Page 108 of Mad Girl

“You stay in here by yourself?” I asked. “While everyone else parties?”

“Not the whole time. Rory and some of the other guys hang out in here, too.”

Willoughby’s life sounded lonely and sad. As much as I hated how overbearing my dad could be, I’d hate it way more if Nic stayed gone most of the time and barely paid attention to me at all.

I stepped close, then raked my hands down Willoughby’s chest. He captured my mouth with his. And before long, he shuffled us back to the bed, where I pushed him against his headboard and straddled him. While we groped at each other (ha!) and kissed, all I could think about was Michael, hurt so badly he couldn’t face either one of us. And you—the things people were saying about you at school.

Impossible things.

Willoughby and the others had it wrong. They weren’t seeing a guy in love. They were seeing the type of guy who watched a sport he hated because it made his brother happy. Who made celery snails for the sole purpose of making a sick girl smile. Who couldn’t stand the thought of someone feeling trapped or snubbed or hurt.

They didn’t know you well enough to realize: that’s just the way you were. A good guy who cared deeply about the welfare and happiness of others. Too good, that is, to ever fall in love with someone like me.

Later, I snatched my phone off Willoughby’s nightstand and checked the time. 10:36. We talked a bit longer before I shoved my way downstairs to find Tinsley, bodies bumping against mine from all sides.

When I couldn’t find her downstairs, I shoved my way up to the second floor again—past a werewolf and a dead cheerleader making out, past Harley Quinn and a slutty Snow White, past a sexy red devil and Donald Trump—and checked the bathrooms next. I walked in on some guy snorting something up his nose, but Tinsley wasn’t there, either. I’d paused on the third floor landing to text her when Greer approached me. “You looking for Tinsley?”

I drew back. “Yes. Have you seen her?”

“Sure have.” Greer pointed to a closed door past the landing, right across from Willoughby’s room. “She’s in there.”

“Doing what?”

Greer leaned close. “Come and see.”

Something in his pale blue eyes caused a chill to race up my spine, but I slipped past him and went to that room, anyway, only to discover that the door was locked. Greer knocked three times, and Rory answered. That should’ve been the first red flag.

To the left of Rory’s arm, I spotted a neon yellow heel dangling off the bed. Without thinking, I shoved him out of the way.

Tinsley’s corkscrew curls covered her beautiful face. She lay curled on top of a white duvet, fast asleep. I brushed the hair from her eyes, shook her shoulder, and told her to wake up. She responded by mumbling something incoherent, eyelashes fluttering against her warm brown skin, her head lolling to the side in a way that made it clear: she wasn’t just asleep. She was fucked up. I swiveled to face the boys. “What the hell, Rory? Did she get into the punch?”

My heart dropped as Greer turned the lock on the door. I gripped my phone.

Rory lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “She’s had more than punch.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What else did she have?”

Greer walked toward me, both hands casually stuffed in his pockets. “Don’t worry. We just slipped her a roofie. She’ll sleep it off in a few hours.”

Fear sliced through me. I slowly moved toward the door. All I could think was: I needed to get help. Needed to open that door and scream.

But Greer caught me with his arm, wrapping it across my chest. He twisted me around, my back to his front, his hot breath tickling my ear. “Don’t run off. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Let me go,” I said, digging my fingernails into his arm. “Let me go, or you are so screwed.”

I felt the rumble of Greer’s laughter against my back. “No, you’re screwed. And you owe me an apology.”

I kept clawing at him—to no avail. He was too strong. Too big. “I’ll never apologize to you.”

“We’ll see about that,” he whispered in my ear.

Desperate, I lowered my head and clamped down my teeth on his arm. Even through his shirt, it must’ve hurt like hell, because he yelped and threw me to the floor.

My phone went flying as I landed on my hands and knees. A second later, he yanked me up by the collar of that bodysuit and slammed his fist against my face, the blow rattling my teeth. Everything went fuzzy-black as I knelt low to the floor and moaned without thinking. Sadly enough, this was exactly the level of pain I’d craved since hurting Michael.

Greer squatted down next to me, his elbows on knees, his hands dangling. “What are those sounds you’re making, Bancroft? Do you like that?”

I slowly lifted up to meet his gaze, and what I found there unnerved me. His pale blue eyes, burning bright with the terrible knowledge.