Page 116 of Mad Girl

“Willoughby caught them last night, coming out of that room together. He said Rory got wasted and wouldn’t stop talking about how scared he was of getting in trouble, and Greer kept telling him to be quiet.”

“So you took care of them,” I said. “By doing what?”

“We fucked them up pretty bad.”

“Casey, too?”

“Him more than me.”

I drew back. “What do you mean?”

Michael’s eyes grew big. “I’ve never seen him like that. I didn’t know he had it in him. He went somewhere else. He was…” His eyes glazed over, remembering. “It took me and Willoughby both to pull him back—to make him stop.”

“You got Willoughby involved?”

“He helped us—not that he had a choice. Casey wasn’t giving him a choice. Willoughby invited them over to hang out, and we confronted them.”

I picked up Michael’s hands, examining them closely. They were unmarked. Totally clean.

“We didn’t get our hands dirty. We didn’t have to.”

“Then how did you hurt them?”

“It’s best if you don’t know all the details,” Michael said. “All you need to know is, we took care of them. That asshole? Greer? He’ll never touch you again.”

“When you say you went too far, what does that mean?”

“It means I need to stay here tonight. I need an alibi.”

My heart sank. “How could you?” I backed away, clutching my sore throat. Craving the pain. Feeling nothing but rage. “I asked you to let this go, Michael.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But we couldn’t, Elliot.”

I fled upstairs, careful to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake my dad. I paused on your landing and stared at your door, debating whether or not to burst in without knocking. In the end, I did, only to find you lying in bed. On top of the covers. Fully clothed.

You lifted yourself up by the elbows to look at me.

“How could you?” I demanded. “I asked you to let it go.”

“I’d do it all over again,” you said—not ashamed, but angry. “I broke both his fucking hands, and I might’ve killed him, too, if Michael hadn’t stopped me.”

I shook my head, disbelieving. “I told you I’d handle it. I said I would.”

“Yeah? How would you handle it if he got you pinned to the ground again? How would you get away?”

“It’s not your job to step in and fight my battles.”

“It’s my job to protect you.”

“It’s your job to keep an eye on me.”

“It’s my job,” you said, voice trembling with anger, “to make sure you don’t do anything reckless or stupid, and thinking you could go after that Greer guy—after he nearly killed you—was both.”

You threw both legs over the side of the bed and lunged forward, catching me by the forearm. One quick tug, and I was close enough to smell the crisp night air on your jacket. “What makes you think you are any match for a guy like him? For someone who’s bigger and stronger than you’ll ever be?”

I struggled to pull myself free of your grasp, but I couldn’t. This was you showing me. How much weaker I was than you. How I couldn’t escape your grip, no matter how badly I might’ve wanted to.

“You think just because you got free once,” you said, “you could do it again? You got lucky. That other boy? He saved you. If he hadn’t been there, you’d be lying in a morgue right now.”