I'm jolted back to reality when Grayson jerks the car to the right, evading the police car's hot pursuit. We speed down a dark dirt road and I hear the sirens growing fainter and fainter behind us.

Grayson is grinning ear to ear, watching the cop cars speed along the main road behind us, completely unaware of Grayson's Audi making its way further into the darkness. I want to smack that satisfied grin off Grayson's face and it takes everything in me to hold myself back.

"Do you have a charger in here?" I snap, yanking my dead phone out of my back pocket and avoiding eye contact with him. He looks at me for a split second, his face unreadable. My face, on the other hand, conveys every ounce of my annoyance with him.

I don't want to be in this stupid car with him and I sure as hell don't want him feeling like my hero. I don't need him.

"Uh, yeah. Glove compartment," he says, gesturing to the glove compartment as if I was too stupid to know where it is. I ruffle through it, snorting when I find packs of condoms hidden in the bottom. Of course.

I silently plug the cord into the car and hook my phone up, waiting for the black screen to start back up. The air is thick now, filled heavily with tension. After a few seconds, my phone wakes up and I quickly enter my passcode, desperate to see if Violet and Peyton have answered me.

Before I can even tap my message icon, Grayson's speakers start blasting Apologize by One Republic, the first song on my iTunes list. A song that I downloaded in middle school. Aggravated by Grayson's fucked-up AUX, I tap the pause button repeatedly to no avail. The stupid song keeps playing and I want to scream.

I hear a chuckle next to me and whip my head around to see Grayson smiling, clearly amused by the situation. "You have a pretty sophisticated taste in music, River. Never heard this before... is this some new Indie band or something?"

His attempt at lightening the mood only irritates me further. I ignore him and concentrate on the song, ignoring the irony of the lyrics. He looks at me again, realizing that I'm not going to play along with his games anymore.

He turns the volume down, resting his head back on the seat and sighing lowly. "River, I didn't m--"

"Just...please. Please just take me home. I want to forget everything about tonight. You can't justify what you did to me back there and I don't want to hear you even try," I snap, knowing that hearing him apologize will only bring back the memories of him yelling those things at me. I blink fast, holding back the tears that I know will come.

He's silent again. I don't feel bad for telling the truth.

"I know that--"

"Just shut up, Grayson! You don't fucking care about me, you made that crystal clear back there in front of all your little followers. You feel bad for me. I'm pathetic. I'm embarrassing you, the way I throw myself at you. I'm a dirty, stupid bitch who has no self-respect and is only good for a single fuck. Did I get it all?" I stop to look at him. He has his gaze low on the road, not able to make eye contact with me while I reiterate the hurtful things he said to me. Just as I thought.

"So just let me do what you said and get the fuck out of your life. You were right, I know nothing about you. And I'm done trying." As I finish, I press myself back into the seat and close my eyes to hide the tears that come anyway. To fill the deafening silence, I turn the volume all the way back up.

The lyrics don't do anything to help the emotionally-fragile state I'm in.

It's too late to apologize, it's too late.

"I never meant to hurt you." His voice is so quiet that I barely hear it over the song ending. I can't dwell on the lowness of his voice that resonates through my chest and other parts of my body. I can't stand him doing this to me.

That's the final straw.

"You're unbelievable," I spit, willing my voice not to crack. "Stop the car. I can't stand this anymore."

"Riv, stop. You don't hav--"

"You don't get to call me that. Pull over the damn car," I demand, unbuckling my seatbelt and putting my hand over the door handle. "Pull over or I'll jump out right now."

He pulls over quickly, not taking the risk of calling my bluff. I grab my phone and shove the door open, stepping out onto the dirty side of the road. It's cold and I become very aware of my lack of a hoodie. It's probably still in the back of Snake's car, never to be seen again.

I'm forced to warm my hands up under my arms while walking quickly. I'm in the middle of nowhere, with only empty fields and willowy trees to keep me company. I hold down my panic, focusing on the endless road ahead of me and not on the fact that I'm utterly screwed.

