Ten minutes later, I was sitting on the very edge of my bed with a glass of water cradled in my hands, and West was leaning against my closed door.

His arms were folded over his chest as he watched me in silence, and I avoided his eyes, my wounds raw and exposed.

I absolutely hated this—the weakness, the vulnerability—and I hated that he was looking at me like that. I hated that I was feeling these conflicting emotions, that when I looked away from him, my anger left.

"Stop looking at me like that," I eventually told him, meeting his stare. Even though he was standing on the other side of the room, his eyes still managed to penetrate mine with such intensity.

I hated it. Absolutely.

"How am I looking at you?" I felt a weird sensation after hearing him speak. Like being cold in a comfortable way, with your toes and fingers tingling.

"Like I'm a hopeless case," I responded after minutes of silence, and a corner of his lips quirked up.

"That's just the way you see it, Kim."

I traced a finger over the rim of the glass in my hand to distract myself when I saw him start to approach. His arm brushed against mine as he sat next to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn to look at me. I could feel myself sliding off the bed, so I sat properly, then took a sip of water.

There were a lot of things to say and, strangely, it felt like he knew that, too. The air was slightly tense, words hanging in the air.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

If I turned to him, our noses would only be an inch close to touching, so I took another sip of water, not responding to him.

"Why are you here?" I chose to ask after my lips parted with the glass.

"To talk to you."

"So you finally came out of the hole you've been hiding in," I commented with a humorless smile. "What makes you think I want to listen to whatever you have to say?"

"Well, you haven't asked me to leave yet."

He did have a point. And I hated it.

I finally turned to face him, only to have myself drawing in a sharp breath at how close our faces were. I hoped he didn't hear my sudden inhale, but with the way he was looking at me, I knew he was aware.

This was the closest I'd ever been to him. I could see the faint scar from his cut on his cheekbone, and when our eyes locked, I was confused. Because it was like I was staring into a dark abyss. His eyes had so much depth it was unbelievable. I wanted to get away from them, so I let my eyes drop, and, unintentionally, they landed on his lips.

Quicker than I could blink, I looked away, asking myself what I was doing over and over again. West cleared his throat next to me, and I moved away from him, a thought popping into my head as I hurried to distract myself.

"Let's go somewhere, then," I suggested without looking at him, my voice sounding strange to my ears.

"Where?" He didn't sound half as nervous as I did, like he went through stuff like this all the time.

I thought about my answer, then said, "Take me to your favorite place. I also have things to talk to you about."

Punch. West's favorite place was Punch.

The last time I was here, Jamie's unexpected appearance prevented me from going in, so that was probably why I kept looking over my shoulder as I walked in with West following behind me. It was warm inside, that kind of warm that was soothing, like the warm you got from a hug, and the place was almost empty, save for a couple of students with laptops at a table near the boxing ring. They talked as they typed, their lips moving quickly, matching the pace of my heartbeat.

When West and I stopped by a high glass table, I noticed that music was playing in the background first, then noticed the bar. A guy, probably in his early twenties, was putting fancy-looking wine bottles up on a shelf next to an arrangement of shot glasses, and before I even knew what I was thinking about, I was blurting, "Buy me a drink."

West, who was pulling a stool out for himself, paused, his eyes snapping to mine. "What?"

"You look eighteen," I said, earning a confused look from him that told me I hadn't explained much. "So buy me a drink."

"If you mean apple juice, then sure."

I sighed in exasperation. "You know what I mean, West."

"First, it's too early to drink. Second, I know you've never drank before. Third, you're definitely a lightweight."

"I need to have something in my system before having this conversation with you."

"The only thing you need right now," he interjected, "is something to eat and some rest, so have a seat and keep your mouth shut." I hated the way that sounded, and I felt incredibly upset, anger still cooking somewhere in my stomach.

Before I could act on my feelings, though, West walked away. I didn't even want to know where he was going, so I took my seat after pulling my phone out of the pocket of my dress. Immediately I unlocked it, I was met with that photo.

