Page 191 of Mad Girl

“And I don’t, honey, but I have to. You’ve left me no choice. You need help.”

That’s when I really began to beg. It sounded exactly like the horrible begging routine you and Sienna had witnessed. The same desperate whining Michael couldn’t stand. Nic tried to shush me. He told me to calm down. He begged me to stop. Then Bree entered the kitchen and yelled it herself: “Stop!”

I paused to look at her, struggling to compose myself, tears still streaming down my face, my breath coming out in ragged little gasps.

Libby stood. “Bree.” She walked over to Bree and gripped her arm. “What⁠—”

“She’s telling the truth,” Bree said. “I dropped a drinking glass that day she cut herself and threw it in the trash. I buried it deep, sharp side up, so it wouldn’t cut through the bag or anything.”

“So you lied,” John said, rising from the table, his expression hardening. “You lied that night when your mother asked if anyone had thrown something like that in the garbage.”

Bree nodded, eyes brimming with tears.

“What possessed you to sit back and let us accuse Elliot of something she didn’t do?” John demanded.

“I was angry,” Bree confessed. “Angry she told you about me and Amber. Angry you made me sleep in the parents’ wing.”

Nic aimed a look of stern disapproval at her. “You let me ignore her for days. You heard us talking about this last night, and you didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but I didn’t realize you’d actually send her this time,” Bree told my dad. Her choice of words—this time—suggested Nic had talked to the Harrises about sending me somewhere in the past. “I wanted to get back at her, but not like this. I’m really sorry, Nic.”

Nic turned to me, his gaze apologetic. “Elliot⁠—”

But I jumped up, shoved past him, and stormed upstairs to my room, where I left my phone on the bathroom counter while I took a long, hot shower. When I got out, I saw the missed calls. The texts from you and Michael.

His said: I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. Please call me back.

Yours said: I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how horrible the last few days must’ve been for you. Please call me.

Enraged, I left both your asses on read.

Sometime later, I ventured back downstairs and wandered outside to the beach. The day was overcast and cooler than normal—a light breeze coming off the water—so I pulled my knees up to my chin and hugged my legs, digging my toes into the sand. Within minutes, someone dropped down beside me.

“Listen,” my dad said. “I should’ve believed you.”

“Whatever.” I pulled the sleeves of my Harvard sweatshirt over my hands.

“I feel sick about it, Elliot.”

“What else is new? You always expect the worst of me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course it is.”

Nic was silent a minute. “You’ve tricked me before. The nanny incident? I fell for the tears that time, you made me feel awful for not believing you, and it turned out you were lying to me. You’d been lying the whole time.”

“And you punished me for that, didn’t you? The therapy? The letters? That woman called me a psychopath, Dad, and you let me beg her to forgive me when she didn’t want to.”

Nic stared ahead, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry I let you do that.”

“Until next time, you mean.”

He started to say something else, but I cut him off.

“You know, John says Michael and I aren’t good for each other, but I promised Michael I wouldn’t hurt myself around my birthday anymore, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Well, great. I’m glad to hear that. Still doesn’t make Michael good for you.”