The memory swings like a wrecking ball, landing with enough force to knock out a layer of consciousness. I suddenly feel light-headed; if I don't take the weight off my legs I'm not sure I can rely on them much longer.

Thank God there's a bench nearby.

I lower myself onto the seat slowly, using two hands for support. I'm shaking all over and it has nothing to do with the cold. I didn't know a memory could evoke this kind of physical reaction, let alone months after the event, but I guess it has more power after being locked away for so long. And it's been there, all along, tucked into the folds of my subconscious like an animal burrowed deep from a predator. All it's taken is a few flakes of snow to draw it out.

I rest my elbows on my knees and let my head fall into my palms, trying to breathe deeply. Perhaps the trembling will let up if I allow myself to calm down. Still, that's easier said than done when images of Josh keep flashing through my mind. Smirking as he hands me a drink. On top of me, pinning my arms above my head. Scrambling to keep hold of me at the edge of the lake.

Disappearing under the surface of the water.

He's gone, I tell myself, and for the first time this feels like a relief. I know it's going to take a while to process what I've remembered, but I have the luxury of time, to take as long as I need. Not to mention the luxury of anonymity. To not have to tell anyone except those I choose. Past Morgan didn't realize the favor she was doing me when she slipped that letter, unsigned, into Hanna's pigeonhole. Kind of like how past Hanna didn't realize the favor she was doing me when she chose to believe it.

My breathing has begun to slow and the nausea is abating and I must've been sitting here for about five minutes when I feel the presence beside me. I feel a flush of embarrassment; it takes a certain level of desperation to sit down beside a girl in the middle of a breakdown. So I lift my head in an effort to make it look like I'm not completely crazy. Then I risk a glance sideways and realize I don't need to.

"Elliot. What are you doing here?"

"By one huge coincidence, I happened to be passing," he says. "You okay?"

I nod, still attempting to save face, though I'm sure he can see right through it. "Yeah. Just, uh... having a moment."

"You need to talk about it?"

I like how he says need instead of want, and also how he's willing to set the undeniable weirdness aside if it would make me feel better. Would it?

"I don't know," I say. "It kind of involves telling you something first. Something I've been keeping from you and, well... pretty much everyone for the last few months."

Elliot is unfazed. "Okay. I'm all ears, if that's what you need."

I take a deep breath. Thread my fingers together in my lap. Consider whether I would feel better if I got it off my chest to the best listener I know, despite the thing we're very pointedly not talking about. My brain must settle on an answer, because then the words come tumbling out.

"It was me," I say. "The girl who wrote the letter. The girl who Josh assaulted." I look up then, bracing myself for a reaction that might throw me off track, but Elliot remains as calm as ever. It leaves me space to clarify. "The thing is, though... I didn't lie to you before. Not intentionally, anyway. When you asked if he ever hurt me. I said no, because that's genuinely what I thought at the time."

"Morgan. You don't owe me an explanation."

"I know," I tell him. "And I know it sounds weird, but I just... couldn't remember. It was like my brain completely blacked out everything from that night. Not because I was drunk or took something. It just disappeared completely, and it stayed that way for months. I didn't even know I'd written the letter. Hell, I was even convinced Hanna had written it. But for some reason it's come back to me, just like that. I can't believe I ever couldn't remember it. All this time... it was me."

He's looking right at me, unafraid of eye contact, and I wonder if he can read me as deeply as his gaze seems to suggest. I hope not, since there's obviously a little more to the story that I don't plan on telling him.

"Oh, Morgan," he says, his expression softening. "I'm sorry."

"No." The word barrels out of me without warning; it takes both of us by surprise. "Don't say you're sorry. Because that's part of what I hate about this. I've barely had a chance to process the information, and already I feel like a victim. I feel like this giant label has been slapped on my forehead, when in reality nothing's changed. I should be the same person I was yesterday. I want to be that person. So why do I already feel so different?"

The familiar threat of tears stings my eyes, emotion ready to overspill, but I'm determined to hold them back—even if it doesn't stop Elliot from noticing.

"You're right," he says. "Nothing's changed, and nothing more should have to. That includes my opinion of you. I'll take back my apology because I know you don't need it. But listen. When I also tell you how much admiration I have for you, how you're pretty much the strongest, most honest, and genuinely good person I know, and how lucky I count myself to have you in my life... well, that's not changed a bit."

It brings a smile to my face, obviously. But it doesn't fix everything. "It's just not fair," I tell him. "Josh brought his label on himself. He could've chosen differently. Me, on the other hand—I got no say in the matter, and now I'm going to be a victim for the rest of my life."

"Only if you want to think of yourself that way."

"What else is there?"

"Being the girl who spoke out," he says. "The girl who told her story and exposed the truth about a guy who would've otherwise been immortalized as a saint. But to the rest of the world, you don't have to be anything. You may have revealed Josh, but you don't have to reveal yourself."

He's right. When I think about it, there's no reason for this revelation to go any further than the two of us. The truth came out a while ago and did its job then. What is there to be gained my unmasking myself? The initial frenzy has already died down, campus' attention drawn to wherever Hanna directs it next, and a new piece of gossip would only stoke the flames again. It wouldn't be good for anyone—least of all me.

