Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)(6)

“I don’t understand—”

“I’m losing my mind,” he says, but whispers it like he’s not sure he’s even saying it out loud.

I look at him. I look and blink and trip on words I can’t see and can’t find and can’t speak.

He’s shaking his head.

He grips the back of his skull, hard, and he looks embarrassed and I’m struggling to understand why. Adam doesn’t get embarrassed. Adam never gets embarrassed.

His voice is thick when he finally speaks. “I’ve waited so long to be with you,” he says. “I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long and now, after everything—”

“Adam, what are y—”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep and I think about you all—all the time and I can’t—” He stops. Presses the heels of his hands to his forehead. Squeezes his eyes shut. Turns toward the wall so I can’t see his face. “You should know—you have to know,” he says, the words raw, seeming to drain him, “that I have never wanted anything like I’ve wanted you. Nothing. Because this—this—I mean, God, I want you, Juliette, I want—I want—”

His words falter as he turns to me, eyes too bright, emotion flushing up the planes of his face. His gaze lingers along the lines of my body, long enough to strike a match to the lighter fluid flowing in my veins.

I ignite.

I want to say something, something right and steady and reassuring. I want to tell him that I understand, that I want the same thing, that I want him, too, but the moment feels so charged and urgent that I’m half convinced I’m dreaming. It’s like I’m down to my last letters and all I have are Qs and Zs and I’ve only just remembered that someone invented a dictionary when he finally rips his eyes away from me.

He swallows, hard, his eyes down. Looks away again. One of his hands is caught in his hair, the other is curled into a fist against the wall. “You have no idea,” he says, his voice ragged, “what you do to me. What you make me feel. When you touch me—” He runs a shaky hand across his face. He almost laughs, but his breathing is heavy and uneven; he won’t meet my eyes. He steps back, swears under his breath. Pumps his fist against his forehead. “Jesus. What the hell am I saying. Shit. Shit. I’m sorry—forget that—forget I said anything—I should go—”

I try to stop him, try to find my voice, try to say, It’s all right, it’s okay, but I’m nervous now, so nervous, so confused, because none of this makes any sense. I don’t understand what’s happening or why he seems so uncertain about me and us and him and me and he and I and all of those pronouns put together. I’m not rejecting him. I’ve never rejected him. My feelings for him have always been so clear—he has no reason to feel unsure about me or around me and I don’t know why he’s looking at me like something is wrong—

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m—I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m just—I’m—shit. I shouldn’t have come. I should go—I have to go—”

“What? Adam, what happened? What are you talking about?”

“This was a bad idea,” he says. “I’m so stupid—I shouldn’t have even been here—”

“You are not stupid—it’s okay—everything is okay—”

He laughs, loud, hollow. The echo of an uncomfortable smile lingers on his face as he stops, stares at a point directly behind my head. He says nothing for a long time, until finally he does. “Well,” he says. He tries to sound upbeat. “That’s not what Castle thinks.”

“What?” I breathe, caught off guard. I know we’re not talking about our relationship anymore.

“Yeah.” His hands are in his pockets.

“No.”

Adam nods. Shrugs. Looks at me and looks away. “I don’t know. I think so.”

“But the testing—it’s—I mean”—I can’t stop shaking my head—“has he found something?”

Adam won’t look at me.

“Oh my God,” I say, and I whisper it like if I whisper, it’ll somehow make this easier. “So it’s true? Castle’s right?” My voice is inching higher and my muscles are beginning to tighten and I don’t know why this feels like fear, this feeling slithering up my back. I shouldn’t be afraid if Adam has a gift like I do; I should’ve known it couldn’t have been that easy, that it couldn’t have been so simple. This was Castle’s theory all along—that Adam can touch me because he too has some kind of Energy that allows it. Castle never thought Adam’s immunity from my ability was a happy coincidence. He thought it had to be bigger than that, more scientific than that, more specific than that. I always wanted to believe I just got lucky.

And Adam wanted to know. He was excited about finding out, actually.

But once he started testing with Castle, Adam stopped wanting to talk about it. He’s never given me more than the barest status updates. The excitement of the experience faded far too fast for him.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

Of course it is.

“We don’t know anything conclusive,” Adam tells me, but I can see he’s holding back. “I have to do a couple more sessions—Castle says there are a few more things he needs to … examine.”