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henrysteelsmurryme · 2 years

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EPISODE 2 (~6k words)

let me know what date ideas you guys would want to see in future parts !! (both group and one-on-one)

This was also inspired by finelinevogue’s love island series! Check it out!

EPISODE 1 – EPISODE 2

bachelorry masterlist

WARNINGS: conversation about poor mental health and suicide

: :

The women sit anxiously on the couches in the villa. Sheridan, a twenty-three year old fifth-grade teacher, stands before them, holding a card in her hands as she eyes her friends mischievously.

Slowly, she opens the envelope. Beau senses a camera pointing toward her, so she tries to keep her face neutral as Sheridan begins reading the names for the first group date.

Ideally, you don’t want to hear your name; that means you get a one-on-one date with Harry. Everyone is itching for some time alone with the man, especially those who didn’t even get to speak with him the first night.

Realistically, everyone is happy to at least spend some time with him outside of the house. Some women’s smiles are forced, some are genuine.

Beau’s smile when she hears her name is a little forced, because she’s confused.

She thought she and Harry had really clicked the first night. If she’s being quite honest, she thought of herself as being at the top of his list, just because of how well their conversation flowed and how easily they had clicked.

Now, her name being called for the group date confirms how cocky she was. She had a little taste of reality when she learned that Harry had already kissed a woman, Anna, the first night, as well as given her the first impression rose.

Honestly, Beau needed this reality check. She really thought that Harry felt the same for her as she does for him, and she thought it was only her. Now, she realizes how utterly stupid and naive she is to think that.

Harry is dating thirty women. He has already kissed one and given her the first impression rose, and now he has asked two other women on one-on-one date’s. And none of those women are Beau.

She can’t just coast through this process. She can’t think she is the only woman in the world for Harry, that he can’t possibly feel the same for the other women as he does for her. If she continues this, she’ll end up blindsided and devastated.

She’s going to have to work, essentially. She’s going to have to put in actual effort in order to come out on top. However, she is more of a journey-oriented type of gal rather than a results-oriented one; she can’t lose herself in this process, and she can’t manipulate her way to the final four. It wouldn’t be right, and it would, frankly, be impossible—she can’t be bothered to pretend to be anyone else but herself; she wouldn’t even know how to do that.

The hint for the group date is ‘The church bells are ringing.’ Some women groan theatrically, some huff, and others are beaming.

Beau and Juniper share a look before rolling their eyes. It’s a bridal shoot.

“Classic,” she deadpans as she pushes herself off the couch.

The women get ready fairly quickly, considering that the clothes they’re wearing to the date are going to be taken off.

When the van pulls up to the destination, with the cameras panned on them, the women squeal excitedly, mostly because Harry is standing at the entrance.

He’s wearing a pair of dark fitted jeans accompanied with a brown belt and a cream, lacy, short-sleeved, collared shirt over a white tank. His hair sits nicely on top of his head, with a couple stray curls falling over his forehead.

The women run to him. Miranda, a twenty-six-year-old waitress leads the group, sprinting to Harry and jumping into his arms. Harry laughs as he hugs her, and the woman wraps her legs around his waist.

“So fucking extra,” Juniper mumbles to her. She huffs, and Beau smirks at her expected irritability.

Every woman greets Harry with a hug. Beau gives him a wide grin, subtly inhaling his cologne. She almost moans at the scent, which would be just about the most humiliating thing she could ever do. The spicy aroma combined with tobacco and vanilla envelop her senses. She wants to nuzzle her nose into his neck and be wrapped up in his strong arms all day.

She also swears Harry’s got a twinkle in his eye as he smiles warmly at her. She’s definitely going crazy already.

He makes his spiel about how he can already see his future wife in this group. He says he wants the women to have fun dressing up, and to have fun with him during this date. He introduces them to Franco, the Bachelor Nation’s photographer, and then he dismisses the women to let them find the dress for them.

: :

“Oh, my Gosh,” Ariana throws her head back and lets out a theatrical groan. “Not the bridal shoot. It’s so cringe.”

“Like, it’s the first group date. Plus, it’s so overdone.”

The women on the couch watch with deadpanned faces as the women on the screen squeal at the hundreds of dresses in front of them. Immediately, they rush to different areas of the store, delicately pulling the skirts and admiring the gowns.

