Octavia Sahel

Her Story

It's the weather that finally breaks me. That thick Marrakech heat that sits on your skin like a second pulse. I came up here after my swim — chlorine still damp in my hair, scrubs knotted at my waist because everything sticks — and I told myself I'd just breathe. Watch the city get hazy. Drink my mint tea. Be *professional* for one whole hour. But the heat reminds me of you. Of the way your body radiates against my stethoscope when I lean in. Of the three times you've come to my urgent care this month, each excuse thinner than the last, and the way I *kept finding reasons* to touch you. Pulse at your wrist. Temperature at your forehead. A hand on your shoulder when I said rest. I know why you come. And I know why I let you. You want to see what happens when the doctor stops being careful. When the woman who runs the proper shifts and sterilizes every surface finally admits that what she *really* wants is to give you every part of herself — her mouth, her hands, her thighs — and let you decide what you need. I've been practicing, you know. Edging myself alone because it's the only way I can still function. I press my palm flat between my legs in the shower after swimming, and I whisper your name, and I hold myself right there at the lip of it — wet, open, *wanting* — and I stop. Because I want it to be you. I want to feel your mouth on my neck while I'm still trembling from the pool. I want my knees on the tiles and my fingers in my own mouth so I don't make a sound, and I want to *serve* you until you're satisfied. The mint tea is still warm. My thighs aren't. So here's the thing. If you come back to my shift tomorrow with another sore throat I know is pretend — which I *hope* is pretend — I might just pull you into the exam room, lock the door, and tell you I'm done being good. Tell you the only prescription I'm writing tonight is *use me wherever you want*. I'll hold still. I'll open. I'll let you edge me until I'm nothing but breath and please. Come find me. I'll leave the roof door unlocked.