Honestly, I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe West was one of the reasons the streets were unsafe. I didn't want to believe he destroyed people's stuff. I didn't want to believe he was part of a gang. But this was too obvious to ignore. If Skye had just told me, I would've probably waved it off and called it a misunderstanding, but she sent me evidence.

I didn't realize when West returned, immersed in my thoughts, until a paper plate with two sandwiches on it was placed in front of me, and, startled, I pushed the power button of my phone and placed it face-down on the glass table.

West pushed a glass of exotic-looking juice in my direction as he sat across from me, and the bottom of the glass scraped against the table.

"Their breakfast menu is unimpressive," he told me after meeting my eyes, gesturing to the sandwiches in front of me.

I eyed the drink. "What is this?"

"Cranberry and mango."

I stared at my "breakfast," having the strangest urge to laugh. I honestly left eggs and toast for this.

"Stop looking at it like it's poisoned. Eat up, you're pale."

What right did he have to talk to me like that—like he cared? Obeying him anyway, I took a bite of one of the sandwiches, tasting mayonnaise immediately.

"Bad?"

I shook my head in disagreement, putting the sandwich back on the plate. "Where have you been?" I asked him, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Around."

Seriously? That was what he had to say.

"And why did you change your mind about texting me on Friday?"

He took a while to respond to that one, making a low sound at the back of his throat like he wasn't sure he wanted to provide an answer. "I didn't want to upset you," he finally said.

"What was the text?"

He took even longer. "I wanted to tell you to stop calling."

Was it normal for me to feel sad? Because I felt sad. And that sadness quickly transformed to anger.

I took another bite of my sandwich, thinking about my next question. My stomach was telling me things I didn't agree with, and I swallowed the bite in my mouth without chewing so it could push down whatever was starting to form.

Across from me, I heard West sigh before he said, "I'm sorry. That was unfair."

"I don't care about what you say to me," I lied. "I just want to know why you missed school "

"It's personal."

"You're lying to me, aren't you?"

"I'm not lying. It really is personal."

"What does Jett Foster have to do with it, then?" I snapped, finally looking at him, and I saw anger flash in his dark eyes.

"I told you to forget about it," he said, his voice low in a way that would've scared me if we were alone. Maybe it was because I was now aware of the vandal thing, but I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"I apologize for having a good memory."

West stared at me in anger, and it was weird being on the receiving end of it. I'd never really seen him angry before. "Stay out of my business, Kimie."

My head snapped back in surprise. It wasn't me this time, West really did sound threatening. All that was left was for him to say or else.

"I wasn't thinking straight enough," he continued, "that's why I called you, okay? Forget about it."

I took a long sip of the cranberry-mango mix, then let my eyes move around. I wondered how things would've been if I'd just agreed to help him out without asking any questions.

No personal questions, I remembered myself telling him that day I agreed to work with him. But all we'd been doing was questioning each other. Was it even my business if he was a vandal?

"Where were you last night?" His question was so abrupt that my juice almost came back up my throat. His gaze was calculated, urging me to tell him the truth.

But I could play this game, too. I didn't have to fall into the abyss. "It's none of your business."

West leaned back in his chair. "Let me rephrase that—what were you doing with Axel?"

I froze, but just for a second. Control was key. "How'd you know I was with him?"

"That doesn't answer the question."

"Like I said, it's none of your business."

"Oh, what the hell?" He leaned closer to me, frustration and anger mixed in his eyes. "You're not getting it, are you?" he asked, reminding me of the argument I had with my sister about an hour ago. "You got him kicked off the basketball team, and got him suspended, too. What do you think you're doing?"

"What right do you think you have to ask me that? Let me live my life, okay?"

"Kim, you're smart, so think about it from another point of view." I tried not to blush when he called me smart, which was absolutely ridiculous. "If you were in his shoes and you found out about what you did, how would you react?"

