Then December came, her favorite month. On the first of the month, she decided she would at least try to start treating again. The discomfort in her chest from her unused magic was becoming unbearable. She felt itchy all over and kept rubbing her chest as if she had indigestion. It was at a point where she could think of little else, and it was impacting her work. Her self-preservation was starting to kick in, and her willingness to let go of her pain was increasing.
So on December first, she mustered up the will to message Etienne for help.
Ophelia: Hey, hope you are doing well. I was wondering if you would have time this week to help me practice treating? I’m available most days after 5.
Ophelia read her message again. He was probably busy with his own patients, so she typed the customary sentence that covered all bases of rejection.
Ophelia: No worries if not.
Etienne: Hey. Yeah, I can help. How’s Wednesday night around 8?
Ophelia: Works for me. Want to meet at my place again?
Etienne: Sure.
On Wednesday,Ophelia returned home from working a last-minute shift at Prytania Botanica. It was already eight o’clock, and Etienne would arrive any moment, so she was devouring her takeout dinner while simultaneously cleaning her house.
She was nervous to see Etienne again. He had witnessed her at some of the weakest moments in her life. He saw her cry hysterically from the Passing. He unintentionally conjured a lustful moan, then proceeded to never discuss it again. He witnessed her weep with embarrassment over what Mateo had done to her and so many other women. He watched her bury a part of her heart with her Mawmaw. He had seen her so raw and vulnerable, and it left her feeling as if there was an imbalance in their friendship. To Ophelia, vulnerability was a gift, especially now more than ever, and it was typically reserved for the people she was closest to.
The doorbell rang. Ophelia stopped mid-bite and glanced at her right armpit. It was far too sweaty for company, so she sprinted to her room and pulled on a fresh shirt. She calmed her breathing and opened the door.
“Hey,” she said to Etienne in an octave too high from her normal voice. He was wearing those blue scrubs again, and a small amount of his chest hair peeked from the V-neck of his scrub shirt. His sleeves were cut perfectly around his arms, accentuating his biceps, and his pants hung loosely on his hips. Ophelia snapped her eyes up, telling herself not to look at his crotch. The thought alone was a shock to her system. Was that her long-lost libido? Horniness was a feeling she hadn’t experienced since Mateo, and that had been fabricated horniness.
It had been two months. Two months without sex, masturbation, or any desire for those activities. It was very unlike Ophelia to ignore those needs, but that was how damaging Mateo had been and how sad she had been over her losses.
“Hey,” he said and looked at her expectantly.
“Oh, come in. I was just finishing eating dinner. Did you eat? I’m not going to be able to finish all this,” she said, gesturing to the large Styrofoam box in her hand overflowing with chicken and salad.
“No thanks. I ate a sad cafeteria dinner at the hospital.”
“Yeesh. Can I offer you anything else? Something to drink?”
“Whatcha got?” he asked. “It’s been a long day, so I’ll take anything with alcohol.”
“I have a Malbec I was planning on opening.” Ophelia walked toward her bar cart to pull out the bottle. Tigger had apparently been hiding under the bar cart because she shot out from under it at Ophelia’s movement. Then she used her little claws to climb all the way up Etienne’s legs and into his arms.
“Oh, my God! Tigger! Get down.” In response, Tigger rolled onto her back, exposing her belly to Etienne. He cradled Tigger like a baby and chuckled at her demeanor.
“You have a cat now,” he said, more as a statement than a surprised question.
“Tigger, meet Etienne. Etienne, meet Tigger. Do not be fooled by her cute little belly. Tigger is a menace.”
Etienne rubbed Tigger’s belly, and she emitted a satisfied purr. “I think she’s purrfect.”
Shocked by his pun, Ophelia looked to Etienne, but his face remained stoic except for a slight twitch of his mouth. She poured two glasses of wine and placed her food in the fridge for later.
“How have you been?” he asked with a look at the intersection of pity and compassion.
Ophelia shrugged and took a sip of her wine.Not great. Terrible. That one question just made me want to crawl back in bed. I can’t believe I texted you for help, but my magic is making me itchy, like a hundred mosquito-bites itchy.
“Yeah, I can imagine,” he said in response to her silence.
“Yeah.” She exhaled a long breath and swiftly changed subjects. “So I haven’t used my gift since…the whole Mateo thing, and it’s starting to get to me,” she said, instinctually rubbing at the pain in her chest. “Has that happened to you before?”
“Oh yeah, it can be super uncomfortable. But you know the way to fix it.”
“Right. I just…don’t know if I can tap into that mental space.”
