Bryce takes my hand, tugging me into the room.

He flicks a switch in the wall and the overhead lights come to life, revealing a fairly large room that looks completely dedicated to music.

Four guitars are hanging off of the back wall, a keyboard and bench beside them. A small sectional sofa is in one corner of the room, but the the centre point of the room is the huge desk with recording equipment set up on top of it; a desktop computer, multiple different types of microphones, and other things that I don't quite know the purpose of.

"This is the coolest thing ever," I tell him, and he grins at me, walking over to pick up one of the acoustic guitars off of its wall stand.

He then heads over to take a seat down on the couch, patting the stop beside him.

I go to sit down and he smiles at me before looking back down at the instrument.

He presses a button to turn on the tuner that's built into the wood, and he begins to use the pegs to tune up the guitar.

As he's doing this, I ask him, "How did you even find this room in the first place?"

He strums down all of the guitar's strings with his thumb before muting the sound with his palm, turning to look at me.

"I leaned against the wall one day when I was unpacking my shit after moving, and the door just opened. I have no idea why it's here, but I decided I might as well put it to good use. I had all of this in my room in Florida but I'm glad I found a more private space here," he answers me, and I nod.

"What, was it weird for you to bring girls home and have them see all of this?" I ask him, and though I intended for it to come off as a joke, it seems to strike a nerve for him and I instantly regret it.

When his eyes meet mine, something shifts a little, but I can't tell what he's thinking as his eyes move down to stare at my lips.

He then looks down to my décolletage, and I notice him frowning slightly when he sees that I'm not wearing my necklace.

"I never brought girls into my room. I always just used one of the spare rooms because I don't like people invading my personal space. They only people that've been in here are you and my dad, you know," he tells me, and I'm mad at myself for the way my heart is racing right now.

He's so good at making me feel special.

All his words just come across in a way that makes me feel like I'm about to melt into a puddle.

"Have you ever played guitar before?" he asks me, and I know that he's trying to revert to an easier topic.

I shake my head at him, and he seems to get an idea because his eyes widen a little bit.

He starts to pick out a pattern using his right hand, playing chords with his other hand.

The melody is beautiful and his face looks so peaceful as he plays that I don't want to interrupt; I just want to sit here and watch him for hours on end.

"There's no way that I could ever play like that," I comment, trying to sneak a compliment in there in the process.

He suddenly stops playing to tilt his head to the side and look at me, and I feel myself growing a little shy.

He sets the instrument down beside on his other side, before asking, "Want me to teach you some things?"

I think for a moment, wondering if he intended the double meaning of his words.

I take a moment to think about his offer before concluding that no matter what meaning he was going for, I'd be okay with it.

Wait, no. I wouldn't. I can't contradict myself like this.

It's not fair to Bryce that after all these times I've rejected his attempts to make a move, I'm now leading him on.

I'm sitting here with him, alone in a small room in an empty house, and it's the exact opposite of what I hoped for us.

Still, I nod at him, and his eyes light up.

To my surprise, he pats his lap, and I have to take a moment to blink at him.

"What?" he asks innocently. "It'll be easier to teach you if you sit in my lap, Blossom. It'll give me a better angle," he says, quirking one of his eyebrows up with an obviously cocky smile on his face.

Before I can answer him, he pulls me into his lap, picking up the guitar and handing it to me.

Sighing, I hold it the same way he just was, and he seems to approve as he wraps his arms around my waist, resting his chin on one of my shoulders.

"From low to high, the strings are E, A, D, G, B, E," he tells me, and I know for sure that I'm not going to be able to remember that.

He then proceeds to take my left hand in his, placing my fingertips so that my pointer and middle finger are on the two second-lowest strings, right above the second line.

"Press down hard. It'll hurt but it'll get better," he tells me, and when I look back at him he's smiling like an idiot.

"Can you cool it with the sexual innuendos?" I ask him, and he shakes his head unapologetically.

His eyes go back to my fingers on the guitar and he switches back to our lesson, instructing me by saying, "Try playing the chord with your thumb."

I strum my thumb down all the strings like Bryce had done, and I have to cringe when the notes all buzz.

Bryce laughs at my reaction, telling me, "Press your fingers harder."

