Page 329 of Mad Girl

My heart knocked against my ribs. “I know. But I just…I’d like to know where we stand.”

“Alright, then. What will you explain, exactly? How you broke my heart? How you were able to do that?” you asked, holding my gaze. And I saw it so clearly, when you’re usually so good at hiding it: the anger and heartbreak. Still there. Still simmering beneath the surface. “I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to sort it out, and maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the why of it doesn’t really matter anymore. You did what you did, and we can’t ever go back and change it.”

My throat tightened. “But I—I want to explain. I have to.”

“Why? Because that worked out so well for you in the past?” A short, bitter laugh. “An explanation isn’t going to fix this, Elliot.”

“You said you’d help me transition back,” I said, feeling as if the concrete floor had been yanked out from under me. “You said we’d figure it out together.”

“Yes.” You glanced away, tugging on the lapels of your jacket. “As friends.”

Friends. No way. In no fucking universe will I ever accept that. Still, I tried to keep the devastation from entering my voice as I said, “Right. I guess I just thought…”

Your gaze snapped back to mine, likely seeing the tears that had leapt to my eyes. “You thought what? There’s still hope?”

“Are you saying there isn’t?” I hadn’t meant to let it show—how deeply your words had gouged me—but it felt like you were slipping away, Casey, making me all the more desperate to reach you, the only way I knew how: with the truth.

You hesitated, just long enough for my hope to curdle into dread. “Even if you were one hundred percent honest with me going forward,” you said, voice rough around the words, “how could I ever trust that you wouldn’t hurt me like that again?”

For so long, I’ve focused on making you understand. On telling you everything—the why, the how, my darkest secrets and thoughts. But I’ve never stopped to wonder if giving you all the missing pieces of me would be enough.

Even though I’ve been brutally honest with you in these letters, maybe they won’t matter. Maybe none of it does.

But I still have to try. I didn’t spend two years of my life writing everything down just to give you up.

After failing to tell John the truth, you spent the rest of the day in your room. Which is where I found you much later that night, when it became apparent you weren’t joining me in mine. You were in bed, curled onto your side, staring vacantly toward the windows.

My heart ached as I slipped under the covers, tucking my body close to yours.

“Go to your room,” you said, staring over my head, keeping your hands to yourself.

“No.”

“I should’ve been able to tell him—for you. I shouldn’t be this pathetic. This weak.”

“He didn’t exactly…make it easy for you to say.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, finally pulling back to look at me.

I took your face between my hands. “You know what, though?” I said, swiping my thumbs across your cheeks, rough with stubble. “I’m so proud of you for trying.”

You scowled at me. “Oh, fuck off with that shit.”

I smoothed down the wrinkle between your eyebrows, fighting back a smile. “Has anyone ever told you how positively adorable you are when you’re grumpy?”

You rolled your eyes. “Only my mum—when I was a kid. Stop treating me like a child.”

“Doesn’t feel too great, does it?”

“I want you to be happy,” you said, stroking the inside of my wrist. “I want you to stop punishing yourself for every little thing.”

“Sometimes,” I whispered, “those things aren’t little.”

You looked deep into my eyes. “The consequences of my choices aren’t yours to carry.”

Except they were mine to carry, Casey.

Because my choices had consequences, too.