The shot then switches to Harry, who’s in a separate, smaller room, slipping into a black suit.

“Hm. I thought he would go for something a little more…out there.”

“I’m excited for this date,” Harry voices over as he continues to dress. Then the camera cuts to him standing outside the shop, where they obviously had filmed him before the women arrived. “I think the women pretty much know what this is going to be.” He laughs. “I love to dress up, and I’m sure they love to dress up. It’s supposed to be fun, with no competition or anything like that. I just want them to enjoy this and have fun with it.”

“That’s a bunch of BS.” Ariana barks out a laugh. “There’s always one person who gets all jealous or who does too much.”

They continue to watch as the women rush around the store and try on gowns.

“What do you think of this?” Beau asks Juniper.

Juniper takes one look at the dress, her upper lip curling just so. Her face makes the women on the couch laugh. “I’d rather just not answer.”

Beau barks out a laugh, then she nods at the one in Juniper’s hands. “Are you gonna try that on?”

“I could not be friends with Juniper,” Jaclyn says, shaking her head. “I’m way too sensitive, and she’s kinda mean.”

“I don’t think she’s mean,” Ariana counters. “She’s just…blunt. I think she’s a little uptight, too.”

“Juniper’s…a tough-love kind of gal,” Beau says on screen, coincidentally continuing the viewer’s conversation. “She’s lucky I don’t get offended easily, or else I’d cry the moment she glares at me.” She laughs, then the camera pans back to the duo, where they’ve each tried on a dress and are admiring themselves in the mirror.

“I like this,” Beau says confidently, smoothing her hands down the dress, despite it being the one Juniper snarled at.

It’s a silky ivory gown, with the material softly draping across the bust. It drapes lowly along the back as well, revealing most of her skin. It fits along her body, showcasing any curves, and then flows out behind her. Once again, like her jumpsuit on the first night, there are no embellishment, no jewels, nor lace.

The red head sighs. “As long as you like it.”

“Shut up,” Beau laughs, and Juniper joins in with her. “At least I don’t look like a tablecloth.”

Juniper’s ivory dress is elegant with obvious Victorian inspiration. The main centerpiece is the embroidered tulle capelet with Guipure lace dangles. It pins around her neck, and drapes down to her hands, and covers her abdomen. The dress itself is simple, slim-fitting with lace embellishments.

“[Bleep] you.” Then Juniper gasps and makes quick eye contact with the camera, then with someone off camera. She lets out a laugh, and turns back to the mirror, admiring herself. “This is timeless,” she says snootily, straightening her back and lifting her chin.

“Which is another word for ‘old.’”

The viewers giggle at their banter.

“No, it’s cute though. I love it."

“Same. It fits your style very well.”

“See?” Ariana says, “She does have a nice side.”

The camera then cuts to the women standing outside, near a display. There are white rose petals scattered all over the lush green grass, underneath an arch with thick, green foliage and small white flowers.

Then Harry walks up, in the black suit. The viewers then see that underneath the jacket is a lace shirt, and instead of a tie, he is wearing a black neck bow.

“See? I knew there was going to be something quirky.”

The women scream excitedly as he approaches them, yelling their compliments and telling him how good he looks.

“Thank you, ladies.” He bows slightly, pressing his lips together to smother the bashful grin. “You all look beautiful.”

The women line up, bouncing on their feet and trying to muffle their ecstatic grins as they wait their turn.

They look beautiful, wearing different kinds of dresses that fit their personality. Each one steps up to Harry, getting real close as Franco snaps shot after shot.

Juniper and Beau are near the end of the group, because Beau said to save the best for last. Juniper then said that she would go last.

Some of the women’s pictures with Harry are serious. Some are goofy, with the couples laughing and teasing each other. Almost all of them kiss Harry, wrapping their arms around his neck and popping a leg.

In front of Beau is Miranda, wearing an off-the-shoulder royal ivory gown. The fabric appears to be honeycomb, with an elegant bateau neckline, and long sleeves. To complete the look, she’s wearing a crowned veil that is as long as the train.

“You look like a modern princess,” Beau says, smiling at her.

