Page 10 of The Misfit

A flash of memory hits me as I zip the bag—the sharp smell of antiseptic, fluorescent lights that never dim, my mother’s face crumpling as she signed the admission papers. I grip the back of my chair, nitrile squeaking against the metal.

No. Not here. Not now.

“Breathe through it.” Dr. Martinez’s voice echoes in my head. “Find your anchor points.”

One.The precise weight of my backpack straps perfectly even on both shoulders.

Two.The smooth texture of my gloves against my palms.

Three.The rhythmic tap of my shoes on the tile as I walk—left, right, left, right.

The memory recedes, leaving behind the usual hollow ache in my chest. After that night, I spent two years learning how to exist again. After everyone saw me break apart in the middle of sophomore year. After I became the girl who …

No. I won’t think about it.

I let my traitorous mind drift back to Lee, the misunderstood playboy. He didn’t flinch when I mentioned OCD, didn’t give me that look of pity mixed with fear that I’ve grown so used to seeing. He simply accepted it, like it was as ordinary as having brown hair or blue eyes.

Because of him, I know what it feels like to be seen instead of stared at. To be heard instead of whispered about. It didn’t matter how he made me feel, though. Not when Lee is exactly what I need to stay away from.

Wild, impulsive, always the center of attention—everything that sets off my well-constructed warning systems. I’ve seen him around campus before; he’s always surrounded by drama and desire. Everywhere he goes, chaos follows. The way he touches people so casually, drinks from other people’s cups, and lives life like germs and consequences don’t exist.

He’s a disaster waiting to happen.

No, I decide, pushing through the library’s heavy doors into the summer heat. Last night was a momentary lapse in judgment, a strange intersection of his need to hide and mine. Nothing more.

I adjust my gloves one final time and start counting the steps toward my next class. Left, right, left, right. This is my life now: careful and contained and controlled. Nothing will change that fact. Not even the guy with understanding eyes and a devil-may-care smile. Even if some small, reckless part of me wishes he could.

FOUR

lee

There’s this insistent buzzing,like a fly that won’t go away. I crack one eye open and immediately regret it as sunlight stabs straight through my skull. There’s that buzzing sound again. I groan and slap my hand in the direction of the noise.What the hell?It continues, and I realize my fingers are wrapped around my phone, the buzzing radiating up my arm. I squint at the screen to see the words on it. Seventeen missed calls fromMother.

Two from Father. Oh, I’m surprised he rouses himself for the effort.

One from my sister, Emma. That one I might return.

Close to thirty texts all basically say the same thing.

Mother:Come home. Immediately. This is not a request.

“Fuck,” I moan, rolling onto my back. I’m met with instant regret, the desire to vomit climbing up my throat.Why did I let Aries convince me those last shots were a good idea?My ceiling spins lazily above me, and I try to remember if I have class today. Try to remember what day it even is.Oh wait.I graduated.Shit.I’m further gone than I thought.

My phone buzzes again, and I focus on the screen this time.

Mother:If you are not here within the hour, there will be consequences.

Another buzz.

Mother:And please try to dress like someone who wasn’t raised in a barn.

I throw my arm over my eyes and contemplate going back to sleep. Except the last time I ignored a summons to the family estate, they froze my accounts for a month. I had to actually thinkabout getting a job.

The horror.

“Fine,” I huff and announce to the empty room, moving into a sitting position.”But I’m wearing ripped jeans just to piss her off.”

A dull throb in my skull develops when I stand, and my attention scatters between the mess of my room—when did I get so many empty bottles?—the growing urgency of my bladder, and the weird, lingering memory of brown eyes and cherry-scented breath in a dark pantry.Focus. Shower. Clothes. Drive.In that order.

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