We end up checking into a motel in the next town over from ours. Bryant suggested it because he thought people would freak out if they saw me in the lobby of a hotel. I decided he was probably right. He had me wait in the car while he got our room key, and then he came back to the car to help me inside.

I'm currently seated on the toilet, and he's dabbing at the top of my head with a wet wash rag. He's being stupid gentle. I wouldn't have thought him capable of being so damn gentle. That said, it's an open head wound, and he's putting a wash rag on it, so it doesn't feel great. I keep wincing, and every time I wince, he jerks the rag away and apologizes. It's cute how careful he's being.

"It doesn't look too deep," he mumbles, sounding like the words are costing him something.

I know he hates admitting it to me because I also know he wants me to go to the doctors. Honestly, I fully anticipate his decision to be to take me to the hospital—even if I am dreading the moment he makes that call.

"Hate to say I told you so, but, ah--," my words are cut off when he dabs my head a little too hard.

I expect him to laugh when my gloating is cut off by my pain, but instead, he offers a sincere apology for the pain, and he lightens his touch.

"Don't make me go," I plead with him, and he laughs out loud in a way I don't think I've ever seen him laugh.

If I have seen him laugh like this, it certainly wasn't with me. It causes me to laugh too.

"What's funny?" I ask him.

"You. You handed me the power to make the call, and now you're all but begging me to not make you go," he points out, which is fair, but I really don't want to go to the hospital.

"Are you gonna leave me in suspense forever or are you going to tell me what your call is?" I ask him.

He steps away from me to rinse the rag out in the sink, and he picks up another rag. Then he surprises me by dropping down to his knees in front of me. He cleans off my forehead first, where some of the blood from my head ran down. He looks me directly in the eyes while he's doing it too. I stop breathing with him this close. He's never been this close before. Then he moves to the cut on my lip, but he avoids the split lip, instead running the cloth along the bottom of my lip to clean up the excess blood.

"You do look a lot better now," he mumbles.

"How do you feel?" he asks me, placing the washrag on the ground beside him, apparently done cleaning my cuts, but not moving from his spot in front of me.

"I'm drowsy, but I really do think they drugged me," I tell him. He runs a hand through his hair.

"I hate you being stuck in the middle of all of this," he tells me.

I smile at him. It's a nice thing for him to say, but it's not fair to himself.

"You're stuck in the middle of it too," I argue.

"I'm making a choice to be involved in it. It's different," he argues.

"Is it though?" I ask him, throwing it back at him quick enough that I see surprise flash across his face.

Then he considers the question.

"Not entirely, but I have more of a choice here than you did when you got hit over the head and possibly drugged," he tells me, finally standing from his spot on the ground and holding out his hand to me.

I take his hand, and I allow him to lead me into the bedroom. We're sharing a bed tonight. His explanation for it is that he's going to wake me up every hour to make sure I don't have a concussion, and he didn't want to have to climb out of bed every hour on the hour to do so. I told him I could have just sat an alarm every hour on the hour, but he said if I'm not spending the night in the hospital, I'm letting him check up on me during the night.

We're still working in ifs. He hasn't confirmed his decision to let me skip the hospital tonight. Even though I'm cleaned up now, he's dragging his feet on making that decision final.

"Are you planning to put me out of my misery any time soon?" I ask him once we're both lying in bed watching tv.

"If you're in misery, maybe we should go to the hospital after all," he says, but his tone is teasing enough I relax for the first time tonight.

"Come on, Bryant. Give me a final answer, so I can relax," I say.

He's reluctant, but he offers me a small smile.

"I'll agree tentatively to you staying out of the hospital tonight, but if anything changes, I'm taking you," he tells me, which is music to my ears.

"Deal," I agree, closing my eyes feeling exhaustion sweep through my body now that I know I won't have to go anywhere else tonight.

"Kyle," Bryant says, shaking my shoulders.

I'm groggy, but I'm vaguely aware of where I am. I crack my eyes open briefly before closing them again. They feel heavy. I've been tired before, but this is on a whole different level.

"You okay?" he asks me.

"Mhhghrr," I respond.

Bryant laughs.

"I'm going to need something a bit more coherent before I let you go back to sleep," he tells me.

I open my eyes for the sole purpose of glaring at him.

"I'm fine," I mumble.

He smiles at me, and then he brushes the hair away from my eyes.

