We load Eggie in the back of Taehyung's van. Except for the seat lock being popped, she seems to be in one piece. We found my helmet and all my stuff scattered behind the seat of RM's truck. We also found my scooter lock hanging off his tailgate; he'd removed it with industrial bolt cutters.

Turns out that one of the two people sitting with RM when we first walked into the garage was a friend of RM's. Seeing how he was planning on helping RM sell my scooter, I didn't say anything to the guy, but Taehyung told him to drive RM to the hospital. When they left, RM could walk - barely - but he was going to need X-rays. And probably some pain medication, which was just lovely, considering what I now know about RM's history with drugs.

But after all that, RM didn't say one word to me. He wouldn't even look me in the eye or acknowledge I was in the same room. Truth was, I couldn't really face him. It was humiliating for both of us, I guess. And I'm pretty much still in shock over the whole fight that  could barely speak.

When we're ready to leave, Taehyung thanks Jimin, who advises me on a better-quality scooter lock. Turns out that his motorcycle garage isn't a chop shop at all; he was seconds away from kicking RM out before he got the phone call about Taehyung looking for my Vespa. So once again, my assumptions and I are completely off the mark. He says to Taehyung, "Tell your mom next time she wants to sell a bike like that, to come to me first. I'll give her a good deal."

"You got it," Taehyung says. "We owe you big-time. You know anyone that needs a board, come by the shop."

Jimin gives us a wave. We race through the rain and hop inside the van, and then we drive away. The windows are all fogging-up, and I'm trying to help, looking for the switch to turn on the defrost, but my hands are shaking. I'm still freaked out. I can't calm down. "the black button," Taehyung says, and I finally find it. I turn the fan all the way up and try to concentrate on making the windshield clear instead of the fact that he's still bleeding. It works until we come to the end of the dirt road.

"I think we should go see a doctor."

"it's fine."

"You're being ridiculous. Pull over at the first store you see and I'll get something to clean your wound."

He cranes his neck and examines the damage in the rearview mirror. Yep. Listen to the smart person in the car. Instead of turning right on the paved road to head back home, he turns left. Should he be driving? RM did punch him in the head a few times. Or maybe he knows something I don't. Now the road is going uphill. We're winding up some coastal cliffs, and the rain's coming down. And I see a sign that says SCENIS OVERLOOK. He slows the car and turns into one of those pull-over areas for tourists to park. It was a jaw-dropping view of the Pacific, which we might enjoy if it weren't overcast and raining, and he weren't bleeding all over the seat.

"This doesn't look like a store to me," I say anxiously when he opens up his door.

"We don't need a freaking store," he says in a way the character in City Hunter says. The movie I watched with V online a few times. But it makes a little guilty to think about that when I'm here with Taehyung.

Taehyung the animal. I'm still rattled over the insane amount of raw violence I just witnessed. And I'm not sure how I feel about it.

He jumps out, groaning, and heads around the van to a sliding side door, where he gets a small box. Then he comes back and slips into the front seat and opens the box he's collected: a plastic first-aid kit covered in stickers.

"Surfers always carry supplies," he explains, rooting around the box with one finger. "We get banged up all the time."

After several seconds of watching him struggle, I realize his other hand is too busted up to use, and pity overrides whatever lingering shock I'm still experiencing. I took the kit away from him. "Let me see that. You can't nurse yourself, pabo."

"Oh, good. I did all this as an excuse for you to put your hands on me."

"Not funny."

"A little funny."

I find some alcohol swabs and a bunch of butterfly bandages, along with a couple of condoms, which I try not to think about too hard. "You're scared the crap out of me. Look, here's a packet of Tylenol. It's been expired for a few months, but better than nothing. You have something to drink it with?"

"You need to work on your bedside manner, Nurse Suzy," he says, groaning as he leans to pick up a half-empty bottle of water wedged in the seat. He pretends to be irritated with me when I pretend to be mad at him as I hand him the pills. He swallows them and grunts.

I kneel on the seat and tear open a swab. The sharp scent of alcohol fills the van. We both make a faces. He swings his door open, and the fresh air feels good. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks below is calming. Kind of.

