Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)(99)

He backs away. He grabs his shirt and he turns to leave and I should let him go, I should let him walk out the door and out of my life but I can’t, I catch his arm, I pull him back and I say, “Please—that’s not what I meant—”

He spins around and he says, “I do not want your sympathy!”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you—”

“The truth,” he says, “is a painful reminder of why I prefer to live among the lies.”

I can’t stomach the look in his eyes, the wretched, awful pain he’s making no effort to conceal. I don’t know what to say to make this right. I don’t know how to take my words back.

I know I don’t want him to leave.

Not like this.

He looks as if he might speak; he changes his mind. He takes a tight breath, presses his lips together as if to stop the words from escaping and I’m about to say something, I’m about to try again when he pulls in a shaky breath, when he says, “Good-bye, Juliette.”

And I don’t know why it’s killing me, I can’t understand my sudden anxiety and I need to know, I have to say it, I have to ask the question that isn’t a question and I say “I won’t see you again.”

I watch him struggle to find the words, I watch him turn to me and turn away and for one split second I see what’s happened, I see the difference in his eyes, the shine of emotion I never would’ve dreamed him capable of and I know, I understand why he won’t look at me and I can’t believe it. I want to fall to the floor as he fights himself, fights to speak, fights to swallow back the tremor in his voice when he says, “I certainly hope not.”

And that’s it.

He walks out.

I’m split clean in half and he’s gone.

He’s gone forever.





SIXTY-THREE


Breakfast is an ordeal.

Warner has disappeared and he’s left a trail of chaos in his wake.

No one knows how he escaped, how he managed to get out of his room and find his way out of here and everyone is blaming Castle. Everyone is saying he was stupid to trust Warner, to give him a chance, to believe he might have changed.

Angry is an insult to the level of aggression in here right now.

But I’m not going to be the one to tell everyone that Warner was already out of his room last night. I’m not going to be the one to tell them that he probably didn’t have to do much to find the exit. I won’t explain to them that he’s not an idiot.

I’m sure he figured it out easily enough. I’m sure he found a way to get past the guards.

Now everyone is ready to fight, but for all the wrong reasons. They want to murder Warner: first for all he’s done; second for betraying their trust. More frightening still, everyone is worried that he’ll give away all of our most sensitive information. I have no idea what Warner managed to discover about this place before he left, but nothing that happens now can possibly be good.

No one has even touched their breakfasts.

We’re all dressed, armed, ready to face what could be an almost instant death, and I’m feeling little more than entirely numb. I didn’t sleep at all last night, my heart and mind plagued and conflicted and I can’t feel my limbs, I can’t taste the food I’m not eating and I can’t see straight, I can’t focus on the things I’m supposed to be hearing. All I can think about are all the casualties and Warner’s lips on my neck, his hands on my body, the pain and passion in his eyes and the many possible ways I could die today. I can only think about Warner touching me, kissing me, torturing me with his heart and Adam sitting beside me, not knowing what I’ve done.

It probably won’t even matter after today.

Maybe I’ll be killed and maybe all the agony of these past 17 years will have been for naught. Maybe I’ll just fall right off the face of the Earth, gone forever, and all of my adolescent angst will have been a ridiculous afterthought, a laughable memory.

But maybe I’ll survive.

Maybe I’ll survive and I’ll have to face the consequences of my actions. I’ll have to stop lying to myself; I’ll have to actually make a decision.

I have to face the fact that I’m battling feelings for someone who has no qualms about putting a bullet in another man’s head. I have to consider the possibility that I might really be turning into a monster. A horrible, selfish creature who cares only about herself.

Maybe Warner was right all along.

Maybe he and I really are perfect for each other.

Just about everyone has filed out of the dining hall. People are saying last-minute good-byes to the old and the young ones they’re leaving behind. James and Adam had a lengthy good-bye just this morning. Adam and I have to head out in about 10 minutes.

“Well damn. Who died?”

I spin around at the sound of his voice. Kenji is up. He’s in this room. He’s standing next to our table and he looks like he’s about to fall right over but he’s awake. He’s alive.

He’s breathing.

“Holy crap.” Adam is gaping. “Holy shit.”

“Good to see you too, Kent.” Kenji grins a crooked grin. He nods at me. “You ready to kick some ass today?”

I tackle him.

“WHOA—hey—thank you, yeah—that’s—uh—” He clears his throat. Tries to shift away from me and I flinch, pull back. I’m covered everywhere except for my face; I’m wearing my gloves and my reinforced knuckles, and my suit is zipped up to my neck. Kenji never usually shies away from me.