I don't know how long I sit in this stupid chair after Franco leaves. I'd say hours, but it might just feel that way. My parents have to be worried sick by now. Frankly, I am too. I don't know if I'm going to make it out of this alive, and that's the scariest thing of all. As much as I don't want Thorne to go to his father and steal his money, I'm almost wishing that he would. I don't want to be here any more. I'm tired and sore and hungry and weak, and I just want someone to save me already.

That's when it hits me that that's not the mindset I should be in right now. If I want someone to save me, why don't I do it myself?

I don't know how long it takes for me to wrap just one of my fingers around the end of the rope that's holding me hostage, as it's on the back of the chair. From there, it takes a while to slowly—but surely—begin to untie the rope that keeps me bound to this uncomfortable chair. After what feels like an eternity, I'm finally out of the stupid chair. I kick it as hard as I can when I'm finally free, wincing as soon as my foot begins to throb.

Watching the chair crash to the ground so hard one of the legs splinters makes the pain worth it, though.

Getting out of the chair was the easy part, as hard as that is to believe. There's not a single window in this Godforsaken room, and the door blends in with the wall. I can't remember exactly which direction Franco exited from, so I have to run my hand over the walls until I finally come in contact with something cold and metal feeling—the door that's painted the same shade as the walls. There's no knob on the door from the inside, and I can feel my heart sinking in my chest. I'm too small to break open a metal door. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I hurl myself at it, or toss the chair at the entrance, the door doesn't budge.

It's locked from the outside. Once someone is trapped inside of this room, they are never supposed to get out. My own white-covered prison, where I am to be held for God knows how long.

I guess that's when I start to lose hope. I slump to the ground in a daze, realizing that this is it. This is really it. Unless Thorne appears with that money soon, I'm done for. And he probably doesn't even know I'm here. And even if he does know where I am, why should he care? I can't exactly blame him if he chooses not to go to the trouble of getting me out of this hellhole.

That's when the tears start to fall. I'm sobbing, choking on air as I gasp for breath, leaning against the door and wondering how I even got into this mess. I bury my head into my arms, sobbing into my skin. I want this to be over already. I've never felt so hopeless in my life.

I spend the next few minutes/hours (time moves like eternity when you're alone with absolutely nothing to occupy you) crying and acting out in rage. I slam my hands against the door, even though I know it's useless. I stupidly punch the wall, which only makes my hand start to throb in rhythm with my head and my foot.

I know I should just calm down and be quiet, because all I'm doing is causing a ruckus. If Franco didn't know I'd managed to untie myself from that stupid chair before, he does now. Unless this room is soundproof, anyone within fifty feet can probably hear me succumb to a psychotic mess.

That's when I first start to hear the sirens.

I don't notice them at first, and even when I do start to hear the sound, I think I'm just imagining it. But the wailing sound of the sirens seem to get louder by the second, until it is roaring in my ears. I know it's a lot to hope for, but I'm hoping that the sirens are coming for me. It's realistically just a fire truck passing by, but I hold my breath, just waiting for the sound to disappear.

Only, it doesn't.

Instead, the sounds of the sirens triples, signifying more vehicles. I'm on my feet as soon as the realization hits me, pounding my fists against the door keeping me captive in this room and screaming.

"In here!" I cry, ignoring the way my throat locks up, my voice hoarse from all the crying and screaming I've been doing lately. "Please! Anyone! I'm in here!"

I can hear the sound of footsteps outside of the door that traps me in this awful room. I can hear cries and yelps from outside, the sound of a voice yelling, "Hands up!" Knowing that there are people—police officers, to be exact—just outside of the door in front of me sends my hopes through the roof. I bang on the door harder, the sides of my hands no doubt bruising. But I don't care, because I'm going to make it out of this alive and that's all that matters.