I hated that West had a really good point, and I hated that he was making me feel guilty. What kind of a Sunday was this?

"He's not going to find out," I told him. "By the way, how do you know who I was with?"

"I saw him dropping you off."

"And what were you doing in my neighborhood?"

He wasn't as quick to respond that time, and I lost my appetite. At this point, I knew I was going to ask him about the photo.

"I wanted to see you."

If it were any other time he said that with that voice, I would've melted with joy, but anger could turn the cutest puppy into a beast, so instead of thinking too long about his words, I turned my phone to face me, then put it on and unlocked it.

"Was that before or after this was taken?"

When I showed the photo to West, he didn't say anything. He didn't blink or act surprised, just stared at it with that same look in his eyes.

"Also," I added, frustrated at his reaction, "who's that in the background?"

He looked away from my phone then, his eyes briefly meeting with mine before they focused on the loud students. I didn't even know where the strength to have this conversation came from, and West's reaction made me realize that I was really, really exhausted.

I saw his jaw clench after a while, and my body just went limp. I leaned against the table for support, looking into my drink and staring at my distorted reflection on the surface. It was really fitting, because at the moment I didn't even know who I was. Was I angry Kimie or weak Kimie? Was I still the Kimie that started this journey at the beginning of April, or was I the Kimie that cared more about West than ever?

West wasn't going to talk to me, I could tell, and he was definitely not going to look at me, too interested in baby-faced college freshmen talking about a two page chemistry paper over the sound of fingers against keyboards. So I figured I'd do the work.

"I don't want to believe you actually do this, so tell me what's going on. Are you being forced or something?"

With the way he paused, I knew I was on the right path. Maybe if I just kept going, I'd reach my destination.

"Westley," I called in frustration, causing him to finally look at me.

"What?" he growled in response, truly mad.

"You can talk to me," I assured him.

"I know." He looked at my forgotten sandwiches, his jaw clenching again. "But I don't have to."

I stared at him for a long time after that, reminding myself that he wasn't worth my headache. He could do whatever he wanted, I didn't want to care. No, I didn't care. It was probably the exhaustion talking, but at that moment, I told myself I didn't care.

I didn't realize when I stood, performing the action without thinking, but before I could blink, I was bumping into the table behind me and losing my balance. My vision was blurry as I tried to stop myself from falling, and my legs were weak, making the attempt difficult. Giving up and handing myself over to gravity, I made my way to the floor.

But my trip was interrupted, and before my forehead could collide with the edge of the table, a hand caught mine, pulling me closer to its owner. West's hands were warm and gentle against my bare arms as he held me up, and his eyes were filled with concern as they studied me.

"See?" he finally said, those eyes watching me. "You have better things to worry about."

"Let go of me," I ordered, but my voice was fragile.

West surprised me by smiling. "Not until you're in the car."

"What if I don't want you to take me home? You can't force me."

His grip loosened on my arms, and my legs buckled beneath me immediately. I was very sure I'd fall that time, but he held onto me again, laughing. "You have no fight left in you, Kim. So yeah, I can force you."

It annoyed me to know that he found this amusing, and I silently fumed, not saying anything until his car stopped on my driveway.

He wanted to get out to help me, like I was incapable of walking on my own, but I stopped him.

"I'm fine," I snapped at him as he opened the door to get out, and I was surprised at how strong my voice was now.

"Kimie," he warned like an exhausted father.

"I said I'm fine! I can walk on my own." I took a while before turning to fully face him. "You know, I'm really starting to reconsider this whole working together thing. If you're not gonna be around, then I don't see the use."

I knew I'd hurt him—I saw the way his expression changed—but before I could feel bad, I got out of his car.

This is one of my favorite chapters (Westie (or Kimley?) kinda had their second date . . . right?), and I really hope you liked it.

How do you feel about West's reaction to the vandal thing, and what are your predictions?

Till next time, I ❤ you guys so much!