The next week, I don't hear a word from either Saige nor Emmie. Emmie has a legitimate excuse not to speak to me—she's home sick. Saige, on the other hand, will probably never speak to me again.

In gym class, she does make a point to glare at me every time I look in her direction. She even purposely shoves into my side as we're playing volleyball, pretending that she was just trying to hit the ball.

It's weird to think that someone I used to be so close with now hates me. As much as I want to, I don't hate Saige. I can't. I just don't have it in me.

At lunch, I eat in the library. I'm just too emotionally exhausted to deal with anyone at the time, so I choose to be alone. When fourth finally rolls around, I'm ready to rant about how terrible my life is turning out to be to Thorne, even though I know he's just going to tease me.

Only, Thorne isn't in chemistry when I reach my seat. As time goes by, he still doesn't show up. Before I know it, Mr. Musgraves has started his lecture—and Thorne still hasn't shown up.

I tell myself that he could be sick. More than likely he just skipped class. Only, I have this weird feeling in my gut that something's going on. I pull my phone out discreetly and send him a quick text, but—ten minutes later—he still hasn't responded.

Whatever, I tell myself. Don't obsess over Thorne's absence. You'll see him again tomorrow.

But he doesn't show up the next day, either. Or the day after that.

On the fourth day that Thorne doesn't show up to school, I really start to worry. The weird feeling in my gut that something is wrong only intensifies with time, and it's so consuming that I fail two quizzes.

At home, I find that I lounge around in Thorne's sweatshirt, pouring over the picture he drew me and leaving him voicemail after voicemail. Finally, unable to take it any longer, I call Charlie.

"Hey," I say as soon as she picks up, not giving her the chance to respond. "Have you seen Thorne lately?"

"Um, no," she says slowly. "He hasn't dropped by since last week. Why? Is something wrong?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," I reveal, slumping in my seat as I speak on the phone. "He hasn't shown up to school in four days, and I . . . I don't know. I feel like something's wrong. I can't stop worrying."

Charlie laughs, which doesn't make me feel too good. "You shouldn't worry, Me," she tells me, her voice gentle. "Thorne does that sometimes. He skips a lot. I'm sure he'll be back by Monday."

"But he won't answer my calls or texts," I tell her. I don't know how to explain it, but I can just feel that something is wrong. Or maybe I'm overreacting. But I think I'm right.

"That is kind of weird," Charlie admits. "He hasn't responded to any of my texts either. I'm sure he'll come around though. Just be patient with him, okay, Mia?"

So I do as she says. I stay patient. On Friday, I patiently wait for Thorne to show up. Only he doesn't. And he doesn't respond to my texts or calls, no matter how frenzied I sound with every message I leave him.

I don't know when it happened, but I started to care about this boy with an intensity I can't explain. And when something happens to the people you care about, you worry. So that's what I do all weekend long. I worry. I think the worst. I pray to God that he'll have mercy on Thorne, and that he'll contact me just to let me know he's still breathing. I know he used to be mixed up in some bad things. I pray that he's still alive.

Then, on Monday, he finally makes his appearance.

As I'm sitting in fourth, I don't expect Thorne to show up. I don't hold out too much hope, because I know how dangerous hope can be and I don't want to be disappointed. I'm staring at the door, anyway, praying that Thorne will show up . . . when he does.

I do a double take when I see him. He walks with his head down, like he doesn't want anyone to see his face. One of his arms hangs at an awkward angle as he shuffles to his seat, but the worst part is his face. Taking his seat next to me, I can see the mess clearly, making me gasp.

Thorne's right eye is a painting of purple and black, swollen slightly. There's a big bruise on his jawline, and another on his temple. And that's just his face. I don't even want to know what he's hiding under his clothes.

"Oh my God!" I whisper, my hands raising to my mouth as I stare at the boy I've fallen for in shock. "What happened to you?"

