Chapter Thirty Seven
Life went on. How? Ophelia wasn’t quite sure, but the sun rose and set every day, and people still did the things they always do.
Even Ophelia. She went to work, was put back on the schedule at Prytania Botanica, folded laundry, cared for Tigger, researched the Cutthroat Killer’s cases religiously, and attempted to feed herself.
October came and went, and a humid chill clung to November that perfectly fit her mood.
Evangeline’s wedding was at the beginning of November in Costa Rica. It was a lovely, tropical affair at a boutique resort. Mawmaw had never planned on attending. With her age, it was hard to travel, but being with all the Bordelon women and Oubre sisters, Ophelia felt the loss of Mawmaw acutely.
Ophelia went through the motions of being a happy bridesmaid and supportive sister.
Faking it was the least she could do for Evangeline on her special day.
Jolie and Ophelia had yet to tell Evangeline about their magic, deciding to wait till after the wedding.
Ophelia was adamant about giving Eva the space to shine.
The rest of November rolled by slowly. Ophelia felt as if the monotony of her empty life would never end.
She continued to work, research clues about the serial killer, and sleep.
Her research was fruitless. She called NOPD constantly for updates, but they had none.
She only knew that they believed the Cutthroat Killer had murdered her grandmother, and not a copycat, since the writing and method of killing were the exact same.
She stayed up late looking at deranged forums from people who were obsessed with unsolved murders.
They didn’t have a clue who the killer was, but the amount of information these people had about the case helped her own investigation.
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.”
“Well, you won’t know till you try. How about you start with treating my neck pain? It’s been absolutely killing me this week.” Etienne rubbed his shoulder as he stretched his neck to the left.
Ophelia’s jaw dropped. “Ummm…what?” she asked incredulously.
“Yep, come on, O. Show me what you got,” he said, moving to her rose-colored couch and plopping down on the seat cushion.
Ophelia walked around the couch and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. She was hoping they’d ease into all of this, especially after the last time. Perhaps they’d discuss common ailments or how to run a treating practice. Not treat his fucking neck pain.
Fine. I’m going to do this. And it won’t be embarrassing if I fail to treat him. He will teach me how to do it correctly, and if he doesn’t, he’ll still have his annoying neck pain.
Ophelia’s rationale felt solid. So she grabbed his glass of wine from his hand and drank the last two sips. She aggressively set the glass down on the coffee table.
“Okay, E,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s do this.”
“Atta girl,” Etienne smirked.
Ophelia was about to reach over to touch his neck, but she realized the angle was awkward as he was slumped down on the couch and she was standing. So she walked behind the couch.
“Can you lean forward just a bit? I want to be able to touch your neck.”
Etienne adjusted himself to sit up a little straighter and leaned forward.
Ophelia moved closer to the back of the couch and placed two fingers on the right side of Etienne’s neck.
Her touch was light, just feeling out his skin.
Etienne’s intake of breath was sharp, and she thought the pressure might be ticklish.
So she pressed harder at the base of his neck with her two fingers.
She ran them up the side of his neck, feeling the muscle, seeking out the place of tension, but it was all tight.
She moved to the left side of his neck and felt the same knot of muscles.
She recalled that Mawmaw recommended using some type of lubricant for muscle work.
“Give me one moment,” she said to Etienne, and she walked to her purse.
She dug around and pulled out the oil Avery gave her for helping this week.
It was one of her favorites from his shop, a combination of neroli, magnolia, and cypress.
She opened the jar and drizzled some on her hands and rubbed them together.
The smell was heavenly, light, musky, with a hint of sweetness from the magnolia.
Etienne cleared his throat. “That smells like you.”
Ophelia blushed. “Thank you. It’s my favorite. Okay, I’m going to start.”
Ophelia closed her eyes as she moved her hands along the muscles of his neck. She inhaled in preparation to center herself. It didn’t come. She tried again. But her mind was constantly drifting, retreating from reality.
Growing frustrated, she stopped. “I can’t do it. I can’t center myself.”