Private Lessons From A Doctor

Mabel

Ethan’s hands slid beneath my shirt the moment I stepped into the bedroom. No greeting. No teasing smile nor soft word of welcome,just that low, frustrated sigh pressed into my neck. The cologne I had once loved wrapped around me like a trap, making my chest tighten instead of my body melt.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing my skin. Warm. Insistent.

His body pressed against mine, hard, demanding, like it always used to. I wanted to respond, wanted to arch into him, wanted to feel the fire we had once shared. But my limbs refused. My stomach tightened. My pulse hid in the back of my mind.

He slid his hands over the familiar curves of my waist, tracing shapes he had memorized years ago. I felt the heat of his body against mine, the weight of his insistence, and my skin reacted in a way I wasn’t ready for—but my mind was frozen. Panic and desire wrestled inside me, leaving me paralyzed.

“Hey… look at me,” he whispered, voice low, urgent. I turned my head slowly. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I wanted to melt into them. I wanted to give him everything, like I used to. But I couldn’t.

His fingers traced the curve of my shoulder, brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear. I shivered despite myself, the memory of his touch awakening something I thought had died. But the shiver didn’t grow. It faltered. My body betrayed me—or maybe it had been protecting me all along.

“You’re stiff again,” he muttered, pulling back slightly to examine my face. “Seriously, Mabel?”

Heat flared up my throat. My ears burned. “I’m trying,” I whispered, barely audible.

“Trying?” A humorless laugh escaped him. “You’re like a brick wall lately.”

The words hit harder than I expected. I wanted to shrink. To disappear.

“I’m embarrassed, Ethan. Do you think I like this?” I asked, voice trembling.

“Then do something about it,” he snapped. “We used to be great. Now it’s like being with—” He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Buzzkill.

I didn’t need him to say it. I felt it settle between us, heavy and cold.

“I said I’m trying,” I murmured again, quieter, desperate.

“And I’m saying it’s not enough. You just… kill the mood every time.”

I felt tears sting at the corners of my eyes. I wanted to cry, to yell, to throw myself at him, to fix this somehow but I couldn’t. The shame wrapped around me, suffocating.

Ethan sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched in every line of his face. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against my collarbone. “Mabel… come on. We can’t keep doing this.”

I closed my eyes, letting his warmth wash over me for a second, clinging to what I remembered loving. My body responded—just barely—but my mind screamed to stop. I felt a storm inside, every nerve alive, every thought chaotic.

“I… I want to,” I whispered, my lips barely moving.

He pressed closer, hands sliding under the hem of my shirt, fingers tracing the small of my back. My pulse fluttered. I felt my body stirring reluctantly, a reluctant echo of desire, but my chest felt tight with fear, shame, and panic.

“You’re wet,” he said suddenly, almost like a discovery. “You feel this, don’t you?”

“Yes… I… maybe…” My voice cracked. I wanted to lie, to satisfy him, to give him what he wanted—but I couldn’t. My body was playing a different game than my mind, a confusing tug-of-war.

He groaned softly, frustrated but patient. “Mabel… baby… don’t shut me out.”

I swallowed, heart hammering. My hands gripped the edge of the bed, trying to ground myself. I wanted to respond fully, to surrender. But I couldn’t. Not tonight. Not like this.

His lips brushed my ear, warm and insistent. “I need you, Mabel. Right now. Come to me.”

I shook my head slightly, a tear slipping down my cheek. “I… I can’t.”

“You can,” he said, voice firm, yet tender. “I know you can. I just… you have to let me in.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But my body, my heart, my mind—everything—was tangled in fear, in shame, in regret. The contrast between his desire and my paralysis made me feel small, exposed, broken.

Ethan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m taking a shower,” he muttered, finally.

The door slammed behind him. Silence pressed in, suffocating. I sank onto the bed, wrapping my arms around myself. My phone buzzed. Lydia. My fingers trembled as I typed:

We tried again… I froze. He’s mad at me. I feel broken.

Almost immediately, her reply appeared:

You are NOT broken. Listen there’s a new specialist in town. A real one. You should see him.

Before I could respond, the phone rang.

“A specialist? For this?” I whispered, voice tight with vulnerability.

“Yes, for this,” Lydia said. “My cousin went to him after her ex destroyed her confidence. She swears he rebuilt her from the ground up.”

Hope and dread tangled in my chest. I stayed quiet. “I… I’ll think about it.”

“Girl, you’re not a kid anymore. Just listen to me. You won’t regret it.”

She hung up before I could respond.

I exhaled and forced myself up. I dragged Ethan’s shirt, my leggings, and scattered clothes to the laundry room. Folding, sorting—anything to distract myself from the chaos inside.

Something soft brushed my fingers. I froze.

A silky pale pink shirt.

Heart stuttering, I lifted it slowly.

Lipstick. Deep red. Glossy. Perfect.

Perfume clung to it..floral, expensive, definitely not mine.

“Well…” I whispered, voice trembling. “I guess that explains why I’m a buzzkill.”

The shower stopped. Ethan’s humming floated out—relaxed, pleased, unaware.

I sank to the floor, knees hitting the cold tiles. Hands pressed the shirt to my chest as if it could shield me from the truth.

Tears blurred my vision. My body shook.

A vibration buzzed from my phone across the room. Probably Lydia. I couldn’t move.

All I could do was stare at the lipstick smear and whisper through the chaos in my chest:

“Oh God… am I not enough?”