Letter Seventeen
The day we returned to school after winter break, I told you I had plans with Tinsley.
I told Hal you’d offered to pick me up.
But I actually walked to Michael’s.
Inside his apartment, I paused, heart pounding, grateful to be met with silence.
Michael had probably decided to drop by my house, having missed hanging out while you were in England, which worked in my favor.
I went straight back to his bedroom and scanned the area, instantly spotting a pair of Sienna’s underwear on the floor.
Red. Of course. There definitely had to be something psychotic about her weird obsession with red.
Pieces of her cluttered the room. A tube of lip balm on his nightstand. A discarded phone case—sparkly red—on his dresser. A pair of wide-leg jeans slung over his chair.
I considered cutting a slit in the crotch of those jeans. Destroying them. Possibly embarrassing her. Payback, for sure, but not quite what I had in mind.
In the bathroom, I grabbed her toothbrush and considered scrubbing the toilet with it again. But how would she know? I wanted her to know I’d been there. To heed my warning.
Her makeup bag sat on the bathroom counter, a tube of red lipstick peeking out. I pocketed that. Beside the bag, I spotted a bottle of contact solution—which had to be hers, because Michael didn’t wear contacts. I picked it up.
That’s when an idea took shape.
Under the sink, I found what I needed. One of those household items everyone keeps in a cabinet somewhere: hydrogen peroxide. During a science experiment in sixth grade, the teacher had warned us to avoid getting it in our eyes. Said it would sting.
You should know, Casey: I definitely hesitated. For about thirty seconds, I held onto that brown bottle and reconsidered cutting the slit in her jeans or destroying her expensive makeup. Both seemed a bit juvenile, though, compared to what she’d done.
Not only had she threatened to out you if you didn’t sleep with her, she’d had the audacity to laugh about it.
Shouldn’t her actions have consequences?
Besides, the peroxide wasn’t blind-you-forever dangerous. It might be uncomfortable for a moment. Sharp. Memorable. A temporary little sting. But then she’d rinse it out, and everything would be just fine.
Hands shaking, I unscrewed the top off her contact solution and poured it down the drain, then refilled the bottle with hydrogen peroxide. My hands continued to shake long after I’d put it back.
Back at home, I found Michael exactly where I thought he’d be: hanging out with you and Garland, a Celtics game playing loud on the TV. Michael stared at the screen, rapt, yelling obscenities about the referee, while you leaned forward over your lap and said, “What a shit call.”
“I know,” Michael said to you, tossing both hands in the air as if to say, Can you believe this?
You gave him this baffled look, Casey, like you couldn’t.
My heart burst at how fucking adorable that was. When I tossed a knowing grin your way, you rolled your eyes.
Desperately wanting out of my school clothes, I disappeared upstairs to change. Just a little while later, I found Michael sitting on the sofa all alone. A quick glance at the game told me it was halftime.
“Where’s Casey?”
“Making tea,” Michael said, raking his gaze down my body as I plopped down next to him with a book.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re so full of shit,” he said, head shaking.
I paused, holding my bookmark mid-air, the book cracked open in my lap. “What?”
“You wear his sweater.” He flicked his eyes down my body a second time, because I happened to be wearing your cardigan over my leggings with a tight white tank top. “Gave him that bracelet for Christmas. Flipped out when Sienna came onto him a few weeks ago.”
“She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Don’t pretend that’s the only reason you kicked her out of here—you did it because you like him. You’re jealous. At Christmas, you looked like you wanted to kill her.”
“You realize I’ve always looked at her like that, right? Even when I thought you were the only one who’d ever been with her, I wanted to claw her face off. Do you not remember what I did to her red underwear? Or that picture of you two?”
Michael turned back to the TV, his shoulders tense, jaw working hard. He wasn’t buying my lie.
“Casey lets me borrow his cardigan because it’s so drafty and cold in here this time of year—you know that.
And this morning? He fussed at me for taking my time coming downstairs and letting my eggs get cold.
Then he fussed at me again when I wouldn’t let him make me more eggs, which caused us to be late getting out the door for school.
He talks to me like I’m a child, and it’s annoying as fuck. ”
“Yeah,” Michael said. “I bet it is. I bet you hate that. I bet you’d like him to talk dirty to you instead.” His gaze held mine, intense. “For all I know, he does that, too, and you’re hooking up with him when no one’s here. I bet you sneak into his bed at night, don’t you?”
“I don’t think of him like that. He’s more like the really irritating big brother I never had.” Lies. Both lies. “And, anyway, my dad’s bedroom is right below his. If I’d ever snuck into his bed at night, my dad would’ve heard us through the ceiling, and Casey wouldn’t still be here.”
