MJ, Sabina, and Jenner may have managed to take Andy's photos down, but it doesn't mean she's safe at school.

Heads turn when she walks past. They whisper to each other, and they sound so loud Andy thinks she can hear their disgusting words being breathed into her ear. Every step she walks is a step of shame, humiliation, complete degradation, and she feels so, so out of place in her own skin that her body starts itching—itching with the need to hide. Cover herself up.

Johann doesn't talk about it, but Andy's sure he saw the pictures. He smiled at her and said, "Ready to practice?"

Andy nodded.

Waking up this morning was a torture—Andy didn't want to let go of Rhysand. She couldn't speak to him, but her hands fisted his soaked shirt whenever he moved. Rhysand cupped her cheek and said, "Don't force yourself to go to school, sunshine. Please. Stay here if you need to. I'll stay, too."

Andy wanted to yell at him to stay with her.

But he has work. He can't abandon work—even though he offered to.

Her friends had stayed up all night to help her. Rhysand is probably hurting right now—with the way she's hurting.

The truth is...part of why she didn't want to file a lawsuit was because of the risk of bad press. Rhysand would get the backlash, and it would put a dent on his career.

Andy won't let that happen. So she let him go to work, stayed in bed for an hour or so, and then went to shower and dress even though her bones screamed at her to stay put.

Andy finishes her thesis defense. She doesn't know if the professors in the panel saw her pictures, too.

She doesn't know if everyone she sees in the street, across the hallway, in the classroom, along the parking lot—she doesn't know if these people have seen her naked. Stripped. Bare.

Those photos were only for Rhysand to see, and the fact that other people have—it's tearing her apart.

MJ and Sabina see her when they can, and when they don't, they call. They don't force her to talk, and Andy is grateful. When she can be herself again, she'll thank them. She'll thank them a million times.

Even Kat, Bash, Sam, Piper, and even Kyle—they all reach out to her as well. She replies to them with gratitude, and apologizes for not doing so in person.

On the other hand, Jenner doesn't know how to act around her. He still smiles, still calls her sweetheart, but he doesn't know how to talk to her.

It's expected—Andy doesn't talk to anyone.

Even Rhysand doesn't know what to do.

"Sunshine," he starts hesitantly, placing a hand on her arm. "Baby, you want breakfast? You haven't been eating."

There's one thing that's bothering her. It's been on her mind since she decided to be silent.

"When do you delete the pictures?" she asks, turning to him. Her voice is hoarse. Raspy. It sounds like a stranger's voice. She hasn't been using it for more than a week.

Rhysand is surprised, but he answers, "Most right away. But some...I keep in our message window for a few hours because I'm busy with work, but I delete them after that."

Andy—Andy didn't know this.

"I thought you deleted them right after our conversation," she says, sitting up.

Rhysand stares at her. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

Andy's face pales. "Sophia had your phone."

Rhysand's expression doesn't change. "What?"

"When she returned it to you," Andy says slowly, chest heaving with anger, "she was holding your phone. She got ahold of my photos while you were letting them sit in our message window for hours."

Rhysand takes a deep breath. "Okay. I understand why you might accuse her—"

"I am accusing her."

His face doesn't change. "So what now? You want to sue her? We—we can, sunshine. We can do it if that's what you want—"

"Ask her," Andy demands. "Ask her. She'll tell you the truth."

"And if she doesn't?"

Andy's nails dig into her palms. She looks at Rhysand. "I didn't know you were keeping them in our messages for hours."

Rhysand looks down. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, shaking his head. "God, sunshine, I'm sorry. I didn't—I didn't think someone would get ahold of them."

"Sophia," Andy says. "That Sophia would get ahold of them. And an apology isn't going to do anything now, they were all over the internet. People have seen them already."

Rhysand stares at her. "What do you want me to do, Sanford?"

Andy doesn't know, either. She turns away from him and lies back down.

Rhysand sighs and leaves.

*

Rhysand asks Sophia.

She said she doesn't know what he's talking about.

