Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)(39)

He’s still looking away from me when he says, “I really—I really need you to say something.” And the sound of his voice—so wretched, so agonized—makes me want to fall to my knees.

Still, I do not speak.

And he turns.

Faces me.

“There has to be something,” he says, his hands in his hair now, gripping his skull. “Some kind of compromise—something I can say to convince you to make this work. Tell me there’s something.”

And I’m so scared. So scared I’m going to start sobbing in front of him.

“Please,” he says, and he looks like he’s about to crack, like he’s done, like this is it he’s about to fall apart and he says, “say something, I’m begging you—”

I bite my trembling lip.

He freezes in place, watching me, waiting.

“Adam,” I breathe, trying to keep my voice steady. “I will always, a-always love you—”

“No,” he says. “No, don’t say that—don’t say that—”

And I’m shaking my head, shaking it fast and hard, so hard it’s making me dizzy but I can’t stop. I can’t say another word unless I want to start screaming and I can’t look at his face, I can’t bear to see what I’m doing to him—

“No, Juliette—Juliette—”

I’m backing away, stumbling, tripping over my own feet as I reach blindly for the wall when I feel his arms around me. I try to pull away but he’s too strong, he’s holding me too tight and his voice is choked when he says, “It was my fault—this is my fault—I shouldn’t have kissed you—you tried to tell me but I didn’t listen and I’m so—I’m so sorry,” he says, gasping the words. “I should’ve listened to you. I wasn’t strong enough. But it’ll be different this time, I swear,” he says, burying his face in my shoulder. “I’ll never forgive myself for this. You were willing to give it a shot and I screwed everything up and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

I have officially, absolutely collapsed inside.

I hate myself for what happened, hate myself for what I have to do, hate that I can’t take his pain away, that I can’t tell him we can try, that it’ll be hard but we’ll make it work anyway. Because this isn’t a normal relationship. Because our problems aren’t fixable.

Because my skin will never change.

All the training in the world won’t remove the very real possibility that I could hurt him. Kill him, if we ever got carried away. I will always be a threat to him. Especially during the most tender moments, the most important, vulnerable moments. The moments I want most. Those are the things I can never have with him, and he deserves so much more than me, than this tortured person with so little to offer.

But I’d rather stand here and feel his arms around me than say a single thing. Because I’m weak, I’m so weak and I want him so much it’s killing me. I can’t stop shaking, I can’t see straight, I can’t see through the curtain of tears obscuring my vision.

And he won’t let go of me.

He keeps whispering “Please” and I want to die.

But I think if I stay here any longer I will actually go insane.

So I raise a trembling hand to his chest and feel him stiffen, pull back, and I don’t dare look at his eyes, I can’t stand to see him looking hopeful, even if it’s for only a second.

I take advantage of his momentary surprise and slackened arms to slip away, out of the shelter of his warmth, away from his beating heart. And I hold out my hand to stop him from reaching for me again.

“Adam,” I whisper. “Please don’t. I can’t—I c-can’t—”

“There’s never been anyone else,” he says, not bothering to keep his voice down anymore, not caring that his words are echoing through these tunnels. His hand is shaking as he covers his mouth, as he drags it across his face, through his hair. “There’s never going to be anyone else—I’m never going to want anyone else—”

“Stop it—you have to stop—” I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe “You don’t want this—you don’t want to be with someone like me—someone who will only end up h-hurting you—”

“Dammit, Juliette”—he turns to slam his palms against the wall, his chest heaving, his head down, his voice broken, catching on every other syllable—“you’re hurting me now,” he says. “You’re killing me—”

“Adam—”

“Don’t walk away,” he says, his voice tight, his eyes squeezed shut like he already knows I’m going to. Like he can’t bear to see it happen. “Please,” he whispers, tormented. “Don’t walk away from this.”

“I-I wish,” I tell him, shaking violently now, “I wish I d-didn’t have to. I wish I could love you less.”

And I hear him call after me as I bolt down the corridor. I hear him shouting my name but I’m running, running away, running past the huge crowd gathered outside the dining hall, watching, listening to everything. I’m running to hide even though I know it will be impossible.

I will have to see him every single day.

Wanting him from a million miles away.