Thorne doesn't bother glancing at me. He just sits stiffly in his seat, like just movement would hurt him too much. "Nothing," he mutters gruffly, which is totally unlike him to do.

Slightly hurt, I try again. "Thorne," I start, shifting closer to him. "Who did this to you?"

"No one," he hisses, glaring at me. The look is so startling, I want to gasp again. He's never been so cold to me before, and I don't know where this is coming from. "Just drop it, okay, Mia?"

He didn't call me Sunshine, I notice. He's beaten and he's hurt, and that awful feeling I had all week was right. I was right to worry. Look at him.

I can't stop staring at him throughout the entire period. I hurt just looking at him. But he refuses to even glance my way, totally pushing me out. Whatever happened to him, it's clear that he doesn't want to talk about it.

When the bell rings, Thorne doesn't wait for me to walk out of class with him. That doesn't stop me from following after him. In my frenzy, I don't even bother stopping at my locker. I'm too concerned with Thorne, and there's no way I'm letting him get away without giving me an explanation.

"Thorne!" I cry, running after him. "Thorne!" I know he hears me, but he chooses to ignore my cries. He just walks faster, heading out of the school building and walking toward the parking lot.

"Wait!" I cry, shoving past the people in my way. "Thorne—please!" Before I know it, he's in his car. I race toward the passenger side, throwing open the door and sliding into the seat before he can lock it and drive away.

"Get out," Thorne growls, but I don't listen.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say defiantly. "You can't push me out like this, Thorne. Tell me what happened. Tell me who did this. Tell me—"

"I said get out." Thorne stares straight ahead at the window shield, clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

"You don't get to do this to me, Thorne!" I don't realize I'm screaming until I've said the words. I don't notice the tears until they're streaming down my cheeks. "You don't know how worried I've been the past week, Thorne! You didn't show up to school, you didn't answer my calls or texts, no one knew where you were!" A sob escapes my lips, and I notice a tiny fissure in Thorne's jaw twitch. Still, he won't look at me.

"I care about you, Thorne!" I cry, shaking my head. "I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. But you can't push me out now, okay? Because—whether you like it or not—I can't just stop caring about you. So, please, just let me in. Please."

"Look at me!" Thorne hisses, finally turning to face me. He gestures to the awful, multi-colored bruises on his face, pain evident on his features. "Do you see this, Mia? This is what I do to people. I can't—I will never be the guy that you deserve. I'm involved in some pretty messed up shit, and I will not drag you into it, okay? I don't want you to get hurt, Mia, so please get out of my car." His voice cracks and he looks strained as he says the words.

"Don't you get it, you idiot?" I cry. "I don't care, Thorne. I don't give a shit about who you are or the people you're involved with or the things you do or the fact that it could hurt me. Because the only thing hurting me right now is not knowing who did this to you. Don't you see? You could never hurt me."

"Trust me," he mutters. "I could."

"No," I tell him. "You can't."

"You're better off without me, Mia," Thorne says in a low tone. "I'll never be the kind of guy you need."

I'm still crying, I notice. And I don't care. "I'm better off with you, Thorne. I've changed since I met you. For the better. I wish I could make you understand that I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well stop trying to push me away."

"I'm not good for you, Mia." Thorne says the words weakly, like they're all he has left to prove his point.

I press my lips together, shaking my head. "I don't care, Thorne."

The next thing I know, his lips are on mine. He kisses me forcefully, his hands on my waist. Despite the fact that he's too hurt to be doing this, he doesn't seem to care about being gentle. He shows me everything our relationship is going to be through his lips, but I find that I don't care.

I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him impossibly close. I don't let my mind process what's happening. I just live in the moment, trying to tell myself that everything else doesn't matter. All that matters to me is the fact that he's back where he belongs, by my side where I know he's safe.

And I couldn't ask for anything more.

★★★

I've always wondered where Thorne lived. Where does he go when he isn't at school or with his friends? Who does he spend his days with? Where is the place he has to call home?

