Going to help you

Going to help you

"It's alright Felix, I believe you, it's alright," I said, lifting his head upwards to look at me. "I know exactly how you feel."

He shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "Don't equate what I'm feeling to what you went through Blair, it's not even comparable."

There was silence. I didn't know what else to say to him.

"Oh God, why do I feel like this?" He sighed, covering his face with his hands. "Why can't I just… talk to you properly for goodness’ sake?!"

He was getting more emotional by the second, so in an attempt to calm him down, I pulled him into a steady, grounding hug, resting my head on his shoulder. When he finally calmed down and started running his hand slowly along my back in a comforting, friendly way, I whispered:

"I know what's going to help you. Can you lend me your laptop please?"

He shot me an inquisitive look as I stepped back, but he complied nonetheless. I took a seat at the dining table as I waited for him to pull out his laptop from his work suitcase.

"I'm going to write something for you to read," I explained. "This might be a good time for you to tidy the rest of the house because this is gonna take a while."

He handed me his expensive MacBook and waited for it to turn on so he could type in the password.

"You could just tell me what you're gonna write," he said as I opened up a new Word document.

"I prefer to write it down," I said. "You'll be able to save it and read it as many times as you want. Now go, I need to concentrate."

"Alright," he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "If you need anything just call me."

I stared at the blank document and my fingers immediately started typing. About a paragraph in, I realized I was actually writing in quite a formal way, almost academically. Just for the fun of it, I decided to structure my writing as a formal essay, giving it a title, an index, and even references at the end.

The first part of the long essay detailed how my relationship with Reynolds began, how it escalated, and how it ended. Felix already knew all this information, but I still wanted to give an account without tears or being on the verge of a panic attack. I also linked scientific articles on the profile of abusers, their behaviors, and what signs to look out for in toxic relationships. I knew he'd feel much better by reading scientific papers written by actual professionals, especially because he'd be able to make a clear comparison between himself and an abuser and realize he wasn't at fault whatsoever.

The next part was about my experience in my bachelors and how I navigated the world of dating (unsuccessfully) during that time. I wanted him to get a clear picture of my evolution regarding opening up to people in general, how long it took me to trust anyone again. I included articles on recovery after abusive relationships so he'd understand I'd done the work.

The third part was about us—how we met, how our relationship evolved, and how those first months affected me. I wrote honestly about my emotions, my hesitations, and the comfort I found in him. I included a list of personal boundaries and limits, making it clear what kinds of behavior I would never be okay with. As before, I added articles explaining healthy power dynamics and how relationships can maintain balance even when one partner struggles emotionally.

Lastly, I wrote about my expectations for the future—how I pictured our relationship growing given everything that had happened. I ended the essay saying I was grateful for him no matter what life had in store for us, and making it perfectly clear that he didn’t heal me: I did.

As I wrote the essay, Felix tidied the whole house, made lunch, went out grocery shopping, and read a few chapters of a new book he was reading. I didn’t get up once from the dining table in four hours, and at around five in the afternoon, my essay was ready.

I walked over to Felix, who was lying comfortably on the couch.

"Done?" he asked, closing his book with a bookmark. I handed him the laptop knowing that I had my heart, mind, and soul all laid out for him to analyze.

"What?! You wrote this like an essay?" he asked as soon as his eyes saw the document, scrolling down the seven pages to get the whole view. He chuckled when he realized what I'd done. "This is amazing Blair! And look at this title: An Essay on Blair De Montmorency... This is so creative. Oh, and what's this? Actual scientific articles? You spoil me."

I gave him a shy smile. "It's dedicated to my favorite professor—the one who taught me how to write perfect essays. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower and give you time to read it."

I took my time, letting the warm water calm my nerves. I washed up, straightened my hair, and tried to breathe evenly, giving Felix more than enough time to read the essay.

My stomach turned into knots. Why hadn't he called me? Did this mean he wanted to end things?

I stepped out of the bathroom, pulled on dark green pajama pants and one of his black T-shirts, and tried not to panic.

There was a light tap on the door.

"Come in," I said.

Felix stepped inside, his face still a little red, eyes shining.

"You," he said firmly, "are the most amazing man I have ever met. And I don’t know what I did to deserve you."

My breath caught. He stepped closer, placing his hands gently at the sides of my jaw, lifting my face toward him.

"Can I… give you a hug?"

Relief washed over me. I nodded, and he pulled me into a firm, grounding embrace—the kind that made my chest ache with everything unsaid.

He pulled back just slightly. “Thank you for trusting me.”

I swallowed. “Did you… like the essay?”

"Take a wild guess," he said, smiling softly as he led us into the kitchen. "In all seriousness, Blair… what you wrote means more to me than you know. I didn’t get through all the papers you linked yet, but I will. I want to understand you fully. I want to be good for you."

I stretched my hands toward him, and he took them immediately. I squeezed, relieved beyond words.

“Want to help me cook dinner?” he asked gently. “I bought flat pasta sheets—we can make homemade lasagna together.”

I nodded, grateful for the normalcy.

He smiled.
“Just ask, and I’m yours. Always.”