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“You didn’t burn out.” He swallows, his fingers splayed along my jaw as he looks down between us.

“Even after… everything.” He looks up at me again through thick, dark lashes.

“And you still feel things. That aren’t fucking anger and bullshit.

” He moves his arm from my shoulder, releasing my jaw and shoving up the sleeve of my hoodie, moving my thumb from the hole.

He flips my hand, forcing me to see how I hurt myself as his index finger splays over my healing cuts.

I watch him swallow, watch the light of the fire dance over the wounds.

“I know what they said about you. None of its true. It’s not fucking true, and if your stepdad…

” His jaw tightens as his grip does too, keeping my chin tilted up, so I’m forced to face him.

“If he ever said or did anything less than defend you, he has no fucking idea what he has. You’re a gift, Remi.

” He swallows again. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like… anything less than that.”

I pull my knees closer to my chest on the blanket, the fire crackling at our side. “You used me,” I tell him, my voice breaking on a sob. “You did make me feel like that, Cortland. I never expected anything good from him.” I take a steadying breath. “It was you I thought was better.”

He swipes a tear away with his thumb, but he doesn’t look away from me. “I know what I did,” he says, his words low. “Just… can we not talk about it tonight?”

I blink at him, at the kindness he showed me evaporating, just like my tears.

My grief. It turns to fire instead, burning just like he said I did.

I’ve wanted to discuss this for so long, even before he transferred.

I’ve wanted to know so many things. Now, we’re talking about it, and he doesn’t want to.

“So you can handle all the pain everyone else caused me, but not what you did?”

He stands, dropping his hands, threading his fingers together behind his head as he stares out at the sky.

I glare up at him from my spot on the blanket.

“What do you want from me, Remi? You want a formal apology? You want me to turn myself in?” He turns to glare down at me, dropping his hands by his sides. “You want me to serve time?” He laughs, but it’s angry as he swipes his thumb over his bottom lip. “ What the hell do you want?”

I get to my feet, wiping the tears from my eyes, my hoodie sleeves over my hands.

“Fuck you, Cortland.” I glance at the tent he set up.

“I’m sleeping in the truck. Or you can take me back.

This is never going to work.” It breaks my heart, saying those words, but for now, the anger keeps all the pieces together.

I stalk to his truck, reaching for the handle on the driver’s side, but before I can get to it, he’s behind me, spinning me around, pushing me against the door.

“It’s not?” he questions, his eyes narrowed, voice full of malice. “Then why’d you come here, baby? Why’d you let me fuck you, huh? Storm, too?”

I keep my hands by my sides, my heart pounding painfully fast in my chest. “I don’t want to fight tonight. Just let it go.”

He grips my hips and I suck in a breath, pulling my lip between my teeth.

“You scared of me? Right now? Being out here alone with me?” His eyes search mine. “Where no one would hear you scream? Where no one would know if I did something bad to you, baby?”

I hold my breath, my mind spinning, nervous energy coursing through me. I should be. There’s a voice in my head telling me that. I should be scared of him.

“Answer me, Remi.” He steps closer, his body hard and flush with mine as he stares down at me and I tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “ Are you fucking scared?”

I try to think about it. About stumbling into the backyard. Cortland and Storm at my back, Brinklin and Chase in front of me.

Cortland’s arm had linked through mine. I wasn’t scared of him. I wasn’t nervous. He was safe.

Then we were deep in the woods, flirting and joking, and he suddenly grabbed me, hauled me against that tree. I still wasn’t scared. Not at first. And then…

“Yes,” I answer him, but I’m not sure I mean it.

He dips his head, his brow against mine as his fingers splay against my hip. “You’re lying, baby. You know I’ll keep you safe. With Storm? With me? You didn’t feel safe?”

I relish in his hands on me. I want to lick him. I want to taste him. I want to bite him. But we can’t keep numbing our pain with anger.

I know that. But for now, I don’t want to give this up. I don’t know what to say, though, so I keep quiet, listening to the pounding in my chest.

“You know we’ll protect you,” he answers for me.

He angles his head, his lips grazing mine.

“You know I’ll look out for you.” He grabs my wrist, pins my arm to the truck, bending my elbow back.

“Even from yourself.” He glances at where I cut myself.

“I’ll keep you safe. So why are you still scared? ”

I swallow. “That night,” I manage to say, “sometimes it… it keeps playing in my head.” I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know how to say that yeah, sometimes, like with Storm, like with Cort in the truck, all the other times we’ve had sex, I’m okay. Everything is fine.