“Thank you!” Then Miranda eyes her dress, her smile tightening into something a little more faux. “I saw your dress on the rack and thought it was too plain for me.” She laughs. “I guess I just like to be extra.”

“Okay?”

“Bitch.”

Beau shrugs, an easy smile on her face. “Well, you look beautiful.”

After Miranda turns around, Beau turns back to Juniper, her smile dropping and her upper lip curling in a ‘what the fuck?’ face. Juniper returns a snarl and rolls her eyes.

Beau huffs quietly and turns to the front. She dips her chin and examines her dress, hesitantly smoothing her hands down the fabric.

Juniper leans in, the microphones picking up what she whispers into her ear. “Ignore her. You look beautiful. Seriously.”

“Thanks,” Beau says quietly, lifting her chin and watching Miranda pose with Harry. She sucks in a deep breath, her shoulders rising then falling with the exhale. She squares her shoulders and smiles when Harry looks at her.

He’s sporting a cheesy grin as she approaches him. She narrows her eyes, and his grin only grows.

He shakes his head, as if in awe. He grabs her hand and carefully scans her dress. When he meets her eyes, he says, “Your name becomes more and more fitting every time I see you.”

The women squeal and shriek on the couch, gasping for breath and grasping each other for support.

The camera catches Beau rolling her eyes good-naturedly, pressing her lips together. “Shut up. You look beautiful.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, his features slacking. “I look beautiful?”

She nods, looking into his eyes, then her gaze falls to his chest. “I love the shirt, and the tie.”

Harry swallows thickly, smoothing a hand down his jacket as he shuffles in his spot. He wraps a hand around her waist, preparing the couple for the shoot. “Thank you.”

He turns to face the camera, and Beau glances at him—or, more notably, his cheeks—once more, a smirk on her face before she also turns her head. “Wait, the right side is my good side.”

Harry huffs, making a show of rolling his eyes as he drops his arm from her waist, lifting the other one as she rounds his body. “Happy?”

Beau sighs contently, posing and smiling for the camera. “Yep.” She lays a hand on his chest, angling her body towards him. He pulls her closer, his firm grip on her waist making her feel hot all over.

“Beautiful!” Franco sings, snapping picture after picture.

Beau then digs her fingers into Harry’s waist. He squawks, twisting his body away from her fingers as the camera continues to shutter. He turns his body, pressing his front tightly against hers.

He reaches down and grabs her hands, and she tries to resist as he lifts them. Eventually, she gives up, and he rests them on his chest, laying his hands over hers, staring right into her eyes.

“Yes! I love it!”

Despite her efforts, a small smile stretches Beau’s lips.

“Oh, my God,” Jaclyn whines. “Do you see the way they’re looking at each other?”

Ariana pouts. “I want someone to look at me like that.”

“Did you see him blush when she called him beautiful? That was so cute.”

“I would dip you,” she says quietly, “but I know I would drop you.”

Harry smiles. “We wouldn’t want that.” Then he quickly wraps his arms around her waist and dips her.

Beau’s mouth falls open in shock as her world is flipped upside down. She’s laughing, her eyes crinkling shut, as she reaches out and wraps her arms around his neck.

Then Harry leans down and kisses her. Beau barely has time to shut her eyes before he’s pulling her back up. She sways a little, and Harry laughs and holds her hips to steady her.

“Shut up!” Ariana yells at the television. “That was so cute.”

: :

The women get ready for the final part of the group date: the “cocktail” party. It’s more casual than the official cocktail party, so Beau wears a pair of straight-legged, light-washed jeans, a fitted white crop top with a large black leather jacket over it, and a pair of chunky black boots.

The setting is cozy, with dark wood flooring and furniture, and dim lighting.

Immediately, when the women walk in, their eyes land on the single rose delicately laid on the table between the couches. The mood then shifts from one of ease and jokes to something a little more serious.

It’s a good reminder that not everyone’s time here is the same. Some are going home this week, some the next week, and some won’t go home until the show is over.

It reminds Beau that she needs to work. There is no coasting; her rose isn’t guaranteed just because of a few positive interactions.

Harry sits in the middle, the women surrounding him. “Thank you for coming on this group date with me. I hope you guys had just as much fun as I did. I really enjoyed the small moments each of us shared, and I hope to have some more with each of you tonight.” He raises his glass in the air, the women following. Together, the group says, “Cheers!”

