I've done something wrong.

That was the only thing I could think of, the only thought that didn't make me feel so dizzy as I escaped the dirty old confines of the bar with Ryder.

The night was dizzying and I was having a hard time concentrating on everything. Well, almost everything. I think, I wasn't a hundred percent sure though, that I'd managed to figure out one of the dark intricate tattoos peeking out from one of Ryder's t-shirt sleeves. Memento mori, it said. Although I wasn't sure. I didn't know what it meant either.

Someone touched my hand, my arm above my sleeve, and the fog in my head cleared just for the tiniest of moments for me to notice where we were--where I was.

We weren't anywhere near the bar anymore, but on a much nicer street with a 24/7 cafe board lit up right across. Ryder had driven me here on his motorcycle, I told myself as I glanced down to see that I was still sitting on it, my hands gripping the leather seat and my head hung low between my shoulders--as if that could somehow control the dizziness.

I flinched, realized I'd flinched, and watched something complicated flash in Ryder's eyes as he pulled away.

There it was again. I've done something wrong. Really really wrong.

I looked up at him and tried to explain to him that I hadn't exactly meant to flinch away from him, but my mouth felt dry--really dry--and I needed...

"Drink up," he held out a sealed bottle of water towards me.

I took it from him, swayed a little, and was only too relieved when my body didn't flinch away from him again as he stepped closer. It's just Ryder, I told myself. He was warm and safe. He'd keep me safe. At least for now.

With a clumsy hold, I twisted the cap open and took a sip. And then found myself inhaling the rest of it because I was so goddamn thirsty right then. Once I was finished drinking the cool water, I instantly felt a whole lot better than I'd felt a few seconds ago.

"Thanks." I exhaled shakily and tried for a smile.

When he didn't smile back, I felt my own faltering on my lips. I've done something wrong, I thought again. And then it was too easy to remember what it had been because my head wasn't spinning so much anymore and I suddenly remembered freezing in terror right in front of him outside that bar when he'd touched me. No, I mentally corrected my line of thought. No, he'd held me against that dirty concrete wall and I'd not seen him there in front of me. I'd seen Michael instead of him and I'd frozen.

"I..." I spoke softly, looking back at the cafe ahead of us. "I wish you'd taken me back to my dorm."

I felt his stare on me. "I will after you eat something." I don't know why I was expecting anger in his voice. There wasn't any. His voice came out just flat.

"But I'm not hungry," I whispered and straightened on his motorcycle, just then noticing a big beer stain on my denim overalls. I rubbed at it stupidly, thinking that would make it go away. But it was still there because sometimes the dirty stains never went away. I glanced up at him. "Do you think I should eat something?"

Maybe all this hopelessness was just because I was hungry. I couldn't even remember right then what I'd eaten last. When I'd last eaten.

"Yes," Ryder said. "I would prefer if you eat something before I drop you off." He waited, staring at me, and I relented because I found it hard to say no to everyone, but especially him.

"Okay," I told him softly. Then couldn't help but grin hesitatingly because everything about him made me feel silly inside. I leaned a little close to him. "Are you going soft on me, Ryder?"

He narrowed his gaze at me, placed the almost empty water bottle on the ground just in front of his motorcycle, and started for the cafe once again instead of answering me. Somehow, someplace inside my heart, I hadn't expected him to.

"Why didn't you just buy it when you went to get me a water bottle?" I found myself asking him, hands scrambling to grip the seat below me so I wouldn't tumble on the pavement below.

He turned, looked at me, and shrugged. "I needed to get you sober first." Which just didn't make any sense to me right then because I didn't feel sober. I felt free and happy--up in the clouds--and giddy.

I watched as he entered the tiny cafe once again, the doors chiming as they closed behind him, and disappeared inside. And then I turned my gaze away to watch the isolated street instead that seemed to lead to the woods, because watching the cafe door and waiting for Ryder to come back made my heart race in an anxious way. I didn't know what that meant.

I blinked and looked over at the trees and the memory was sudden. Too sudden and equally unwelcoming.

It was of Michael, because even if it had been days since the last time I saw him, my sick brain was still somehow stuck on him. I remembered a night out at a bowling alley in the town next to ours with a few of my cousins and Alyssa and Michael when they'd been dating. I'd long since realized by then that the thing between Michael and I was a terrifying, dangerous one. I'd felt sick watching him flirt with Alyssa so easily, like it always came so easy to him, and I'd told them I was gonna get a cab and go home early to catch up on schoolwork. But then Michael had offered to give me a ride and I hadn't had a choice but to agree when everyone else kept looking at me. He'd been all too happy to drive me home, except that it wasn't home he'd been meaning to take me to.

