Page 188 of Mad Girl

You turned a murderous glare on him. “I am quite literally going to beat the shit out of you, Michael.”

Ignoring you, Michael laughed and said, “He had a fling with some teacher of his.”

My jaw dropped. “Well, now we know how he aced his A-levels.”

“That’s what I said.” Michael grinned, nudging you in the arm. “Didn’t I say that? Oh, and he hooked up with a friend’s mom. The guy beat his ass when he caught them.”

“Fuck’s sake, Michael.” You shoved him so hard he toppled off-screen. A second later, he straightened back up, still laughing. You looked half amused, half exasperated.

You know what I noticed that day on our call, Casey? A closeness there, between you and Michael, that seemed more meaningful than before. You acted like brothers, and it warmed my heart—despite the jealousy clawing through my chest at the thought of you hooking up with more people. Even if it had happened way before you ever met me.

“Are you okay?” you asked, peering closely at the screen. “You’re not about to cry, are you?”

“No,” I lied. “I really miss you guys, that’s all.”

“We miss you, too,” Michael said.

“I miss you so much I can hardly bear it,” I replied, but my voice cracked, giving me away. Your gaze locked on mine, steady and intense, like you were thinking of our text exchange, too.

“Hey,” Michael said. “I have something that’ll cheer you up. Claire showed me all these baby pictures of Casey. Want me to send some to you?”

My mood lifted instantly. “Um, hell yes I do. Send that shit to me right now.”

“Jesus,” you muttered with a sigh, tossing your head back.

Michael grabbed his phone and tapped at the screen. Rapid fire, they arrived. All these old photos of you, this chubby-cheeked baby with big blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, and the fullest pink lips I’d ever seen. Seeing you as a baby filled me with this warm, syrupy, golden cascade of emotions that made my heart feel too full. Like it might burst.

“Oh. My. God,” I squealed. “I literally cannot stand how adorable you were, Casey. I might die from the cuteness. I am dead.”

Michael shook his head. “Told you, dude.”

A couple of things stood out about those pictures. For one, you were blonde as a baby and toddler, which surprised me. And for another: “How weird. Casey looks…a lot like you did as a baby, Michael.”

Michael looked at you again. “I said that, too, didn’t I? Kind of freaked me out.”

You shot me a hard look of warning through the phone.

Two days later, I’d come in from the beach to an empty kitchen, looking for a snack. I grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl, cut it up, ate half, then pulled out the trash drawer in the island to throw the remnants of the apple away. Not thinking, I yanked my Harvard sweatshirt over my head, causing my earbuds to spring loose and fall into the trash. I quickly reached inside to retrieve them, but my fingers sent one of the tiny earpieces skittering down further. I panicked, plunging my hand in deeper.

Then: sharp, hot pain. Blinding, nerve-tingling pain. Stole-my-breath-away pain. Pain I didn’t expect.

I snatched my hand back, gasping at the large gash that sliced through one whole side of my palm. A huge gouge, already bleeding. I lifted my hand over the counter—blood running down my arm, dripping everywhere, all over the sink and counter, the floor—and grabbed a dish towel. Feeling lightheaded, I placed the towel to my wound.

It turned red almost instantly.

Slowly breathing through my nose, I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes. Let the pain wash over me. Claim me.

But then I heard footsteps.

When I opened my eyes, my dad stood there, scanning the bloody scene before him. He grabbed my arm, peeled back the dishcloth, and flinched at the gouge in my palm. “Jesus. What did you do?”

“I cut it on something in the trash.”

“There’s a knife right behind you, Elliot.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the discarded knife. I’d gotten blood all over it when I’d held my hand over the counter. “What? I didn’t—Dad, I didn’t cut myself on purpose.”

“We need to get you to the ER,” Nic said, voice hollow and detached as he secured a new dish towel even tighter around my hand. “Let’s go.”