Alex's POV
I headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of yesterday's worries. Emerging with a towel draped around me, droplets of water from my hair splattered on the floor, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside me. After removing the towel, I took my time to put on my bra and panties, layering a black oversized football t-shirt over them, and slipping into crisp white trousers. To manage my damp locks, I tied a white bandana around my head, a small attempt to bring some semblance of order to my chaotic thoughts. Once I was dressed and felt somewhat presentable, I left the room, steeling myself for the tasks ahead, starting with preparing a meal for Hunter and myself. After serving our plates and placing his portion in the microwave, I became acutely aware of the domesticity of the moment. The clinking of cutlery, the gentle hum of the microwave—these sounds once soothed me, but today they felt strangely unsettling.
After finishing my meal, I left the house determined to confront the uncertainties that had been plaguing me. I had made the decision to visit the doctor, seeking clarity in a haze of confusion. I took a taxi to St. Angels Hospital, my heart racing as I thought about the conversations that awaited me. Unsure of which doctor to see first, I ultimately decided to consult both a psychologist and a gynecologist. The taxi ride felt interminable, with every passing moment intensifying my trepidation. I found myself rehearsing what I would say, wishing for the right words to spill from my mouth like a cascade of clarity.
Upon arrival, I quickly climbed into the building, heading straight for Dr. Davis, the psychologist, for my first appointment. "Good morning, Doctor," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, echoing the quiet storm within me.
"Good morning, Mrs. Martinez. Congratulations on your wedding," he replied, shaking my hand; a formality that somehow didn't feel as comforting as it should have.
"I'm sure you're curious about why I came in today," I attempted to sound collected, but I could feel the tremor in my voice betraying me.
"Is everything alright? Did you relapse?" he asked, concern creasing his brow, and my heart sank a little as I registered the weight of his words.
Before meeting Hunter, I had waged wars inside my mind, grappling with self-harm and battling demons that often felt insurmountable. Hunter became my anchor, the one who helped me find solace amidst the chaos. He endured my struggles, standing by my shattered self as I picked up the pieces. My mother, though she adored him, always hesitated, whispering doubts about whether my love for him was genuine. Her suspicions nagged at me, looming like shadows whenever I tried to bask in the light of our happiness. The thought of disappointing him, of betraying the trust he placed in me, was unbearable.
"Yeah, everything is fine, but I'm worried that I might jeopardize my marriage," I confessed, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess myself.
"Why do you feel that way?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
"It's just that when Hunter and I were intimate yesterday, I didn't feel anything. I'm worried this could hinder our relationship moving forward," I admitted, my heart racing as I spoke. Each word felt like a heavy weight resting on my chest, and I was unsure of how to lift it.
"Typically, a woman's body responds to intimacy based on her sexual orientation. If you're straight, your body will react when you're with a man, but it may not respond when you're with a woman," he explained, choosing his words with care.
"Thanks for your insight, but I don't think I'm gay," I said, my defensive walls rising instinctively as I walked out of the room, leaving behind a mixture of relief and confusion swirling in my mind.
Next, it was time for my appointment with the gynecologist, a different kind of apprehension gripping my heart. I took a deep breath and entered her office. "Good morning, doctor," I greeted her, attempting to mask my nervousness with a polite smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Martinez!" she exclaimed cheerfully, an instant warmth radiating from her, which momentarily lifted the heavy burden on my shoulders.
"I'd like to ask if it's possible for someone not to respond during sex," I blurted out, the words escaping my lips in a rush, feeling oddly vulnerable stating them aloud.
"Yes, it is, and there are two reasons for that," she replied, her demeanor shifting to a more professional tone, sensing the seriousness of my inquiry.
"Please, tell me," I urged, eager for an explanation that might offer me some sense of hope.
"It can be related to her sexual orientation or her preferred sexual style," she said matter-of-factly, her words resonating with a truth I desperately needed to confront.
"Thank you, doctor," I responded, leaving her office with a glimmer of hope that perhaps it was truly just a matter of sexual style—something I could explore without the daunting label of being gay hanging over me like a storm cloud. I couldn't possibly be gay while married, could I?
Lost in contemplation, my thoughts began to swirl chaotically as I navigated through the bustling hospital corridors. Suddenly, I collided with someone, jolting me from my spiraling reveries. She appeared to be a couple of inches taller than me, her stunning eyes locking onto mine with unexpected intensity. I quickly glanced down, embarrassed, before apologizing for my mistake.
"It's fine, but are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice low yet clear, tinged with genuine concern that disarmed me momentarily.
"I'm fine, thanks. Bye," I stammered, attempting to hasten away, but not before her curiosity seemed to penetrate my surface of nonchalance.
As I stepped outside into the cool air, the world felt both familiar and ominously new. I was on the precipice of something; as I walked away, I realized I was grappling with the reality of my feelings, and there was no escaping the fact that I might need to confront an aspect of myself I had long buried beneath the fabric of expectation and fear.
IS THIS THE END OR A NEW BEGINNING?