed a man in his early thirties with sharp features, messy dark hair, and a piercing glinting on his lip. 

His tattoos crawled up his forearms in the photo, half-hidden by his rolled-up sleeves.

Something about him made my stomach flip.

Mia nudged me. “See? I told you. Total eye candy. If anyone can fix your broken confidence, it’s him.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know…”

“Alessia,” Mia said, grabbing my hand, “what have you got to lose?”

I looked at the screen again, heart pounding. My finger hovered over the Book Appointment button.

Mia squeezed my hand. “Do it.”

I closed my eyes, took a shaky breath, and tapped.

The confirmat

ion screen lit up, and my heart raced.

I whispered under my breath, “God help me… what am I getting myself into?”