Page 132 of Mad Girl

“That’s what you say about all my girlfriends.”

“Except in this case? It’s actually true.”

“Wow,” Michael said, head cocked to the side. “You finally admit it: you terrorized a bunch of perfectly nice girls, Elliot. For the fun of it.”

“Clearly, I’m a bitch, okay? I’ve done some really bitchy things. But with her, I’m right to be a bitch.”

Michael reared back, eyes flashing bright. “You’re right? I’m not ending things with her because you said so—because you think you know what’s good for me. You ripped my heart out, then had the audacity to say you did me a favor.”

“I did do you a favor.” I tossed my arms out. “Obviously.”

“Then why’d you kiss me back at the beach?” he demanded. “Why’d you fucking come into my room and kiss me back? Was it pity? Is that what it was? Was it guilt? Because if you really wanted to do me a favor—if you wanted what’s best for me—you never would’ve spent ten days making me think I finally had you!”

Chest heaving, he looked close to tears, and it tore me up inside—the guilt of hurting him. The horrible, crushing guilt.

“It wasn’t pity,” I said honestly. “It wasn’t guilt. I felt something when you kissed me, and I wanted to keep kissing you, so I did. And I loved kissing you. I loved being with you at the beach.”

“Then be with me,” he said desperately, taking a step closer to the bed.

“I’m not good for you, either.”

“I disagree.”

“Michael, I sliced my hand open at your parents’ dinner table. Most people would see that as a giant red flag.”

“Most people don’t know you the way I do.”

“Okay, I’m beginning to think you’re the one who needs therapy here. At least I’m self-aware. You’re just delusional.”

“Elliot, you could be perfect for me—if you’d finally stop punishing yourself and move on.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it.”

“I do get it.”

“You really don’t. You don’t understand.”

“I understand you better than anyone.”

“You don’t understand this.”

“Then make me understand,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

Why couldn’t I tell him? Why couldn’t I admit how it felt when his dad opened the office door and mine couldn’t look at me? Why couldn’t I say the words out loud?

My dad treated me like a monster when I hurt you, and I think that means I am one. I must be—because he still hasn’t set me free.

And why couldn’t he see it, too? That he deserved so much better than me?

“Or don’t,” Michael said with a sigh. “Let’s drop the whole thing because of something that happened when we were kids.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Complicated because of Casey?”

“No.” Yes.

“I saw it, you know—when you first met him? That little spark of attraction? You’re not fooling me.”