Almost immediately after, Miranda grasps Harry’s arm and asks to pull him for a chat.

Beau pushes down her irritation, because it’s mostly directed at their interaction earlier in the day. For some unknown and bothersome reason, she hasn’t been able to fully move past it.

“Don’t worry about her. That was a bitchy move,” Juniper assures her.

“What was?” Sheridan asks.

Beau shrugs, appearing nonchalant. “She just made a comment about how my dress was ‘plain.’” She inhales deeply and shrugs, opening her mouth to speak more, but she finds she doesn’t know what else to say.

“Oh, what the fuck?” Sheridan makes a face. “You looked gorgeous! I absolutely loved, like,” she gestures a curved line to her own chest, “the front and how it was draped in the back as well. She’s been making comments like that all day.”

Beau sighs. “It’s whatever. I’m just gonna ignore it.”

“Or you can confront her so it doesn’t happen again,” Juniper suggests, a little impatiently.

Beau wrinkles her nose. “Nah.” Her friend rolls her eyes.

One by one, the women leave to talk with Harry, until Juniper and Bella are the only ones left.

“Since you said you didn’t get to talk with him much during the cocktail party, you can go before me.”

“Ugh!” Beau leans back against the couch and squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t want to do that again.”

“It’s Sheridan. She’ll let you steal him. And don’t think about what happened the first time.” She pauses. “Or the second time.” Beau lifts her head to glare at her. “Sorry. Just don’t think about that. You were able to do it last time, so,” she shoos her with her hands, “go do it right now so I have enough time to talk to him, too.” Then her voice hardens with impatience. “I’ll be pissed if I don’t get more than five minutes with him.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Beau reluctantly stands, and she drags her feet as she maneuvers her way through some hallways, finally finding the room where she hears Harry’s and Sheridan’s voices.

Thankfully, the blonde woman is a sweetheart, and says, “Of course!” when Beau interrupts and asks to take Harry.

Harry’s smile is small but no less smitten. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Beau sits on the loveseat beside him. When their thighs touch, Beau is painfully reminded of their brief kiss earlier. Before she even realized that he was kissing her, it was over. She didn’t get to truly feel his lips, to taste him.

As she glances at his plump lips, all she wants to do is kiss him. They can save talking for the rose ceremony.

Harry stretches an arm out, laying it on the back of the seat behind Beau. The hairs on the back of her neck brush against the fabric of his jacket. “Did you have fun today?”

She nods. “I did. I really enjoyed it. It was a lot of fun.”

“Yeah? I’m glad. I had a lot of fun, too.” He looks deeply into her eyes, and now that Beau is able to hold eye contact, she notices his gaze flicker down every once in a while. He’s looking all over her face—much like she’s doing right now, actually.

“So…” he says intentionally. “Tell me about yourself.”

Beau makes a pained face. “How about you ask me questions, and I’ll answer them.”

He slowly nods, shuffling in his seat. He crosses his legs, angling his body towards her.

Beau really appreciates the little things he does when he’s around her—and the other women, probably—to let her know that he has her full attention. The body language, the eye contact, the attentive listening—it makes her feel like the only woman in his world.

“What was your biggest obstacle you had to overcome?”

Beau scrunches her face up, making Harry laugh. “Oh-kay. I thought you were gonna start off with something easy, like my favorite color.”

He nods quickly. “Oh, yeah. What is your favorite color?”

“Purple, yours?”

“Orange.”

Beau nods approvingly. “Interesting. I feel like that’s an unpopular opinion.”

Harry shrugs, a grin on his face. “What can I say? I’m a—” Then his eyebrows furrow, and his mouth remains open. “Wait, no.”

Beau chuckles and shakes her head, Harry joining in. She can smell his minty breath as it caresses her face, and she wants to lean in and nudge her head against his jaw, which is an urge she has never felt before, nor was she aware that it could be a thing.

Beau doesn’t consider herself as someone who’s interested in PDA, despite having never been in a relationship before. But being twenty-seven years old, she knows things about herself, and she just thinks that she would keep the PDA pretty limited.

She thinks.