I'd told him no, said more than thrice that I didn't want to go to his apartment, because even thinking of being with him right then made me feel awful and ashamed and dirty. When I'd tried to open the car door out of panic, he'd stopped the car in the middle of the dark isolated street. He'd yelled at me to get out.

"Fucking get out and find your own way home, Alice!" He'd spat the words in my face as I'd cowered back against the rolled-up window. "Let's see how long it takes you to crawl your way back to me."

I'd thought he'd just been threatening me. Michael threatened me a lot. He always--always held things over me. Over my own conscience. But then he'd walked his way over and pulled open my door, grabbed my arm, and yanked me out when I'd tried to apologize--tell him I hadn't meant it even though I had.

"I'll wait for you to call me and I'll be waiting for you to beg me to come back." He'd hissed at my face, before snarling and letting go of me.

I hadn't known where I was, what street we'd been on. And he'd driven away, leaving me all alone on an empty street--as a petty way of getting back at me, as a punishment so I'd remember who had the upper hand there.

I'd been alone. So so alone and scared and terrified.

I'd thought he would come back to get me. I'd thought it was a joke and I'd see his car appearing on the curve of the road ahead. But it hadn't. Michael hadn't come back to get me.

Suppressing a shudder, I slipped down from Ryder's motorcycle and stumbled towards the cafe entrance to where he'd gone. I tried swallowing the queasiness in my throat and walked inside, unsteady but not so much. Maybe Ryder had been right about getting me sober before he left. I was drunk but not so much that I couldn't take more than a few steady steps.

The cafe was much smaller than the one my friend Macy owned near campus, but it was way warmer than outside. And it smelled like grilled cheese sandwiches.

An involuntary smile formed on my lips as I headed towards the counter where Ryder was standing. He had his elbows on it, fingers in his hair, and looked like he was waiting.

"Hey," I whispered, stopping near him, way too close to him, before looking around. There were only two other individual people occupying the plastic cafe chairs.

He lifted his head to look at me. "Didn't I tell you to stay right there."

He didn't make it sound like a question but I still answered, "You didn't. I like this place." Then I grinned some more. "It's warm." It was warm and it smelled so good in here and I wanted to stay here forever right then.

He regarded me quizzically for a moment before speaking slowly, "Were you scared to be alone outside?"

His words stunned me for a moment there. Which, I think, was an answer enough for him since he sighed and held out his hand towards me. I stepped near him and let him wrap his fingers around my wrist, above my sleeve--a warm, grounding weight.

But then I also noticed his scraped knuckles, the skin torn and turning a sickly bruised shade. I couldn't look away because I hadn't noticed it once throughout the night. It looked awful. It made me sad.

"I wasn't," I told him truthfully. Although maybe it wasn't much of a truth. "Maybe a little."

"Maybe a little." He repeated my words with a hint of humor in his voice, something that was just so novel and unlike him, something so warmly amusing, and it was unfortunate because it only made my drunk self get even more clingy.

I pressed my head against his arm and stuffed my hand--both our hands--in my big denim pocket with too much care in my movements. His knuckles were torn open and I didn't like it. Not one bit. Ryder didn't pull away and my chest ached with how warm I felt right then.

"One sandwich coming right up!" A girl appeared behind the counter, dressed all in different shades of pastel, and stopped behind the ancient-looking cash register. "There aren't any pickles left, though. Is that bad? Because I can ask Cash to bring those bagged ones from the convenience store a few blocks over."

Ryder looked at her then at me. I shrugged. "I don't like pickles," I said, then gave her a somewhat hesitant smile. "I like your scarf." It was a pretty pale blue and looked really soft. Aunt Frannie would've loved it.

"Aw, thanks, hun." She grinned back at me before punching in a few keys on the cash register. "You're a nice change from the customers we get here at this hour of the night."

I watched her as she sneaked a somewhat judging and fixated glance at Ryder, at the tattoos covering his arms in particular, and I couldn't help but laugh--muffle it against the fabric of Ryder's t-shirt.

It only struck me to ask him about them, about the tattoos that must hold some meaning behind each one of them, until I'd left the cafe once again and drifted towards a pair of colorful swings situated right beside it. The cafe lady had told me about it when she'd seen me getting too antsy to wait inside for the sandwich to be made.

Ryder followed me out after a short moment and I was already on one of the swings by then, gripping the slightly rusty chains on either side of me with my hands, and digging my feet in the mud to push myself. I was a little unsteady on it as well, leaning back and back and back until I could gaze up at the midnight sky. I had a sudden rush of vertigo, nausea, and a series of giggles escaped me when Ryder hooked a finger on one of the suspenders of my denim overalls, and dragged me up again.

"Is this when you throw up, Alice, because I thought you were sober a minute ago."

