Page 238 of Mad Girl

“I’ll have you know that I stormed over there this morning, and I let him have it. I told him how disappointed I was. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself. I told him—shit. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

My face had collapsed at your words, the tears of betrayal finally springing loose. I could barely get the sentence out as I whispered, “How could he get engaged without telling me to my face?”

“I’ve no idea,” you said, head shaking. “He said you weren’t meant to find out this way—that he’d done everything to keep the news from being leaked. He’d planned on telling you after your release. But there’s no excuse—I’m so mad at him.”

“How long has he been dating this woman?” I asked, swatting at my face.

“I’m not sure. I thought there might’ve been something between them, but I didn’t think it was all that serious. I didn’t want to tell you if it wasn’t serious.”

“You’re telling me she never spent the night?”

You blinked at me. “Not that I’m aware of, no.”

I leaned forward. “Wait a minute. You said you stormed over there. Stormed over where, Casey? To her place?”

You hesitated. “No. To the house.”

“Why’d you have to storm over there?” I asked, a dull pressure building in my chest, my heart sinking. “Where were you?”

You winced—and a cold, sick feeling unfurled behind my ribs. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you this, and now I deeply regret not telling you sooner…”

I held my breath, steeling myself for the inevitable collapse of my world—my heart, my very will to survive this place—the second you confessed. You were in a relationship with someone else now. You’d been sleeping over at their place. With them.

“I moved out,” you said regretfully. “I don’t live there anymore. I have a small flat all to myself now.”

It wasn’t the explanation I feared, but it crushed me all the same.

My dad’s news created the crack, splintering out from the center of my already damaged heart, but your news was the hammer, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

“That’s great,” I said, my voice coming out strange and monotone. “Your whole reason for living there was to look after me, and now I’m gone, so that makes sense.”

Nothing about my life will look the same when I get out of here. Not my family. Not my house. Not my future.

I like pain, but this kind of pain is too much. It cuts too deep.

“Elliot,” you said. “I am so sorry.”

“Sorry,” I repeated.

I blame myself for being kept in the dark about the deterioration of his relationship with the Harrises—about the new woman in his life—because I asked you not to tell me about them. And I haven’t read a single one of his letters.

But he’s my dad. He had no right making such a gigantic life decision without telling me to my face first. I deserved to hear it from him.

I clamped my teeth together.

“Elliot,” you said, leaning forward, cautious, your hands gripping the steel table. You must’ve seen it: the terrifying transformation taking place inside me.

The light, switching off.

The darkness, creeping in.

“Don’t do anything rash, okay? I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. A change of address won’t change that. Your dad—he just—he didn’t take it so well when you left, and his behavior has been erratic ever since. I moved out because—as difficult as it was living there without you—it wasn’t half as awful as walking in there when the renovations were finished.” You swallowed hard. “That dark dungeon of a house became home to me, too. I loved the dark walls. They held so many of my favorite memories of you—of us—and he let someone paint over them. It felt cruel. So I got angry. I refused to stay, even though he asked me to. But, listen, if it’s any consolation at all, he didn’t⁠—”

“Consolation? There’s no consoling me now.”

“Elliot,” you said quietly—warily. “Step away from the dark side.” You gestured at me with your hand, the way one might when they’re trying to talk someone off a ledge. “Come back to the light, okay?”

“No.” I pushed away from the table.