Page 123 of The Misfit

All this time, I thought I failed her by not being there. By not saving her. By not fixing everything.

“You’re right, Salem. She made her choice,” Marcus says softly. “It wasn’t your fault for missing the text. It wasn’t my fault for being an asshole and cheating. Yeah, it didn’t help things, didn’t help her pain, but I’ve come to the conclusion that she made a choice in all of this. Just like I did, and just like you did. It was her choice. Her pain. Her moment on this cliff.”

“When did you figure that out?” My bare hands trail over rough stone, feeling texture directly for the first time in years.

“About the same time I saw you start wearing gloves. Start counting everything. Start trying to control the world because you thought you failed to control what happened that night. About the time you went to the hospital after finding her body and didn’t come out for a long time.” He meets my eyes steadily. “You didn’t fail her, Salem. Not any more than I did. We just… we just lost her. And that fucking sucks, but it wasn’t our fault.”

The truth of that settles into my bones, replacing guilt with something that feels like acceptance. Like forgiveness—not just for Marcus but also for myself.

“She would have hated what we became,” I say, thinking of all the masks we’ve worn, all the pain we’ve caused each other. “How we let her death change us.”

“Yeah.” Marcus’s laugh sounds wet with tears. “She would have kicked both our asses. You for hiding behind latex barriers, and me for being such a fuckface.”

“Yeah, I was weird before, obviously, but it was never the type of weird that couldn’t be controlled.” I stare down at my bare hands. “It hurts even more because if I’d been normal, maybe I would have been with her that night instead of at home separating my wool socks from my cotton ones. Or maybe if she hadn’t been so set on being your perfect girlfriend, she’d have been with me, picking on me for how I rolled up each ball.”

“She always did have a way of calling us out on our bullshit.”

We sit there in comfortable silence, letting two years of misplaced blame and guilt float away on the night breeze. Letting Chelsea’s memory be what it should have been all along—not a weight to carry, but a light to remember.

“I know I don’t deserve it, and I don’t expect you to accept my apology, but I want you to know I am sorry. I never should’ve blamed you.” Marcus speaks after a long silence, his voice carrying none of its usual edge. “It was just … easier, you know? To be angry with someone else. To make you the villain in my head. To pretend if you’d just answered your phone, everything would have been different.”

“You aren’t wrong. You don’t deserve my acceptance, but I’m tired of holding on to this pain. Tired of living in a past I can’t change,” I admit, surprised by how easily the truth comes now. “I blamed myself for far too long, thinking that if I could just control everything, nothing bad would ever happen again.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” There’s no mockery in his question, just genuine curiosity.

I think about my nitrile gloves, my careful counting, my measured spaces. Think about how Lee showed me that some chaos can be beautiful. Think about how my bare hands haven’t sent me into panic yet.

“I’m better,” I say, and I mean it for the first time in two years. “Not perfect. Not fixed. But I’m a little better every day.”

Marcus studies me for a moment. “Yeah, you are. I’ve noticed, you know. How you started smiling again. How you let Sterling close despite his mess. How you’ve been letting go of some of those barriers.”

“Until tonight.” The gala memories try to surface, but they don’t hurt like they did before. “Until I had to walk away from someone else who needed saving.”

“Sterling?” Marcus shakes his head. “He doesn’t need saving, Salem. He just needs to want to save himself. Just like Chelsea needed to want to live. Just like we needed to stop blaming ourselves.”

The wisdom in that surprises me, and I nudge his shoulder with my own. “When did you get so insightful?”

“About the same time I stopped being an asshole long enough to see what I was really angry about. Also therapy. Two years’ worth.” He stands, brushing off his formal pants. “You going to be okay up here by yourself? I can stay if you want.”

I look out over the cliff’s edge at the stars Chelsea loved so much and the view that used to terrify me but now just feels … peaceful.

“I’m okay.” I mean that, too. “I think … I think I just need some time with her. With myself. With everything I’ve been too afraid to face.”

Marcus nods like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe we both finally do.

“Salem?” He pauses before leaving. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. For everything after. For making your pain worse. For not being brave enough to face my own guilt.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I offer back. “For being an easier target than your own demons.”

He gives me a sad smile that reminds me of the boy Chelsea loved. The boy who made mistakes but wasn’t the villain I needed him to be.

“We’re going to be okay,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.

Like forgiveness. Like truth.

I watch him disappear down the path, leaving me alone with stars and memories and a strange new feeling of peace.

Chelsea would be proud, I think.

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