Andy doesn't believe her. It's clear Rhysand doesn't, too, but he doesn't do anything about it.

It's his boss' niece, after all.

*

Andy decides to skip her graduation.

Her dad calls her. "Kid, what's happening? What's wrong with you? Why don't you want to go to your own graduation?"

Andy can't face him. She's too ashamed to.

She brings him there, and then what? He notices that everyone is staring at her, whispering about her, probably laughing at her. Her dad will notice. He'll ask, and then Andy doesn't want to lie, she doesn't think a lie can get her out of his question—

The door opens. Rhysand steps in. He's home from work. He's been coming home earlier than usual these days.

"I just don't think it's important," Andy answers, but even to her own ears, it sounds like bullshit. Her voice is flat. Numb. Void of emotion. "I'll get my diploma shipped to me, anyway. We don't need to go to a graduation for my diploma."

Andy can imagine her father's face twist into confusion. "Andy, I don't get it. You've been excited for this your whole college life. You went to MJ's and to Sabina's—why isn't it important for you to go to your own?"

Andy presses her hand to her chest. It hurts. "Dad, will you please respect my decision?"

Andy wants to apologize. She knows her dad has been waiting for this as long as she has. He's been paying her tuition, excited to see her graduate, and she knows he wants to take pictures of his little girl during an important milestone in her life.

But she can't do it. She can't bring herself to face her father.

"Okay," Trey answers quietly. Andy can hear the disappointment in his voice, and it hurts, it hurts, it's never hurt this bad before. "Okay, kiddo. I love you."

Andy doesn't want to cry. She's been crying for a month. "I love you too," she says, and her voice sounds like it belongs to a fucking stranger.

"When are you coming home?"

Andy prepared an answer for that. "I don't know yet. I'm going to apply to jobs here and see where it goes. I'll let you know, Dad."

"Okay," he says. "Okay, take care."

"You too." She hangs up.

Rhysand has been frozen at the door, staring at her. "You're not going to your graduation?"

"No," Andy says.

He hangs his head, and he shuts his eyes, and when he breathes out, his voice shakes. "Sanford. Sanford, will you talk to me? Seeing you like this—it's fucking killing me, sunshine, please."

Andy hates what she's doing to Rhysand.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, you don't apologize to me," Rhysand says, clenching his jaw, stalking over to her. "You talk to me. You talk to me, Sanford, you haven't been talking to me in a fucking month!"

Andy hates what she's doing to Rhysand.

"I don't know what to say," Andy whispers.

"You tell me what you feel, you tell me right now." He kneels in front of her, desperately grabbing her hands. "Are you mad at me? Do you blame me? What do you want me to do, sunshine? Fuck, I'll do anything." His eyes are glassy, and his voice trembles when he says again, "I'll do anything."

Andy hates what she's doing to Rhysand.

"I don't blame you," Andy says honestly. "I'm not mad at you. I don't want you to do anything."

She will never ask him to quit for her. She will never ask him to leave his music for her.

Rhysand hangs his head, drops it on her lap. His fingers tighten against her own, and Andy can see the sun on his wrist.

Andy hates what she's doing to Rhysand. She says, "Just be patient with me. I'll...I'm just exhausted."

He nods. Nods again and again and again.

"I love you," he whispers. On his knees. Head hanging low. "I love you, I'm sorry. I love you."

Andy doesn't know why he's apologizing. She hates what she's doing to him. "I'm sorry. I love you more," Andy answers, bending down to kiss his hair.

For a moment, it sounds like her own voice.

*

Rhysand asks her to think about going to graduation.

Andy promises him she will.

But she doesn't change her mind.

*

Andy needs to move out of her dorm.

She does. Rhysand helps her pack. Helps her unpack.

Jenner gets her a cake to welcome her into the house, but even the cake isn't as sweet as she remembers it to be.