I smiled goofily before gazing up at him. "You thought wrong, mister."

"I know." He looked pained. I let go of the chains, knowing deep down he'd hold me up if I started to fall, and reached out to smooth the slight furrow between his dark brows with the pad of both of my thumbs.

"There. That's better." I gave him another smile. "I like it better when you smile, grumpy. You never really smile. Or laugh. I would like to see you laugh. I bet..."

He stared down at me, eyes the same color as the sky. He looked puzzled. He looked...surprised. "What?"

"I bet you'd steal my breath away when you do smile for real," I told him in a whisper. He blinked, looked startled, and I laughed. "Your eyes are...so...pretty."

"All right, that's enough out of you." He responded gruffly, which made me giggle harder, because I'd seen him look, what? Abashed, for a second there? He leaned down, grabbed me from below, and all of sudden everything was...upside down.

"Hey!" I blinked--fuck, tried to register what was happening, and saw Ryder's t-shirt--the back of his t-shirt--and lifted my head to see the ground above me and the sky below me? A tiny hiccup left me as Ryder carried me away from the pretty, lonely swings. "I think...this will make me throw up much faster, you big lug."

Although it was kind of nice. I think. But not as nice as--

He tightened his arm around my waist and pulled me down until my bottom was safely met by a soft, leathery surface. His motorcycle.

"I," I poked a finger into his chest. "Like piggyback rides more, just so you know. You should've asked me before throwing me over your shoulder. You should always ask someone before you throw them over your shoulder."

He gave me a look but there was this slight quirk to his lips and I was mesmerized.

"Okay," he said, like it was really that simple. Like he was humoring me right now, listening to my stupid rambles.

"Okay? I forgot to tell you," I said because I suddenly remembered something that he should definitely, absolutely know. "I planted one of your sunflowers in a pot I borrowed from one of the botany students. It's like a really pretty green. The pot, not the plant."

He nodded, unwrapped the sandwich that I'd not noticed in his hand until now, and made me hold it. "Eat this. You'll feel better."

"I watched a video on YouTube." I carried on, swaying forward gently, and refusing to look away from him. I was telling him something important. "It was very complicated but I somehow managed to plant a clipping of one of the tiny sunflowers. Did I tell you how my dorm always smells like sunflowers now?"

"You just did." He replied, then nudged my hand. "Eat."

"But," I said and took a tiny bite. Ryder scowled because he'd seen how tiny it was. "What's your favorite flower?"

"The ones that eat big insects. Even pretty butterflies."

"I don't like butterflies, remember? So you saying that isn't going to put me off." I frowned then. "Still, no one should eat them. They're so small and pretty and harmless. Have you ever seen a blue monarch butterfly?"

Ryder sighed and closed his eyes.

"Ryder?" I asked, then lowered my voice to a whisper. "Can I ask you about your tattoos?"

He opened his eyes, looked at me, then said, "No." A flat-out no. I frowned because I was feeling stupid and I knew I could make him say yes if I just said please.

"Not tonight." He nudged my knee and pointed at the sandwich in my hands. "Start eating before you really piss me off."

"That's not threatening when you're literally feeding me in the middle of the night."

"I will throw you over my shoulder again, Alice."

I widened my eyes dramatically and considered his threat (which still wasn't a threat when it meant I got to rest both my feet and not walk, and get to see the impressive muscles of his back moving and flexing real close to me). I didn't tell him so. Instead, I looked down at my sandwich and then back at him. "Where's yours? You didn't buy one for yourself? But you must be hungry as well. Will you share it with me?"

"I'm not, Alice." He rolled his eyes heavenwards. "I'm not hungry."

"Well, I weren't...wasn't either but then you forced me to eat it," I said, then smiled up at him. "Share it with me?"

He stared at me for a moment too long then groaned. He actually groaned out loud. It was very...I squirmed where I sat. "Jesus Christ. You're a handful when you're drunk, querida."

I pouted at him, saw his resolve weakening (which in turn made my heart race with silly, warm happiness) and carefully tore the sandwich in half before holding one half to him. "I'll be very sad if you don't eat with me."

He took it from me, joined beside me and leaned against his motorcycle. I felt, more than heard his phone buzz.

"You should answer that. Your phone's been going off for a while now." I spoke up since I'd heard it buzz plenty of times inside the cafe too.

I took a bite of my sandwich after he did and heard him begrudgingly respond, "It's Rafael."

I nodded almost absentmindedly before realizing that I'd just agreed for him to walk away to answer his phone call, because surely he wouldn't want me to--

I shifted a little on the motorcycle until our arms brushed and swallowed. "You don't have to go away. I won't eavesdrop."

