21. Salem
TWENTY-ONE
salem
The morning sun streams through the coffee shop windows, warming my usual corner table. For once, I don’t feel the need to count every beam of light, sugar packet, or person who walks by. Well, maybe I count a little, but it’s progress.
My phone buzzes with Lee’s third text in the last twenty minutes.
Lee: You sure you’re okay?
Lee: I can be there in ten minutes.
Lee: Five if I break speed limits.
I smile, adjusting my gloves before typing back.
Me: I’m fine. Go to class. Some of us need to graduate.
Me: Besides, I counted all the ceiling tiles yesterday. Still forty-three.
His response is immediate.
Lee: Forty-four if you count the half tile by the window.
Lee: Which I know you do.
Warmth that has nothing to do with tea spreads through my chest. He knows my patterns now, knows them so well, and he catches things that I miss sometimes. But today isn’t about patterns or counting or measuring space.
Today is about independence.
My gloved fingers wrap around the cup, and I take a moment to appreciate how far I’ve come. Three months ago, I couldn’t sit in public without counting and assessing every possible threat. Now, I can almost relax. It almost feels normal.
Lee: Sure you don’t want company?
Lee: I hate the idea of you alone.
Lee: What if someone touches you?
Lee: What if you need backup counting?
I type out a quick response while smiling.
Me: Lee Sterling, are you mother-henning me?
His response makes me laugh out loud.
Lee: No.
Lee: Maybe.
Lee: Okay, yes.
Lee: But only because I love watching you count sugar packets.
The L-word hangs there, casual and terrifying all at once. We haven’t said it yet, not really. Haven’t put that label on whatever this is between us. It’s there in the way he counts with me, the way he remembers my patterns, the way he makes me feel safe without making me feel broken.
Me: Go do your work. I’m okay.
Me : Really.
Me: Getting better every day.
The truth of that settles in my chest like sunshine. I am getting better. Still wearing gloves, still counting things, still measuring spaces—but better. Stronger. More confident.
My tea is at the perfect temperature when I take a sip. The table is clean. I only wiped it twice today instead of three times. The morning feels full of possibility instead of threat.
For once, I’m not counting or measuring the distance between myself and other customers. For once, I’m just … existing.
And it feels like victory.
“Well, if it isn’t the counting queen herself.”
My peaceful morning shatters at the sound of Marcus’s voice. He slides into the chair across from me uninvited, and his presence immediately disrupts my space.
“Please leave.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. Progress.
“Aw, come on.” His smile is all teeth, no warmth. “Can’t I check in on my old friend? See how things are going with Sterling?”
My grip on the cup tightens. Don’t count. Don’t let him see you count. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
“I saw you at the gala,” he continues, leaning forward. “All dressed up in silk gloves, pretending to be something you’re not. Bet Sterling’s family loved that little performance. Almost as good as the one you gave freshman year.”
The memory lands like a punch to the gut. Freshman year. Chelsea.
“Don’t,” I whisper, the panic rising.
“You know what’s funny?” Marcus drums his fingers on the table, the rhythm making my skin crawl. “Chelsea used to defend you. Used to say you just needed time, needed understanding. Right up until that night.”
My vision blurs as my gaze darts around, desperate to find something I can use to count. The sugar packets. Ceiling tiles. Anything to stay present.
“At least Chelsea knew when to quit,” he says, the words softer. Crueler. “Knew when to stop pretending she could fix you.”
The double meaning in his words makes me sick. Bile climbs up my throat. Chelsea letting go. Chelsea falling.
“You’re looking a little pale there, Salem.” His laughter is quiet, meant just for me. “Starting to count things in your head? Starting to feel that itch to clean everything? Starting to remember how it felt to see your best friend?—”
“Stop.” My voice cracks. “Please … just … stop.”
“Why? Because you’re better now? Because Lee Sterling’s magic dick somehow cured you?” He leans forward, his presence invading my space. “We both know what really happened that night. We both know something in you cracked that night under the guilt, and now you’re paying for it with your counting and your stupid gloves.”
The walls start to close in around me. The world spins, and I’m so close to losing my footing. So close to falling into the abyss. I need to count. Need to clean. Need to?—
“I love it,” Marcus continues, watching me unravel with obvious satisfaction. “Look at you, replacing one saving grace with another. First, Chelsea trying to fix you, now Lee. Wonder how long until he figures out you aren’t fixable? Wonder if he’ll let go, too?”
The cup trembles in my hands. Three shakes. Six ripples in the tea. Nine ceiling tiles visible from this angle.
“I actually feel bad for Sterling,” Marcus muses. “He has no idea the kind of crazy he’s trying to save. No idea what really happened the night Chelsea died.”
My world narrows to numbers and patterns, all in a desperate attempt to maintain control. Until a different voice, softer but firmer cuts through the chaos.
