Page 18 of The Misfit

Am I ready?No. If it was up to my anxiety, I’d never be ready, but I have to be. It’s time to move on. It’s time I find myself again.

“How many people exactly?”

“Twelve,” she replies immediately, like she knew I’d need the precise number. “Only people you know. No strangers.”

My throat tightens, and I nod.

The doors open, and we step into a corridor leading to one door at the end of the hall. I follow her in, cataloging everything at once—exits (three: balcony, main door, service entrance), people (twelve, just like she said), surfaces I’ll need to avoid (too many to count). The space is massive, all open concept and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city lights. Beautiful, but nowhere to hide.

“Drew got everyone’s favorite drinks,” Bel exclaims. “Yours is still sealed—raspberry La Croix, right?” I fell off the face of the earth for two years, yet somehow, she managed to remember my favorite drink. I don’t even know what to say. Not that she waits for me to respond.

She points across the room. “There’s a spot by the window that no one’s touched. We put out clean throws just for you.”

I blink hard against the sudden rush of tears. No one’s been this kind to me since … My memory shifts to that night in the pantry, how Lee blocked the door to keep others from seeing me. I nod, fearing tears might break free if I speak.

Conversations pause as we enter farther, and even though I don’t pay them any attention, I can see heads turning in our direction. I feel each gaze like a physical touch, making my skin crawl under my gloves. There’s a flurry of whispers, and someone laughs—not unkindly, but still. Drew instantly appears at Bel’s side, like he’s an extension of her.

I assess him, knowing full well the kind of guy he is. He’s dressed casually in designer jeans and a blue Henley that looks incredibly soft.

“Salem.” He nods, keeping his distance. “Good to see you.”

I manage a weak smile, and because I don’t know what to say, I start to count.

Three steps to the couch. Two people by the kitchen island. One sealed La Croix waiting on a clean coaster.

“Lee’s running late,” Bel announces, and I hate how my pulse jumps, and the way my body reacts to his name. “But he texted that he’s on his way.”

“I’m not—” I start, but then Marcus Chen’s terrible voice grates across my nerves.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Masters. Thought crowds made you crazy.”

The room falls silent.

One, two, three breaths.

Don’t react.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

A part of me twists with empathy, knowing that Marcus is the way he is because he can’t go crazy. Not like me. He has to find a way to deal with the poison in his veins, and the only way to do that is to spit it at other people.

As if sensing the direction this is going, Drew steps in. “If you’re going to be an asshole, Chen, you can leave. When you asked to come, I didn’t realize you were only attending to be a dick.”

Bel steps between them, leaving both men to tower over her, but she doesn’t seem to care. “After what happened in the library, I wouldn’t have invited you at all. Now, if you want to stay, you will be kind.”

I stare down at my gloved hands, refusing to look up because I know all I’ll see reflecting back at me is pity. Bel’s hand hovers near mine—not touching, just offering support—and somehow that makes it bearable.

Just breathe. Just stay. Just prove them wrong.

Three more hours.

Two more glove changes.

One more chance to be normal.

I can do this.

Marcus mutters something under his breath and marches away, disappearing into the darkness of the hall.

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