Too chicken to start on his face, I carefully pull back the collar of his shirt and swipe the cool swab over the dried blood on his neck. He shudders. "Cold."

"Sorry," I mumble. I make quick work of the trail of blood. I unfold the swab, rearrange the first-aid kit in my lap, and get serious about cleaning him up. If I focus on this, then my mind will stop jumping back to frightening images of him ripping RM apart like a wild tiger. He leans back against the seat and closes his eyes.

"Taehyung?"

"Mmm?"

"Remember that time you saw RM talking to me outside Deja Vu on the boardwalk?"

"Yeah."

"He didn't know I was listening, but I saw him come in the store and ask the girl at the counter, Lisa, to help him out because he was going to somewhere and needed something."

Taehyung's eyes fly open. "What? That's not what he told me."

"He was lying. And when he was talking to her inside the store, she said, 'I thought you were chipping.' And he told her that he was, but he just needed something for today, and that he promised it was only once, and she said she'd try to help him."

"I knew it." Taehyung hits the steering wheel.

I put a hand on his arm. He's going to reopen the gash on his cheek if he's not careful, and I haven't even gotten to clean it yet. "What's chipping?"

"he's such an embarrassment."

"Yeah, get that. Just tell me. Girl with the alcohol, remember? If you don't tell me, I will make you burn."

A sigh gusts out of his chest as he sinks into the seat, lazily propping one knee against the dash between us, making my knees press against his leg. I absently wonder if he did that on purpose - he's always closer than I'm comfortable being - but he's baring his cheek for me now, so I get back to work while he talks.

"RM jacked up his leg surfing somewhere he shouldn't have been surfing three years ago. He wasn't watching the weather, and he took a risk. He had two surgeries. When the oxycodone prescriptions ran out, he started buying it from a kid at school. And when that ran out, he started looking for anything else - vodka, coke . . . but nothing kills the pain quite like opiates. And what's a better opiate than heroin?"

My hand stills. "Please tell me you're joking."

"it's surfing's dirty little secret."

"Like, shooting up?"

"As far as I know, he smokes it, but I'm not really around him when he's doing it. I'm just going by what I've heard, and I've never seen any needle marks. That really, really stings, Suzy."

"I'm sorry. You probably need stitches. It's bleeding a little again." I push his hair back and see a nasty bump on his temple. He's lucky that chair didn't smash any bones in his face. I'm not entirely convinced it didn't,  actually."

He winces. "Keep cleaning it, just be kind. Anyway, 'chipping' is something people do when they think they can outsmart heroin. They do just enough to get high for a weekend, or whatever, but don't allow themselves to have any more until the next weekend - knock-out all week, so they don't go through withdrawals. If they aren't addicted, they're in charge, right?"

"That doesn't sound like it would work so well," I say.

"It doesn't. because there's always that one holiday weekend that turns into three days, or they're having a bad week and need to blow off steam. And before they know it, they're backsliding, and their conservative plan is busted. They're lying to themselves, thinking that they've got it under control. Like Peter Paul Marine. People say that's what killed him."

I'm stunned. I know Jacqueline said RM was into serious narcotics, but heroin? That sounds like something out of a movie. It doesn't happen in real life. Not to people my age, anyway. "Does this hurt?" I ask, lightly dabbing antibiotic ointment on his wound. It looks like a crevice in an dry desert, red and angry, cracked open.

"Nothing hurts when you're touching me," he says in a faraway voice.

I have to stop myself from smiling because I'm afraid he might open his eyes and catch me. And I don't want his eyes open, because I can look at him up close now. The sharp lift of his cheekbones. The way his wild hair, damp with misty rain, are sticking to his face. The two different eyelids, and the tiny beauty mark on the tip of his nose.

"Is he going to be okay?" I ask.

"RM? I really don't know," Taehyung says, in a hard breath as I fix a butterfly bandage to his cut. Three should do it, and that's all we have, so I guess it will have to do. "I'm less worried about him right now, and more worried that you're sorry you ever gave me your number and will never go out on a date with me, because now you're thinking all my friends are trash and we really have nothing in common."