“Marcus.”
I blink, and I’m not sure I really believe what I’m seeing. Katherine Sterling stands at our table, peering down her nose at us. The shock is enough to draw me back to the present, curb the anxiety clawing through me.
“Marcus.” Katherine Sterling’s voice is a steel blade wrapped in silk. “I believe you’re making Miss Masters uncomfortable.”
I’ve never been so relieved to see Lee’s mother in my life. She stands there in her perfect Chanel suit, designer handbag, with an expression that could freeze hell. Marcus actually rears back like he’s ready to leap to his feet and run.
“Mrs. Sterling, I was just?—”
“Just leaving.” She doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t need to. Power radiates from her like a force field. “Unless you’d like me to call your father? I’m having lunch with him tomorrow. Board meeting, you know.”
The threat lands perfectly. Marcus retreats, throwing one last dark look my way before disappearing into the morning crowd. My hands shake in their silk prison as I try to count breaths and find my center again.
“May I?” Katherine gestures to the chair across from me, the picture of polite society. When I don’t immediately answer, she adds, “That boy has always been trouble. Your misfortune with his … behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
My throat closes up. Does she know about that night? If she didn’t have me background checked, or whatever, she probably just heard it from Marcus.
“Thank you,” I manage. “For making him leave.”
“Of course, dear.” She slides into the seat with practiced grace. “We society women must stick together, mustn’t we?”
But I’m not a society woman. That’s the whole point. That’s why she will never approve of me with Lee. That’s why?—
“You look surprised.” Her smile is perfect, practiced, and predatory. “Did you think I didn’t notice how you handled the gala?”
Warning bells ring in my head, even as a blush creeps up my neck, but I can’t find my voice. Can’t count my way out of this conversation.
“Lee tells me you’re doing better in crowds,” she continues, smoothing her already perfect skirt. “That you just need more exposure to our lifestyle.”
The praise feels wrong coming from her lips. Like poison wrapped in honey.
“I … yes.” I resist the urge to count the sugar packets arranged on the table. “Things are better. Will be better.” I glance in the direction of Marcus’s retreating form. “Sometimes large crowds rattle me, but things are better,” I repeat, more firmly this time.
“They are, aren’t they?” Her smile widens slightly. “For both of you. Lee’s been so much more … controlled lately. Behaving more suitably. More like the son I always knew he could be. Except for that little scene at the gala, which for him, was rather tame, if I’m being honest.”
Something in her tone makes my skin crawl beneath my gloves. This isn’t a casual coffee shop encounter. This isn’t a coincidence. She came looking for me.
“Mrs. Sterling?—”
“Katherine, please.” She reaches across the table, stopping just short of touching my gloved hand. “I think it’s time we had a proper chat, don’t you? Woman to woman. About Lee’s future. About what’s best for him.”
The sugar packets suddenly look very countable.
The ceiling tiles very measurable.
The space between us very finite.
“You’ve made remarkable progress, or so I’ve been told,” Katherine says, stirring her untouched tea with precise movements. “Even your gloves at the party—so much more elegant than those latex ones you usually wear.”
Told by whom? Is she having me watched?
My glove-covered fingers twitch against the cup. These gloves were Lee’s gift. His way of making my barriers beautiful instead of medical.
“And Lee,” she continues, her voice softening with practiced care. “He’s grown so much since being with you. More controlled. More focused. Finally living up to the Sterling name.”
There’s a trap here somewhere, hidden beneath her honey-coated words. I stay silent, counting the ripples in my cooling tea.
“And that’s exactly why you need to leave him.”
What did she just say? I’m so shocked I have to ask her to repeat herself. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me, dear. I know it’s rather gauche of me to have to ask, but I need you to think about it.” Katherine leans forward, her perfectly manicured hands clasped on the table. “You’ve helped him find balance. Shown him how to control his impulses. Given him the tools he needs to be the man he’s always meant to be.”
“I don’t understand.” But I do. I understand very fucking well.
“Lee’s learning to be normal because of you,” she explains gently like I’m a child. “He’s drinking less, fighting less. He’s becoming an honorable man. It’s just that he’ll never fully transform while he’s …” She pauses delicately. “Connected to the source of questionable new habits.”
My heart floats into my stomach. She’s right. Lee counts things now because of me. Cleans things because of me. Measures spaces and checks surfaces and follows patterns—all because of me.
“He’s not transforming,” I manage. “He’s just learning to understand?—”
“Understanding isn’t enough.” Katherine’s smile is almost kind. “The Sterling name carries certain expectations. Lee needs to be more than understanding. He needs to be perfect. And he can’t be perfect while mimicking your … peculiarities. He’s always had some of the impulses, counting occasionally, humming the same strain of song over and over endless.” She says it like she’s exhausted just thinking about it. “But he does it more with you now, and I need that to stop.”