She cries that night, burying her head in Rhysand's chest. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry I'm not more excited. I'm sorry I'm not more happy. I'm sorry I moved in—I'll find another place if—"

"Stay," Rhysand murmurs, clutching her tight, like he's afraid she'll be gone in the morning. "Stay. Don't leave. And don't apologize, sunshine. You asked me to be patient and I will be."

"I'm not that anymore," Andy says hollowly. Her chest hurts. Her hand moves up to claw at it—like she wants to rip the beating thing out. "What you call me. Sunshine. I haven't been that for so long."

"You're still my sunshine," Rhysand whispers.

And when Andy falls asleep, she doesn't know if what she feels is her heart crying, or if it's Rhysand.

*

One tiny thing—Andy lies to Rhysand.

She tells him she's going to take a break before she starts applying for jobs.

Rhysand nods. He kisses her softly, cups her cheek and brushes his thumb against her skin, staring at her with those loving eyes, and leaves for work.

But Andy has been sending out her applications already. None of them have gotten back to her.

The school she volunteered at for two summers answered back, but Andy's celebration is short-lived—Mrs. Florence said they would love to hire her, but they're wary about the parents of the kids right now. Sorry, dear. Please apply again when it's died down.

Andy understands.

The school where she did her OJT refused her, too. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.

None of the other schools have gotten back to her.

She doesn't think they ever will.

*

Andy knows they're not okay.

Rhysand knows it too, but they both ignore it.

Andy doesn't know how to talk to him, and Rhysand doesn't know how to get her to talk. Andy doesn't shower with him anymore—prefers to shower alone while he's at work. Goes to bed, tossing and turning, pulling the blankets up to her face while he's at work.

But Andy doesn't sleep until Rhysand's arms are around her, kissing her forehead in goodnight.

Still...they're not okay.

Andy stays locked up in the house. Aside from MJ and Sabina who come and visit, Andy doesn't talk to any of her friends.

She misses the shelter. Misses Baked!. Even misses just eating outside.

Though it's suffocating here—at home, Andy knows it's safer.

She doesn't ask about Rhysand's work. She doesn't ask about Sophia.

She's worried she's starting to blame him. Deep inside. She's—she's worried she might come to resent herself for sharing those pictures with him, might come to resent Rhysand for being careless.

Andy might resent herself. She might.

But no matter how many times she thinks it over, that it's Sophia who leaked them, it's Rhysand who left her pictures in their messages—she doesn't resent him. Doesn't even blame him.

Andy loves Rhysand. She loves him even though it's tearing her apart like this.

Even though she's losing herself.

*

Andy was supposed to be sleeping.

She was supposed to be sleeping when Rhysand gets the call.

He carefully slips out of the bed, snatching his phone off the bedside table, standing up and heading to his studio.

Andy jolts awake and goes to follow him, to curl up in his arms while he talks. These days, she can't seem to sleep without Rhysand.

"What Sophia said was nothing," Rhysand is saying, and Andy freezes outside the door. "I wasn't—" He pauses. "What do you mean this can't be linked back to me?"

Andy leans against the wall. Sags to the floor, puts her face in her hands.

She hates what she's doing to him.

"So what you're saying is," he says, "I have to deny the rumors. And take the promotion abroad."

Andy heaves out a shaky breath. Squeezes her eyes shut.

"Sir. Sir, I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather stay here. And about the rumors—let's just let them be. I won't talk about it. It won't ruin Sterling—"

She hates herself. She hates herself for making Rhysand do this—choose between his work or her.

"Sir, please," Rhysand pleads, and Andy knows he hates this. He hates this, too. "Please."

When it goes quiet, Andy stands up and goes inside.

Rhysand's head whips up. He swallows hard. "Sunshine. You're awake."

"I can't sleep without you," Andy says, forcing her lips to smile. "Sorry, I was going to follow you here and sleep in your lap while you talk...but it seemed important."

Rhysand shakes his head. Takes a deep breath. "It's not important. Sorry I woke you up." He smiles back.

It's forced.

"Let's go back to sleep, it's too early," he says, standing up.