Realizing it comes as such a relief.

"How do you do it?" I ask, after a moment's pause. "How do you always know the right thing to say?"

He chuckles, but once his gaze drifts away from me the silence beds in and it's less comfortable than I was going for.

"Believe me, I really don't," he says, scratching the back of his head. "I thought that was obvious from the way I took off that night. And how I haven't had the courage to speak to you since."

I knew it had to come eventually, but my face still flushes. "Look, I'm sorry about that—"

"You don't need to apologize."

"I do, because it clearly made you uncomfortable—"

"No, it didn't," he says, with conviction that stops my words in their tracks. "And that's the problem. That's why I freaked out. Because I do feel something for you, and that only gets more obvious the more time I spend with you. But it's still in my head that you were my brother's girlfriend. I know I shouldn't feel any loyalty to him—not now—but it's hard to shake a habit of nineteen years."

Before I can overthink it, I reach over and place my hand over his. Thankfully, he doesn't pull away. "I get it," I tell him. "It's weird to me, too. I'm stuck in this kind of limbo. Josh isn't here, which means I can't break up with him, so where does that leave me? In this morbid half relationship for the rest of my life? I shouldn't feel any loyalty to him either, but try telling my brain that. It didn't stop me feeling crazy guilty after what happened with you."

Elliot sighs. "It doesn't seem fair that he's still got such a hold over us."

"No," I say. "It doesn't."

Silence descends once again, and even though there's a steady stream of people passing by and the general buzz that comes with it, we're locked in a bubble for two. After how easy our friendship has been, it's almost hard to believe it's come to this.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" I say eventually. "I know what I want. I know it's pretty much the only thing that's felt right in six months. And yet, as much as I want it... I also know it's not the right time."

"I know." Elliot nods. "As much as it kills me to admit it... you're right."

"We're too sensible for our own good, aren't we?"

"We really are."

"It's not, like, a never, though," I say. "I'm not saying there won't be a time when it is right. And if we're both on the same page when that moment comes around then, hey, great. It's just... right now, you're the most valuable friend in my life. And I don't want to lose that."

"Don't look so terrified as you say it." He smiles affectionately. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank God," I say, smiling back. "Because it's been a lonely couple of weeks."

It feels like a natural ending: all deep and meaningful, a closing of one chapter and a bridge across to the next. Which feels like a relief, but also comes with a very loaded silence, as both of us scramble to work out what to say next. Something that does the moment justice, without making things unbearably awkward.

Thankfully, the sound of our phones pinging simultaneously does the interruption for us.

I slide mine out and inspect the screen. At the top of the notifications list is our group chat with Fazia and Adam, which is named after an ever-changing series of photography puns and currently titled Shutter The Fuck Up.

I've been keeping up with the messages, even if I haven't allowed myself to reply for fear of making Elliot feel weird.

FAZIA: Latest prompt is up. Light and dark. Who's in later?

FAZIA: @Elliot, Adam says he's got a kickass idea and is willing to donate it to a charitable cause. You.

ADAM: It brings a tear to my eye to think there are still people out there who don't know what it feels like to win :'(

I hear Elliot chuckle beside me.

ELLIOT: You're an asshole.

ADAM: Offer still stands.

He looks up at the same time I do. "Got any plans for tonight?"

"Absolutely none."

"You want to join them?" he asks, then seems to second guess himself. "No pressure, though. It's completely fine if you don't feel up to it."

"Elliot," I say, reassuringly. "I'd love to."

He smiles then, the relief like a breath of fresh air between us, and it stirs something in me that means I can't help but smile too. It's remarkable how quickly things have changed. Not just this morning, after the memory hit me—but also from the start of the school year, and even when I first set foot on this college campus. In some ways, I'm unrecognizable from the person I used to be. But in others, I haven't changed at all.

I'm not sure the old Morgan would've had the strength I do now. To accept what has happened in the past, and grow from the best bits rather than letting the bad bits take over my life. To repair relationships that have been broken along the way, rather than consigning them to be yet more casualties of Josh's actions. To recognize that what I need is more important than what I want—and that more often than not it involves deviating from old habits.

But the old Morgan had her strengths, too.

She was the girl who slipped that letter in Hanna's pigeonhole and made sure the world knew her truth.

And if there's a part of me I never want to lose, it'll always be her.

THE END

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And just like that, it's over.

First of all, I'd like to say thank you: to the people who've been following this story since I posted the very first chapter, to the people who've binge-read 46 chapters to get to this point, and everybody in between. Engagement with an ongoing story can be hard to come by on Wattpad (reads always shoot up when you mark a story completed!), but the small group of loyal readers and commenters that have come on this journey have made every word worth it.

Second of all, if there's any feedback you have about this story (positive or constructive!) feel free to let me know in the comments below. The first step in my editing process is always going back through the Wattpad version and seeing what people think about different aspects, so you would be doing a huge favour to my future self!

Thirdly, I will be putting this story up for this year's Watty Awards, so every and any bit of continued support is appreciated! Whether that's adding this story to a reading list on your profile, or sending the link to a friend you think would enjoy it –– it will all help massively.

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Until next time...

- Leigh