The street was still too empty and silent and I had, for some reason, forgotten that obvious detail when I'd been on the swings. But all of a sudden, once again, I remembered Michael leaving me all alone on a street just like this years ago. And I also remembered the other time I'd been drunk in front of Ryder, when he'd taken me to that nightclub, and he'd been angry at me on the ride back when I'd thrown up on the side of the road. I walked back all the way to my dorm all alone that night too, I thought.

I didn't want to be alone right now.

I didn't look over at Ryder in fear of his reaction, although I wasn't really sure what reaction I was expecting. Instead, I busied myself with the sandwich in my hands and wondered why. Why why why. Why hadn't Ryder left me yet?

"I wasn't leaving." He told me, though I still refused to look up from the sandwich.

I just nodded and glanced over my shoulder at the empty, dark street behind me. My eyelids felt heavy. Everything all of a sudden felt so incredibly heavy.

I'm not going to be someone who leaves you behind, a familiar warm voice whispered in my ears. I stiffened, glanced over at Ryder, and saw him talking to someone, to Raff, on his phone.

I'd said I wouldn't eavesdrop so I tuned him out--just didn't listen. I took a small bite of the sandwich and felt a prickle of paranoia, like a whisper against the back of my neck. Scooting closer, almost on the edge of the seat, I reached out and curled my free hand--watched my fingers curling around the side of Ryder's soft t-shirt, and I ignored the rest. All of it.

It was safe and quiet save for Ryder's faint voice in the background--which, even when laced with frustration, was something that I found comfort in.

By the time I was done with my sandwich and felt a hundred times better and more sober (which wasn't always a good thing, especially not right now), Ryder hung up on the phone call and I watched as he glanced down at my hand loosely fisted in his shirt, then tipped his head back and ran both hands up his face.

"You were right." He broke the silence.

I watched, transfixed at the way the inked muscles of his arms flexed with the movement. "About what?"

"Santiago was there at the bar. I don't know how long or since when, but he was there. He left one of his masks there. I'm guessing he followed you."

My gut twisted with a fresh wave of dread and I tried to swallow it all down, especially the bile rising up my throat.

"How the fuck did he follow you there." He was muttering to himself, angry, irritated. He pulled away from his motorcycle, not so much to dislodge my fingers from his shirt, but enough to once again stand before me. "Did you talk to that best friend of yours? She could've led him to you. Did you?"

I had, but I didn't think that had anything to do with Santiago somehow knowing where I'd be.

I pulled my hand away from him and stared down at my pale, suddenly cold fingers. "I think," I said, then started again, "I think he's been...following me for a few days now."

Ryder stilled. "What?"

"I was at the shopping mall the other day and he--Santiago--asked one of the shop employees to hand me a folded note." My voice was quiet, scared. So different from how I'd been smiling, how I'd been happy a few minutes ago. I wanted--wished I had the safe cocoon of alcohol blurring my senses all over again.

"Where is it? Why didn't you tell me this the moment you got it?"

I felt my face heating up in shame--guilt. I shook my head and looked away from him. The sandwich I'd just eaten felt like stones in my stomach. Heavy and sharp.

"I can't," I said softly, then squeezed my eyes shut and forced the next few words out of my mouth. "I might...know where he's going to be next. Where he's going to follow me next."

Ryder seemed downright livid now. I stared at my hand, my left hand that had been holding onto him, and wished I hadn't let go. Wished everything was back to safe and happy and laughter.

"Where?" He demanded.

"There's this diner my sister wants to take me to on Friday. With her f-fiance. And," I refused to look away from him even when I felt like I might really actually throw up now, "it's a double date. I agreed without thinking. She said she wanted to meet you."

He blinked, expression too indecipherable for me, and I expected him to tell me I was a fool for still lying to my family about the whole Soren thing--a fool to think he'd go with me on a stupid fucking date when there wasn't even anything between us, let alone a pretend relationship.

"Why would Santiago be there?" He asked me after a moment too long. Silence that felt like it was suffocating me.

Because I've been hiding things. And he's giving me a chance to come clean with Alyssa. Maybe the last chance that he's going to give me.

I opened my mouth to say it, tell him everything, but I couldn't. My heart raced and my throat squeezed in warning. You can't, the words I were so familiar with for years now seemed like a voice of its own, you can't you can't you can't.

"I don't know." I lied to him, breaking and shattering the thin glass of safety and trust and warmth between us. And I was sober enough to see that he knew. It was an open, almost hesitant expression on his face because he knew I was lying.

All he's ever asked from you is to be honest, a voice whispered inside me. Deep inside me. I felt ashamed. I felt wrong--the same ugly feeling that had led me to a bar and alcohol.

I looked up at him sadly. "I just have a feeling he'd be there."