I needed time to cool down, a few minutes to myself. I wasn't the type of person that could get angry and then be consoled back to level-headedness. I needed some time alone.

I left the ocean, heading past the sand dunes and storming into the wooded area off the back of the beach.

I could feel the leaves and branches underneath my bare feet, but I continued to angrily storm back into the brush, my chest rising and falling in an irregular pattern.

I finally stopped after a few minutes, standing in the middle of the woods.

I didn't even realize my cheeks were wet until I reached up to curl a brush my hair out of my face.

I hated crying when I was mad. That just defeated the purpose of being angry, and I felt like my emotions were a roller coaster of a mess.

I took in a few deep breaths, calming myself back down as I stood in the silence of this clearing.

Bryce Harrison infuriated me sometimes.

Yes, Asher was annoying. And I practically hated him. But all he did was innocent flirting, he'd never acted upon anything he'd said. And he'd always respected my wishes, in his own way. But he'd never pushed my boundaries.

There had never been any other guy except Bryce Harrison while I was with him. And I didn't understand why he couldn't see that. Why he had to get so jealous. Those other guys meant nothing to me, the mindless flirting and the boneheaded comments? They were trivial in the grand scheme of things.

I didn't pay much mind to the girls that practically threw themselves at Bryce on a daily basis. I wasn't blind to the fact that he was a fine piece of specimen. And neither was the rest of the female population. But I knew Bryce on a much deeper level than that. And I cherished that. These other girls knew him for what they saw on the skin-level, but I knew they'd never know him like I did. And that's why I was never jealous of them.

But apparently Bryce doesn't feel the same about me.

I ran my fingers through my hair, letting out a frustrated growl.

And then I heard a noise, not too far from me.

My entire body froze, and I could feel my throat closing up as I sensed my impending death.

What lived in the woods of South Carolina?

I could sense the rabid puma about to descend on me, ending life as I knew it.

"I'm sorry!" I heard a girl cry.

I felt my body slowly start to uncoil.

Just another girl. I could take her.

"Why do you pull this shit?" a boy voice demanded.

He sounded awfully familiar, but I couldn't place it.

Two people out in the woods. I could probably take one of them, but two on one wasn't too fair.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," the girl cried. "P-please."

I felt my stomach start to clench again.

Something was definitely wrong.

And then I heard it, the unmistakable sound of a slap.

Only this wasn't just a slap, it reverberated around the woods, and I felt the urge to puke.

The girl cried out, and I could hear her body hit the floor.

They couldn't be far from me, ten feet if not less.

The girl was crying, and the boy was ranting and raving, and she began to cry harder.

He was going to hit her again.

I began running, absolutely no plan formed at all.

But I couldn't let him hit her again.

"Stop!" I shrieked, as I saw the boy, his hand raised.

His face snapped over to mine.

Eric Reidman, a Senior baseball player.

And his girlfriend was Whitney. She was supposed to come on the beach trip with us no too long ago, when Bryce got sick, but she'd cancelled last minute.

His face contorted into confusion. "Sophie Allen?"

"Stop," I repeated, my eyes sliding over to Whitney. She was crumpled up on the ground, still crying.

Eric's eyes slid over to Whitney before looking at me again.

He had a cold, dead look in his eyes, which sent chills throughout my body.

"Now you send underclassmen to fight your battles for you?" Eric spat at Whitney.

"N-n-no," Whitney cried out.

He raised up his hand again, and I began running again, tackling him to the ground.

Again, absolutely no plan. But I wasn't going to let him hit her.

"Crazy bitch!" Eric exclaimed, rolling me over and pinning my arms down.

He was much stronger than I gave him credit for.

I slipped out from underneath his grip, stumbling back to my feet and standing in front of Whitney. "Leave her alone."

"Don't talk about what you don't know," Eric warned, his eyes boring into mine. "Leave."

Bryce had my phone.

I willed someone to come to my aid. There was no way I was taking down Eric Reidman by myself.

"I'll leave, but I'm taking Whitney with me."

"No way in hell."

I looked over my shoulder, where Whitney was still crumpled up on the ground, cradling her face.

