I’m so tired I can barely see as I stagger out of the room. Usually, at this point, all I want is to sit down, rest my back, knock down a drink, and recover.

But now, I only want Stella.

As the attendees and nurses slap me on the back and say the usual platitudes, I can’t find meaning in it. I normally feel tired, sure, but also high. Only wanting a short break before I exercise my other extraordinary powers.

I lumber through the hospital towards the doors.

Shit.

The sun has almost set, and here I was, assuming it’s still the morning. Planning on spending the day with Stella.

Nope. I’ve worked the whole day away and without a single call to let her know where I’m at.

I’m going to have to make this big. I can already think of just the right place to take her. I’ll buy her a new gown and shoes and a necklace and earrings set to go with it. Something beautiful and classy that costs ridiculous amounts of money. I’ll wear the full tux, too.

But no matter what I do, it won’t be enough compared to what she deserves. Fuck.

What can I do? This isn’t a flowers-and-chocolates situation.

The day is late, and I have a sharp anxiety in my chest. Why haven’t I heard from her?

I go to call a car and remember that my driver would have knocked off by now. The man deserves to spend some time with his family—and I have a car here for just this occasion, anyway.

I pull out a handful of keys as I jog down into the parking area.

I push myself a bit, trying to dislodge the feeling.

It’s guilt. It’s pain. It’s loss.

I’m being melodramatic, but fuck me. I hate that I’ve missed out on a day with her.

My need for her is surprising to me.

I just want to touch her soft golden hair, her velvet skin. I want to bury my face between her thighs and feel her writhe as my tongue searches out her most secret places. Feel her open up for me so I can devour her.

I reach my car and fumble with the keys. I honestly don’t understand this anxiety, how hard it’s hitting me.

But I know where it’s coming from. I know that fucking fear all too well.

I’ve finally found the woman of my dreams, and now I’m afraid that I’ve fucked up. Lost her. That when I get home, she’ll be gone.

That there’s no way in hell that a woman like her will be there waiting for workaholic like me.

I want to call her. Start my apologies now. But as much as she looks like a fucking Barbie doll, unfortunately, she didn’t come pre-packaged with a cell phone.

And besides, I should have fucking known what I was getting into here. Mail-order bride—not exactly the world’s most touching romance story.

I bet the second she woke up this morning, she fucked off to find some more exciting game. A guy that could spend two consecutive evenings with her.

As I get in the car, I sit still and breathe deeply.

It doesn’t help. I’m overcome by the idea that I might have pushed her too hard.

Shouldn’t have fucked her. My cock is a monster. I might have hurt her.

Suddenly, that’s the prevailing narrative in my mind. She woke up bruised, sorry, and sore, and what did I give her?

A fuck you. I’m off to work, and I’ll fuck you later. Then she doesn’t hear from me all day and she gets more upset by the second.

Until she leaves.

I don’t even know that she’s gone yet, but I’m prepared for the worst.

My heart is pounding by the time I turn the key. I rev up the engine and screech out of the parking area.

I’m just hoping that I’m not too late. I have to see her, even if it’s one last time. I need to try and explain, apologize. Even if I’m sorry is the last thing she’ll listen to me say.

I’ve never been good at positive thinking.

It’s made me a terrific doctor. If I assume the worst, I can usually stop it before it happens, or at least, fight it. It positions me perfectly to combat trauma and injury. So, it isn’t like I have a lot of nice thoughts crowding in my head right now.

Maybe that face she pulled was pain, not pleasure. Maybe when I had her bent over and slid it into her too fast, that gasp against the pillow was stop not yes.

We slept in each other’s arms…she curled up against me with a smile on her face. But it doesn’t mean a damn thing. She’s new to it, to all of it, and I should have known better than to push her so far so fast.

As I pull out into traffic, I can’t get that image out of my mind. Of Stella waking up, sore and bruised—waiting for me to show her how much I love her and pamper her

Instead, she gets an empty house and a cold note.

Did she sit and wait for me to get back, or did she wake up happy I wasn’t there? Empty houses are all the easier to leave, after all. Maybe she just left and never even waited around for me at all.

Maybe it’s better that way. I’m the doctor, after all. Minimizing pain is my specialty.

I finally pull out of the traffic and get on to the main road. I’m certain I’m never going to see her again.

Whether she’s there or not when I get back…something’s fucking wrong. I can feel it in my chest.

Remembering how good it is to drive my own car, I slam my foot down and take out my frustration on the car as I handle the speed and the turns.

And in the back of my mind, I fucking pray. I pray that I’ll drive fast enough, and I pray that I’m not too late.