From right outside of my door, I hear a loud crash. Without a second's hesitation I hear a familiar voice barking, "Where is she? Where is she? I'm going to kill you!" There's another crash-like sound, only this one is followed by a shrill scream. I don't allow myself to wonder what is going on outside of the door, I just focus on the voice I heard seconds earlier, knowing that help has finally come.

Only seconds later, I feel the door giving way beneath my fists, being opened by my savior. I feel frantic, mad even, as I look up to find a pair of all too familiar green eyes. I take in the messy dark hair, the olive skin, the loose fitting white shirt revealing all the tattoos I have memorized, run my fingers over so many times.

"I found her!" Thorne bellows loudly as his eyes lock on mine, relief flowing through his green irises. "She's here!" That's when I notice Charlie rushing over, fear and concern evident in her gray eyes. She looks as frazzled as I feel, and I'm so overwhelmed I can hardly comprehend what's going on right now.

"Oh my God, Mia!" Charlie cries, wrapping her arms around me and holding me tightly. Tears stream down her cheeks, landing in my hair. "We were so worried! I'm so glad we found you!" She pulls away then, and I know it's wrong to admit, but I can't lie. All I focus on is Thorne, unable to believe that he's here. He came through. He found me.

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I'm shaking like I'm naked outside in the dead of winter. I'm rattled, I suppose, and the scene around me doesn't do much to steady my nerves. Men in dark blue uniforms surround the premises, locking men and women in handcuffs and dragging them out of the door down the hallway. I'm assuming that the people being taken are members of Franco's gang, being sent to their doom—prison.

I have so many questions about what is going on, about how I was found, how Thorne knew how to find me, why he even bothered. But all of the thoughts fly out of my head as my gaze zeroes in on Franco himself. He's crumpled on the ground only feet from where I stand, seemingly unconscious. Blood steadily streams down the side of his face from a fresh gash on his forehead, the sight making me nauseous.

I only feel more sick when I notice the red blood splattered in drops on Thorne's knuckles.

Thorne, who stands in front of me, just looking at me wordlessly. There's a fire roaring between us, making us hesitant to touch each other for fear of getting burnt. He doesn't seem to know what to say to me, and I definitely don't know what to say to him. I suppose I should be thanking him, but I seem incapable of forming words.

Then Thorne is stepping toward me, as if deciding that the fire between us isn't enough to keep him away. He takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to God if he—"

"I'm fine," I croak, cutting Thorne off. I'm shaken and going to have bad memories about this for the rest of my life, but I'm relatively okay. Physically, I am fine. "You found me."

"Of course," Thorne says in a low tone. Despite the fact that Charlie is standing next to us and there are swarms of police officers around us leading criminals out of the building, it's like there's only us in this moment. "Oceans couldn't stop me from finding you, Sunshine." And then his lips are on mine, kissing me with a ferocity that tells me he was scared of losing me, just as I was scared of losing him.

"I'm sorry," I gasp when he pulls away, my hands clutching his shirt in my fists. "I'm so, so sorry, Thorne. I love you. I love you so much." Him understanding how much I mean those words is the only thing that matters to me in this moment. I ignore the world around us, focusing on the boy in front of me who somehow became my whole world with nothing but a wink.

"I know, Sunshine." He holds me tightly in his arms, making me feel safe for the first time in a long time. "I know. I love you, too."

I cry into his chest as my world unfolds around me, finally understanding just how serious the situation I was just put into was. I could have literally died. All because some crazy psychotic gang leader wanted a little cash.

Thorne smooths down my hair, whispering comforting words in my ear. And in the blink of an eye, my world crumbles again. One second, I'm safe in Thorne's arms, crying as relief flows through my veins. The next second, I feel Thorne's grasp being torn from me, his arms being forced behind his back.

I watch in horror as a police officer not-so-gently jerks Thorne's arms backward, shoving his wrists into a pair of shiny metal handcuffs. Thorne winces, but he doesn't protest, and that is how I know that (besides the handcuff situation) something is very, very wrong.