Beau hums, looking into the distance to think of an answer to his first question, despite already having one. She’s just trying to think of a different answer, one that isn’t so long and boring. It’s one she’s repeated plenty of times, and it’s been so long since all the juicy stuff happened that she doesn’t even remember the juicy details. Each time she repeats the story, it keeps getting shorter and shorter, so what’s the point of even telling it to him?

She lets out a resigned sigh, knowing that she’s taken too much time thinking, and she hasn’t come up with anything else other than ‘I don’t really have a sob story.’

That’s what she thinks of when the contestants on this show ‘open up.’ It’s just sob story after sob story with some trauma dumping sprinkled in.

That being said, however, Beau isn’t one to undermine others’ experiences; she already does that enough to herself.

“Well,” she starts, already regretting this. “I guess my little story starts during my last year of college. I…Um. Well, a month into the semester, I was already thinking about taking a mental health leave.”

Harry’s face neutralizes into a serious expression, one that Beau isn’t a fan of. She doesn’t want this to be a heavy conversation. “I just…could never relax. I felt like I was constantly doing work and when I wasn’t doing work I was worrying about what I wasn’t doing. And yet, I still felt like I was behind, just, all the time.”

She inhales deeply, trying to reign in the right words. “I…Like, when I would go home, I would cry every single time I had to go back to school, and…” She lets out an incredulous scoff. “I didn’t even do that freshman year when my parents said goodbye after dropping me off for the first time. I never cried going back to college; I always looked forward to going back. But…” She shrugs. “Senior year, I…School just wasn’t fun anymore. The moment I stepped onto campus, I was anxious and stressed to amounts I couldn’t handle.”

She pauses, wondering just how deep she should go. One thing she also hates is that when she takes the time to really dive into that year, it still makes her choke up, and it still—annoyingly—makes her cry sometimes.

“I…I was crying everyday. And I used to be someone that never cried, like. I never cried, but I was crying every day, before class, after class, during class. I would sit in the back of the class and just—cry.”

She avoids Harry’s eyes, knowing that those damn windows to the soul are as clear and transparent as air. She doesn’t want to look at that right now.

She keeps beating around the bush, because she still hasn’t made up her mind on whether she should tell him or not. This is the thing she struggles with the most, that she can barely admit now, years later.

She decides to beat it some more. “I was so anxious that I started to get chest pains, and, like—“ she lets out a small laugh. “Before, I didn’t even know chest pains were a thing, like, I didn’t realize that your chest would actually hurt.” She takes the risk and spares a glance at Harry as she lets out another quiet laugh, hoping that he joins in so the air between them isn’t so tense and awkward and silent. It’s completely silent between Harry and the producers and cameramen. They’re all just standing there, watching her.

It’s not making it any easier. “But, like, it was affecting everything. My relationships with my friends completely tanked. I just wanted to be alone, because I’d be so exhausted from faking interest in conversation with strangers during the day that I could barely do it with the people that mattered. I could tell, in real time, that things were weird between me and my friends. I was getting more sensitive, I laughed less, smiled less, joked less. I knew it, as it was happening, and…I couldn’t do anything about it. And I didn’t really want to either.”

She feels a familiar lump annoyingly form in her throat. This is the last thing she wanted to talk about. She thought she could save the sob story for later. She wanted to talk about different things, about her family and friends and things she likes to do. Not that she wanted to kill herself for years, which she still hasn’t got to actually saying.

She swallows thickly. “And then basketball started, and I felt a lot of pressure as the captain and the senior, and…It used to be an escape from all the stress of school.” She sighs heavily, continuing in one breath. “And then during a game I was playing so bad that my coach screamed at me at half time, and then I started bawling my eyes out when everyone left the locker room, and I told my coach that I thought I was depressed.” She clenches her jaw, hating that her eyes are starting to glisten. “I cried the entire second half. I played maybe a minute, all while trying to not cry on the court, and then Coach pulled me out and I stood behind the bench and cried the rest of the game.”

She takes a moment to smile bitterly, desperately trying to ease this tension. She softly snorts out a laugh and sends a teasingly accusing glare at Harry, because this is all his fault.

His features soften, and he bends his arm and rests his temple against the heel of his palm. His other hand lays itself on her thigh and his thumb rubs comforting circles into the denim. “You don’t have to continue,” he says softly.