But Andy stays where she is. "Rhys. What rumors do you have to deny?"

His forced smile fades, and his gaze hardens. "You don't have to know."

"I just heard you say you need to deny the rumors or it will ruin Sterling's reputation."

"It's nothing," he says tiredly, rubbing the nape of his neck. Andy can recognize the twitch in his jaw when he doesn't like where the conversation is going. "Please, let's go back to sleep."

Andy shakes her head. "Tell me."

Rhysand's jaw tightens. "You wanna do this with me, Sanford?"

"Yes, I have a right to know," she answers calmly.

"They want me to deny that we're together," Rhysand snaps. "Sophia told my boss I was asking about your pictures, and they said it can't be linked back to me."

Because it's a scandal. Because it's shameful. Because artists wouldn't want to work with him anymore if they knew—Rhysand's career and Sterling will suffer.

Andy's breath catches in her throat, but she says, "Oh. And the promotion abroad?"

"Sanford," Rhysand warns, voice threateningly low.

"Do you want it?"

"No."

He's lying. "Rhysand, it's an amazing opportunity."

"I don't want to be apart from you," he says, eyes blazing with anger. "You saw what happened to us last summer."

Andy tries for a smile. She takes a deep breath, and forces out the words, "If you want to go, you should do it."

"You want me to go, Sanford?" Rhysand snaps, stepping forward. And it's not an innocent question, it's an accusing one, and Andy can't handle any more of the tightness in her chest—"You want me to go? You want us to go through the same thing that almost broke us up?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Andy mutters, shaking her head. "Of course I want you here. I want you with me—but I've been selfish. I've been really, really selfish, and I don't want to hold you back. I'll be fine if you decide to leave. It's okay."

Rhysand is looking at her like he can't believe the words that came out of her mouth. "Sanford."

"And you can choose your career, Rhysand," Andy says, looking at him. She tries to keep her voice firm, firm and stable, but it shakes a little bit at the end, and no, no—"You've come this far. You have talent, everyone can see that. It's yours, you worked hard for it, and you can do so much more. I don't want to be in the way of that. I don't want to hold you back from what you love doing, Rhysand, I'm not going to be that selfish."

"And what about your career?" Rhysand asks angrily. "Do you expect me to leave you alone like this?"

"You don't owe me anything, you don't have to—"

"I don't!" Rhysand shouts, raw pain and panic in his voice. "I don't owe you anything, Sanford, that's right, but because I love you I'm not going to leave you alone. You said you were going to take a break. I see your laptop open with applications being sent out, Sanford, I'm not that fucking dumb."

Andy takes a staggering breath. "Then you should know it doesn't matter anymore, no one's going to hire me."

"No, we'll find something," Rhysand says, swallowing thickly. "I'm not going to deny anything, I'm not leaving."

"Your name is getting recognized, Rhysand!" Andy finally yells. Brokenly. "Sooner or later people will find out that it's me you've been dating, me, who had her shameful photos circulated around the internet, and people will blame you, or—or hurt you, and you'll get the backlash for it and Sterling will, too—"

"I don't care!"

"I do!" Andy screams, hitting her chest. "I do, Rhysand! I care what happens to you and your career and I will not allow you to lose it because of me."

Rhysand's eyes are shiny. He balls his hands into fists.

"And it's not just that," Andy continues, swallowing hard, blinking back her own tears. "It's—it's not just that. We're not okay. We're not okay, Rhysand."

"Sanford—"

"I can't stay like this forever," she says, shaking her head. "I'm losing my mind."

"Because you don't talk to me!"

"Because this is suffocating," Andy corrects sharply, gritting her teeth. "I—I can't heal like this, I can't move on like this. Not because of you—but because I'm with you, and I'm relying on you to make it go away instead of facing what I have to myself."

Rhysand stays quiet. Searches her face.

"And—and I don't make you happy anymore," Andy whispers, tries to hold his gaze through her tears. "I don't make myself happy. I haven't forgiven myself."

