Page 81 of The Misfit

“Watch me.” But my voice cracks, betraying me.

He sets the plate down and surveys my room—neat piles of unused textbooks, perfectly aligned pencils, three pairs of silk gloves I can’t bring myself to touch. Everything in perfect order except me.

“Lee called the house phone.” Noah’s voice is soft. “Since you won’t answer your cell.”

I close my eyes, remembering Lee’s face that night. The possession in his eyes. The way he’d marked me as his. The way I’d let him.

“I can’t.” The words come out small, broken. “It’s too much. He’s too much. All of it …”

“Is exactly what you need,” Noah finishes. “You’re stronger with him. Better.”

But am I?Or am I just pretending to be better? Playing the role of someone who can handle charity galas and society photos and Katherine Sterling’s sharp smiles?

“Eat something,” Noah says softer. “Then maybe try answering one text. Baby steps, right?”

Baby steps. Like Lee taught me. Like we practiced together, counting tiles and breaths and moments between panic attacks. That was before. Before the gala showed me exactly how unsuitable I am for his world. Before I watched him spiral as he tried to protect me from it. Before everything got so complicated.

“I just need time,” I whisper, but we both know I’m lying.

My phone buzzes again.

I don’t look.

Can’t look.

Won’t look at Lee begging me to be brave when I can barely breathe.

Instead, I start counting tiles again.

One more time.

Just to be sure.

“Nope.” Noah plops down on my desk chair, disrupting my perfect view of the ceiling. “Not doing it this time.”

“I’m fine.” The lie tastes stale, like everything else these past three days.

“You’re not fine. You’re hiding and counting and pretending the world doesn’t exist.” He spins the chair to face me fully. “The Salem I know doesn’t hide.”

Thunder rumbles outside, making the windows rattle. Perfect. Even the weather matches my mood, dark clouds rolling in like my anxiety.

“The Salem you know is tired,” I whisper. “Tired of pretending to be normal. Tired of trying to fit into his world. Tired of?—”

“Being happy?” Noah cuts me off. “Because that’s what you were with him. Actually happy, not pretending.”

“I was acting.” But my voice wavers. “It was all an arrangement.”

“Really?” He starts ticking off points on his fingers. “So Lee learning to count tiles with you was acting? Him remembering exactly how many times to sanitize everything was fake? The way he automatically puts himself between you and crowds—that’s all pretend?”

Lightning flashes, illuminating my perfectly ordered room. Everything in its place except my heart.

“You don’t understand.” I clench my hands. “His family, his world … I can’t be what they need me to be.”

“No,” Noah agrees, surprising me. “That’s incorrect. You can’t be what they want you to be, and that’s okay because you’re exactly what Lee needs.”

“Remember last week at the coffee shop? How you told me about some little kid spilling his drink near you?”

I close my eyes and recall how I told him about it when I got home. Just in passing, though. “Lee cleaned it up.”

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