Page 229 of Mad Girl

As always, I scanned the square for the mystery woman, but no luck. She hadn’t reappeared since my dad confronted her, which sucked, because now that I knew he’d been lying about the Harrises, I firmly believed he’d been lying about her, too. I needed to talk to her.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly moved down the sidewalk. But all that open air made my skin prickle, a voice inside my head whispering, Go back.

Still, I kept walking, determined not to wuss out. How would I ever make it on a college campus if I couldn’t cross the street alone?

En route to Willoughby’s, I cut through the Garden, hoping to make it through the park without someone coming after me. I could do this. I could be on my own. No anxiety here. No one tugging at my leash or ordering me back to the house. No one coming after me—not Hal or you. To be sure, I glanced over my shoulder, only spotting some lady feeding her kid a snack on one of the benches, then shooing away a squirrel. A man in a black jacket and sunglasses walked with one hand tucked in his jeans, glancing down at his phone.

At Willoughby’s brownstone, I rang the doorbell. He answered in his trademark white t-shirt and black jeans. “Elliot? What are you doing here?”

“I want to hang out,” I placed my hands on his chest and lifted up for a kiss, but he nudged me back.

“At my place?”

My heart dropped. “Do you have a girl in there or something? Because you seem really hesitant to let me in.”

“There’s no girl here. I got home from class ten minutes ago. I was just about to text you.” Finally, he greeted me with a kiss. “I thought you weren’t allowed to hang out here, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” I said, letting him pull me into a hug. Three stoops over, I spotted the man from the park—the one with the black jacket and sunglasses—sitting on the steps, scrolling through his phone.

No. Definitely not the same man. Couldn’t be.

A little while later, I pushed Willoughby onto his couch and straddled him. “I want to go all the way.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, shivering as I nipped at his ear.

I lurched back with a huff. “Definitely not the response I was hoping for.” I traced the collar of his t-shirt. “So, um, that party you threw over the weekend. Did you take a girl upstairs?”

He stroked my braid. “I thought we agreed not to talk about that?”

My heart leapt to my throat. Maybe you were right. Maybe I, of all people, couldn’t be okay with this type of arrangement. “Just—if you slept with her, tell me now.”

“I didn’t,” he said, lifting his gaze back to mine. “I promise. I don’t want to do that with anyone but you.”

So there was a girl. I shoved the thought away and kissed him again, letting the warmth and pressure of his mouth dull the sharp edges of my rage. When he slipped his hand underneath my sweatshirt, mouth hot on my neck, I took his other hand and guided it to my hair. “Pull my hair. Hard.”

Willoughby pulled hard enough to jerk my head back, but I needed more. “Harder than that. I can take it. Make me scream.”

“What?” he asked breathlessly.

I wanted pain. Needed it. Craved it like a drug, desperate for another hit, my true desires springing to the surface. The real me.

I even said, “Or what if I bend over this couch and you spank me? Leave your handprint, baby. I’ll like it.”

“What?” Willoughby pushed me off him. “Jesus, Elliot. What happened to you as a kid? Did your dad hurt you? Did he spank you and shit?”

There it was. The dreaded recoil, Casey. Maybe I only asked him for the dark things so I could prove it to myself: I’m too much. Too dark. A freak.

“My dad never spanked me. He never did anything to hurt me.”

Except grab my face in the back of the car with Hal. Except lock me in his office that time. Except lie about everything.

Willoughby’s razor-sharp gaze never left my face. “Then how do you know you’ll like it?”

“I don’t.” The truth. “I just think I will.”

Willoughby didn’t believe me.

I tried tugging him back down to the couch, but he wouldn’t budge. “I just get like this sometimes, and pain makes me feel better. I don’t know why.” My eyes stung. “Don’t be mad. Don’t look at me like that.”