My Ex Is the Gynecologist

But I was totally captivated by Patrick. So, I shamelessly went back to the bar to corner him. Though I claimed I was there to apologize, I couldn't help tugging at his sleeve and eyeing his chest.

After showing up ten days in a row, Patrick finally snapped. He pinned me in a corner and asked, "Valerie, are you here to apologize or just to get handsy?"

I let out a chuckle in response.

Later, he laid down his conditions. "If you want to be with me, you can't hire male escorts anymore. And no more checking out other guys. Can you handle that?"

"Of course! From now on, my heart is all yours," I had sworn.

In truth, the first time I met him was also the first time I'd ever tried hiring a male escort. I was only doing it for the thrill. It was something new to me, after all.

However, I ran into Patrick by sheer chance. He was my dream guy, and from that moment on, no one else caught my attention.

I was the one who spat the harsh words during our breakup, but it was he who initiated it. He claimed he was too busy at the hospital and didn't have enough time for me. He even said he didn't want to hold me back.

What kind of crappy excuse was that?

Of course, I had to talk tough. Even if I lost, I had to do it in style.

Yet somehow, I had turned into the promiscuous one. On top of that, it had something to do with texts. There had to be more to the story.

I hadn't gone looking for Patrick these past two months because I wanted freedom.

It was only after we started dating that he told me he was actually a doctor. The biggest problem with having a doctor for a boyfriend was that he tried to micromanage everything.

While other couples strolled the mall, holding hands and sipping iced beverages on hot days, Patrick would stop me.

He'd say cold drinks in this heat were bad for my lungs and overall health. Then, he'd hand me a cup of herbal tea.

Whenever I ordered takeout, I went straight for spicy food, like Cajun boil or barbecue skewers. Patrick would go into full-on medical mode, breaking down exactly how much each dish would increase my risk for every disease. I'd panic and cancel my order on the spot.

So, when he suggested we break up, I was confused. But at the same time, I felt free. I could finally indulge in fried food, late-night snacks, ice-cold beer, and every guilty pleasure I could think of.

Moreover, I no longer had to pinch my nose and choke down all those health drinks his hospital had developed.

The harsh words I had spat at Patrick were just for show. I didn't want him to catch me staying up all night, devouring street food.

For the past two months, I had been posting emo posts on social media every day. I'd even share sad ballads.

But in reality, without Patrick controlling me, I did whatever I pleased.

I had eaten my way through every meal available in my neighborhood, wolfing down ice-cold drinks, steaming hot comfort food, and all sorts of indulgent junk.

I also stayed up late almost every night, and before long, I landed myself in the hospital.

My plan had been to eat my fill before shamelessly asking Patrick to take me back. Yet, as fate would have it, I ran into him here first.

Honestly, if I had known I'd run into my ex, there was no way I'd have worn these ridiculous cartoon underwear.

The cartoon's big eyes were plastered across my chest, making me look utterly silly. But that was exactly the quirky style I was going for.

However, I always dressed to the nines whenever I met Patrick, doing everything to make sure he couldn't take his eyes off me. Lace, silk that clung to my curves, rhinestone-studded thongs—if it was suggestive, I'd wear it.

If he were to find out that this was the kind of thing I really liked, I'd never live it down.