Beau says with a sigh, “No, you already made me start, so I might as well finish.”

He finally lets out a soft snort of amusement.

“Anyways. I…Well, that kind of sparked this whole downward spiral of my mental health. I couldn’t wait to graduate, to get out of there. I didn’t want to see my friends, I…didn’t want to be there anymore. And I thought that when I left that all my anxieties would stay there, and I would go home and be normal again. Which—” another wry smile “—I knew it was naive, foolish, wishful thinking.” She looks down at her lap, her voice considerably lower. “I was just hopeful, I guess.

“So, surprise, things didn’t get better when I got home. Miraculously, they got worse.” She gulps, wondering if she should really open this can of worms. “I…The first semester, I…Every day…” She presses her lips together and twists them, thinking about how she’s going to say this. “I thought a lot about, just…” She sighs, her voice quiet and grave, a tone Harry never really thought she would ever use, “taking my car and driving down the highway at three in the morning and…” Now she’s really starting to choke up. She takes a moment to swallow down the lump in her throat and blink away the tears. “Just, go as fast as I can and drive right into a bridge or something concrete.”

She wants to continue speaking immediately after saying it, to brush over it as quickly as possible, but she finds herself stuck, which gives everyone in the room plenty of time to let her words sink in.

“I knew I would never do it,” she says surely. “Really. I looked it up, and there’s active suicidal thoughts, and there’s passive ones. I was thinking about it. Constantly. But I knew that I would never follow through. I…already thought of every way possible to do it, and I crossed every single one out except for…” she nods suggestively, “the car, but…I knew I was never going to do that either.

“It’s like…that one song. She says, like, I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to live like this. Like, that’s exactly how I felt. I didn’t want to actually die; I just hated how I was living, and I really didn’t see it getting any better, because I just refused to get better. I knew I had to get better, but it was hard, and it was somehow easier and more comfortable to stay miserable and depressed.”

Thankfully, her eyes have dried up. “It got so much worse after I graduated. The thoughts and the depression seriously set me back in finding my big-girl job. It’s…It’s something I still struggle with. It’s not nearly as bad as before, but…sometimes I still get into these episodes.”

Her voice takes on a much lighter tone. “But, you know, I’ve been in therapy and I dabble in medications, so it’s a lot easier to manage, and…yeah.”

She presses her lips together and awkwardly smiles, staring at the floor ahead of her.

She doesn’t realize how tense she is until Harry’s arm lays itself back against her shoulders. His hand drapes down and delicately traces up and down her shoulder opposite of him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly, to which Beau almost rolls her eyes at. He notices. “I—Sorry, I—“ He exhales shortly, then sits up straight, angling his body to completely face her. His forearm brushes her shoulder, his hand still on her thigh. “How would you like me to respond?”

And it takes Beau everything in her to not start bawling her eyes out in front of the small crowd in this room.

When she speaks, her voice is shaky and thick with emotion. “Um…” She clenches her jaw, looking away when her eyes start to well up with tears again. “I…I don’t know,” she says sadly, feeling overwhelmed with guilt for making Harry feel guilty about the way he reacted, and then having no solutions to offer when he asks for them.

Harry carefully studies her for a moment, then he murmurs, “Come here,” as he reaches for Beau’s hand and wraps an arm around her shoulders to bring her to his body.

Immediately, her arms wrap around his abdomen, and she hides her face in his neck. She holds him tightly, inhaling deep and calculated breaths.

Harry holds her firmly, and one hand reaches up to cup the back of her neck, his thumb softly pacing across her skin. He can feel her breaths on his neck, can feel the tremble of her body, can feel the moisture of her tears.

Beau calms down rather quickly in his arms, so much so that she almost falls asleep before he gently pulls away.

The look they share is soft and vulnerable. Harry reaches up and swipes the remnants of her crying from her cheeks. Beau sniffles one last time before slowly standing up, feeling exhausted in every sense.

Harry holds her hand tightly as they begin to walk out of the room. Then Beau spits out, quietly, “I don’t want the rose.”

He knits his eyebrows together. “What?”

