Page 114 of Mad Girl

Locked away in my room, I curled my body against Tinsley’s and watched her the whole night. I monitored her breathing and checked her pulse, Googling everything I could about being roofied. You couldn’t sleep, either, my phone buzzing every thirty minutes or so with a new text.

How’s Tinsley?

Do you need anything?

I hate leaving you alone. Let me come sit with you.

But I insisted I was fine, even though the left side of my face ached, my throat still burned, and every time I expanded my lungs to breathe, it felt like someone kicking me in the ribs all over again. I told you I was okay, but I wasn’t. I kept flashing back to the feeling of Greer’s hand around my neck. To his pale eyes, dead and vacant as they stared into mine.

When Tinsley woke later that morning, she rolled over in bed, disoriented and confused, but quickly sat up when she saw my face. She didn’t believe my lie about getting elbowed while dancing and demanded I tell her the truth—she knows me too well. So I told her the truth. And she cried. And her tears spawned more of my own, but I furiously swiped them away, not wanting to give those assholes the satisfaction.

As for Tinsley, she said she’d allowed herself one cup of punch after Rory teased her for being sober and told her to have a little fun. But after drinking it, she’d felt heavy-limbed and sleepy, so Rory had helped her upstairs to Willoughby’s guest room.

I told her about Michael carrying her out of the party and, later, up the three flights of stairs to my bedroom.

“I can’t believe Michael did that,” Tinsley said, so touched by Michael’s actions that her eyes filled with tears again.

When I asked if she wanted to go to the police, she took her time considering my question. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t want your dad to find out. I like that we get to do normal stuff together now. That we get to hang out outside of this house—without Hal or Casey for an escort.”

“But Tinsley⁠—”

“They didn’t touch me. If they had, I’d definitely report them. But they didn’t, Ellie, so it’s not worth it. If you don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, either.”

She yanked me into a hug, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

While Tinsley hopped in the shower, I wandered down to the kitchen and found you standing over the stove, staring at your teakettle. Despite all the clothes I wore—turtleneck, leggings, wool socks, your cardigan—I couldn’t stop shivering. I wrapped your cardigan tightly around my body, wincing when my hand brushed over the tender spot across my ribs.

You brought me water and ibuprofen, then sat down next to me at the island. “How badly did they hurt you?” you asked, gaze so heavy with remorse that it made my chest ache. “Please be honest with me.”

“They just roughed me up a little,” I said, but my voice wavered. “I promise.”

“Will you show me where he kicked you?”

I peeled your cardigan back and lifted my shirt. You studied the bruise—a big, reddish-purple mass underneath my right breast—and winced, then gently tugged the shirt back down, the backs of your fingers brushing my stomach, cold against my skin. I shivered from the contact, and I guess you noticed, because you pulled the cardigan closed again and cinched it high around my neck, as if you were wrapping me in a blanket. “You need tea,” you said, as though tea alone could make it all better. “Let me warm you up with some tea.”

But I grabbed your forearm before you could stand. “I’m okay for now.”

Lines of concern formed between your brows as you gently brushed your thumb over the bruise on my cheek. “If he’d—if you’d—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

I clasped your wrist. “But he didn’t. I’m okay.”

You tugged my turtleneck down to examine the bruise around my throat, wincing again. “We should be getting you checked out by a doctor right now, and after that, talking to the police. Not sitting here.”

“Are you kidding? We aren’t doing any of that. I’m fine.”

“You’re not, Elliot—I can see it in your eyes. As soon as your dad comes home, I’m telling him what I’ve done.”

I snatched your hand from my face. “Don’t you dare. He takes everything from me. I won’t be able to handle it if he takes you, too. I need you.”

I drew back immediately, shocked by my outburst. I’d put an embarrassing amount of emphasis on the word need.

“Need me?” Holding my gaze, you tangled your fingers in my hair, unbraided and draped down my shoulders. A prickling sensation rippled across my scalp. “For what?”

I tried backtracking. “Well, like, who would make my eggs in the morning? My dad’s eggs are decent, but they aren’t as good as yours.”

You lifted both eyebrows. “So…eggs? You need me for eggs?”

“And tea. I’ve gotten used to having afternoon tea now, so who would make my tea?”