The Cold Shoulder
Ignoring Logan wasn’t easy, but it felt necessary—like holding my hand over an open wound to stop the bleeding, even as it hurt more with every second. Each time I saw his name pop up on my phone, it was like the scab being ripped off, the pain fresh and raw all over again. And when I felt his eyes on me in class, that same pain twisted in my chest, sharp and relentless. I didn’t want his apologies or his explanations—not after what had happened.
The texts had started the morning after the party. At first, I’d glanced at them, my heart skipping at the familiar name on my screen. But as the reality of his words sank in, I stopped opening them altogether.
Logan: I’m sorry. Can we talk?
Logan: Please, Em. I screwed up, I know that. Just give me a chance.
Logan: I hate how things are right now. Say something. Anything.
Message after message appeared, each one sitting unopened, a quiet testament to his persistence. I couldn’t bring myself to block him, but I didn’t reply to a single one. The hurt and anger still churned too hot and fierce inside me.
When we crossed paths in the hallway, I quickened my steps, keeping my head down as if the floor tiles held all the answers I needed. His presence loomed, a gravitational pull I forced myself to resist. In class, I made it a point to sit as far from him as the seating chart allowed, my focus locked on my notes even as I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face.
Logan, for his part, wasn’t subtle. During English, his frustration radiated off him in waves. I didn’t have to look to know he was staring—his presence felt like a shadow, heavy and unshakable. The tension between us was palpable, so thick it seemed to fill the air in the classroom. Even our teacher seemed to notice when she paired us up for yet another assignment.
“Is everything okay, you two?” she asked, her sharp eyes flicking between us. Her tone was casual, but the furrow in her brow suggested she suspected otherwise.
“Fine,” I said shortly, my voice clipped as I kept my gaze glued to my desk.
“Yeah,” Logan muttered, though his tight jaw and clenched fists told a different story.
Working together felt like walking through a minefield. Logan kept trying to soften the mood with small talk, his voice lower and gentler than usual. But I shut him down every time, my answers curt and final.
“Emma,” he said at one point, his voice almost pleading. “Can we just talk? Like, really talk?”
I ignored him, scribbling notes furiously, even as my hand trembled slightly.
“You can’t just ignore me forever,” he said after a long pause, his voice dropping to a whisper so no one else could hear.
“Watch me,” I replied, the ice in my tone making him flinch. His shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment, I almost felt a twinge of guilt. Almost.
Sarah, as always, was quick to notice. She cornered me after class, her expression a mix of exasperation and concern. Blocking my path with a stubborn resolve that reminded me why we were friends, she crossed her arms and stared me down.
“Okay, this has to stop,” she said, her voice firm. “You’re both miserable, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“I’m not miserable,” I lied, lifting my chin defiantly. The words felt hollow even as I said them.
Sarah raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really? Because you look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, though my tone lacked conviction.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Logan’s trying, Emma. He’s trying to fix things.”
Her words hit a nerve, and before I could stop myself, I snapped. “Well, maybe he should’ve thought about that before he let Vanessa ruin my life.” My voice rose slightly, drawing a few glances from students passing by, but I didn’t care. “I trusted him, Sarah. And he didn’t do anything.”
Sarah’s expression softened, her exasperation melting into empathy. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she reached out to place a hand on my arm. “I get it. I do. But shutting him out completely isn’t going to make you feel better. It’s just going to make both of you worse.”
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with truth I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. I crossed my arms and looked away, my jaw tightening. “I’m not ready to forgive him,” I said quietly, the admission like a weight pressing down on my chest.
Sarah studied me for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay. But just… don’t let the anger consume you, Em. I don’t think that’s who you are.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because as much as I hated to admit it, part of me still cared. Part of me still wanted to believe Logan deserved another chance. But my walls were up, high and unyielding, and I wasn’t ready to let anyone knock them down—not yet.