But sometimes, I’m back there again.

And the same man that puts me back together is the one that ripped me apart. I don’t know how to talk about that. How to get him to understand that I’m not always scared, but sometimes, thinking of him then, I’m terrified. And angry.

He groans in frustration, and I feel his lip ring against my bottom lip as his fingers trail up my side, along my ribs.

“Get it out of your fucked-up head,” he tells me, his fingers going higher, slipping under the cup of my bralette. “By talking to me.”

I gasp, and I can feel his smile against my mouth.

“Say the words, Remi. Tell me why you’re scared. You wanna talk about this, let’s fucking talk about it.”

I close my eyes as he circles my nipple with his finger, my hands coming to his torso, my fingers closing around the soft fabric of his shirt, knuckles grazing the hard muscle of his body. “You hurt?—”

“I didn’t hurt you,” he corrects me, his voice stern as he tugs at my nipple and I gasp, lurching forward, holding his shirt tighter. He flicks his tongue out, licking the seam of my lips. “I didn’t hurt you, baby, don’t fucking lie.”

His entire palm comes over my breast, squeezing me. “Tell me the truth,” he says. “Tell me what I really did to you that night.” He grips me tighter.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to think about it.

About the blood. About that night. About him.

Them. What they really did. But I can see his gray eyes so clearly in my head, even though it was dark out there.

But he was staring at me, holding me with his gaze while his friends used me.

He was keeping me sane. I looked at him like he was my salvation.

The numbness was taking over then, my own mind trying to protect me. Keep me safe.

But he tethered me.

A crime. That’s what he did to me. That thought bursts through this strange romanticized version of what happened, and I want to say the word, but it’s such a hard thing to say.

He grabs my breast, hard, making me flinch as I blink my eyes open.

“This hurt?” His voice is a growl.

Tears well up behind my eyes, my fight gone for the night, and my hands ache from holding his shirt in my fists so hard, my grip tight. “Yes,” I whisper.

He does it again, gripping my breast hard enough to make me gasp. “Is that what I did to you?”

I shake my head, a tear falling down my face. “No.”

“No?” he questions, taunting me as he lets up his grip, running his flat palm against my breast, soothing where he hurt me.

“No,” I say again.

“What about Chase?” he asks, his words clipped.

I feel queasy, thinking about him.

Cortland tilts my head up with his fingers under my chin, so I’m forced to look at him. “Did he hurt you?”

I just stare at him.

“Yeah,” he says, huffing a laugh. “Maybe it was only one of us who hurt you?—”

“You did,” I cut him off, those words clawing their way to the surface. “You all did?—”

“It could’ve been worse.” The way he says it, it’s like a promise. “But I wouldn’t let him.” His nose is against mine, his breath on my mouth. “But I’m the bad guy? You didn’t want me, Remi? That night, you didn’t fucking want me?”

I shake my head, but his fingers splay along my jaw, keeping me still.

“Answer me, Rems.”

“No,” I start to say. “I?—”

“Stop lying, baby. I don’t like that.”

Another wave of exhaustion sweeps over me. “Cortland, I?—”

“You wanted someone else to take what I took?” Those words are so angry.

“Why do you care?” I say back. “Why does that part matter to?—”

“Because you’re mine, Remi. After everything we went through together,” he drags his piercing over my lips, squeezing my breast, “I thought you’d understand that by now.”

I can’t speak.

He’s insane.

I know that, but even still, as much as I’ve tried to fight it, the fact that we share some fucked up bond, there’s a part of me that knows he’s right. I hated being “his”, in any way, but it was like fighting against the tide.

I drowned in knowing it was true.

That he was my first lots of things.

One of those being a crime. One of those being something that ruined my entire life.

But here I am, willingly at a desolate campsite with him, letting him touch me and hurt me and…

A sob breaks free from my mouth. He takes the opportunity to kiss me, his mouth claiming mine, his tongue colliding with my own.

I gasp against him as he pushes up on my breast, his lip ring rubbing my bottom lip.

His kiss is harsh, his teeth scrape against mine as he pushes his entire weight against me, the door of the truck digging into my back. “Cry for me,” he whispers, suddenly pulling back, just enough to let me breathe.

I feel dizzy with his whiplash and I’m panting, my back arching.

“Just like that night, fucking cry for me.”