Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)(22)

“When you first met, for example, Mr. Kent was working as a soldier, on guard, always aware of the risks in his surroundings. He was in a constant state of electricum—a term we use to define when our Energy is ‘on,’ so to speak—because he was always in a state of danger.” Castle tucks his hands into his blazer pockets. “A series of tests have further shown that his body temperature rises when he is in a state of electricum—just a couple of degrees higher than normal. His elevated body temperature indicates that he is exerting more energy than usual to sustain this. And, in short,” Castle says, “this constant exertion has been exhausting him. Weakening his defenses, his immune system, his self-control.”

His elevated body temperature.

That’s why Adam’s skin was always so hot when we were together. Why it was always so intense when he was with me. His ability was working to fight mine. His energy was working to defuse mine.

It was exhausting him. Weakening his defenses.

Oh.

God.

“Your physical relationship with Mr. Kent,” Castle says, “is, in truth, none of my business. But because of the very unique nature of your gifts, it’s been of great interest to me on a purely scientific level. But you must know, Ms. Ferrars, that though these new developments no doubt fascinate me, I take absolutely no pleasure in them. You’ve made it clear that you do not think much of my character, but you must believe that I would never find joy in your troubles.”

My troubles.

My troubles have arrived fashionably late to this conversation, inconsiderate beasts that they are.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please just tell me what the problem is. There’s a problem, isn’t there? Something is wrong.” I look at Adam but he’s still staring away, at the wall, at everything but at my face, and I feel myself rising to my feet, trying to get his attention. “Adam? Do you know? Do you know what he’s talking about? Please—”

“Ms. Ferrars,” Castle says quickly. “I beg you to sit down. I know this must be difficult for you, but you must let me finish. I’ve asked Mr. Kent not to speak until I’m done explaining everything. Someone needs to deliver this information in a clear, rational manner, and I’m afraid he is in no position to do so.”

I fall back onto the bed.

Castle lets out a breath. “You brought up an excellent point earlier—about why Mr. Kent was able to interact with our healer twins when he first arrived. But it was different with them,” Castle says. “He was weak; he knew he needed help. His body would not—and, more importantly, could not—refuse that kind of medical attention. He was vulnerable and therefore unable to defend himself even if he wanted to. The last of his Energy was depleted when he arrived. He felt safe and he was seeking aid; his body was out of immediate danger and therefore unafraid, not primed for a defensive strategy.”

Castle looks up. Looks me in the eye.

“Mr. Kent has begun having a similar problem with you.”

“What?” I gasp.

“I’m afraid he doesn’t know how to control his abilities yet. It’s something we’re hoping we can work on, but it will take a lot of time—a lot of energy and focus—”

“What do you mean,” I hear myself ask, my words heavy with panic, “that he has already begun having a similar problem with me?”

Castle takes a small breath. “It—it seems that he is weakest when he is with you. The more time he spends in your company, the less threatened he feels. And the more … intimate you become,” Castle says, looking distinctly uncomfortable, “the less control he has over his body.” A pause. “He is too open, too vulnerable with you. And in the few moments his defenses have slipped thus far, he’s already felt the very distinct pain associated with your touch.”

There it is.

There’s my head, lying on the floor, cracked right open, my brain spilling out in every direction and I can’t I don’t I can’t even I’m sitting here, struck, numb, slightly dizzy.

Horrified.

Adam is not immune to me.

Adam has to work to defend himself against me and I’m exhausting him. I’m making him sick and I’m weakening his body and if he ever slips again. If he ever forgets. If he ever makes a mistake or loses focus or becomes too aware of the fact that he’s using his gift to control what I might do— I could hurt him.

I could kill him.





FOURTEEN


Castle is staring at me.

Waiting for my reaction.

I haven’t been able to spit the chalk out of my mouth long enough to string a sentence together.

“Ms. Ferrars,” he says, rushing to speak now, “we are working with Mr. Kent to help him control his abilities. He’s going to train—just as you are—to learn how to exercise this particular element of who he is. It will take some time until we can be certain he’ll be safe with you, but it will be all right, I assure you—”

“No.” I’m standing up. “No no no no no.” I’m tripping sideways. “NO.”

I’m staring at my feet and at my hands and at these walls and I want to scream. I want to run. I want to fall to my knees. I want to curse the world for cursing me, for torturing me, for taking away the only good thing I’ve ever known and I’m stumbling toward the door, searching for an outlet, for escape from this nightmare that is my life and