The next day went by quickly. When our last day came up and I was packing my things, I realized that my Vera Bradley bag had most definitely been ruined, probably by Ryan in his drunk state, and I was instantly mad at him.

"It's all your fault!" I yelled at him.

"God, Caroline, I told you not to use that fucking bag! I told you it would get ruined and that you would get pissed at me! I knew it!" he screamed back.

"No, I have every right in the world to be pissed at you because you're the one who ruined it!"

"You know what? Fine. I admit that I was the one who ruined your bag. But I was piss drunk because of you!"

"Because of me? God, you are so annoying! You called me a fucking whore so I got mad at you! You didn't have to decide to drink until you couldn't stand up! GOD!" I shouted as I chucked one of his shoes at him. A few tears rushed down my cheeks.

Ryan tried to duck, but ducking just caused him to get hit in the head. "Goddammit, Caroline! I'm sick of this!" I didn't answer, but I chucked the other shoe at him, this time hitting his shoulder. "STOP THROWING SHOES AT ME!" Ryan said as he rubbed his head. I really hit him hard.

There was a silent moment as I shoved more clothes into my muddy bag. Then I felt Ryan's lips on the back of my neck. "Stop it," I told him, shrugging my shoulders. He didn't stop, he just moved closer and closer to my face. I was still crying; I really wasn't in the mood for this. I whipped my head around. "Ryan, stop." He stopped. He turned me around and wiped away my tears. Then he held me close in a warm hug.

We finished packing up the tents around noon. Landon and Ryan packed up the trucks while me and Tasha cleaned up all the empty beer cans. Everyone else was either taking a shower or waiting to take a shower.

"Ew," Tasha said as she dropped a can into the large trash bag. "That one was really sticky."

I laughed half-heartedly.

"Hey," she said, standing up straight. "How do you put up with it?"

I was confused. "What are you talking about? Put up with what?"

She rolled her eyes and nodded in Ryan's direction. "The fighting. How do you take it?"

I thought for a second. "I love him."

"Hm," was all she said. We cleaned up some more cans. "How can you love someone when you fight all the time? Isn't love supposed to be perfect?"

I stopped cleaning again. "No." Tasha looked surprised. "Nothing is perfect." Then I added, "Those fights mean nothing. They're just there to test us. Yeah, they're upsetting, but if everything was perfect in our relationship, I'd get bored. In a way, I think I need to fight with him a little. Like what we were just fighting about. When I was packing for this trip, Ryan told me not to bring the bag I wanted to bring. He said that I'd get mad when it got ruined. And I did. He got it dirty, so I got mad. He knows me. And he had to prove it somehow, even if he wasn't trying."

Tasha nodded in understanding and we finished cleaning in silence. Soon, everyone was back from showering and we were ready to leave.

"When we get into town, I need gas. We can get food and whatever else we want from the gas station," Ryan told Patrick.

"Alright," Patrick agreed.

Everyone got into the car they came in and we headed out. The truck was quiet for the first ten minutes of the trip. Ryan's face was tense; I could see the muscle in his jaw. It looked like it was about to burst. I gazed at Ryan's forehead at the bump that I knew was underneath his hair. "I'm sorry I threw your shoes at you," I said quietly. Ryan looked over at me and then back at the road. I felt his hand slowly close over my own. "And for yelling at you about my bag. You knew it was going to happen."

Ryan sighed, and I thought that was all he was going to do. But then he surprised me. "Do you trust me?"

I answered him right away, "Of course."

He sighed again. "It doesn't seem like it."

I was confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember that night I first took you to my grandma's house? And since then it's been little things, like with your bag. I told you that this was going to happen. Do you trust me?" he asked me again, glancing over at me.

I thought about it and realized he was right. Then I came to another realization. "I don't really trust anyone, Ry." I thought back to every boyfriend I've had since Luke, and with every single one, I was the reason those relationships ended. Because I couldn't trust them, they cheated and lied and abused. "Not since Luke," I added quietly.

Ryan squeezed my hand when he heard the name of the guy who raped me. "Please trust me," he said. And I swear I saw tears in his eyes.