Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“I’m not running.” But her voice shakes. “I’m being practical. The water needs to be cleaned up. You need dry clothes. Everything needs to be in order.”
“No.” I step closer, still dripping. “Everything doesn’t need to be in order. Everything doesn’t need to be perfect. Everything doesn’t need to be counted or cleaned or controlled.”
“Lee—”
“Look at this room.” I gesture around us. “Look at how much of me is already here. In your space. In your patterns. In your life.”
Her latex gloves squeak as she clenches her hands. “That’s different.”
“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 not my world. 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 looked normal with 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?”