Page 117 of Mad Girl

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Doesn’t seem like you do. You’re used to thinking you’re the scariest person in the room. You’re used to running that mouth of yours and people being cautious enough to take you seriously. But didn’t you see? Didn’t you learn the hard way? You’re not that scary, guys like Greer aren’t the slightest bit intimidated by you, and there will always be someone more than happy to call your bluff if you keep going on about how dangerous you are.”

“Yeah,” I said, eyes welling with tears. “I did learn that the hard way, and now, in addition to thinking I’m to blame for what happened, I might have to live with something happening to you and Michael, too. So while you’re sitting there feeling justified and pleased with yourself, why don’t you ruminate on that?”

Your grip on my arm loosened. “I don’t know what happened,” you whispered. The tears were getting to you, I could tell. “I didn’t mean to hurt them that badly. I just—I lost control. I kept picturing your bruises, how scared you must have been, how they almost—listen, you aren’t to blame. I don’t mean to imply that. Just—don’t be mad at me, okay?” You tried tugging me closer, but I planted my feet on the rug. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.”

But I wanted to hurt you for going behind my back—for putting yourself and Michael in danger—so I tore my arm free and left your room.

When I wandered downstairs later that morning, I found my dad standing over Michael, asleep on one of the sofas, an elbow crooked across his face.

Nic glanced up. “What’s he doing here?”

I shrugged.

Nic’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pants pocket and glanced down at the screen. “I need to take this in my office,” he said, already briskly walking off in that direction.

Less than thirty minutes later, Nic charged the stairs and slammed your bedroom door open and yelled at you to get your ass downstairs. Then he bolted into the Garland Room—where I’d planted myself on one of the wingbacks—and shook Michael awake.

You walked in, wearing those blue striped pajama pants and a white t-shirt. Wide awake but clearly exhausted.

Michael groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes as you sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“One of you,” Nic said, hands propped on his hips, “needs to explain to me what the fuck is going on.”

He’d found out, Casey. It was that quick.

“I just took a call from my buddy on the force,” Nic continued, “and he tells me they’re sending officers by at some point today to question you two.”

You guys sat forward, both of you avoiding Nic’s gaze, both rubbing at your mouths, your body language identical.

Michael was the first to speak. “Look, Nic. They deserved it.”

“So it’s true?” Nic asked, his eyebrows lifted in shock. “You did hurt two boys badly enough that you put them in the hospital?”

The hospital? I felt sick.

Michael glanced across the coffee table at me.

“Why are you looking at her?” Nic twisted to face me, but I glanced down, unable to meet his gaze. “Someone better start talking,” he said. “I need to know everything.”

Michael talked while I gripped the chair, my heart beating fast. Nic’s face remained impassive as he listened to Michael’s story, then he slowly walked over and lifted my chin, studying the bruise on my face with fresh eyes. He pulled the shirt away from my neck, cringing at the hand-shaped bruises there. “That Greer boy did this to you?”

I nodded.

“Did it happen like Michael said? Did he—he didn’t force himself on you?”

“No,” I said.

Nic didn’t seem convinced, eyes shimmering with fear.

“He didn’t rape me, Dad.” I didn’t miss how all three of you flinched at that word. “He just—he attacked me because I got him kicked off the tennis team.”

That’s when Nic glared in your direction. “You let her go to this party, Casey? You let my daughter go to a fucking party without my permission? Where she got assaulted and nearly killed?”

You stared down at the rug between your feet.

“He didn’t know,” I said. “We snuck out. He was in the kitchen working on a paper. We left music on so he would think we were still here.”