I can't imagine what I look like, speed-walking angrily down an empty road with barely any clothes on and a face twisted with frustration. I probably look like hell.

I try to ignore the heavy approaching footsteps and the fact that Grayson's car hasn't left yet. I'm drained and I know I wouldn't survive another stand-off with him, fighting off the attraction that demands to be felt.

Prepared for him to eventually give up and leave me in the dust, I keep walking. I don't expect his warm hand to reach out to me, grazing my waist gently with the back of his hand. Even more so, I don't expect his hand to immediately flinch back from the contact, as if touching me sent shocks of fire up his hand and arm.

I ignore the sparks flying up my own body from the contact. Concerned, I turn back to him and see him holding his right hand in the other, as if hiding a wound. Even in the dark, I make out the obvious streaks of blood on his hand. He's hurt.

But I don't fucking care. I need to get as far away from him as possible, even as he tries to stop me.

I look over my shoulder at him for a second, hating that I'm worried about his stupid face. In the dark, I can see that there's a deep cut on his right hand, which is now bleeding profusely. I can barely make it out in the darkness but it looks pretty deep.

"Fucker had a lip piercing," he says, joking through the stinging he must be experiencing. I don't react to his attempt to lighten the mood.

I wonder how hard Grayson must've punched Snake for his piercing to create this kind of injury.

I turn around and start walking again, wondering if I can escape the infuriating mix of emotions he ignites in me by just leaving him in the dust. Grayson is out of his mind if he thinks he can say the things he said to me and get away with it. "Just leave me the fuck alone," I yell after me, hoping he takes the damn hint.

When I hear footsteps behind me once more, I almost groan out loud. I whip around, ready to physically keep him away from me, when I see that he's a few feet behind me, holding his hands up in surrender. Blood still coats his skin, now dripping down his forearm and gleaming in the night.

"Go rub your wounds in dog shit, Grayson. I'm not going to fucking wrap your wounds up like your little nurse," I snap. "Just get back in your car and let me leave."

Thankfully, he doesn't make any moves toward me. Grayson just stands there, staring at me. From where I'm standing, I can see the moonlight reflecting off his irises, making it almost look as if he's sad. My eyes play tricks on me and almost convince me that he holds regret in that intense gaze of his.

When he finally speaks, the words he says hold that exact emotion. "At least let me take you home, River. I can't leave you out here."

I stare at him, wondering what game he's playing at. I turn to look at the long, empty road ahead of me, dreading the long walk home. Then I turn back at him and examine his face. "Why should I get into your car? Why should I even begin to forgive you for the shit you said to me? You can't treat people like that and expect for them to just get right back into your fucking sportscar. You're delusional."

Grayson runs a hand roughly through his hair, looking around. I continue talking while walking closer to him, feeling the truth of how I feel burn hot on my tongue. "You've probably gotten away with disrepecting girls your entire life. But you're a lot dumber than I thought you were if you think you can get away with treating me like you just did. You better get that through your thick skull before you even think about talking to me again."

As I stare him in the face, holding my expression sternly, the world feels surreal around us, like in this moment we're the only two people on the planet. It's just Grayson, me, and the dizzying mix of attraction and anger lingering between us. From the way his eyes hold mine, I can tell he feels the same way.

I can tell that neither of us know what to think of each other, what to think of this twisted situation.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I cast my gaze down. Being this close to him, I can see the cut on his hand all the more clearly. It looks deep. I groan. "You have to clean that, seriously."

Grayson stares at me for a second longer before casting his eyes down to his hand, flexing it to assess the damage. He stifles a wince but I clearly see the pain written across his face.

"Do you have anything to clean this with?" I ask, now genuinely concerned for his hand.

"I thought you recommended that I rub it in dog shit," he replies. I glare up at him, shutting him up effectively. He looks back toward the car, nodding his head toward it.