Rhysand steps forward. "It wasn't your fault."

Andy stares at him and whispers, bottom lip trembling, "I know."

"And me?" he asks quietly, and Andy can see herself in his dark irises, and it's—it's not the woman she was or wants to see. "Have you forgiven me?"

"There's nothing to forgive you for."

"I know you blame me, Sanford," Rhysand whispers, jaw tightening. "It's okay. I fucked up. Just...just tell me."

He's wrong. She was afraid she might blame him...might resent him.

But she doesn't. "No," Andy whispers back. Stares at him. "No, I don't. I don't blame you. I love you."

"Then why are you doing this?" His voice trembles. "Why are you talking like you're leaving me? You're not leaving me. You're not—you're not leaving me."

Andy's chest burns. "I can barely talk to you, Rhys. To anyone. We hardly kiss. You don't touch me, I don't touch you except when we sleep. We tiptoe around each other. And I don't think I'll be confident enough to strip naked again."

"We'll change that," Rhysand says fiercely. "We'll—we'll change that. And I don't care how long it takes you to be comfortable again with me. We can just, we can just go back to before."

"You're not listening," Andy chokes out, shaking her head. "You're not—you're not listening. We can't just go back to before. Every time you come home from work I think of Sophia, and I think of what she did to me. When you come home, Rhys—you're exhausted, and instead of focusing on work, you worry about me, you're hurting for me, and we don't talk to each other, we don't trust each other anymore, and we don't—we know this is unhealthy, but—"

"All I'm hearing are excuses," Rhysand snaps. "All I'm hearing are I love you, buts. But what else, Sanford?"

"But we can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. This is not healthy for either of us. This—this isn't right, Rhys. I love you," Andy says again, barely managing to choke it out. "I love you, and I know you love me too, but we—I can't keep doing this, I'm going crazy. I'm sorry, it hurts—it hurts. We go out of our minds with our jealousy and selfishness and we doubt each other so easily—and I can't believe I can't talk to you properly about Kyle or Sophia or about anything without fighting and this is not—this is not healthy, Rhysand, it hurts. We can't fix this together."

Rhysand's eyes are glassy. He shakes his head. "No." He laughs once. "No, fuck that. We were fine before—before the pictures—"

"We weren't," Andy says firmly, digging her nails into her palms. "You know we weren't. We were a mess. It took—it took this to happen—but we were a mess, Rhysand. I cried a lot more than I smiled. And—and when we fought, it felt like my chest was being cracked open."

Rhysand stares at her.

"And I hate what I'm doing to you, I hate what I'm doing to myself, and we can't go on like this, Rhys—and, and you need to choose your music," Andy whispers. "You choose it or I swear to God I will never forgive you."

Rhysand stares at her. His cheeks are wet with tears, and oh. It's the first time she sees him cry. "Sunshine," he breathes, and her name on his lips sound like a prayer, "I know you don't mean it."

To her heart, Andy whispers, I'm sorry. "I do."

Rhysand ignores her. "I'll leave for work and come back later. You don't mean it. You're not leaving me."

His voice is trembling.

To her heart, Andy whispers again, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We'll be okay. "I do, Rhys."

Rhysand pretends he doesn't hear her and leaves.

So Andy packs her things while Rhysand is gone. She knows that if she's still here...Rhysand will talk to her. Rhysand will ask her to stay. He'll kiss her, he'll tell her that they'll get through this. They'll work it out.

If she stays, Rhysand will never let her go.

But Andy doesn't want to be selfish anymore. Rhysand will choose her, and Andy will never forgive herself if he does.

And her heart is screaming. It's screaming so loud.

She separates one box from the rest. Every thing she puts inside feels like a shard of glass piercing her heart.

She writes, with shaking fingers:

Rhysand,

Everything is in here. I'm sorry I stole them.

Your hoodie,
your cologne,
your earrings,
your college shirt and all your other shirts,
your watch.
The key to this house.

I'm not giving you back your lighter. Here's a lollipop instead.

