Page 88 of The Misfit

“It’s terrifying.” The confession burns across my lips. “Because I want you. God, I want you. But I’m scared of messing up. Of pushing too hard or not hard enough. Of making you count breaths for the wrong reasons. Of ruining the only real thing in my life because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Salem takes one careful step forward. Then another. Then another. She measures the space between us like always but moves closer this time instead of stopping and staying.

“You think I know what I’m doing?” Her voice is soft, uncertain. “You think I have any idea how to be with someone when I can barely touch anything without panicking? When I need to wear gloves just to hold hands? When everything about being intimate terrifies me?”

“That’s different?—”

“Is it?” Her latex-covered fingers hover near my chest, not quite touching. “We’re both scared and inexperienced in our own ways. Both pretending we know how to do this when we don’t.”

For a full minute, neither of us speaks, both of us consumed with the possibility of something more unfurling.

“If you want to do this … if we want to be real. We need rules,” Salem whispers, her hand still pressed to my heart. “Real ones.”

“Okay.” I keep my voice soft and steady. “Like what?”

“Like …” She takes a measured breath. “Like you have to tell me when you’re overwhelmed. No more drinking to handle your family. No more fighting to handle your feelings.” It will be harder than fuck, but I’m willing to do anything I have to do to keep Salem at my side.

“Only if you promise to tell me when you need space. When things get too loud, too much. When you feel like you need to count or clean or just … breathe.”

The storm outside has settled into a gentle rain. Salem’s fingers curl slightly against my chest, latex squeaking.

“Got it and no more pretending,” she adds. “With each other, I mean. We can still … I can pretend for your family.”

“No,” I growl. “No more pretending at all. I want everyone to know that when you count tiles, I count them with you. That when you need three times to clean something, I’m there for all three. That this is real. That you’re mine. That we’re together.”

She sways slightly closer. “Your mother?—”

“Doesn’t matter.” I slide my hand up her arm, careful to keep the touch light through her sweater. “Nothing matters except this.Us.Whatever this terrifying, beautiful thing is.”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “Terrifying and beautiful.”

“Like you.”

Her breath catches. “Like you …” She repeats the same words back to me.

The pressure on my chest lifts. We stand there, barely touching, both trembling slightly—me from wet clothes, her from emotion, both carrying the weight of this moment and the vulnerability with us.

“I’m tired,” she finally whispers. “Not of this. Just …”

“I know.”And I do.The night has drained us both. “I should go.” Even as I speak the words, I know that’s not what I want. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay right here, at this moment, with Salem for as long as I can. Seconds tick by, and neither of us says anything. After a moment, Salem speaks.

“Stay.” Her grip on my shirt tightens like the thought of losing me terrifies her just as much. “Just to sleep. My parents are out of town. Not that it really matters since I’m an adult, of course.”

The trust in that request steals my breath. Salem doesn’t let anyone in her space, not like this. Doesn’t break her careful patterns of isolation.

“Are you sure?” I don’t want to push her, especially after all that’s happened already. “I don’t want to leave, but I also don’t want to make things worse.”

She nods. “Noah’s clothes are dry. My bed is clean. And I …” Her voice drops lower. “I might sleep better when I can hear you breathing. When I can count your heartbeats.”

The air between us shifts, and I can’t explain it. It’s like a veil is being lifted. There will be no more pretending, no more hiding, no more measuring the space between fake and real.

Just us.

Together.

Salem’s entire body tenses, and she looks up at me, fear bleeding into her beautiful eyes. “What if I can’t handle touching? Tonight … earlier … was good, but what if there are times when I can’t?”

“Then we don’t touch. We don’t do anything until you’re ready. I want this Salem. I want you, and I want us, for real.”

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