I do as he instructs, playing the chord again. It sounds slightly better, but still bad and nothing close to when Bryce plays.

The strings are definitely digging into my skin now, and when I pull back my hand, I see red indents in my fingers from the metal of the strings.

"Ow, Bryce. How do you do this?" I ask him, resting my hand on the body of the guitar.

Bryce's chin is still on my shoulder so I can see his small smile out of the corner of my eye.

"Practice. I have callouses, remember? When the skin is tough it doesn't really hurt," he tells me, taking the guitar from me and setting it down beside him.

He wraps his arms tight back around me, pulling me so that my back is flush to his chest.

I take a deep breath in, trying to calm my racing heart.

"Have you been studying for exams?" I ask him, and he shakes his head at me, toying with some of the material of my dress.

His hands trail up my back and he begins to twist my ponytail around his finger.

"Thanks for wearing your hair up. But no, I never bother studying. I can just kind of remember things after reading them once," he tells me, and I've never been more jealous of him.

"I wish I could relate. You're so lucky. I'm feeling terrible about how my grades are going to look," I confess, and Bryce lets out a small sigh in response.

"Don't say that. You're very intelligent. You'll do excellent, and after exams are over you can continue daydreaming about the lameass dance that you're so thrilled about," he tells me, and I pinch his arm in reply.

I know that he's probably beaming right now, and I decide to turn around to see his face to confirm my suspicions.

My breath catches in my throat when I do this, as I find myself staring right into his eyes.

Our faces are extremely close to each other right now, and because of how darn short I am, he still has leverage on me even as I sit in his lap.

He uses his grip on my waist to twist my body around so that I'm facing him more, and if I didn't know Bryce better, I would think that he's nervous.

"Blossom?" he asks me silently, and his voice is shaking.

I blink at him. He's staring blatantly at my mouth, not even trying to hide his interest.

"Yes?" I reply nervously as I try to conceal my feelings.

"Do you know what you're doing to me? It's insane. It broke my heart to pieces to have you say those things to me, and it hurt even more hearing you cry because of it. I've never felt this way before," Bryce whispers, and I close my eyes for a moment.

My head is swimming, and it feels impossible to clear my mind at this rate.

I can't think straight around this boy, not one bit.

"That's not the only time I've cried over you, Bryce. Whenever I remember that we can't be together, not ever . . . it hurts," I tell him, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"When else did I make you cry? I'm so sorry," he tells me, sounding worried, and I see so much sincerity in his eyes that it makes me immediately emotional.

He reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair from my ponytail back behind my ears, and I notice his eyes wandering to my piercings.

I can't help but to wonder if he likes them, or if he thinks piercings are weird. I'm still surprised that he doesn't have any piercings himself.

"It wasn't because of anything you did directly, Bryce. I just really hate fighting with you," I explain, and his fingertips graze my chin.

"We don't have to fight anymore. We're making things more complicated than they have to be. It's just high school, right? We could do whatever we want and we don't even have to tell anybody," he pleads with me, but I shake my head rapidly at him.

"We've already discussed this, Bryce. I told you how I feel about us. I still stand by what I said," I say confidently.

Bryce looks broken. Completely torn apart.

He's staring at my mouth again, biting his bottom lip gently.

His eyes are narrowed now, and it hurts a little to know that what I'm saying is causing him pain once again.

"Blossom, it's been thirteen years. Thirteen years of knowing you and learning about you. I've hidden my feelings for so long, and I really didn't think you were on the same page," Bryce tells me quietly, but I'm speechless and unsure of how to react until he asks me something.

"Can I kiss you? Please?" he pleas with me, and I certainly do know how to respond.

I shake my head at him.

"No. We've talked about this, and I really hoped you could respect my wishes," I tell him sternly, and his eyes turn even sadder.

"Please," he continues, and I shake my head again.

"I'll do anything you want. All I want is one quick kiss. I miss it. I miss you," he requests, and I finally gain back control, standing up from his lap.

Now that our faces aren't as close anymore, I feel far more confident, crossing my arms across my chest.

I notice that Bryce is now shamelessly staring at my chest. I guess that the neckline of my dress seems to have been accidentally tugged down a bit more, and I'm fast to adjust the article of clothing, placing my hands on my hips now instead.

