𝕳𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖘 (𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖎𝖉 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

12 - michelle

TW:  Mentions of sexual assault and emotional abuse

Please do not read this chapter if you are uncomfortable. I don't want anyone to get triggered. It's based from my experience. I'm sharing this as my way of healing. This is a safe space. You can message me anytime, my loves. 

You went to the bathroom again, getting your make-up remover for your smudged eyeliner and mascara. You'd have to re-do it again. As you stared at your image in the mirror, you can hear your reflection talking back at you.

Y/N, you know the consequences.

---

You got in to Spencer's car, heading to his said surprise for you. You still wore the same outfit Spencer did wonders in.

Spencer put on something different from his frequent attire. He put on a gray v-neck paired with a denim jacket, jeans, and his usual converse. He slicked his hair backward, making his jaw prominent. He always looked wonderful in whatever he wears—but this one made him more confident about himself. 

"Spencer, where are we going?"

"We're almost there, princess. Can't you wait longer?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not a big fan of surprises," you spoke, fiddling your fingers. 

Spencer placed his hand on your thigh, comforting you, "Trust me."

After a few minutes, he parked his truck in front of the Smithsonian National Museum. You glared at the tall building, admiring the structures. You've wanted to visit the Smithsonian, preferably alone, but they always reminded that you were not here for leisure. 

You returned to reality by a knock on the window. Spencer gesturing you to unlock the door. You did, Spencer opened it for you, "Sorry, zoned out for a minute."

"It's alright. Let's go?"

You nodded. Both of you climbed up the stairs of the museum. You turned to face Spencer for a bit, unaware of your surroundings. You bumped into someone, water spilling over your black top. She apologized, "I'm so sorry." 

You pat on the damp fabric of your turtleneck, "Please watch where you're going next time."

In your peripheral, you can see she reached the inside of her bag. She grabbed some tissues and gave them to you, "Thanks."

"Stella?" She inquired.

You looked up at the woman who just said one of the names you used while growing up and before using your original name, Y/N. Your heart stopped at the familiarity of her face—a face you haven't seen in a decade. 

Michelle.

You definitely knew you are completely and utterly fucked. You prayed to whoever that Spencer didn't pick up any of your micro-expressions. 

One of your father's rules is that every time you moved, you had to have no contact with the people you called your friends. You obeyed. No communication was the only way you had to protect them. 

You had to be clueless and mask away how much you missed your best friend, you answered back at her, "Sorry, wrong person."

Michelle gives you a half-smile, acknowledging your statement. Her eyes telling a different story. You saw how much it upset her you weren't Stella. But you were Stella. You can't admit it, especially in front of Spencer. She clears her throat, "I better get going. Sorry again."

 You nodded, throwing the tissues into the trash. Upon seeing Michelle again, you looked back upon a painful memory of your friendship.

"Stella, is it true?" Michelle asked. The both of you walked out of your last class, Biology.