Page 119 of The Misfit

Because before I can move, Charlotte appears.

“Lee.” Her hand finds my arm like it belongs there. Like we’re something real. Like we’re the match Mother’s always wanted. “You look like you could use some company.”

Salem pauses her retreat, and I see her notice Charlotte’s familiar touch. See her register how easily I let it happen. See her add one more reason to her list of why walking away is the right choice.

“Charlotte.” I try to pull away, but the room spins slightly. “Don’t?—”

“Shh.” She presses closer, all expensive perfume and societal grace. “Let me help. It’s obvious you’re having a rough night.”

Salem’s still watching. Still seeing everything. Still adding to the evidence of my unworthiness.

“Get off me.” I finally manage to push Charlotte away—probably too roughly, judging by the gasps from nearby guests. But I don’t care. Can’t care. Not when Salem’s almost to the door, and I’m about to lose everything that matters.

“Salem!” Her name comes out too loud, too desperate, too drunk.

She stops but doesn’t turn around immediately. When she does, her composure breaks my heart all over again.

“Don’t.” Her voice carries quiet strength that makes me feel smaller somehow. “Please don’t do this, Lee. Not now. Not like this.”

“I need to explain?—”

“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “You need help. And I can’t be that for you. Won’t be that for you. I deserve more than watching someone I care about destroy himself.”

The gentle truth of her words hits harder than any rejection could.

And suddenly, I’m sixteen again, listening to Pastor James explain all the ways I’ll never be enough.

All the ways I’ll never be accepted.

All the ways I’ll never deserve real love.

Except this time, it’s not religious doctrine or societal rules telling me these things.

It’s the one person who made me believe I could be more.

“Move.” I try to push past Charlotte, but the room tilts dangerously. “Salem, please?—”

“Stop.” Salem’s voice cuts through my drunken haze. “Just stop, Lee. Look at yourself. Look at what you’re doing. This isn’t you.”

But isn’t it?Isn’t this exactly who I am? The drunk disappointment. The unsuitable son. The boy who needed conversion therapy to learn how to be normal.

“You don’t understand,” I manage, hating how my words slur. “I saw him. He’s here. Pastor James. From Promise—” I cut myself off, but it’s too late.

Something shifts in Salem’s expression. Not pity, thank god. But understanding maybe. Compassion I don’t deserve.

“I know.” She steps closer, but still maintains careful distance. “I assumed he had something to do with what Aries told me before. I noticed how you started drinking more after he made his appearance. But that doesn’t matter…” She pauses, choosing her words like she knows how close to breaking I am. “Everyone else might be willing to watch you drown, but I’m not. I can’t be a part of the reason you destroy everything good in your life.”

“There is nothing good in me.” The truth spills out, bourbon-brave and brutal. “They tried to fix that. Tried to make me better. But you saw through it all, didn’t you? Saw how broken I really am.”

“No.” Her voice carries quiet strength that makes me feel even weaker. “I saw someone who counts ceiling tiles at three a.m. because he understands what it’s like to need patterns to feel safe. Someone who cleans things three times without complaint because he knows what it means to need control. Someone who could be amazing if he’d stop trying to drink away who he really is.”

Each word hits like truth, like hope, like everything I’m losing.

“Salem—”

“No. I’m many things, but I will not be a part of your self-destruction.” She steps back again, creating more distance. “I won’t be collateral damage in this war you rage against yourself. I owe myself more than that. And you owe yourself more than this.”

Charlotte tries to touch my arm again, but I shake her off roughly. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

---