Page 16 of The Misfit

I grab my phone and check the new message from Bel.

Bel:you coming?

It’s now or never. Before I can think better of it, I quickly type out a response and hit send.

Me:Will be leaving shortly!

No backing out now, not without making myself look bad.

Dinner is a quick affair, and thankfully, neither my mother nor father dig deeper into my plans for the evening. The fact I’m leaving the house is enough for my mother. Her excitement bubbles out of her, and I have to remind myself that she’s merely happy to see me taking the therapist’s advice.

I take a nibble here and there, but my anxiety makes it difficult to eat much more.

When I realize I’m only prolonging the inevitable by shoving the food around my plate with a fork, I excuse myself from dinner.

“Have fun!” my mother exclaims with a smile from her spot at the dinner table.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Noah adds before shoveling a spoonful of potatoes into his piehole. I give them a weak smile and head for the door. My bag has been packed and ready since I came downstairs. I snatch it up, and as soon as I step out onto the porch, I suck a ragged breath into my lungs. They burn as if I’ve deprived them of air, and I wonder if I had been unintentionally holding my breath.

Makes sense I would be trying to kill myself.

With my gloved hand remaining on the door handle, I use my touch to ground myself and let the cool air filter into my lungs. The brain is an amazing thing, but it’s also dangerous. A maze you can get lost in if you aren’t careful. In my mind, I envision a beach, then the ocean. The waves wash away pieces of my unease as they crest the beach.

You can do this, Salem.

I give myself one final pep talk before I let go of the handle and descend the stairs. I climb into the car I share with Noah, an old Honda Accord. Old or not, Betsy is one hundred percent trustworthy. I start the engine and type the address Bel gave me into the map app on my phone.

It’s not too late to stay home.

I squish the negative thought and smile to myself when I put the car in reverse. I’m doing this. I check the time when I arrive and park outside the luxury condo building. I bet Drew Marshall owns this place. I won’t lie; I expected another raging party at The Mill. Not this. I stare at the fifth-floor windows, where warm light spills onto the balcony.

Somehow, this seems worse than a Mill party. There are no dark corners to hide in, no escape routes to memorize, and no way to blend into a crowd becausehopefully,there will be no crowd. Just an intimate gathering in an enclosed space five floors up.

I can see them through the floor-to-ceiling windows—maybe fifteen people total, arranged in intimate clusters throughout what must be a massive living room.

Real conversations. Real interactions.My personal hell.

“You’ve been sitting here for ten minutes,” I mutter, hands clenching the wheel. The nitrile of my gloves squeaks with the motion, and I focus on that sound instead of my own racing heartbeat. Doom and dread encompass me at once.

I can’t do this.

Through the window, I watch Bel laugh at something, her head thrown back, totally at ease in her shared home with Drew. A thorn of jealousy pricks my insides, and the thought appears before I can stop it.

I can only imagine what it’s like to simply exist. To not have to count breaths, or worry who might touch you or stare at you like a weirdo because you’re wearing gloves. The judgment and cruelty. I used to be like that. Maybe it feels all the worse for having had it and lost it.

I shake the jealous thought away, shame filling its place. It’s not Bel’s fault I’m this way, and I have no real reason to be envious of her. She’s only ever been caring and kind, even when others weren’t. I return to counting the balconies even though I’ve counted them half a dozen times now. My phone buzzes three times, and it startles me.

Probably Bel, wondering when I’m going to show up.Never at this rate.

With trembling fingers, I grab my phone and skim through the messages.

Noah:You okay? Been a while since you left.

Noah:Need that escape plan? Blink three times if you’re in danger.

I smile despite myself and type out a response.

Me:Still in the car. Counting things.

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