Page 124 of The Misfit

Of both of us.

Of all of us.

Even the ones still finding their way.

The night wraps around me like a gentle embrace as I sit at the cliff’s edge, bare hands pressed against cool stone. For the first time in two years, I don’t need to count or measure or control anything. The chaos of stars above me, of memories around me, feels almost peaceful.

“I’m better now, Chels,” I whisper to the night air. “Really better. Not just pretending. Not just wearing gloves and counting tiles to keep the world at bay. Like actually better. It’s been hard, my breakdown, losing you, but I can feel myself returning, little by little, and each day I catch a glimpse of the old me.”

A twig snaps behind me, and I know without turning around to look that it’s Lee. His presence feels different from Marcus’s departure—heavier, more significant. More terrifying in what it means.

“How long have you been there?” I ask, still facing the stars Chelsea loved.

“Long enough.” His voice is a little steadier.

He heard everything, then. About Chelsea. About counting. About why I build walls and wear gloves and try to control a world that can’t be controlled. “Salem?—”

“Don’t.” I close my eyes, feeling night air on my bare hands. “Whatever you’re going to say, whatever you heard, whatever you think you understand now … just don’t.”

Of course he doesn’t listen. His footsteps draw closer, each one careful and measured like he’s learned from me. He stops just short of touching distance, and I can feel him struggling with what to do next. The old Lee would reach for a drink. The new Lee … well, maybe we’re both learning who we really are.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks quietly.

I finally turn to face him, finding his eyes clearer than they’ve been in weeks. “Why are you here, Lee?”

He looks different in starlight—more real, somehow. More like the boy who brings me fresh gloves and less like the drunk heir trying to drown his demons in bourbon.

“Because,” he says, “some patterns are worth repeating.”

THIRTY

lee

The small amountof bourbon I drank still burns in my veins, but it’s not enough. It will never be enough to drown out Pastor James’s voice, or Mother’s disappointment, or the weight of everything I’ve lost tonight. The cliffs descend before me, offering a different kind of silence. The kind that can make all the noise in my head disappear. I could do it, end it all, right now.

It would be so easy to stop existing. To stop trying to be something that I’ll never be.

But I can’t yet. Not with her here.

When I arrived, I’d frozen in the shadows, unable to move, to speak, to breathe as their conversation unfolded. Reading her file had revealed the truth to me, but hearing her speak it out loud … her pain and anguish became real. And the pieces in my brain clicked together.

Was she trying to save me like she tried to save Chelsea?

All this time, I thought I was protecting her. Thought I was the strong one, the one creating safe spaces to help her navigate the world.

But I wasn’t. Turns out she’s been the brave one this whole time, and I was too caught up in the darkness to see it.

Brave enough to face her demons.

Brave enough to let go of misplaced guilt.

Brave enough to choose herself over watching someone else self-destruct.

While I’ve been drowning myself in bourbon, running from memories, trying to drink away everything that makes me fucked up.

God, I don’t deserve her.

Never did.

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