Bryce is evidentially flustered, and his cheeks turn a little red.

"Seriously? You're not even being subtle today," I hiss, and my tone seems to take him back a little bit because he stands up, grabbing the guitar and heading past me to hang it on the wall again.

When he walks back to me, he keeps about a foot of distance between us.

His hands are in his pockets now, and he's looking me up and down.

"Stop eyeing me like that. You're just confirming all the thoughts that I've been having; we really shouldn't be spending time alone together," I tell him, growing more and more scared as I wait to gauge his reaction.

"Stop with the bullshit, Blossom. You don't feel that way and neither do I. You're just scared of your own feelings," he tells me, and I don't appreciate how he's acting like my therapist.

He thinks he can read me when he apparently knows nothing about me.

"So you fight me on this now, but not the first time? Thanks for not sending mixed signals at all," I say sarcastically.

"I know what I feel, and I think that we're done spending time together like this for good," I continue and Bryce looks terrified.

"Wait, no," he starts, stepping forward towards me.

He reaches up to try and touch my face, but I grab his wrist, pushing his hand away.

He frowns at this, continuing by saying, "Stop lying to yourself."

I tighten my fists at my side to try and hold in some of my anger.

Then, taking a deep breath in, I demand, "Take me home, now. The way that you're acting is scaring me and I don't like it. Coming here with you today was a mistake."

I regret saying this right away because now he looks even angrier, and I'm worried that I'm going to have to call Charlie to have him come and pick me up instead.

Bryce takes a step towards me.

"You can't handle the truth, huh? Sorry, sweetheart, but you're not helping yourself. Cut the bullshit," he tells me, and the way that he's glaring at me is terrifying.

I know that he would never hurt me physically, but I'm still scared that he'll say something that goes too far.

"I need you to drive me home right now. If not, I'm calling Charlie," I tell him, and I know that those are the last words that I'm going to be saying to him all night.

He stares at me, his eyes narrowing for a moment.

He doesn't look like he's going to make a move, and so I do instead, walking out of the room, through the closet, and into the bedroom.

Bryce joins me a few seconds later and we walk out of the bedroom together, leaving him to slam the door shut behind us. He doesn't hide his aggression as he does this before rushing down the stairs, skipping every second step.

I follow him down where I find him retrieving my jacket from the closet. He hands it to me when I reach the doorway, and though my hand grazes his, I'm fast to pull away.

I pull the jacket on before also slipping into my shoes, watching as Bryce grabs his keys.

He holds the front door open for me, but I don't acknowledge him even as he joins me on the front porch, locking the door before heading down the stairs.

We're both absolutely silent the whole ride back to my house. Even when he parked the car out front, he didn't bother waving me goodbye as I stepped out of the vehicle.

He sped off right away, leaving me standing alone in my driveway, feeling the worst I have in a very long time.

I should have known better, which is the worst part of this all.

I end up hurting every time but I keep going back for more.

Distraught, I walk up the steps to my home, remembering that I didn't have time to grab a key. I knock on the door instead, praying that the television volume isn't up too high or else nobody in my family will hear me.

I'm glad that when the front door comes flying open it's my brother I find standing there, because the moment I step into the house, the tears begin to fall down my cheeks.

Charlie's brows shoot straight up, and after. close the door behind me, he pulls me into a hug.

"Woah, Lex. What happened? Did he do something?" my brother asks me, and I can't form any words right now.

I'm praying to God that my parents don't hear me sobbing, and as much as I need to be in the comfort of my bed right now, I know that I can't leave Charlie hanging like this.

"Not particularly. I'm just too naive for my own good. I did this to myself so I shouldn't be blaming him," I answer vaguely, and Charlie looks extremely quizzical.

I'm aware that my response wasn't very helpful, but Charlie seems to read my mind because he walks me upstairs, not asking for any additional information.

"Let me know if you need anything," Charlie tells me, and I nod, stepping into my bedroom and closing the door quickly behind me.

The first thing I do is head to my closet, pulling Bryce's sweatshirt off the hanger and up over my head.

I'm acting insane right now, but the tears don't stop falling even as I remove all my makeup with a makeup wipe.

When I climb into bed I bury my face into a pillow, promising myself that this won't happen again for the millionth time, knowing damn well that it will.