If I forgot anything, let me know.

- Andy

When Andy leaves, she tells her heart, we'll be okay. I'm sorry.

It doesn't believe her.

*

Rhysand doesn't know what to do, but what he does know is that he's not leaving Sanford alone.

He can choose to lose Sterling. He can bear to lose music. He'll find work somewhere else even if—even if it's not music.

He can choose Sanford. They'll work through their issues. He'll—he'll make her smile again. He'll make her happy again.

But the house is eerily quiet when he comes in. Rhysand thinks she's sleeping, thinking about their argument this morning. He'll apologize. He didn't mean to—to leave. He's sure she knows he's coming back. He's sure Sanford didn't mean any of what she said, either.

But his—their bedroom is...it looks empty. There's a box on the bed, a piece of paper taped on top of it—

And—and her side of the closet is empty. Rhysand races to the bathroom—her makeup, her shampoo, her toothbrush—they're gone. Everything—everything's gone.

Rhysand can feel the panic slowly creeping into his skin. No. No, she wouldn't leave.

His phone feels heavier than it is in his hand, and his fingers shake when they dial Sanford's number.

It rings once. And then, "Rhysand."

"Where are you?" he asks calmly, as calmly as he can manage, digging his nails into his palms, and his breathing gets loud, gets faster. The box on the bed is staring at him. "What the fuck is this box? Where are your things?"

And to his complete and utter horror, Sanford stays quiet.

"Sunshine," Rhysand says, closing his eyes. "Sunshine, answer me."

Sanford takes a shaky breath. And through the other line, she whispers, "You wouldn't let me go if I stayed, Rhysand."

"No," Rhysand says, and he feels it—feels an unstoppable wave of fright stirring at the pit of his stomach, and—and his ribs are being bound together, like they're crushing his lungs—"No, no, no, what do you mean?"

Sanford doesn't answer.

"Sanford," Rhysand says, shutting his eyes. He can't think, he can't fucking think, his brain is on fire, screaming, yelling at him, "Sanford, what—what...are you..." he strains with his words, his breaths coming up short. "I don't...understand."

"Rhys."

"No." Rhysand shakes his head. Shakes his head until he sees the ground collapsing underneath him. "No, no, this is bullshit!" he yells, crushing the phone in his hand. "You come back here and you talk to me, you don't leave, you don't—we'll find something, we'll find a way, I'm not—"

"We're not okay, Rhysand. And you and I both know you need to choose between me or your music—"

"You, you, I choose you, I choose you a million times over."

Sanford's breath hitches. Rhysand barely hears it. "And that's—that's what I was afraid of."

Rhysand's being gripped with silent terror. His body doesn't know what to do. "Sanford, don't."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, pained.

Rhysand's breathing stops. "You don't love me?"

"How could you even say that?" Sanford sobs. "I love you. But I love you more than I love myself, and that's not right. I need to do this on my own or else I'll suffocate and I can't make you hurt like this for me anymore, we're not okay—"

"No, you're not leaving me. You can't do this. I'll follow you. I'll go to Parkway right now."

"I'm not in Parkway," Sanford says, chokes out through her tears. "My—my things will be there, but I'm not in Parkway—"

"Where?"

She...she stays quiet.

"Where!" Rhysand screams. His face feels wet. "Sunshine, sunshine, please, please, please—"

"You choose your music, Rhys," she murmurs. "I won't forgive you if you don't."

Rhysand chokes on his sobs. "Sunshine, no, please, please—"

"We'll be okay. I'm sorry, Rhys."

"Don't—don't, don't, Andrea, Andrea! Please, don't—"

Call ended.

She'll come back, Rhysand thinks, dialing her number again. She won't leave me. She wouldn't leave me.

The call doesn't go through.

Jenner finds him, a few hours later, in the same position, tears in his eyes, his phone crushed in his hand, repeating the words, "She'll come back. She'll come back, she'll come back."

He knows it. She'll come back.

*

She doesn't.

*

i am sorry