Page 370 of Mad Girl

Me, arms crossed over that cropped sweatshirt of my mom’s, barely able to look at you—so beautiful and distraught it pierced my heart to tell you such a hideous lie. My very last one.

“It doesn’t matter.”

But it did matter. You know that now.

The other thing I tried to tell you that night should’ve brought you closer to your dad.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “for the awful things I said to you. I didn’t mean⁠—”

“Promise me you’ll stay.”

You blinked at me, startled by the abrupt subject change.

“Promise me.”

You swallowed. “I promise.”

“Say it.”

“I promise to stay.”

“You’ll stay with my dad. You won’t leave him all alone inside this dark house.”

Despite our lingering issues, I couldn’t bear to think of Nic living alone in that dark dungeon of a house. Not like this.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ll look after him. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Funny how you decided to stay in the end. Your guilt was so great you might’ve promised me anything.

You pulled me into a hug, our last one, gripping me extra tight, your breath coming out ragged against my collarbone. I kept both arms pinned to my side, struggling not to fall apart. I should’ve hugged you back, but I didn’t think I had the right.

Later, at the courthouse, I pled guilty to a misdemeanor charge of vehicular homicide. The judge had wanted to give me two and a half years, but our lawyer talked her down to two, citing my clean record, my (Bree’s) attempt to stop before hitting Daniel Prichard, and the fact he’d stopped in the middle of the road to tie his shoe rather than doing so on the sidewalk.

My dad and the Harrises hugged me in the courtroom that day. Nic kissed my forehead and told me he loved me. It would be the final time I’d see my dad’s face for the next two years.

The night we first met, I told you, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

At least a couple of times, I’ve warned you: I’m really good at fucking with people.

Of course, when I said those things, I never realized they’d become the truest statements I’d ever make.

Do I regret it?

Thanks to your weekly visits, I know you’re doing very well for yourself—you didn’t regress or spiral or break—so definitely not. I don’t regret doing this for you. Turns out it’s not so hard to throw your dreams away when you’re protecting someone you love.

Besides, they were never my dreams, anyway. They were Nic’s.

And here’s something else you need to know: I didn’t only do it for you, though you’re definitely the main reason. I also did it for them—for all the Harrises. No matter what, they’re still my family.

But you might want to buckle up for this next truth, Casey, because it shocked me, too.

You want to know what I felt as the police escorted me out of the courthouse in handcuffs that day? As they lowered me into the back of the police car? As they drove me away?

The chains loosening. The horrible weight on my chest sloughing to the ground. The tension melting from my shoulders for the very first time in my life.

Free.

Finally free.