Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)(3)

I wonder if they’ve ever known him as the obnoxious, foul-mouthed Kenji I first met.

“Sure,” I tell Castle, attempting a pleasant expression for the first time since he arrived. “That sounds great.”

Castle stands up. His eyes are bright, eager, easily pleased. “Perfect. I’ll have him meet you at breakfast tomorrow. You can eat together and go from there.”

“Oh but I usually—”

“I know.” Castle cuts me off. His smile is pressed into a thin line now, his forehead creased with concern. “You like to eat your meals with Mr. Kent. I know this. But you’ve hardly spent any time with the others, Ms. Ferrars, and if you’re going to be here, you need to start trusting us. The people of Omega Point feel close to Kenji. He can vouch for you. If everyone sees you spending time together, they’ll feel less intimidated by your presence. It will help you adjust.”

Heat like hot oil spatters across my face; I flinch, feel my fingers twitch, try to find a place to look, try to pretend I can’t feel the pain caught in my chest. “They’re—they’re afraid of me,” I tell him, I whisper, I trail off. “I don’t—I didn’t want to bother anyone. I didn’t want to get in their way....”

Castle sighs, long and loud. He looks down and up, scratches the soft spot beneath his chin. “They’re only afraid,” he says finally, “because they don’t know you. If you just tried a little harder—if you made even the smallest effort to get to know anyone—” He stops. Frowns. “Ms. Ferrars, you have been here two weeks and you hardly even speak to your roommates.”

“But that’s not—I think they’re great—”

“And yet you ignore them? You spend no time with them? Why?”

Because I’ve never had girl friends before. Because I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong, say something wrong and they’ll end up hating me like all the other girls I’ve known. And I like them too much, which will make their inevitable rejection so much harder to endure.

I say nothing.

Castle shakes his head. “You did so well the first day you arrived. You seemed almost friendly with Brendan. I don’t know what happened,” Castle continues. “I thought you would do well here.”

Brendan. The thin boy with platinum-blond hair and electric currents running through his veins. I remember him. He was nice to me. “I like Brendan,” I tell Castle, bewildered. “Is he upset with me?”

“Upset?” Castle shakes his head, laughs out loud. He doesn’t answer my question. “I don’t understand, Ms. Ferrars. I’ve tried to be patient with you, I’ve tried to give you time, but I confess I’m quite perplexed. You were so different when you first arrived—you were excited to be here! But it took less than a week for you to withdraw completely. You don’t even look at anyone when you walk through the halls. What happened to conversation? To friendship?”

Yes.

It took 1 day for me to settle in. 1 day for me to look around. 1 day for me to get excited about a different life and 1 day for everyone to find out who I am and what I’ve done.

Castle doesn’t say anything about the mothers who see me walking down the hall and yank their children out of my way. He doesn’t mention the hostile stares and the unwelcoming words I’ve endured since I’ve arrived. He doesn’t say anything about the kids who’ve been warned to stay far, far away, and the handful of elderly people who watch me too closely. I can only imagine what they’ve heard, where they got their stories from.

Juliette.

A girl with a lethal touch that saps the strength and energy of human beings until they’re limp, paralyzed carcasses wheezing on the floor. A girl who spent most of her life in hospitals and juvenile detention centers, a girl who was cast off by her own parents, labeled as certifiably insane, and sentenced to isolation in an asylum where even the rats were afraid to live.

A girl.

So power hungry that she killed a small child. She tortured a toddler. She brought a grown man gasping to his knees. She doesn’t even have the decency to kill herself.

None of it is a lie.

So I look at Castle with spots of color on my cheeks and unspoken letters on my lips and eyes that refuse to reveal their secrets.

He sighs.

He almost says something. He tries to speak but his eyes inspect my face and he changes his mind. He only offers me a quick nod, a deep breath, taps his watch, says, “Three hours until lights-out,” and turns to go.

Pauses in the doorway.

“Ms. Ferrars,” he says suddenly, softly, without turning around. “You’ve chosen to stay with us, to fight with us, to become a member of Omega Point.” A pause. “We’re going to need your help. And I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”

I watch him leave.

I listen to his departing footsteps and lean my head back against the wall. Close my eyes against the ceiling. Hear his voice, solemn and steady, ringing in my ears.

We’re running out of time, he said.

As if time were the kind of thing you could run out of, as if it were measured into bowls that were handed to us at birth and if we ate too much or too fast or right before jumping into the water then our time would be lost, wasted, already spent.

But time is beyond our finite comprehension. It’s endless, it exists outside of us; we cannot run out of it or lose track of it or find a way to hold on to it. Time goes on even when we do not.