You don’t remember what happened after the party. All you could feel was the pounding sensation in your skull, and a rough leather seat beneath you. Your visions blurry—only seeing swirls of black and red—but you could see a man next to you. He’s shaking, cuts running up and down his arm, and vibrant purple bruises were painted on his skin.

You call out to him in which he turns to you with wide eyes. He’s smiling and crying all at once. It was hard to make out what he was saying, but he pets your hair. He’s gentle when his fingers skim around the bump on your head.

Your eyes droop again.

The car finally comes to a stop after five hours of driving on the open road. You’ve woken up again, seeing that it was Finneas the whole entire time. He looked worse since you have last seen him. His fluffy mop of blond hair was shaved off and now he has a rough buzz cut. Finn’s lower lip had swelled up—a dark red line indicating his skin had split.

Despite his appearance, he seemed to have chuckled. He scratched the back of his neck, his dark eyes looking everywhere else besides you. “I’m fine, okay? Stop looking at me like that.” Finneas cleared his throat, his voice that once used to be flirtatious and smooth had been reduced to a scratchy mess.

“I’ll fill you in later. Let’s get some rest first,” he gestured towards the motel.

He carefully reached for your arms, guiding you out from his red truck. When he sees you stumble, his grip tightens briefly. “You okay? Shit, I knew I should’ve just driven to the hospital.”