"This is getting old," Eric said, his voice tight. "I'm giving you ten seconds to go Sophie."

"I told you, the only way I go is if Whitney comes with me."

"Five seconds."

I stood my ground, my stomach churning.

He went to shove me out of the way, and I continued to stand my ground, unwilling to let him hurt her anymore.

I could hear the sound of that slap resounding through my mind, and it made me sick.

We wrestled for a few moments, and then he shoved me to the ground.

I reached out for his arm, going to pull him down with me.

It would only be a temporary fix, but it was better than nothing.

And then I felt a hand colliding with the side of my face.

Never in my life had I had a hand raised at me. My parents weren't believers in corporal punishment, not even as much as to smack me on the butt. And Bryce wouldn't dream of touching me unless it was in a loving manner.

My neck snapped to the side, and I felt my body colliding with the ground again.

The pain resounding throughout my skull was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It brought tears to my eyes, the side of my face throbbing.

I wanted to help Whitney, but I couldn't seem to do much of anything except bring my hands to the side of my face, trying not to let the tears fall down my cheeks as I held my face in my hands, still lying on the ground.

"Give me your hand," a voice said above me.

I looked up, and through my blurry vision saw Whitney standing there, tear streaks on her cheeks.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved," she informed me, helping me back to my feet. "Eric, he... He doesn't mean it."

"He hit you," I pointed out, my voice choked. "He hit me!"

"He just gets angry sometimes."

"People are allowed to get angry. Bryce gets angry. But if he ever laid a hand on me, I'd make sure it was the very last day he spent on this planet."

And I will ensure that today is Eric Reidman's last day, as soon as I figure out how to hold my head upright.

"I should stay here and wait for Eric," Whitney said, sniffling a bit. "Can you find your way back?"

I'm not even sure which way is right and which way is left at the moment.

"I just stood up to your abusive boyfriend to get you away from him," I pointed out.

"You wouldn't understand."

So I'm essentially suffering from a throbbing face and pounding skull right now for nothing?

Usually I'm pretty good at pep talks, talking people out of making the wrong decision or boosting self-esteems or basically just talks in general. But my current state was inhibiting me from being my usual, peppy self.

"Do what you want," I muttered.

All I could think about the pain reverberating throughout my skull, and I really just needed something to help take it away so I could think clearly again.

And then she left me in the woods.

I slowly began making my way in the direction I was sure was the way that I came in.

But my vision was still slightly blurred and my head was pounding, so I couldn't be entirely sure.

Each step send waves of pain through my skull, and I tried to tread lightly, keeping my left hand cupped around my left cheek, where I'd been struck.

I saw a figure up ahead, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

I didn't need more than one guess to know who that was.

"Asher!" I called out, practically stumbling into him.

"This is a nice change of pace," he said, giddily.

I stepped back a couple of steps, still cupping my face. "Kylie, where's Kylie?"

"What's the matter with your face?"

"Kylie," I repeated.

"Your face," he repeated, reaching up and removing my hand. He dropped his cigarette, his jaw falling slack.

And then his gaze went hard. "Did your boyfriend do this?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

Bryce?

"Never in his life."

"Who did this to you?"

"Asher, Kylie please."

I didn't want to be consoled by Asher. I didn't really want anything from him. I wanted to be consoled by the very person I went into the woods to run away from.

He's the only person whose arms I wanted wrapped around me right now, whose hands I wanted to wipe away the tears I'm sure are falling down my cheeks.

But my face hurt too much for me to think clearly, and I needed Asher to find Kylie so that she could, in turn, locate Bryce.

It was a very complicated process that hurt to think about.

"Of course," an all-too familiar voice said behind me. "Looking for my girlfriend, and I find her with you."

I didn't even care that he was still being a jealous jerk. I just turned around, which caused me to stumble a bit, right into his arms.

I buried my face into his chest, the floodgates finally opening.

Eric Reidman had hit me.

My shoulders shook with sobs, and Bryce's arms tightened around me.

"What'd you do to her?" he demanded.

"You must be the boyfriend," Asher's voice said. "Dude, she came up to me like this, demanding that I find my sister."

