Fracture Me (Shatter Me, #2.5)

by Tahereh Mafi

Juliette looks so mortified it breaks my heart.

I wish I could reach for her; I wish I could wrap her up in my arms. I want to protect her—I want to be able to take care of her, but that seems impossible now.

Besides, she’s not his type at all. He’d probably eat her alive.

Me; an ill, barely-able-to-walk-straight Kenji; and Juliette (who’s officially locked herself in her own head today)—this is our team. Yeah, I’m definitely worried.

It’s basically like giving a toddler a stick of dynamite and telling him to walk into a fire.

Juliette will probably puke.

Juliette shouldn’t have to see this.

I glance at Juliette again. I know she’s probably scared,

I might walk onto that battlefield with a beating heart and be dragged off with a dead one.

I knew this would happen. I knew she never should’ve come with us. I knew she should’ve stayed behind. She’s not built for this—she’s not strong enough to be on the battlefield. She would’ve been so much safer if she’d stayed behind. Why does no one ever listen to me?

Kenji grins. “Okay then. Let’s go get our girl back.” “My girl,” I correct him. “She’s my girl.” Kenji snorts as we head in the direction of the compounds. “Right. Minus the part where she’s not actually your girl. Not anymore.” “Shut up.” “Uh-huh.” “Whatever.”

The tension is so thick it’s practically its own person, taking up a seat we don’t have to spare. I can barely think straight. I’m trying to breathe, trying to stay calm, and I can’t. The planes are already overhead, and I feel sick in a way I don’t know how to explain. It’s deeper than my stomach. Bigger than my heart. More overwhelming than just my mind. It’s like fear has become me; it wears my body like an old suit.

But damn if he’s not one of the bravest people I’ve ever known.

The truth, however, comes back too quickly. It’s bricks on my chest, pressure in my lungs, aches in my joints, and metal in my mouth—reminders of the long day, the longer night, and the boy curled up in my arms. Death and destruction. Slivers of hope.

My stomach has made a few protests of its own.

Losing a parent is excruciating, but somehow, the pain is so much different from losing a child. And James, to me, in many ways, feels like my own kid. I raised him. Took care of him. Protected him. Fed him and clothed him. Taught him most everything he knows. He’s my only hope in all this devastation—the one thing I’ve always lived for, always fought for. I’d be lost without him. James gives my life purpose. And I didn’t realize this until last night. What The Reestablishment does—separating parents from their children, separating spouses from each other, basically ripping families apart—they do it on purpose. And the cruelty of these actions hadn’t really hit me until now. I don’t think I could ever be a part of something like that again.

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about? Aren’t you in love with this girl? Where’s the fire under your ass? I thought you would be dying to get to her right now—”

so at least he’s got a little color in his cheeks now.

I love Juliette. I really do. I want to help her and support her and be there for her. I want us to have a future together. But sometimes I wonder if it’s ever going to happen. This isn’t easy to admit, but part of me doesn’t want to put James at risk again—on the run again—for a girl who broke up with me. A girl who walked away from us. I don’t know what the right thing is anymore. I don’t know if my allegiance is to James or Juliette.