"Is that so?" I peel off the paper backing for the second butterfly bandage. "And why do you even like me if we have nothing in common?"

"Well, you're beautiful and hot, obviously."

No one's ever called me this. I feel my chest getting fluttery and warm.

"And you laugh at my jokes."

A laugh bursts out - I can't help it. That's . . . so very Taehyung. It's self-absorbed and kind of endearing at the same time.

"Don't get me wrong, you're pretty witty yourself," he adds, cracking one eye open.

"Oh, am I? That's awfully generous of you."

He gives me a sheepish smile, chuckling, and shoves at my hands, because I'm playfully slapping him on the shoulder. "You're welcome. And, and - listen, now! Oww! I'm injured. Stoping laughing, damn you, and listen to me. You have to admit, if you think about it, we get along really, really well when we're not fighting."

Is he right? Do we?

I think we just might.

Taehyung makes a growling noise. "See, but that's the other thing. I talk too much when I'm around you. You make me feel way too comfortable, and that drives me bananas."

I laugh one final time and blows my hair out of my eyes. "You drives me bananas too."

There it is, that stupid, y box smile of his. He reaches for my hand and stops halfway, groaning. "That is not a good way to move my arm."

Now I'm concerned again. I ball up the bandage papers and close the first-aid kit. "RM didn't injure any anything serious, did he? Ribs?"

"If you want me to take off my shirt, all you have to do is ask, Bae."

"I'm serious."

He sighs. "I don't think so, but I'm not going to lie - starting to feel a little achy-breaky in the ribs area. Think I'd better take a peek, so you might want to look away if you're sensitive to dynamite male bodies. I don't want you swooning at the sight of raw surfer."

"God knows I've been forced to stare at RM's chest a hundred times, so I'm pretty sure I can handle yours. Come on, let's see the damage."

But as he s his security guard shirt, it's the least y thing in the world, because all I'm preoccupied with is how I'm going to drive this van if he's got a broken rib. And it only gets worse when his shirttails flap open.

If I thought RM was built, I was wrong. RM is a twig. Taehyung is a cliff. He's what happens when people use all their muscles at once to balance on a tiny plank of wet wood on massive, monster waves every day for years. All at once, I'm amazed at the beauty of the human body, ashamed at myself for using mine to do nothing but walk around on the block and watch movies on Appa's couch, and, most of all, I'm completely and wholeheartedly shocked by what RM has done to him.

When people say black and blue, they mean later, after the bruises have time to settle. But right now, his torso is mottled with big red welts, some of them slightly bloodied, some of them radiating jagged, crystalline lines of dark pink. It's a hideous map of bruises to come. The welt across his ribs looks like Africa, it's so big.

His chin is tucked to his chest as he holds his shirt open and inspects the damage, and I can tell by his groan that even he's startled. It hits me all at once. I'm freaked out that he's so hurt and didn't say anything, and I'm frustrated that he had to resort to testosterone-fueled rage to solve all this. I'm disturbed by all the violence I witnessed. I'm mad that he has a friend like RM, and I'm still enraged beyond understanding that RM stole my scooter.

But despite all that . . . look what he did. Look what he did. For me? And he's sitting here, in pain, falling apart, and all he's worried about is that I'm sorry I gave him my number and don't want to go out on a date with him?

It's just too much. I fall to pieces.

"Hey, hey," he says, alarmed, sitting up quickly, and then groaning a little. And that only makes me cry harder. He buttons his shirt halfway, covering up some of the evidence. "It's okay. I've had broken bones before. I'm not broken today, promise. I'm just sore."

"It's just awful," I say, choking back tears. "I'm so sorry you had to do that."

"He had it coming. You don't know everything he's done to me. This is just the last straw. Hey, whoa, shh." His hands over my upper arms.

I calm down. Turn my head and wipe my nose on my shoulder. Brush away tears.

"There." He swipes a thumb over my cheek, going back over what I've missed. Traces the arch of my eyebrows. Chases a flyaway hair at my temple. "And you know what?" he says in a low, intense voice. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat, because you didn't deserve what he did to you. I will be your revenge."

