Page 343 of Mad Girl

I grabbed your teakettle and carried it to the sink. “I’m a bitch to everyone.”

Michael couldn’t argue with that. I felt his eyes on me as I filled the kettle full of fresh water, stewing over Nate. Was he the fellow expat you knew from school? The one you’d met for a drink on Thanksgiving?

How close were you to this guy? Classmates who occasionally talked? Good friends? More than friends?

Would you be hooking up with him later? Would he touch you, trace you, kiss you in all the places I hadn’t gotten around to yet?

The thought of your mouth on someone else hit me like a blade between the ribs. My gaze flicked to the butcher block.

All those sharp knives.

It would be so easy.

To dull my crippling heartache.

With the better kind of pain. The gentler kind. The kind I knew how to carry.

Michael’s voice pierced through my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“No.” I watched the water overflow, running down the copper sides of your kettle and rushing back down the drain. That’s also when the tears came, burning hot little trails down my cheeks. “I want to hurt myself—really bad.”

I needed Michael to stop me.

And he did. “Well, you’re not doing that,” he said firmly, shutting off the tap, then easing the kettle from my hands. “Let’s take a break.” He led me to the sofa, where I tried—and failed—to stop crying. “What’s wrong?”

I yanked my sleeves over my hands. “I keep sabotaging everything. My dad finally tried to give me a dog—but I ruined it. I promised to keep Casey’s secret—and I ruined that, too.”

“You didn’t ruin his secret, Elliot. It was an accidental slip. I’d blame Casey for keeping everyone in the dark so long, but ultimately? It was Nic’s responsibility to say something when he realized Casey couldn’t.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t told Casey what I’ve done yet. And I need to tell him.”

“No, you don’t. He got himself into this mess. Let him crawl his way out of it.”

My temper flared on your behalf. “Don’t be an asshole, Michael. Have some fucking sympathy.”

Michael tossed his head back against the sofa.

“Casey worries about you all the time. Your happiness actually matters to him. And you aren’t thinking about him at all. You’re just being a dick.”

“I know,” he muttered.

“This isn’t like you. You’re not heartless or cruel⁠—”

“I know! Okay?” His voice rose as he turned a frustrated gaze on me. “I’m a piece of shit, too—just like his piece-of-shit dad. It’ll be obvious what a disappointment I am when my dad finds out he has this kind, selfless, agreeable older son who’s better and more perfect than I’ll ever be. Stick Casey next to Bree, and I’m just…what? The asshole? The middle kid?” A short pause. “Oh, shit. I am the middle kid, aren’t I?”

I laughed through the tears. “Stop. You’re good, too.”

“So are you, Elliot. I wish you could see that.”

“If I were good, I wouldn’t ruin everything. Or dream up ways to hurt myself without my dad finding out.”

“But that’s not your fault, either. You can’t help wanting the pain. It’s a coping mechanism. It’s how you get through stuff because it’s the first way you ever learned how. And right now, with everything that’s going on with Nic and my parents⁠—”

“The first way I ever learned how?” I cut in. “What are you talking about?”

Michael stared at me, his expression going soft—but serious, too. “Shit,” he said, eyes drifting shut. “I shouldn’t tell you this.”

His hesitation made my stomach tighten.