Page 346 of Mad Girl

“Promise,” I whispered.

“Text me later, okay?”

I nodded.

As Michael slipped out the front door, I ventured upstairs, paused on the third floor landing, and hesitated, heart pounding, before trying your doorknob.

You’d locked me out.

Two days later, I came downstairs for a snack, still rattled by what Michael had told me—about the crib, the straps, the crying. I hadn’t said a word to you about it. Hadn’t said a word to anyone. Not even Tinsley when she texted to say she hadn’t heard from me in a while.

I was surviving the way I always did: by keeping quiet. By trying to forget. By trying even harder not to hurt myself.

So when I found Bree sitting at the kitchen island that day with a bunch of homework spread out in front of her, I nearly turned back around.

And maybe I should have.

“Hey,” I said, slowly approaching. “Where’s Casey?”

“Taking a call from his sister in your dad’s office.” Wavy blonde hair fell over her face as she studiously jotted something down in her notebook.

“So,” I said eventually, tapping my fingers on the countertop, “will we ever talk about why you’ve been avoiding me for months now? Or why you accused me of faking my head injury at Christmas?”

Bree lifted her head. “Did you know Casey’s moving back to England over the summer?”

“What?” It had come out a rasp, like all the air had been knocked from my lungs. “Did he tell you that?”

“Yeah. Just now. Said he might be, anyway.”

Panic bloomed—sharp, stinging, and unbearable—in my chest. What the fuck.

Bree leaned back in the stool, twirling the pendant on her necklace, watching me. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything to him,” I lied. Were you thinking of leaving because of me? Would you really do that? Over one ruined night?

“Why else would he leave? When your dad’s setting him up to have a promising future here?” she asked, cocking her head at me. “It just sucks, you know? Because he’s the first friend of Michael’s I’ve ever actually liked. Casey breathed some much-needed life into this family, after years of you sucking it dry with your drama. We’re all much happier with him around—or we were, until you started causing even more trouble. It’s a shame you have to drive everything good away by just…being you.”

Her voice—those horrible statements—slipped beneath my skin with quick, cutting precision. She knew my weak spots, how to hit them just right, how to weaponize my worst fears.

Bree leaned across the counter, voice soft and venomous as she reached out to swipe away a fallen tear with her thumb. “You know what I wish?” she whispered. “That we could keep Casey, and you’d move away instead.”

I staggered back, another hot tear sliding down my face.

“Hey,” you said, strolling in from the hallway, still holding your phone. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing.” Avoiding your gaze, I furiously swiped at my cheeks and slipped from the room. I couldn’t ask you about moving back to England with Bree there. Wouldn’t dare give her the satisfaction of watching me shatter if you confirmed it.

“Then why are you crying?” you called after me.

I hurried upstairs without answering.

That evening, I sat in bed with a pair of scissors, my hand trembling around the blades, fighting the urge to cut myself.

When a knock sounded on my door, I shoved the scissors underneath a pillow.

Nic entered, home from his business trip, still wearing his suit and tie. His eyes blazed, hands flexing by his side. “What have you done?”

I’d messed up so many times by then, I had no idea which thing he was referring to, so I waited for him to inform me.