Despite my curiosity on the subject, I never thought that I'd actually find out where he lived. I never thought he'd be the one to bring me to his house himself, either. Then again, I never thought that I was going to end up falling head-over-heels for Thorne the first time I saw him. I never thought he would end up flipping my entire world upside down with just a wink. And yet, here we are.

After our kiss, Thorne takes us to his place—a trailer on the farther side of town. The whole drive from school, Thorne's hand doesn't move from its spot on my knee. And mine doesn't shift from on top of his.

I try not to seem too interested as I look around Thorne's home, my eyes wide. His house isn't much, but that's not the point. Just knowing that I'm in the place he calls home makes me ecstatic.

Thorne's trailer is a little worn down, but he's kept it up pretty nice. There isn't much on the inside, a few trinkets here and there, but enough for me to tell that he's doing okay. He drops his keys on the counter in the kitchen, just the effort of doing something so simple making him wince. That's when I remember that he's hurt, and he might need actual medical attention.

"Sit," I tell him, pointing to the couch as I make my way over to him.

"Yes ma'am," Thorne mutters, still trying to make jokes despite everything else going on around him. I gently fall onto the couch next to him, taking his face in my hands. I carefully run my fingers over the bruises on his features, noting the way he squeezes his eyes closed in pain.

When his eyes open, they immediately find mine, which are welling with tears. I don't know who did this to him or why, but I hate it. I hate that somebody else put their hands on him and hurt him this way. I hate that he had to suffer through this. I hate that I couldn't be there for him when he needed someone the most.

"Hey, Sunshine," Thorne says softly, raising a hand to my face and using his thumb to wipe away the lone tear that trails down my cheek. "Don't cry, all right? I'm gonna be just fine. It doesn't hurt that bad." I know he's lying for my benefit. Anyone with eyes can see the pain that he's in.

I notice the way his knuckles are split on his right hand. I force my eyes closed, trying not to think of how hard he had to hit something to make his skin tear. I don't want to wonder who ended up getting Thorne's fist to the face; how it managed to happen.

I tug on the hem of his sweatshirt, locking my gaze on his. "Let me see," I command softly. Thorne grunts as he does what I say, lifting his hoodie over his head. I press my lips together at the bruises and the gruesome cut on his side, trying hard not to cry. His ribs could be bruised. He might have to go to the hospital.

I try to focus on something else. Try to take my mind off of the mess of his body, keeping my gaze on the numbers inked on the skin where Thorne's heart should be. I recognize the number as the one tattooed on his arm, 11-2-15.

I run my finger over the numbers as I try not to pay attention to everything else around me, wondering if it's possible to actually black out from fear and grief and worry.

"Tell me," I whisper, forcing myself to look up at his face. "Tell me who did this. Tell me why. Tell me everything, Thorne."

He's quiet for a moment, a conflicted gleam in his beautiful green eyes. I understand that he's been involved in some pretty dangerous, messed up things. I understand that he might still be involved with those things. But I don't care. All I care about is Thorne himself, and I'm willing to risk being dragged into whatever it is that's tormenting him this way. Maybe then he won't have to carry all of this weight on his shoulders alone.

"When I was really little," Thorne croaks, not meeting my gaze. I prepare myself to hear a pretty messed up story, prepare myself for what he's about to tell me. "My parent's got divorced. My dad ran off with some woman that was half his age, leaving me and my mom to fend for ourselves."

Thorne pauses, our eyes locking. Taking a shaky deep breath, he continues.

"Mom tried her best, but we never had enough. She was a really great person, working her ass off to provide for the two of us. We lived in some pretty rough places most of the time, and we had to go through some pretty messed up shit. But she never gave up hope that our situation would get better. She would have really liked you, Sunshine." I can tell by the way Thorne uses the past tense to describe his mother that she must not be with him anymore. The realization makes my heart ache for him. He'd never admit it, and I'd never ask, but I swear I see tears welling in his eyes.