"Actually, I keep a first-aid kit around for Gracie. She scares me shitless, the way she carelessly runs around." He pauses, looking back down at his hand. "It'd kill me if anything ever happened to her."

I cross my arms, reminding him that we're still on bad terms. "Well let's go back to your car. I'll clean it up for you and I promise, I'll make it as painful as possible for you."

There's no trace of humor in my voice, and Grayson notices.

We walk back to the car silently together, him clutching his hand and me standing a conservative distance from him. He pulls the small box from his trunk and we lean up against his car together, resting the first-aid kit between us on top of the car.

I fish out the alcohol wipes from the box and take his hand. I lean in close to inspect the wound again and he leans in as well, watching me work on his hand. His hand tenses in mine when as I dab the wipe against the cut, as much as he tries to hide the stinging pain. Our heads are inches from one another for those few silent moments. We're breathing in sync, watching our hands closely.

I wrap his hand with a bandage, watching the tendons in his fingers flex as I tighten the tape. I try my best to focus at the task at hand.

"That seems goo--" I look up and find his face mere millimeters from mine, watching me intently. We're leaned in impossibly close and it's hard not to notice the smell of peppermint on his breath. Or the desire in his eyes as he looks toward my mouth, his own lips parted slightly.

"You have a cut on your face," he says, brushing his fingertips lightly across my cheeks, stopping just under my cheekbone where the scratch must be. "Let me clean it for you."

I hardly even feel the small scrape on my cheek. It must've happened when Snake put his nasty hand on my face. "No, you don't have to. It's just a baby cut."

"Let me take care of you," he practically whispers, with a powerful undertone in his voice. My whole body reacts, drawn to the way he softly commanded me to listen to him, and I find myself unable to speak.

He takes out another wipe and a band-aid from the box and turns back toward me. Leaning his face toward mine again, he takes my chin softly in one of his hands and tilts my face up toward his. With the other hand, he slowly dabs the wipe across my cheek, unbelievable in his carefulness.

When he's done, he opens the smallest Hello Kitty band-aid and places it on my cheek. I smile, messing up his placement and he playfully curses under his breath. He readjusts the pink band-aid and wraps the other hand around my bare waist, bringing me closer. With his other hand still on my chin, I can barely think straight.

I stare into his intent eyes for a second then force myself to tear away, reminding myself that I'm better than succumbing to this. "Hey, look at the sky."

I turn and gesture toward the dark expanse of blue overhead, dotted with millions of tiny, bright stars. I'm reminded of how far we are from any city just by the clearness of the night sky. No light pollution to taint our view. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

I look at Grayson, who is still caught in the moment I just ended. He doesn't take his eyes, heavy with desire, off me. "Yeah, it's beautiful."

I turn away quickly, suddenly blushing and tingling from head to toe. I pretend to be staring intently at the stars, when I'm really still caught up on the feeling of him pressed up against me.

"I could stay out here forever," I say.

"We could if you want to" He replies, walking toward me.

When I look at him, there's no sign of joking in his features. I laugh at the suggestion, still feeling an irate weight in the pit of my stomach. "And how would we do that? Do you have a blowup mattress stuffed into your car?"

I keep a nasty edge to my voice, keeping him at a distance. His words from earlier still run rampant in the back of my mind, reminding me that nothing between us is real.

"No, but I have a pretty big blanket we could sit on. Sometimes I take Gracie for picnics and that's what we use." He looks up at the sky, running his hand through his hair yet again. He seems to do that a lot. When he looks at me, there's a vulnerable look on his face. "Stay out here with me, Riv, just for a little bit. You said I don't know you but at least let me try to fix that."

I laugh emptily. "You're not getting off that easily, Maddox. You don't have a right to know me yet." I step closer and look up at him, trying to figure him out. "If I stay, will you explain to me why you were such an asshole back there?"

He nods, silently agreeing, and I walk onto the field by the road, not bothering to wait for him. He doesn't deserve that either.