“So you’re saying that if you did sneak into his bed,” he replied, gaze narrowed suspiciously, “it definitely wouldn’t be to sleep.”
“Would you stop?” I reached for his mouth—for that scar I’d touched a thousand times—but he caught my wrist before my thumb could make contact. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t get to touch me like that anymore,” he said, holding my arm between us, his grip firm.
“Are you serious? Michael, come on. You can’t take that away from me.”
“I want to,” he whispered.
“Why?” I asked, tears clogging my throat. “To hurt me?”
His fingers tightened around my wrist, squeezing hard enough to sting, making my breath catch. “That’s what you like, right? For me to hurt you?”
With my free hand, I pressed my thumb to his scar, anyway, then shoved his face away. I couldn’t stand the cold, hard look in his eyes. Jealousy had turned them a scary dark blue. “Stop being an asshole.”
His throat bobbed as he said, “You love it when I hurt you.”
“Stop. You’re not that mean.”
“And you’re not that good of a liar. Not with me.”
“Okay, fine. You want to hurt me? I guess that’s a fitting punishment. Or you could do me one better and let your girlfriend hurt me instead. Let her hit me back.”
His brows lowered in confusion. “Let her hit you back?”
“Just know this: I didn’t do it because I’m jealous. I did it because she’s a horrible human being.”
I couldn’t tell him the actual reason I’d messed with Sienna without giving away your secret. So a vague explanation would have to suffice.
“Elliot,” Michael said slowly. “Where were you earlier?”
“At Tinsley’s.”
“Elliot,” he repeated. “Where were you really?”
I grabbed his hand as I hopped up from the sofa. “Let’s have tea.”
After school the next day, with my homework spread out on the kitchen island, I struggled to focus. My English assignment sat untouched while my mind raced. Had she used the contact solution yet? Had it stung? Had she taken the hint to leave you alone?
The possibilities had needled at me all day.
Then the back door flung open, revealing Michael, who was breathing hard, his gaze scorching, searing through mine.
And I knew.
Oh, God. It had happened.
“Where’s Casey?” he asked.
“Garland Room, I think.”
Quietly, Michael said, “I just got back from the emergency room with her, Elliot. What the fuck?”
The words barely registered at first.
Emergency room.
My ears rang. My skin flushed hot, then cold. This hadn’t been the plan. Not really. Not like this.
“I…” I’d meant to scare her, not seriously hurt her. Just a sting. A warning. Not damage.
“The emergency room?” you asked, walking into the kitchen, black glasses dangling from your hand.
My heart dropped as you glanced between us.
“Go on,” Michael said. “Tell him what you did to Sienna. She’ll tell him, anyway.”
“Why’s she been to the emergency room, Elliot?” you asked, your gaze flashing bright, licking through me like a flame. “What have you done?”
The truth was necessary—I knew that when I’d poured Sienna’s contact solution down the drain. I knew there was no way you wouldn’t find out. But I didn’t want to admit to breaking your trust, to going behind your back to handle her on my own.
In the end, Michael said it all for me.
“There’s been some corneal damage, and it’ll heal over time, but she’s still in a lot of pain.”
“Jesus,” you snapped, eyes still blazing. “So you went and did this while you were supposed to be at Tinsley’s? You lied to me?”
The sharp disbelief in your voice pierced straight through me.
“You couldn’t let me handle it on my own, could you? I told you to stay out of it.”
“I’d do it all over again,” I said, but my voice shook around the words.
“So you feel no remorse for what you’ve done to her?” you asked.
“Do you feel remorse for sending Greer to the hospital?”
“He attacked you! He tried to rape you! She didn’t do shit to me!”
I flinched. “Don’t care,” I whispered. But that wasn’t true. I hadn’t wanted this. Cutting a slit in her jeans would’ve been better. Why hadn’t I done that instead? “She did enough. I hate her.”
That’s when we heard the front door slam, followed by my dad’s voice. His sharp emphasis on Elliot sparked my worst fear.
He knew.
My heart plummeted. To Michael, I whispered, “You told my dad?”
His eyes widened. “Of course not.”
Nic stormed in, pinning me with a glare. “I took an interesting call at work today from Michael’s girlfriend. You snuck into Michael’s apartment and fucked with her stuff.”
In addition to being a manipulative bitch who thought nothing of coercing someone to sleep with her, Sienna was a tattletale. I hadn’t accounted for that. Fuck.
She’d hit me back alright. She’d hit me where it would hurt the most.
“No,” I lied.
Nic pointed at me. “You’re going back to Dr. Goldstein. Tomorrow.”