Bryce went to brush my hair out of my face, but I didn't want him to see me.

It would only set him off.

So I just tightened my arms around him, my sobs increasing in intensity.

"Okay," he whispered, kissing the top of my head. "It's okay Soph. I'm right here. I love you." He rubbed my back, quietly consoling me.

"Did you find her?" a third voice asked. "What's the matter?"

"We're going home," Bryce stated, his voice tight. "Find Clayton."

I felt myself being lifted up off the ground, bridal style.

And then Bryce stopped.

My left cheek was exposed.

"What happened to your face?" Bryce asked, his voice low.

I pulled my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of it.

"Is she alright?" Clayton asked, his voice close. "Did she get drunk?"

"Take her," Bryce's voice ordered.

"You want me to carry her?" Clayton asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"Her face Clayton, look at her face."

"Bryce, please don't go," I croaked out, tightening my arms around him.

"Did someone do that to you?" Clayton asked, his voice much more quiet.

"I don't think she hit herself," Bryce snapped.

"Bring her to the car."

"I'm going to find whoever did this."

"Bryce, please," I sobbed.

I felt so needy and ridiculous. But I'd never wanted Bryce to stay with me more in my life than in this moment.

He stayed still for a few moments, and I just rested my head in the crook of his neck, hoping that he wouldn't let his anger get the best of him.

"Let's go," Bryce snapped.

He carried me back to Clayton's car. To the normal eye, it would look like I'd had a little too much to drink. But if you looked closer, you could see the way Bryce's jaw was clenched, the way his shoulders were tensed in pent up anger.

"Get her situated," Bryce said, passing me over to none other than Steven Anderson.

"Where are you going?" I asked, placing my feet back down on the ground.

He didn't answer, turning around and jogging back towards the party.

Clayton came around the car, handing me a pack of tissues. "These your shoes?" he asked, holding up a pair of white sandals.

"No."

"Damn." He handed them back to Steven. "Try again."

"Well which ones are they?" Steven asked me, clearly irritated.

"White Keds."

He headed back over to the beach as well.

Using the car for support, I looked into Clayton's side mirror, brushing my hair out of my face.

My left cheek was bright red, the clear imprint of a hand visible.

"That's going to bruise," Clayton said, behind me. "Pretty nasty too."

"No," I muttered, the tears building up in my eyes again. "No, no, no. I cannot have the bruise of a hand on my face."

He didn't comment.

How does Clayton know that?

"Are you in pain?" he asked me.

Quite a bit.

"You might have a concussion," he continued, with a slight frown.

"Where's Bryce?"

"Being Bryce. Who did this to you?"

"An idiot."

"Clearly."

I used one of the tissues to wipe off my wet cheeks, trying to calm my irregular breathing.

"Can I ask you a really personal question?" I asked Clayton, after a few moments of silence.

"Depends."

"How long does it take to stop hurting?"

I didn't know for a fact that he'd been slapped across the face. But judging by the way he seemed to know what he was talking about, it seemed like a pretty accurate guess.

"We'll need to get some ice on it," Clayton said, his face remaining stoic. "Get you an anti-inflammatory. But like I said, it's probably going to bruise. So it's going to hurt for a couple of days."

Everything he said seemed so straight forward, like he was reading from a textbook instead of talking from personal experience. And nothing on his face told otherwise.

Maybe I'd just jumped to conclusions.

"But if you want to know the truth," he continued. "There's no amount of Advil or over the counter anti-inflammatory that's going to take the sting away." He tucked his hands into his pockets, staring me directly into the eyes. "I probably have something at home that'll do the trick."

Or maybe not.

"These have to be it," Steven said, coming back with my shoes.

"Yeah," I confirmed.

"Holy shit, that's nasty," Steven said, as he looked at my face. He looked over at Clayton. "It's starting to, like, puff up dude. What should we do?"

I reached up and lightly touched the side of my face. It was warm to the touch, and I winced as my fingers came in contact with my injury.

And then I heard the commotion coming from the beach.

"Looks like Bryce found him," Steven said, using Clayton's hood to climb up on top of his car.

