Ellie #2
“He was from the city. Didn’t grow up here. Didn’t carry the weight of my past. I thought that would make everything easier. That he’d be my clean slate.”
But I still hadn’t stopped to feel. To process. To grieve.
“And that brings us to tonight.”
My voice grew clearer. Stronger. Like my mind had finally caught up with my heart. I wasn’t trembling anymore. I was speaking—really speaking—from a place I hadn’t touched in far too long.
“I gave Miles a chance. We went on one date, just one. And it was awful. Horrible, actually. I should’ve ended things that night.
I should’ve said no, walked away, shut the door before it even cracked open.
But I didn’t. I got out of that limo, and instead of shutting it down, I just… thought about it.”
“What made it so awful?” Penny asked softly.
I hesitated, the memory clawing at me from the inside.
“First, he was rude to the wait staff. Like, embarrassingly rude. Snapping his fingers. Talking down to them. It made my skin crawl.” I paused. “But that wasn’t the worst part.”
I wrapped my arms around my torso, instinctively soothing the invisible wounds.
“On the way home… he tried to touch me. Tried to take it further. I told him no, repeatedly, but he kept pushing.”
The room went still. It felt heavy. Stayed silent.
My breath hitched, but I pushed through it because I needed to speak this out loud.
“I got out of the limo. Alone. Shaken. But I didn’t tell anyone. I brushed it off, convinced myself it didn’t matter. That I was overreacting. But I wasn’t.”
And saying it now? It mattered.
“That is absolutely awful,” Penny said, her voice sharp with fury. “I’d kick his ass too. No wonder Logan reacted the way he did.”
“I’m not usually one for violence,” Aspen added, her jaw tight, “but he deserved more than just the punch Logan landed.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, bracing against the part I hadn’t shared yet.
“That… wasn’t even the worst of it.”
Their expressions shifted, eyes narrowing in confusion and dread.
“He apologized after the bar incident,” I continued, voice low. “Said he’d misunderstood. That he wanted to make things right. So, I agreed to meet him at his place for dinner. I planned to set things straight, to tell him I just wanted to be friends.”
I paused, drawing in a shaky breath.
“But he wouldn’t let me. He avoided the conversation, brushed me off every time I tried to bring it up. And then… when I finally did, when I told him no, that I didn’t want more, he snapped.”
I sat up straighter, spine stiff as steel, eyes fixed on the far wall, as if speaking it into the air made it less terrifying.
“He grabbed me,” I said quietly. “Threw me against the kitchen counter. Screamed in my face, shouting about what had I done for him, how I’d led him on.”
Gasps echoed around me.
“I ran,” I whispered. “The second I could break away—I ran. And I went straight to Logan.”
“Holy shit…” Theo breathed, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide in horror.
“He hurt you?” Penny asked, her voice breaking, head tilting as she studied me like she was checking for visible proof.
I nodded. “I had bruises. On my arms. My back.”
The room erupted. Questions, outrage, disbelief. The girls were livid—fiercely protective—and every bit of their anger fell in defense of Logan’s actions tonight. And I couldn’t blame them.
Because I agreed.
Logan’s reaction hadn’t been about pride or bravado. It had been instinct—pure, raw, protective instinct. His fury came from a place of love. Of imagining another man putting his hands on me. Of knowing he hadn’t been there when it happened.
He hadn’t thought about the optics, or the consequences, or what people might say. And how could I expect him to?
I knew what it was like to black out in a moment of fear or fury. To be ruled by instinct, by fight or flight, before logic could ever take hold.
I told the girls everything. About the trip. That we left because I needed space, and Logan couldn’t bear to let me navigate it alone. I hadn’t wanted anyone to see the bruises or ask questions I didn’t yet have the answers to.
But now… I did.
Now, I had clarity. And closure. I had processed my pain instead of shoving it down. I had shared it with Logan. And in doing so, I’d found something more.
Something real.
“Logan loves you,” Aspen said gently, eyes shining with conviction. “I think he always has.”
“I know,” I said, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
The memories came rushing back. The warmth of his hand in mine, the laughter echoing under starry skies, the salty kiss we shared in the ocean, the dancing, and the night we made love. It had all been tender. Healing. Real.
When I told them about the kiss, the softness, the passion, the way he looked at me like I was whole, it wasn’t met with judgment.
It was met with support.
Encouragement.
Love.
The contrast between where I’d started and where I was now was stark. But it was beautiful. I was no longer the girl hiding behind silence and shame. I was standing in truth, surrounded by women who didn’t let me fall.
I hadn’t chosen to run this time.
I’d chosen to heal and to let love in.
“I think it’s time we get you home,” Aspen said gently.
And I let her.
There was nothing left for me at the bar tonight—no more laughter, no more pretending. I needed the quiet now. The comfort of my own space. The safety of solitude. This night had run its course, and I could feel the weight of it closing in around me, like the final pages of a chapter.
So we left.
Each of my friends flanked me, arms linked, elbows brushing like a scene lifted straight from a rom-com, except this wasn’t scripted. It was real. Honest. The kind of sisterhood that held you up when your legs didn’t quite feel like your own.
They spoke softly as we walked, voices low and full of love. They told me they were proud. That they admired my strength. That no matter what I needed, no matter when, they’d be there.
I didn’t know how I got so lucky.
Grateful didn’t even begin to cover it.
Returning to Faircloud had felt like a gamble. But right then, in that moment, I knew it was the best choice I could’ve made.
When we reached my apartment, there were no long, drawn-out goodbyes. No pity. Just a series of warm hugs, whispered promises, and the quiet kind of support that didn’t need to be said out loud anymore. I watched them walk away with tears in my eyes—this time, from something softer than sadness.
The rest of the night belonged to me.
I would spend it alone. Letting the stillness wrap around me like a blanket. Soaking in the quiet victory of having faced the night, of having spoken my truth, of choosing to stay instead of run.
I would bask in the woman I was becoming again, the one who loved life, who once dreamed. The one who was finally starting to come back to herself.
A long shower. My own bed. Maybe another cry or two to wring out what was left of the ache.
And then, sleep.
I climbed the stairs slowly, the air cooler now, cleaner. It smelled like peace. Like closure.
Without looking back, I stepped into my apartment and gently shut the door behind me.