Page 369 of Mad Girl

“Elliot, I can’t—what? I can’t do that. What about you?”

I glanced around. We probably didn’t have much time. I didn’t know that particular street well, but the houses were pretty dark. It was after midnight by then. Most of the people who lived there were probably fast asleep. “I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Let me take care of this.”

“What? No. I can’t let you do that.”

I grabbed her. “You have to. You have to get out of here.”

“Elliot, no,” she said, grabbing me back, her fingers digging into my arms through your jacket.

“Come on. This is what I do, right? I get mad. I fly off the handle. No one will even be surprised.” I smiled. Like it was funny. Like it was no big deal. “Let me do this.”

“I can’t,” she cried.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“For Casey! You want him to be part of your family?”

“Yes.” She nodded, tears pouring down her face.

“Then you have to let me do this. Trust me, he’ll never let himself be in your dad’s life if he thinks he’s even partially responsible for this. He might disappear for good. Now, go.”

“I—I don’t know—oh my God—Elliot⁠—”

“You left the party on foot. You walked a few blocks, then called Hal to pick you up. You were never here. Keep your mouth shut.”

“Elliot—”

“Get out of here!” I pushed her so hard she stumbled back. “Start walking! Go!”

Bree backed away, tears streaming down her face, a breeze catching the blonde tendrils of her hair. It caught mine, too, dark strands rippling in the wind and snagging on my face.

I waited until Bree disappeared around a corner before I went back to the car for my phone and shakily dialed 911.

You know what happened next.

The police took me into custody. I gave them my statement. They arrested me. Then, with John’s help, they released me on bail.

Our lawyer spent hours at the house every day, the wretched sound of Nic’s voice—bargaining, lamenting, begging—carrying through his office door. The future didn’t look good for me, so I savored what little time I had left in my favorite room of the house, soaking up the weight of Garland’s disappointment.

And you were there, Casey. Always there—sitting nearby, bringing me water and tea, or asking me to eat.

Despite everything, you refused to leave my side. Soaking up what little time we had left, I guess, before we were ripped away from each other.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

During those final weeks, whenever we found ourselves alone together, your gaze burned through me. I knew you wanted to say something, wanted to find the right words, wanted to apologize for those horrible things you’d said. But words couldn’t mend what had been broken that night, couldn’t bring that man back, couldn’t save me.

I was going to jail, and no one seemed more unwilling to accept the stark reality of my fate than my dad. He pushed for house arrest instead, but our lawyer couldn’t sway the judge, not after she saw the video that had gone viral of me attacking Sienna just moments before the accident.

The morning of my arraignment, I showered and dressed, knowing it would be the last time I’d be able to do those things in the privacy of my own room. I caught you sitting at the bottom of the staircase, legs spread wide, hands wringing in the empty space between your knees, and it reminded me of our beginning. How you’d often wait there—exactly like that—to greet me after school.

A hard knot of regret leapt to my throat as I eased by, and you glanced up.

“That night,” you said, standing to address me. “You said you needed to tell me something else. What were you trying to tell me, Elliot?”

You, guilty and unshaven as you searched my face.