"The fuck does this look like?" Clayton demanded. "Get your ass off of my car."

Steven ignored him, peering over at the beach. And then he quickly scrambled back down. "It's an all-out brawl," he said.

Clayton took off jogging towards the beach, swearing under his breath.

"Bryce is fighting?" I asked.

"Yeah, couldn't see the other guy though."

Less than a minute later, Clayton came back to the car, practically dragging Bryce.

"Eric Reidman?" Bryce spat. "It was Eric Reidman, wasn't it?"

I didn't even want to know how he figured that out. I just wanted to go home.

"Baseball team?" Steven confirmed.

"Talk about this later?" Clayton asked, opening the door for me before heading around to the driver's seat.

One of the nicest things he's ever done for me.

I climbed into the car, my head pounding as I tried to keep myself steady.

Bryce climbed in through the other door, folding his arms across his chest and sinking low in his seat.

The car ride was unbearably silent, the tension thick.

I slowly crawled across the backseat, leaning my uninjured cheek into Bryce's shoulder.

"Don't be cute," Bryce muttered. "I don't deserve cute."

I just wanted him to be there for me right now, to comfort me. Why was he wallowing in self-pity?

"What's the matter?" I asked, reaching up Bryce's arm and pulling it around my shoulder.

"It's all my fault."

He can't be serious.

"How do you figure that?"

"You wouldn't have even been in those woods if I hadn't gotten mad about that Asher kid. I don't even care about him Sophie, okay? I don't care what you do with him."

I let out a long sigh, not really in my pep talk mood due to the pain radiating from my face.

Bryce reached over and began tracing a pattern on my upper arm, lightly placing his lips on the top of my head. "I'm..."

I looked up. I could see his jaw working, but nothing was coming out.

"-too worked up to talk right now," I filled in, letting my head drop back down. "I don't want your apologies. I just want your love, your comfort, your consolation."

"I can give you all of that," he muttered, continuing to run his fingers over my upper arm.

I loved that feeling.

"For once," he said, placing his lips on my ear, "I'll be the one to take care of you."

"Bryce, you do so much for-"

He cut me off with a light kiss on the lips, before brushing my hair out of my face, pulling me closer to him.

He doesn't understand that his love is more than enough for me. The way he puts a smile on my face each and every day, the way that brings me flowers for absolutely no reason except to make me feel special, the little surprise dates he takes me on just because I'm his girl. I don't need the big, grand gestures. The little things are more than enough for me.

But instead of voicing my thoughts, I just let him comfort me as we headed over to Clayton's house.

I'm not sure why we were here, but I didn't argue, because I certainly couldn't go home. Not with a handprint on my face.

"They're probably asleep," Steven commented, as Clayton unlocked the front door.

Bryce's arm was wrapped firmly around me as he guided me inside.

Both Clayton and Bryce chuckled.

"They're both sitting on the couch in the living room, pretending to watch TV, but they're really just waiting for me to get home," Clayton informed him, as we headed inside. "Because even though I'm 18 years old, they still-"

"Clayton, is that you?" Clarissa's voice called.

"Yeah, I'm home!" he called back, dropping his key on the front table before heading into the kitchen, which connected with the living room. "And I brought some people with me."

"You're home early," Taylor commented, smiling at us as we walked in. "The first night we don't give you a curfew, and you come home before your curfew usually was."

"We have a situation."

The smile dropped off of his face.

"What kind of situation?" Clarissa asked, rising to her feet. She immediately rushed to his side, squeezing his cheeks between her hands. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I'm not the situation."

She dropped her hands back to her sides, offering him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, mom instinct."

Steven was choking back laughter.

Bryce sort of shoved me towards Clarissa.

"Oh honey," Clarissa gasped, curling my hair back behind my ear as her eyes swept the side of my face.

Taylor's eyes immediately snapped over to Bryce.

"It wasn't me!" Bryce said, his voice rising a couple of a notches.

"Of course it wasn't," Taylor said, his voice full of relief.

"Bryce, get the girl some ice," Clarissa said, as she guided me towards the couch. "And Clayton dear, some Advil?"