Chapter 13 Ella

Chapter 13 Ella
I woke up with a feeling of dread, a weight pressing down on my chest, as if the day ahead was already waiting to ruin me. The uneasiness lingered even as we walked to school. The closer we got, the tighter my chest felt. When I entered the classroom, it was eerily quiet. Every student’s eyes were fixed on the front.

“What's going on?” Sophia whispered beside me, her voice barely audible.

All eyes immediately turned toward us.

“Is it just me, or are they staring… weirdly?” she whispered again.

I followed the gaze of the other students. My heart stopped. The dread I had felt this morning materialized before me. Sophia gasped beside me.

I couldn’t recognize my gown. It had been mutilated—cut and shabbily altered in multiple sections. The fabric I had so carefully crafted was now a ruined mess. My eyes scanned the room, landing on Cynthia, whose slow smile quickly disappeared as she realized I had noticed. My legs weakened, and I staggered backward. Sophia caught me just before I hit the floor.

“Who could have done this?” she asked, her voice sharp with anger.

No one spoke. Just then, Mrs. Claire walked in, her presence commanding the room.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded, her eyes taking in the chaos, landing finally on me, crumpled in Sophia’s arms. I fought to hold back my tears, it felt like being hurt all over again by someone I trusted.

“I asked a question,” she said firmly. My trembling hand pointed in the direction of my destroyed gown.

“Who on earth would do such a wicked thing?” Mrs. Claire’s voice was sharp, and anger simmered in her gaze.

“You all know this kind of behavior is unacceptable. I will get to the bottom of this, and the perpetrator will be punished. Acts like this will get you expelled.” She was fuming.

“Ella, dear,” she said gently, reaching for my hand, “I’ll give you two days to make another dress. I’m so sorry this happened.”

I could only nod. Nothing could replace the feeling of finishing my first masterpiece. Sophia helped me stand, and we returned to our seats. Mrs. Claire began lecturing on ethics in fashion, but my mind wandered. My gaze locked onto Cynthia across the room, she was smiling, triumphant. Lucky for her, I had no evidence to accuse her with. But she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of my downfall. My next dress would be even better.

After class, I stayed behind to start drafting a new pattern. Sophia wanted to stay and help but I begged her to leave for her date with Alex. I sighed, erasing crooked lines and redrawing them. Two hours passed, and frustration won. I decided to clear my mind before continuing. Darkness had settled outside.

Tears threatened to fall as I walked toward the bus stop, my thoughts on my destroyed gown. A motorcycle zoomed past me. My heart jumped. It reversed and headed straight for me. Fear gripped me—I froze. The rider was dressed in black leather from head to toe.

“Did my parents find me?” I panicked, adrenaline pumping. I ran, my footsteps quickening, but the bike was faster. The engine roared behind me. I looked forward too late and collided with a trash can, tumbling beside it. Trash flew into the air. My heart raced, every fiber screaming to run.

The engine stopped. I forced myself to stand, ready to take off but I was too late.I felt hands grab me from behind. Panic surged until I heard a familiar voice.

“Damien?”

It was him. Anger and relief washed over me .

“Why didn’t you say anything? You scared me to death!” I shouted, hitting him repeatedly before collapsing onto the cement.

“You didn’t give me a chance,” he said, eyeing me, concern etched in every line of his face. “I kept calling your name, but at the speed you were running, I doubt you heard me.”

“You’re more aggressive than you look,” He said, rubbing his arm where I bit him.

“You can’t blame me. I thought you were a snatcher and all,” I said , voice shaking.

“I apologize for scaring you,” he said with a soft laugh, extending his hands. I grabbed them, standing.

“Why are you alone?” he asked, worry underlying his words.

“I had something to do,” I replied.

“Why isn’t Sophia with you? You know it’s dangerous to walk alone at night,” he said, stern and protective.

“Is that concern I hear in your tone?” I teased lightly, though my chest still pounded.

“I’m serious, Ella. You could get hurt,” he said, voice flat but heavy with care.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he offered.

“I’m good. Not ready to head home,” I said, walking ahead.

No reply. I felt a pang of disappointment—why would he just leave? Moments later, the engine roared beside me.

“Do you ride?” he asked, eyes glittering.

After Antoine’s death, I hadn’t been able to ride in vehicles without fear. PTSD clutched me at the thought, and motorcycles had never been an option.

“I’ll pass. Don’t want to die early,” I said, quickening my pace.

“Or you’re just scared,” he taunted, his words pricking my pride.

I ignored him and walked on.

“Come on. Live a little,” he laughed.

I had lived dangerously before—it had only cost my brother his life. I continued forward until firm hands grasped me from behind, lifting me onto the front of his bike. My chest pressed against his back, heart racing.

“Just close your eyes,” he said as the engine came alive.

“Put me down!” I screamed, gripping him tightly. Afraid to look down, I shut my eyes, laying against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Slowly, I loosened up, letting the night breeze wash over me.

He stopped in front of a small ice cream shop adorned with twinkling lights.

“Wait here,” Damien said, heading inside.

He returned moments later, two small cups in hand. My heart fluttered.

“Vanilla or strawberry?” he asked.

“Either,” I replied.

“Better—I got both,” he said, handing me a cup filled with both flavors.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling.

“So…” I started.

“So…” he echoed, and we laughed.

“What flavor did you choose?” I asked, peering at his cup.

“Mint,” he grinned.

“Why would you lick toothpaste and call it a treat?” I asked, bewildered.

“You’re biased,” he said, scooping a bite of his “toothpaste” ice cream.

“So…what happened? You look down,” he said, voice gentle and steady.

“I had a rough day,” I admitted, voice cracking.

“I could tell,” he said. “But you don’t have to worry. Whatever it is, I believe you can overcome it.”

“I wish I had the same belief in myself,” I whispered, tears threatening to spill. I couldn’t stop them.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked quickly, offering a handkerchief. I shook my head. He pulled me closer, resting my head against his chest, patting my back.

“You can cry all you want. I won’t ask the reason or judge,” he whispered. I cried until my eyes ran dry.

He handed me another handkerchief to blow my nose.

“You can throw that away,” he said softly. I did, using the previous one to wipe my eyes.

“How do you feel now?” he asked, eyes warm with concern.

“Better… but I need sleep,” I admitted, exhausted.

I climbed onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist tightly.

I gave him directions home, letting sleep overtake me. When the engine stopped, he carried me inside, removed my shoes, and tucked me under the blanket. Too tired to protest, I drifted back into sleep, feeling safe and cared for in a way I hadn’t in a long time.
”Antoine.” I called out.