Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)(88)
Not now. Not ever again.
“I said stay away from me.” My voice is trembling. “I don’t want to talk to you. Please—just leave me alone!”
“I can’t abandon you like this!” he says. “Not when you’re crying!”
“Maybe you wouldn’t understand that emotion,” I snap at him. “Maybe you wouldn’t care because killing people means nothing to you!”
He’s breathing hard. Too fast. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Kenji!” I explode. “I did that! It’s my fault! It’s my fault you and Adam were fighting and it’s my fault Kenji came out to stop you and it’s my fault—” My voice breaks once, twice. “It’s my fault he’s dead!”
Warner’s eyes go wide. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “He’s not dead.”
I’m agony.
I’m sobbing about what I’ve done and how of course he’s dead, didn’t you see him, he wasn’t even moving and I killed him and Warner remains utterly silent. He doesn’t say a single thing as I hurl awful, horrible insults at him and accuse him of being too coldhearted to understand what it’s like to grieve. I don’t even realize he’s pulled me into his arms until I’m nestled against his chest and I don’t fight it. I don’t fight it at all. I cling to him because I need this warmth, I miss feeling strong arms around me and I’m only just beginning to realize how quickly I came to rely on the healing properties of an excellent hug.
How desperately I’ve missed this.
And he just holds me. He smooths back my hair, he runs a gentle hand down my back, and I hear his heart beat a strange, crazy beat that sounds far too fast to be human.
His arms are wrapped entirely around me when he says, “You didn’t kill him, love.”
And I say, “Maybe you didn’t see what I saw.”
“You are misunderstanding the situation entirely. You didn’t do anything to hurt him.”
I shake my head against his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t you. I know it wasn’t you.”
I pull back. Look up into his eyes. “How can you know something like that?”
“Because,” he says. “It wasn’t you who hurt Kenji. It was me.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
“What?”
“He’s not dead,” Warner says, “though he is severely injured. I suspect they should be able to revive him.”
“What”—I’m panicking, panicking in my bones—“what are you talking about—”
“Please,” Warner says. “Sit down. I’ll explain.” He folds himself onto the floor and pats the place beside him. I don’t know what else to do and my legs are now officially too shaky to stand on their own.
My limbs spill onto the ground, both our backs against the wall, his right side and my left side divided only by a thin inch of air.
1
2
3 seconds pass.
“I didn’t want to believe Castle when he told me I might have a … a gift,” Warner says. His voice is pitched so low that I have to strain to hear it even though I’m only inches away. “A part of me hoped he was trying to drive me mad for his own benefit.” A small sigh. “But it did make a bit of sense, if I really thought about it. Castle told me about Kent, too,” Warner says. “About how he can touch you and how they’ve discovered why. For a moment I wondered if perhaps I had a similar ability. One just as pathetic. Equally as useless.” He laughs. “I was extremely reluctant to believe it.”
“It’s not a useless ability,” I hear myself saying.
“Really?” He turns to face me. Our shoulders are almost touching. “Tell me, love. What can he do?”
“He can disable things. Abilities.”
“Right,” he says, “but how will that ever help him? How could it ever help him to disable the powers of his own people? It’s absurd. It’s wasteful. It won’t help at all in this war.”
I bristle. Decide to ignore that. “What does any of this have to do with Kenji?”
He turns away from me again. His voice is softer when he says, “Would you believe me if I told you I could sense your energy right now? Sense the tone and weight of it?”
I stare at him, study his features and the earnest, tentative note in his voice. “Yes,” I tell him. “I think I’d believe you.”
Warner smiles in a way that seems to sadden him. “I can sense,” he says, taking a deep breath, “the emotions you’re feeling most strongly. And because I know you, I’m able to put those feelings into context. I know the fear you’re feeling right now, for example, is not directed toward me, but toward yourself, and what you think you’ve done to Kenji. I sense your hesitation—your reluctance to believe that it wasn’t your fault. I feel your sadness, your grief.”
“You can really feel that?” I ask.
He nods without looking at me.
“I never knew that was possible,” I tell him.
“I didn’t either—I wasn’t aware of it,” he says. “Not for a very long time. I actually thought it was normal to be so acutely aware of human emotions. I thought perhaps I was more perceptive than most. It’s a big factor in why my father allowed me to take over Sector 45,” he tells me. “Because I have an uncanny ability to tell whenever someone is hiding something, or feeling guilty, or, most importantly, lying.” A pause. “That,” he says, “and because I’m not afraid to deliver consequences if the occasion calls for it.