Page 11 of The Misfit

I can do this. I can totally handle whatever fresh hell my family has planned for me this time. There goes my phone again.Buzzing.I wish it would buzz out the fucking window.

Mother:One hour, Lee. Don’t make me send your father.

As if he would.

What-the fuck-ever. Walking into the bathroom, I finish undressing and turn on the shower. I wash my hair and body, taking my time just for the hell of it. Once I’m rinsed off, I kill the water, step out, and dry off. I leisurely get dressed, my gaze catching on the bottles of medication lining the bathroom sink. I’m supposed to take the ADHD medication and anxiety meds daily, but I don’t. I hate the way they make me feel, like I’m not me.

I’d rather medicate myself with alcohol. I check the clock on my nightstand. I could leave right now and get there a little early, but I don’t want to be in my parents’ presence any longer than necessary. Plus, I have a better idea. Walking over to the bed, I grab my laptop, plop down on the mattress, and immerse myself in all that is Pantry Girl.

Drew told me her name last night after I drunkenly asked him.Salem Masters. She looks like a Salem, but I prefer Pantry Girl more.

Who knew obsession could ignite so quickly?

After one stolen moment in that dark pantry, I had to know who she was and what she was about. I don’t know what fascinates me about her; she’s nothing special, but I can’t seem to shake the immediate infatuation. So instead of fighting it, I choose to lean into it. Maybe if I figure her out, the desire to know more about her will disappear. It does help that I know a thing or two about hacking and my way around the dark web.

I didsomehowfinish my degree in computer engineering.

I keep my research light, letting Google tell me what it can about her. It doesn’t take long for one open tab to become ten and a few minutes to become twenty. I’m engrossed in the information and swallow it up like a processor. My phone buzzes insistently from across the room. I studiously avoid looking in its direction.

Maybe if I don’t look at it …fuck.Anxiety slowly trickles in. I need to get going, but I’m nowhere close to being satisfied with what I’ve found out about Salem.

I need more.

Leverage. Secrets. Everything.

Old pictures of her in other people’s Facebook posts, most dated over a year ago, show a completely different girl from the one I met in the pantry. A happy Salem. Laughing, with her arms wrapped around a friend’s neck and a barbecue chicken leg in one fist.

Another one of her is on a pool floaty with a koozie in her hand. She’s wearing a red bikini that gives me very indecent ideas.

All I can do is shake my head, my thoughts spiraling.

The Salem I met wouldn’t get anywhere near a pool that five other people were swimming in or touch a chicken leg without a latex glove protecting her hand.

What the hell happened to you, Pantry Girl?

I crack my knuckles and lean forward.It’s time to fucking find out.When I hit the firewall of Willow Grove Psychiatric Institution, I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.Shit.Am I willing to go this far for answers?

I scuff my index finger over the peeling sticker on the edge of my laptop, then sigh. I already know the answer. I’m more surprised by the fact I’m hesitating.Maybe it’s guilt? The idea that I’m violating her privacy and trust? It’s never mattered any other time I’ve dug deep into someone’s background for one of my friends.

This is different; she is different.

This is why I need this information—whatever information I can find.

I push the guilt away and press on. It doesn’t take long to bypass the firewall. When I find the sealed files, I stop again. I could always ask her—or like a normal person, wait for her to tell me herself—but I don’t have the patience for that. Who knows how long that might take or if she would ever really tell me.

Obviously, there were rumors; there were always rumors, and I glossed over an article or two that was printed in the paper about what happened to her friend Chelsea. A tiny part of my brain tells me to stop. To leave it. But I can’t.

I’ve already come this far …

It takes seconds to open the files but much longer for my heart to drop back into the protective cage of my ribs after I finish reading.Shit.Poor Salem. Anger stirs in my chest, the desire to protect her, to make all those who hurt her suffer the same way they made her suffer.

My phone buzzes again, and I let out a sigh of frustration. Better check that or else. Rolling my eyes, I toss my laptop aside into the skewed bedding and get up to grab my phone. I stare at the screen, at the numerous texts cascading down, and read the most recent one from my mother.

Mother:I sincerely hope you are on the way.

I bite back a curse. Attending this bullshit family gathering is the last thing I want to do, but if I don’t show up, they’ll come find me, and that’s so much worse. Begrudgingly, I grab my car keys and head downstairs.

Fifty-five minutes after the first text, the familiar gates of Sterling Grove loom ahead, all wrought iron and old money pretension. The family crest, a lion rampant holding a crown, makes me roll my eyes every time. Nothing says “we’ve had money since the Civil War” quite like a custom-made family crest.

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