Page 244 of Mad Girl

“I don’t need your permission anymore.”

“Bullshit,” he said, fisting the newspaper, his expression so dark and intense that a shiver ran down my spine.

“I’m going to Willoughby’s,” I repeated, faking more bravado than I felt.

Nic studied me, clearly working out how to play this. “Only if Casey goes with you.”

Our gazes met over the island. “Um,” you said, gaze sliding over to my dad, “do I get a say here? Because I’d rather hand out candy to the kids.”

“I’m not taking him with me,” I told Nic.

“Then you’re not going,” Nic said.

I laughed, still clutching my coat, backing closer to the door. “Watch me.”

“Casey.” Nic snapped his fingers at you. “Grab a jacket and go.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “You can’t keep doing this, Nic. It’s psycho.”

“Casey goes with you,” Nic said, slapping down the newspaper on the kitchen counter, “or I forcibly keep you here. Don’t think I’m above dragging you upstairs and barricading your door. You’ll never get past me. My will is a lot fucking stronger than yours.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” You flipped off the eye of the stove. “I’ll go. It’s not a big deal.”

I stared at my dad. “Fine,” I said calmly. “Let me change first.”

I rushed upstairs, trying not to scream. With trembling fingers, I yanked one of those boxes out from under my bed.

Tonight would be the night.

I’d replace those traumatic memories from last Halloween with new memories. Something momentous.

An occasion I’d remember forever.

Out of that box, I located a black lace underwear set and its matching garter belt, along with a pair of black thigh-high tights. I slipped it all on and admired my body in the mirror, impressed by how hot I looked. Over the lingerie and tights, I threw on a flared black miniskirt with a black cropped sweater, leaving a good chunk of my waist on display. I considered swapping my tiny black cat studs for something sexier, but decided against it. They were fucking cute. Perfect for Halloween.

Your brows rose as I reentered the kitchen. My dad, leaning back against the counter, closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

“All ready?” you asked, holding a dark green cashmere bomber jacket.

I nodded, donning the black trench coat.

To you, Nic said, “Know where she is at all times, and I want her home by midnight. I’ll be waiting up.”

Out back, while you slipped into your jacket, I slammed the gate closed behind us. “Look,” I said, “as soon as we get to Willoughby’s, you can go your own way.”

“I thought you couldn’t bring yourself to go to this party?” you asked, zipping yourself up.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my trench. “I changed my mind.”

“Well,” you said, falling into step beside me, “I’m worried you might get upset or something, so I’ll stay.”

“I’ll be in Willoughby’s room with him the whole night. You won’t even see me. I’ll be fine.”

“Wonderful,” you muttered. “But I’m still staying.” You gave a polite nod to a neighbor retrieving a package from his stoop.

A slight chill clung to the air, but the sky remained a vibrant blue. Lots of people were out, many of them still adding Halloween decorations in preparation for the trick-or-treating that would take place within the next couple of hours. Pumpkins and chrysanthemums adorned many of the stoops we passed. Faux cobwebs tucked inside window boxes. A gangly spider here and there. An entire brownstone, covered in skeletons, several mock-climbing its brick façade, all the way up to the roof.

Libby’s campaign signs held court among them. Rich blue posters. Bright white lettering. People had stuck them to brick enclosures in the alleys nearby. They were even hung on flagpoles and residential signs.