Page 87 of The Misfit

“Why?”

“Because …” She swallows hard. “Because it wasn’t supposed to be real. So it was okay if I kept little bits of you. If I never had to give them back.”

The truth of that hangs between us, heavy as the storm still raging outside.

“But it is real,” I whisper. “Isn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t leave, either.

And I think that’s all the answer I need.

“The gala,” Salem finally says, still facing the door. “With Aries…”

“I lost control.” Shame burns in my gut, mixing with the cold from my wet clothes. “Seeing you with him, seeing you laugh, seeing you not counting steps or checking gloves or measuring space …”

“I was trying to be normal.” Her voice cracks. “Trying to be what your family wants, what you need. We had a deal, and I wanted to uphold my part of the agreement.”

“What?” I take a step closer, water dripping onto her pristine carpet. “What are you talking about?” She doesn’t answer, and that only notches up my anxiety further. “Salem, please look at me. Please explain.”

She turns slowly, her coffee-brown eyes searing into my soul. “At the gala. I heard them. Your mother and one of her friends. They were talking about how unsuitable I am. How Charlotte Henderson would be perfect for you. How I’m just a phase, a rebellion, a?—”

“Stop.” My hands clench at my sides to keep from reaching for her. Anger simmering in my veins. I hate that my terrible, dark world has leached over onto her. “Whatever they said?—”

“No, you stop.” She squares her shoulders. “What they said was true. I’m not normal, Lee. I can’t be normal. I want to be, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that the person I used to be isn’t the person I am today. I will never be that girl again, no matter how hard I try to put myself into that mold. I count everything. I clean everything. I wear gloves and measure spaces, and the thought of attending a public party induces anxiety. I’m not made for your world.”

“That is notmyworld. That is my parents’ world, and it’s bullshit.” The words explode out of me. “It’s fake smiles and even faker people pretending to be perfect. It’s suffocating and cruel, and everything I’m trying to escape. But I can’t do that without money, without taking the time to make sure I’m not stuck somewhere even worse.”

“So why are you trying to fit in somewhere you know you don’t belong? Where you don’t even want to be? Doing all the drinking … wearing the mask …?”

It’s my most singularly asked question, one that I consider almost daily. I don’t have to think about the answer.

“Because I don’t have any other option. I don’t have a second choice. Just like you, I want to fit in, need to fit in. I just … I can’t conform to their bullshit. And that’s okay because…” Lightning flashes outside her window, illuminating the tears in her eyes. Fuck. I don’t want to make her cry, but I can’t stop the word vomit from coming. “Because with you,” I continue softer, “it all makes sense. Your counting makes sense. Your patterns make sense. Everything makes sense when I’m with you.”

“Lee—”

“Truthfully, I wasn’t jealous of Aries because you lookednormalwith him.” My voice roughens. “I was jealous because you looked happy. Because he made you laugh. Because for a moment, I thought maybe you’d realize you deserve better than me and my mess of a life.”

She makes a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob that gets caught in her throat. “Better? Lee, I’m the mess. I’m the broken one. I’m the one who can’t function without counting tiles and wearing gloves and?—”

“None of those things matter. I’m the one who’s falling for every single one of your broken pieces.” The confession rips out of me, raw and honest. “I’m the one who can’t sleep without counting breaths now. Who sanitizes everything three times because that’s your number. Who measures the space between us in heartbeats instead of feet.” The silence stretches between us, broken only by the storm outside and the steady drip of water from my clothes. “You heard my mother,” I say quietly. “But did you hear me when I told Charlotte that the only perfect thing in my life is how your hand fits in mine?”

Salem’s breath hitches. “No.”

“That’s why I’m here now. I walked all the way in the rain, counting every damn step until I reached your door.”

“Why?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“Because none of this is pretend anymore.” I meet her eyes. “Is it?”

“I’ve never …” The words stick in my throat.

Salem stands perfectly still, waiting, always waiting for me to find my rhythm like I wait for her to find hers.

“I’d never been with a woman, not until you. Not really.” Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t judge. Just counts her breaths while I fumble for words. “I’ve done … things. Kissed girls, touched them, let them touch me. But never …” I run a hand through my wet hair, sending droplets scattering. “Everyone assumes, and I let them. I mean, how would it look if Lee Sterling, the biggest flirt at Oakmount, who drinks like a fish and instigates fights for the hell of it, confessed he had no actual experience with a woman?”

Salem tilts her head slightly, curiosity rampant in her soft gaze. I answer the unasked question. “I’ve been pretending for a long time, Salem. Pretending that I know what I’m doing, that I know who I am and what I want to be. When really I haven’t had the slightest fucking clue. That night in the pantry when I met you, I felt seen, felt like I didn’t need the mask to be accepted.”

“Lee—”

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