Page 174 of Mad Girl

“Never again? For the rest of my life? How is that even possible? By never leaving me alone, you broke me, and now I can’t be alone.”

“I broke you? No, Elliot. No. I⁠—”

“Yeah, you did. You know what it’s called when someone can’t be left alone without experiencing extreme anxiety or a panic attack? Autophobia. I read about it online. It stems from childhood trauma or neglect. Like abandonment, Dad.” Like being locked in an office. All alone. Begging your dad to let you out. For hours.

Nic’s expression grew very still. He stared past me, thoughtful, like maybe he was thinking of that incident, too. Then he closed his eyes and whispered, “Um⁠—”

But the sound of your footsteps cut him off.

You paused inside the Garland Room. “Sorry,” you said, backing away. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, Casey.” Nic rose from the sofa. “Now that you’re here, I’ll just head on up to bed.” He bent to kiss me on the forehead, then squeezed your shoulder on his way to the stairs.

You climbed under the blankets on your sofa while I climbed under the blankets on mine. Our eyes met across the coffee table.

“Is everything alright between you and your dad?” you asked.

I karate chopped my pillow. Tossed myself down. Stared at the ceiling. “He said a bunch of bullshit about never leaving me alone because he wants to keep me safe.”

“And you don’t believe he does?”

“No. That’s just the thing he says so he doesn’t have to admit the truth.”

“What’s the truth?”

I considered telling you about the phobia stuff, but having a panic attack—the one and only time you’d ever left me alone—was embarrassing enough. So I said, “That he can’t leave me alone because he thinks I’m a danger to myself and others.” I paused to think. “That time I went to Michael’s and messed with Sienna’s stuff? I was alone then, and I didn’t have a panic attack.”

“For how long?”

“About thirty minutes.”

You considered this. “Maybe you panicked here because you know you’re not supposed to be alone here.”

“Maybe.” But there was something about the stillness of the house. The chime of the grandfather clock. That bedroom. The way the light slanted across the floor. The crushing fear of being alone. There, specifically. In my old nursery. “Guess it’s a good thing I deferred college for a year, because now I have to deal with this crazy shit.”

On top of everything else.

So much for ever being normal.

I clasped my chest, wanting to bury my face into my pillow and sob.

“I don’t think your dad’s lying,” you said. “The way he goes about it might be a bit extreme—and, yes, even a bit messed up—but your safety’s important to him. He doesn’t think you’re a danger to others.”

“Whatever,” I said, propping my head up with one hand. “He does think that, and so do you. It’s why you don’t trust me to go off on my own anymore.”

“I don’t trust you because you lied to me about where you were going.”

“But why should I have to tell you exactly where I’m going? I mean, yeah, giving me freedom behind my dad’s back was cool, but how was it any of your business where I went?”

“If you’re going by Michael’s,” you said, cutting your eyes at me, “it’s absolutely my business.”

“He’s my best friend, Casey. If I want to hang out with him, who are you to tell me I can’t?”

“I’d never tell you not to see him, Elliot. If you want to hang out with him, go right ahead, but don’t hide it from me. Don’t lie about it. And if you’re doing more than hanging out with him, just say that. Just put me out of my misery.”

“Your misery? Why are you so miserable?”

You stared at me. “You never answered my question.”