"Don't be grumpy. I told you, this is the alternative to going to the hospital. If you'd prefer, we can just go to the--," he starts.

"No, no hospital. Sleep," I mumble, rolling away from him and onto my side.

I hear him laughing as I drift into sleep again.

I wake with a start. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my entire body is drenched with sweat. I think for a minute the reason for my alarm is the unfamiliar environment, but then I hear Bryant groan next to me.

When I look over at him, he's twisted up in the blanket, fisting it in his hands. His knuckles are white. His face is scrunched up in a grimace.

"Please," he whispers.

My heart stops beating at the sound of his simple plea. I reach out, and I shake him awake. It takes a couple of tries, and I have to use more force than I'd think necessary to wake him, but eventually his eyes burst open.

He sits bolt upright in bed, and he looks around the room with alarm on his face.

"You're okay," I tell him, hearing my voice crack despite my effort to make it sound sure for his benefit.

This is the second time I've slept with him. This is the second time I've witnessed him have a nightmare. It makes me wonder about their frequency. He looks at me, and he appears confused for a minute before realization washes over his features.

"Shit," he says, running his hands through his hair and laying back on the pillow.

He doesn't close his eyes. I get that. After a nightmare of my dad, I don't want to close mine again either.

"You all right?" I ask him.

"Fine," he snaps at me.

Lovely, angry Bryant is back just when I thought there was a world where we could get along. I roll over, giving him my back. If he doesn't want to talk about this, I'm not going to force him.

"Sorry," he says awhile later, when sleep has almost claimed me again.

I roll back over to face him.

"S'okay, I'm used to it at this point," I tell him.

He flinches. It surprises me. Since when does he care?

"I've been trying to do better," he tells me in a moment of rare honesty.

I smile at him, not quite understanding why it's such a difficult thing for him to be nice to me, but unable to make myself question it when he's apologizing.

"I know. You've been mostly successful," I tell him.

He smiles back at me.

"I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just not a fun memory, and you were pretty chatty the last time I had a nightmare in your presence. I was trying to shut it down before it started," he tells me.

"You were successful in that. Why apologize?" I ask him because I had no intentions of talking to him after he snapped at me.

"I don't want to be a dick to you, especially tonight," he tells me, and I feel like it's the most real thing he's ever said to me.

I look at him, really trying to figure him out, as if his facial expression tonight will offer me anything it's been unable to in the past. I don't get him. We're two different people, and we both know it, but half the time he acts like he hates my guts, and the other half of the time? Lately? He's been acting like he wants to be my friend.

"Okay," I say quietly, not wanting to push him with my response.

He smiles at me.

"They're about a guy my mom used to date. He was--," Bryant starts, clearly struggling to let me in, but he's trying which is more than he could say in the past.

I stay completely still afraid to move for fear he may stop talking.

"Not a nice guy," he concludes with what I'd managed to figure out for myself.

If he's the star of his nightmares, I didn't figure he'd be Mr. Rogers.

"You're safe now?" I ask him what matters more than anything else.

If he's still being hurt, there's got to be something we can do about it. He smiles at me, and he surprises the shit out of me by cupping my cheek and leaning in a little closer.

"I don't need a knight in shining armor if that's what you're asking me," he mocks.

I know he's mocking me, but the proximity between us is closer than it's ever been. I can feel his breath against my lips.

"I wasn't offering," I wink at him.

He smiles at me, but some of the humor leaves his face, leaving only a genuine smile in its wake.

"You're different than I thought," he tells me.

I don't know what he means by that, but it's got to be good considering he thought I was a rich asshole who only cared about himself.

"Yeah?" I ask him, even though I'm aware it's a major risk, fishing for compliments with him.

He could just as easily mock me, but instead, he remains sincere. His response is a nod.

Then he leans in closer to me. I'm so surprised, I don't move. I don't breathe. I just wait to see where he's going with this. When he's a breath away from my lips, his intentions are clear, but I'm still having a hard time wrapping my foggy mind around it.

"This okay?" he asks me, and I have no idea how to respond to that.

I've never kissed a guy before. I've never even considered the possibility something like this could ever happen with Bryant. I should take the time to consider the consequences, but I don't. I trust him. It's strange considering all of the shit he's put me through, but he's never once made me think he's untrustworthy. And I trust that he's thought this through enough for the both of us, so my only response is a nod.