Page 65 of Mad Girl

Relief flooded me. I sighed, pointing my gaze back at the horizon. When I turned to look at you again, a strange little smile tugged at your mouth.

“Why,” I asked, leaning my body away from yours, “are you looking at me like that?”

Your eyes twinkled. “I’m beginning to think you’ve grown quite attached to me.”

I laughed, head shaking. “No, I just—no. Absolutely not. No.”

“Right,” you said, still giving me that infuriating little smirk.

“You made it sound like you needed to talk to me about something important,” I pointed out.

“Yes,” you said, turning serious. “The thing is, back when I booked my flight home, I didn’t realize I’d booked it on a particular day.”

“What day?”

“The twenty-sixth,” you said.

“Oh.” My stomach sank. “You’re leaving on my birthday.”

“Bright and early, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

“I don’t know that it is. I can skip the flight and book another one.”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s not like I celebrate it, anyway.”

“But eighteen’s a big deal,” you insisted. “Michael said they wanted to throw you a party, but you wouldn’t let them. He said you wouldn’t let them throw you a sweet sixteen, either.”

“Why would I? People would only show up to see if I did something crazy like I did at my last party. Besides, there’s nothing sweet about turning sixteen or officially becoming an adult when your dad keeps you locked in your house.”

Your gaze softly skipped over my face.

“What else did Michael tell you?” I asked, the question coming out hard.

“He said you won’t accept a cake—and that they’re never allowed to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you, either. You don’t let them celebrate you.”

“I don’t want to be celebrated.” What I didn’t say was: I don’t deserve it.

“But he says they want to. He says it upsets your dad. Upsets Nic even more when you…”

“Get myself hurt?” I finished for you.

Your gaze searched mine. “Will you tell me why you do it?”

“Sounds like Michael covered everything.”

“But he says they’ve all moved on from the stabbing. If they have, why haven’t you? Why do you still punish yourself for it?”

There we were again, Casey. You, gently trying to coax the truth loose. And me, not really wanting to get into it.

But, that day, I did.

Maybe the waves crashing along the shore made me brave. Or the breeze ruffling your hair, your eyes extra blue. Or the moment itself, tinged cotton-candy pink and dreamlike by the setting of the sun.

Or maybe it was just you, sitting there so still, waiting for my answer.

Like it mattered.