Page 121 of Mad Girl

“Oh, I see how it is,” I called, causing you to pause in my doorway. “We’re allowed to talk about my issues, but not yours. I mention yours, and you run away. What’s the deal with you, Casey? What really makes you spiral so hard on your birthday? And why can’t you tell the Harrises who you are?”

“What, like I’d tell you anything while you’re hell-bent on making me feel like shit?”

You stormed downstairs to your room, and then I felt like shit.

Right before Thanksgiving break, Nic went out of town for a couple of days, but instead of leaving me at home with you, he left me with the Harrises. You were being punished for breaking his trust, but it felt like a punishment for me, too.

That Friday, John had instructed me to meet Bree in the library after school so we could walk home together, but I left school early, sneaking off with Willoughby instead. Willoughby wanted to apologize for what had happened to me at his party, but I only wanted to forget.

I wanted, more than anything, to be okay again.

We stumbled into his bedroom, kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes. Caught in the tangle of his sheets, I let him unhook my bra and explore my body with his mouth. It was heart-tingling, maddening, and actually kind of wonderful.

Until I glimpsed that door across the hall from his bedroom—the room where the assault happened—and flashed back to Halloween night. The harsh beat of the rap music pounding through my chest. The awful weight of Greer’s body on mine. His hand around my throat. His pale blue eyes.

The fear. The complete lack of control.

Suddenly, Willoughby’s mouth wasn’t the distraction I craved.

I needed pain.

Pain, to blot out the guilt.

Pain, to push back the creeping darkness.

Pain, the only sure thing—the only true release—when all else failed.

Pain never failed me. Pain always set me free.

So I told Willoughby to hurt me.

“What?” He lifted his head, breathless and confused.

“Hurt me,” I said. “Pull my hair or something. Bite me. Hard.”

Willoughby hesitated, still hovering above me. “Elliot…”

“I’ll like it,” I whispered. “I promise.”

The mood shifted, going from hot to cold in seconds. He sat back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?” I asked, lifting up, too.

“I just want to keep this nice, you know? Simple.”

In other words, Willoughby wanted exactly what I wasn’t. Things I’d never be.

I gathered my clothes and climbed off his bed, covering my chest with one arm.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to me. “You don’t have to leave.”

“No, I know,” I said, keeping my head down as I got dressed, trying to hide the tears in my eyes. “But the Harrises are probably wondering where I am.”

At the Harrises’ house, Bree and Michael sighed with relief when I strolled into the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” Bree asked. “We were supposed to meet in the library.”

“I had other plans,” I said, tossing down my backpack.