"When I was twelve, Mom got really sick," he practically whispers. "Cancer. We did the best we could to afford the treatments, but we just didn't have the money. We never had enough money. I knew that if I didn't do something, I was going to lose her. I didn't know where my dad went, and it wasn't like I could go out and get a job. That's when I first got involved in gangs." Thorne looks up, as if thinking that I'm going to say something about what he's just told me. I don't. I just listen, wondering why I hurt so badly at the story.

"I never did anything too bad. I was so young, so it's no wonder. And I never would have, Mia. I swear. The worst I did was sell drugs, keeping the cash to help pay for my mom's treatments. I did that for years, and I just barely made by. In the end, it didn't matter. When I turned sixteen, Mom died that November."

I study the date on Thorne's chest and arm, pressing my lips together so hard they become translucent. I will not cry, I tell myself. I will not cry.

"I wanted to leave the gang after that. I had enough shit going on. I didn't need to deal with the illegal shit, too. But it's not as easy as it sounds to walk out on a gang. I mean, yeah, you can physically leave. But—most of the time—they don't make it that easy. The gang I was in, in particular, allowed me to leave. But as soon as it becomes convenient for them to bring you back in, they will. So that's how it worked for the next three months. Every time the gang was offered a deal they didn't want to refuse, they'd send me to do the job. That's when I got caught selling the drugs and was arrested, which I'm sure you've heard about. I was expelled, sent to juvie for a little while. As crazy as it sounds, that was probably the best thing that could happen to me. The gang I was a part of couldn't reach me behind bars. I was free for the first time in four years."

Thorne lets out a sad little laugh, clenching his jaw. I see the rage in his eyes as he recounts his past, sense the tension he feels as he talks about his darkest days. I almost want him to stop telling me about it altogether. I would, if I didn't think it was important for me to know.

"You see me now, Mia?" Thorne gestures to the bruises on his body, the gash on his side. "This is what happens when you refuse to do a job for them, Mia. After they heard I was out of juvie, they tried to reel me back in. But I didn't want to go back down that path, Mia. I just wanted to finish high school and get the hell out of here. So I turned them down, and this is what I got in return."

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, blinking back tears. "I didn't—Thorne—" I don't know what to say, I just shake my head, telling myself that I will keep it together. I don't want to cry in front of him. I don't want to make this situation worse for him.

"Look at me, Sunshine." Thorne forces me to look at him by taking my chin in his hand, turning me to face him. "I need you to know something. Before I met you, before we became friends or whatever, I probably would have agreed to do what the gang I used to be a part of asked. I had just found out where my dad relocated to and heard that he's loaded now. He's had money this whole time, and he didn't do shit for my mom when she was literally dying. But . . . I don't know what it is about you, Sunshine. You just somehow managed to make me realize what Charlie and Jay and Wells couldn't years ago."

"And what's that?" I choke out, biting down hard on my lip so that I don't cry.

"That it gets better," Thorne says simply. He doesn't know what he's putting me through, saying those things about me. I lose it. I can't hold the tears in anymore, so I just let them fall. I don't sob or gasp for breath, I just cry silently. There are so many things we should be talking about right now, but I don't want to talk anymore.

"I should go," I spit. "You should rest. You need—"

"Fuck what I need," Thorne cuts me off, reaching for me. "I just want you, Sunshine." He pulls me into him, his arms holding me tightly as I cry into his skin. He holds me until I can't possibly cry anymore, until I've somehow managed to cry every tear in my body. And then he holds me some more, my head resting against his chest—despite all the bruises—his hand smoothing down my hair.

I'm drifting off before I know it, fading in and out of consciousness as I lay in Thorne's arms. There are so many things I should be thinking about right now, so many places I should be. But I don't let myself worry about what's to come. Instead, I just stay in the here-and-now, allowing myself to fall asleep in Thorne's arms as we lay together on his couch, surprisingly feeling the safest I have in days.