"What are you doing?" I wail, rushing forward, glaring at the cop detaining Thorne with wide and frenzied eyes. "Why are you cuffing him? He's not a criminal! Thorne—what's going on?"

"It's okay, Sunshine." Thorne tries to appear calm, but I see the panic rising in his eyes as they meet mine. "It's okay. I'm gonna be okay."

"No!" I scream at the police officer who starts to pull Thorne backward, dragging him toward the door down the hall. "Thorne! What . . . why?" My voice breaks and my eyes prickle with hot tears that start to stream down my cheeks in jagged patterns. I lunge for Thorne, grabbing the hem of his shirt as the ever-so-silent cop tries to take him away.

"Mia," Thorne says sternly, though the expression he wears doesn't match his tone. He looks nervous, scared even. "It's going to be okay. Listen to me. You have to let me go."

"I just got you back!" I wail, and that is when Charlie grabs one of my arms in an attempt to pull me off of Thorne. "Why are you taking him?" I cry at the dark-haired police officer, completely full of hatred for him.

"He's a known criminal," the dark-haired officer tries to explain with a steely expression. "A member of the gang we were called to haul in."

As if that is all I need to know, the dark-haired officer starts walking toward the awaiting door again, Thorne in tow. I'm so scared, I can hardly think straight. Charlie tries her best to restrain me, holding me back and whispering words to me that I don't bother listening to.

They're taking Thorne away, and I only just got him back. They can't take him away from me. They can't do this.

"Thorne!" My voice breaks with the word. "Please, Thorne!" I plead, though for what I don't know. For him to fight, I guess. To try to get himself out of this mess.

By now, Thorne's halfway down the hall. I want to run for him, to tear him away from that awful cop, but Charlie won't let me. Just as Thorne reaches the end of the hallway, he looks back over his shoulder to look at me one last time. His eyes meet mine instantly, wide and full of remorse.

I'm sorry, he mouths. With that, he's pushed out of the door. I can't stop watching as Thorne is shoved into the back of a police car, taken away from me in a red and blue light show. The car takes off down the street with Thorne inside, and then he's simply gone. As if he were never here at all.

I turn to Charlie and fall into a mess. I wail into her shoulder, my face wet and sticky with an endless supply of tears. Charlie tries to comfort me, but it's not working. The only person who would be able to calm me down in this moment was just taken from me, sent to be locked up in some prison cell.

Charlie runs a hand down my hair as I sob, whispering shh over and over again. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of misery, Charlie grips my face in her hands and forces me to stare into her gray eyes.

"Mia," she says stiffly, as if what she is about to say is important. "Thorne was the one who called the cops."

"He—he knew?" I'm hardly able to choke the words out, and when I do I'm referring to the fact that Thorne knew he would be arrested. Just the thought sends new waves of tears rippling through my eyes, threatening to spill like rain.

"Yes," Charlie concludes, holding me tightly. "He knew what would happen to him. He did it for you. He had to get you out of this mess. He had to get himself out of this mess."

Just like that, my world stops spinning. I can't breathe, my heart doesn't beat, and I can't focus on anything around me. I can only focus on a single thought that refuses to stop spinning through my mind, begging to be heard.

He sacrificed himself. For me.

I start to feel defiance run through my veins with the thought, feeling myself become less weak and frail and scared. Thorne called the cops, knowing they would arrest him. Just to stop the madness Franco was creating in people's lives. Particularly my life.

And just as Thorne knew he had to help me, I know that I have to do the same for him. I'm going to get him out of this mess.

And I already have a plan.

✧✧✧

:)

so, Better Off hit 1K??? what??

if you're reading this & have stuck with my story—thank you so much! the fact that there are people out there who actually want to read my work will probably never stop blowing my mind. seriously though, if you're still reading this, you mean the world to me. i love you. ♡

p.s. if you're liking Better Off so far, you could always leave me a vote or comment so i know what you think ;). or not. whatever you wanna do :))).