15. Ellie
ELLIE
Once Miles is out of the hospital, Julian and I decide to get away.
Things have been a lot for me lately. Nightmares.
Anxiety attacks. Rick has gotten into my head, but the police assure me he is going to prison.
But my head doesn’t seem to believe it. So the more miles between him and I - the better my anxiety.
He suggests we drive out to the coast, where he has rented has a small cabin just steps from the water.
I hesitate at first, not wanting him to exert himself too much after everything, but he insists.
“Fresh air, ocean breeze, no alarm clocks - exactly what the doctor ordered,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile I’ve come to depend on.
The drive takes four hours, but with each mile marker we pass, I feel the knot in my chest loosen just a fraction. By the time we’re winding along coastal roads, windows down and salt air rushing in, I’ve stopped checking the rearview mirror every thirty seconds.
The cabin is perfect in its simplicity - weathered cedar shingles, and a wraparound porch facing the water.
“This is exactly what we needed,” I say that first night, wrapped in a blanket on the porch swing as the sun dips below the horizon. Julian nods, his arm around my shoulders.
“When I was in that hospital bed,” he says quietly, “this is what I thought about. Being somewhere quiet with you. Just... existing for a while.”
I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. For the first time in weeks, I don’t see Rick’s face when my eyelids close. I don’t hear the echo of threats or feel phantom hands around my throat.
Instead, I hear waves crashing against the shore, Julian’s steady breathing, and nothing else.
We fall into an easy rhythm over the next few days.
Mornings are for long walks along the deserted beach, afternoons for reading on the porch or napping in the hammock strung between two pine trees.
Julian cooks surprisingly good meals in the tiny kitchen, and I find myself eating properly for the first time since the attack.
“You are a good cook,” I say on our third night, savoring the last bite of grilled fish. “Where’d you learn?”
He shrugs, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. “My grandmother. She would have liked you.”
On our fifth day, rain keeps us indoors.
The patter on the roof is soothing as we curl up on the couch, a game of cards abandoned on the coffee table.
Julian traces circles on my palm, and I find myself telling him things I’ve never told anyone—about my childhood, my fears, my dreams before Rick entered my life and shattered everything.
“I used to think I was invincible,” I whisper. “Now I jump at shadows.”
Julian’s fingers interlace with mine. “The shadows can’t hurt you. And you’re stronger than you think.”
“How can you be so sure?”
His eyes meet mine, steady and certain. “Because I’ve seen you fight. Not just physically—though God knows you’ve done enough of that—but here.” He touches my temple gently. “Where it matters most.”
That night, when the nightmare comes, it’s different. Rick is there, but distant, fading. And this time, I’m not running. I’m standing my ground, Julian beside me, as Rick shrinks smaller and smaller until he’s nothing but a speck on the horizon.
I wake with tears on my face, but they’re not tears of fear.
“You okay?” Julian murmurs, instantly alert.
“Yeah,” I say, surprised to find it’s true. “I think I finally am.”