Page 365 of Mad Girl

I don’t know where the strength came from, but I pushed her to the ground. She landed flat on her back, gaping up at me, appalled and speechless—though it’s possible I might’ve knocked the breath out of her, too. I dropped down to her chest, pinned her arms underneath my knees, and tossed my phone to the ground. “I warned you, didn’t I?” I said through clenched teeth, putting my hands to her throat. “I fucking told you, bitch.”

Later, I would learn this moment was being recorded—by a few people, from a few different angles—but at the time, I was so blinded by that sizzling rage I didn’t register the small crowd gathering around us. Or their shocked voices. Or some drunk girl’s insistence that someone pull me off her. I didn’t register anything, apart from the color of Sienna’s face—red like her lips, like her dress, like her phone, like the plastic cups at that pretentious party—or the fear in her eyes, bulging unattractively inside her pretty little skull, her freckles blurring as I floated off to some dark void where futures and consequences didn’t exist.

There was this. Only this.

Ending her. That stupid bitch.

Was this what Greer had experienced when he choked me? What you’d experienced when you broke his hands?

This cold buzz. Your body full of static. The rage, blotting you out, all sense of morality gone.

Flames didn’t exist there, either. I know that now. There’s only pure, all-consuming blackness.

But then⁠—

An arm tightly coiled around my waist. Someone pulling me off her. Someone much stronger tugging me back.

“Stop it.” Lips pressed to my ear. An arm, digging into my ribs. Dragging me away. “Fucking stop it. For fuck’s sake.”

You, Casey. Always you. Saving me from myself.

“I have to go back. My phone.”

“I’ve got your fucking phone,” you said, dragging me along the sidewalk. You pushed my phone at me, and I grabbed it. I tried wrenching my arm free, wanting another go at her, but you jerked me back. “You’re done here. Where did you park?”

I couldn’t answer, too busy watching a couple of guys help Sienna off the ground. She stood, red-faced but victorious. She looked right at me—and smiled.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you spat, hauling me down the sidewalk, your fingers digging into my arm. “What the hell were you thinking? Or maybe the better question is, what the hell was I thinking? Ever trusting you? Ever believing a word that came out of your mouth?”

We stopped at the car, and I must’ve been shivering, because you slipped out of your jacket and draped it across my shoulders.

That small gesture has always stayed with me, Casey. Despite how angry and heartbroken you were, your character prevailed. You saw that I needed something, and you took care of it. Took care of me. Even at my worst.

“I never lied to you about how I felt,” I tried, voice cracking on the words. “Casey, I love⁠—”

“Don’t you dare say that to me,” you said, jabbing your finger at my face. “Not now.”

“But I’m yours,” I said, reaching for you, trying to tug you back, my fingers just barely grazing your chest before you swatted me away. “I belong to you. Not anyone else.”

You pulled a face. “What makes you think I still want you?”

I flinched. “You don’t mean that,” I whispered.

“I do. In fact, thank you. Thank you for shoving me away. Thank you for helping me to dodge the raging bullet that is you.”

I shrank back, my shoulder blades hitting the car, tears sprinting down my face. You were hurting me—intentionally hurting me, stabbing the knife deep, twisting the blade in my heart.

“Oh, you poor thing. You poor, pitiful thing,” you whispered, swallowing hard, your gaze piercing mine. I flinched again as you pressed your thumbs to my cheeks and proceeded to roughly swipe my tears away, your eyes shimmering with tears, too, threatening to fall down your beautiful face. “You think you’re the only one who can do the hurting? It isn’t nice to have your heart broken, is it?”

I knew you didn’t mean it, Casey. This wasn’t you. This was someone reeling from a massive betrayal. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. Especially because I deserved every bit of it.

“I regret coming here. I regret ever meeting you.” You pressed your forehead—painfully hard—to mine. “I regret spending the last few years of my life stuck in that house, dreaming of a future with you. What a giant fucking waste that was.”

“Stop,” I sobbed. It was too much. Too harsh. My heart couldn’t take it.

But you kept going. “Thank God you ended it. The reality of being with you couldn’t have possibly lived up to my dreams. Like everything else with you, I’m sure it would’ve left me disappointed.”

Disappointed.