“I don’t want the rose,” she repeats in the same quiet, rushed tone. She doesn’t explain herself any further, leaving him alone in the room, but not before giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

When she returns to the area where all the women are quietly chatting, Juniper gives her a harsh glare, her voice even harsher. “I thought I told you to not take too long. I don’t even get to talk to him now!”

Beau rushes to the couched, desperate to get out from under the women’s irritated and judgmental stares. “Sorry,” she says quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears. See, this is what happens when she pours her deepest, darkest secret: she usually can’t stop crying the rest of the night. One small, little thing that normally wouldn’t bother her instead sets her off in a waterfall of tears, like Juniper’s vexed tone.

Luckily, the red-haired woman notices something is off. Her furrowed eyebrows quickly shift from anger to concern, and she rests a hand on her friend’s arm. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly.

Beau nods stiffly, staring straight ahead at the rose on the table. “Yeah.”

Juniper narrows her eyes at her obvious lie, but she thankfully drops it for the time being. She keeps her hand on Beau’s arm, softly stroking her fingers up and down her skin. She wonders what she and Harry could have possibly talked about to get Beau this quiet. With how bubbly and happy-go-lucky the woman is, Juniper never really thought that this version of Beau existed. She thinks it must have been a pretty serious and heavy conversation, and her heart aches for the woman beside her, who’s obviously going through things Juniper would never have guessed.

The chatter amongst the women is quiet and tense with nerves. They constantly steal glances at the lonely rose on the table, then at the doorway where Harry should be appearing any minute.

Beau hasn’t said a word since her quiet apology. Her posture is stiff as she props her elbow on the couch armrest, holding her chin with her thumb and covering her mouth with her fist. She’s starting hard at the ground, her eyes unblinking. Her chest rises and falls smoothly with her even breaths.

When Harry finally enters the room, the women shoot to their feet, sending him soft smiles as he squeezes past him to sit in the middle. He takes a moment to look each woman in the eye, his gaze lingering on Beau when she quickly diverts her eyes and barely gives him a smile.

He reaches for the glass on the table, a warm, grateful smile on his face as he raises it in the air. “Thank you ladies so much for coming on this date with me. I’m so glad I had this time to talk with each of you, and, Juniper, I’ll make sure we have our time to chat before the rose ceremony. I’m sorry we couldn’t talk tonight.”

“It’s fine,” she says with a wave of her hand and a smile on her face. Then she reaches down to Beau’s hand and gives it a squeeze, continuing to hold it afterwards.

Harry gives her a grateful nod and a smile. “I really enjoyed every conversation I shared with you ladies. Some of you opened up in ways that were obviously very difficult, and I appreciate your bravery, your honesty, and your vulnerability.”

He pauses, then reaches forward. He switches out the glass for the rose, and he twirls it with his long fingers as he speaks. “One conversation in particular really jumped out. This woman isn’t afraid to open up and be vulnerable, and that’s something I really admire and strive to be like every single day.”

Yeah…I’m definitely not getting this, Beau thinks. She wonders if, once again, she was too cocky, assuming that Harry would give her the rose after she had just dumped her trauma on him. It’d honestly be really embarrassing if he wasn’t even planning on giving her the rose in the first place.

Beau has watched many, many seasons of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, and one thing that she always found weird was rewarding the person who shared the deepest, most personal sob story. It just never sat right with her, for whatever reason.

Part of her thinks that people try to “steal” roses by talking about a particularly heart-wrenching experience, because they’ve figured out that the deeper they reveal, the more roses they’ll receive because they’re being “open” and “honest” and “vulnerable,” traits all bachelors and bachelorettes desire.

So, no, she didn’t want the rose after revealing the most traumatizing experience of her life. She thinks it would have soiled the moment; she doesn’t need a reward for doing that. She did it, because she wanted to, not because she wanted a rose.

Beau smiles when Harry gives the rose to Sheridan. She looks genuinely grateful, blushing hard when her fingers touch his to receive the rose.

They stand for a quick hug, and Sheridan sits back down as Harry continues to stand. “I’m going to head out for the night. Thank you again, ladies, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye’s” and “good night’s” ring through the room until he’s gone, then it’s unnervingly quiet.

: :

let me know what date ideas you guys would want to see in future parts !! (both group and one-on-one)

EPISODE 1 – EPISODE 2

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