My breath catches, and I am overcome. Before I even know what I'm doing, I lean forward and kiss him.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a gracious kiss.

And he doesn't kiss me. Oh, no. I'm the kisser, which is the first time in my life that's happened - not the kissing, I mean, the initiating. I mean, hello. Initiating is not my style. But here I am, mouth firmly pressed against his. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm desperate about it and more than a little insistent, and if he doesn't kiss me back soon . . .

But he does. Holy molly, he does. It's as if a switch flipped in his brain - by God, I think he's got it! And I nearly started crying again, I'm so relieved, so happy. But then his mouth over mine, and a switch flips on in my brain (ding!), and then his tongue rolls against mine, and a switch flips on in my body (ding! ding!), and holyfreakinghell that feels good. We're kissing, and it's amazing, and his hand is down my back, and chills are racing everywhere, and HOLY MOLY HE'S GOOD AT THIS.

A massive shudder does through me and I freak out a little. My head's suddenly filled with all the things he's said about being 18 and ual freedom, and there's is not doubt in my head that he's exercised his rights with other girls - which is fine, whatever. No judgement. It's just that I have . . . not, and all this super-filthy kissing makes me more than aware of the experience gap between us. Which worries me. And thrills me. And worries me.

(And thrills me.)

Note to self: Save me from myself.

He breaks the kiss - probably because he can sense all the internal freaking out I'm doing. And yeah, sure enough, he says, "Suzy?"

"Yeah?" I say, but now I'm done with the freak-out. Now that I see his face, I can't stop smiling. Because his eyes are lit slits and he looks all dazed and confused, and that's how I feel: as if my body is a toy top, spinning so fast that I can't see anything outside the van. All I see is beautiful banged-up Taehyung, and all I can feel is this delicious whirling, twirling, buzzing, and I don't want it to ever stop.

Now Taehyung's smiling too, and I'm sure we both look like lunatics. Thank goodness we're sitting in the rain in the middle of nowhere. "Hey," he says, all raspy and deep. "Am I crazy, or was that the best kiss you've ever had?" His smile is acres wide and miles deep.

He knows it is.

"Surprising thing is, it's the best you've ever had too," I shoot back.

Both brows raise, and then he laughs, eyes closed. "You win. Want to do it again? Maybe it was just a fluke. We should test it out."

We do. It was no fluke. I'm going to melt right through the car seat. It's crazy. This is how teen pregnancies happen, I'm fairly certain. I finally push him away, and we're both breathing heavy. "See, told you," I say. "Best you've ever had."

"Want to know a secret? I knew if we ever would shut up and stop arguing, it would be. Come here. Don't get all shy now. I just want to hold you."

"You're injured."

"And you're soft. No more kissing, I promise. Please, Suzy. Let me hold you, no manhandling. Just for a little while. Until it stops raining. I like the rain."

He gestures me into the shelter of his arms, and since I'm on the side that didn't get too beat up, I gently curl against him. He's warm and solid, and I try to be as weightless and small as possible, try not to cause more pain, but he pulls me against him, and I give in. He sighs deeply, and we sit like that together, watching the rain fall over the ocean. Not talking. Just us. Just quiet.

But in that quiet, images of his bloody fight with RM race back. This body that's holding me right now so protectively . . . it was violently tearing another human being apart. How can he be both things - tender and brutal? Is this what boys are? Or is this what Taehyung is? He's so complicated. I swear, the more I learn about him, the less I understand who he really is.

His ferocity unnerved me today, so why did I kiss him?

And why do I trust someone who can shake me up like that?

I think of our heated arguments. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm not exactly an innocent bystander. he provokes me, but do I allow myself to be provoked? Do I want it? And what about my ruthless takedown of that kid who stole the Blasian falcon? Anna keeps teasing me that I've got secret strength, and it's starting to make me think more and more about my stupid therapist back in Gwangju and all his talk about me paying the price for my avoidance techniques. Shake up a bottle of soda long enough, when you take off the top, it's going to explode.

Am I more afraid of Taehyung . . . or the person he's unleashing inside me?