The worst part is, her logic makes a twisted kind of sense. Lee does count more now. Does check things more often. Does measure spaces like I do.
“He’s happy,” I whisper, but that sounds weak even to my own ears.
“Is he?” Katherine raises one perfect eyebrow. “Or is he just adapting to your world because he cares for you? Picking up your habits because he wants to make you comfortable? Becoming something he’s not because he thinks he needs to protect you?”
Each question lands like a blade, slicing me to the bone.
“I’ve watched my son try to fit himself into other people’s worlds before,” she continues softly. “Seen him twist himself into knots trying to be what others need and want. But this time… this time, he’s actually changing. Actually becoming someone who could lead the Sterling legacy. And it’s because of you.”
She smiles, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Her checkbook appears like magic, sleek and black and terrifying in its implications. She opens it with deliberate care, her Mont Blanc pen clicking with surgical precision.
“What’s your price?” she questions, like we’re suddenly negotiating a business deal. “Whatever you think your future with Lee is worth. Whatever dreams you’re holding on to. Whatever plans you’ve made. I’ll double it.”
The casual cruelty of it steals my breath. How do you put a price on the way Lee counts ceiling tiles with me at three a.m.? On how he remembers to sanitize everything three times? On the sound of his voice when he tells me my broken pieces make perfect sense?
You fucking don’t.
“I’m not …” My voice cracks. “This isn’t about money.”
“Oh, but it is … everything is about money, dear.” She begins writing, the scratch of her pen against the paper makes my skin crawl. “That’s the first lesson of becoming a Sterling. One you’ll never fully learn, I’m afraid.”
She casually adds zeros to her number. More zeros than I’ve ever seen on a check. Enough zeros to pay for graduate school. To start a new life. To become someone who doesn’t need to count things or wear gloves or measure spaces.
“Think of it as an investment,” Katherine continues, her voice gentle but firm. “In Lee’s future. In your future. In the chance for both of you to become who you’re meant to be.”
“And who is that?” The words taste like ashes.
“For Lee? The heir the Sterling name deserves. Controlled, powerful, suitable.” She looks up, blue eyes sharp as ice. “For you? Someone who doesn’t have to pretend to be normal. Who doesn’t have to force herself into a world that will never fully accept her.”
I’m both angry and sad. Angry at the audacity, and sad that Lee’s own mother would go to such lengths to get rid of me. And still the check sits between us like a loaded gun.
“He’ll hate you for this,” I whisper.
“Perhaps.” She shrugs elegantly. “But we both know he’ll thrive without you. Continue the progress you’ve inspired, without the complications your relationship brings.”
Complications. Like I’m a disease or something.
“He’s changing,” Katherine presses. “Growing. But you know that he’ll never fully bloom while trying to adapt to your shadows. Your patterns. Your fears.”
Each word hits like truth, like bullets, like everything I’ve been afraid of since this stopped being pretend.
“The choice is yours,” she adds, sliding the check toward me. “Stay, and watch him become a shadow of himself trying to live in your world. Or leave, and give him the chance to become everything he could be.”
The numbers blur as tears fill my eyes. Everything he could be is a man who drank himself through a party that ended in blood and pain and embarrassment. That’s the man she wants him to be?
“Take it.” Her voice softens with something almost like kindness. “Take it and disappear. Let him go. Let him grow. Let him be normal.”
Normal.
The one thing I can never be.
The one thing Lee deserves to be.
The one thing standing between us.
I could start over somewhere new. Somewhere I wouldn’t have to pretend to be suitable. Somewhere I wouldn’t have to watch Lee slowly absorb all my broken patterns.
“He deserves better,” she presses. “Deserves a chance at normalcy. At a life without counting and constantly checking on you.”
My gloved fingers trace the edge of the check, measuring its perfect angles. One corner is slightly bent—ninety-three degrees instead of ninety. The imperfection makes me stick to my stomach.
“Salem, he loves you,” Katherine whispers, and the words hurt worse than any cruelty could. “Which is why he’ll never leave on his own. Never stop trying to understand your world. Never stop adapting to your needs.”
A tear splashes onto the check, smudging one of those impossible zeros.
“The question isn’t whether you love him,” she continues gently. “It’s whether you love him enough to let him go. To let him become the man he could be without your influence.”
I spread the check out flat to look at it fully.
Katherine’s smile widens slightly.
And somewhere in my head, I start counting.
One reason to stay.
Two reasons to go.
One million reasons to change the rest of our lives.
I meet her gaze. It’s a shame. A complete shame. I grip the check in the middle and rip it in two, letting the pieces fall to the table between us like a grenade.
“Money might be able to buy you whatever you want, but there’s one thing it will never buy you, and that’s me.”