Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

It took 1 day for me to settle in. 1 day for me to look around. 1 day for me to get excited about a different life and 1 day for everyone to find out who I am and what I’ve done.

“You know, you have a really strange way of telling me you’re attracted to me.”

So now I am one of them. And as my first official act as a member? I’m supposed to be a thief.

Because Warner is beautiful in ways even Adam isn’t. Because Warner is not human. Nothing about him is normal.

He’s easily the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I wish I’d never seen it.

“So you’re exactly like a Venus flytrap. You reel ’em in. Clamp ’em down. Eat ’em up.”

I wonder if it’s ever actually possible to justify killing as a means to an end and then I think of Kenji. I think of what he said. And I wonder if he would still call it awesome if I decided to make him my prey. I’m guessing not.

And I realize this is probably what I’m meant to do. Maybe this is exactly why I’m here. Maybe I’m just supposed to die.

I feel my bones ignite. Warner is here.

I’m just beginning to realize that he’s one of my favorite people on this planet and I’m so happy he’s okay. I’m so happy he’s my friend.

“You can go to hell,” Adam shouts at Warner. “Just because I’m going to hell,” Warner says, “doesn’t mean you’ll ever deserve her.”

“He’s in love with you,” Castle whispers, a dawning, groundbreaking realization in his voice. He laughs, once, hard, fast. Shakes his head. “He held you captive and managed to fall in love with you in the process.”

“It’s actually kind of luxurious. I think I’d like to get held hostage more often,” he adds, mostly to himself.

hell is empty and all the devils are here

Yes. Interesting. Yes. Sure. I think I need to lie down. “Books,” he’s saying, pulling his boxer-briefs up and rezipping his pants, “are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them. Tattoos, for example, are very hard to forget.” He buttons his button. “I think there’s something about the impermanence of life these days that makes it necessary to etch ink into our skin,” he says. “It reminds us that we’ve been marked by the world, that we’re still alive. That we’ll never forget.”

“Who are you?” I don’t know this Warner. I’d never be able to recognize this Warner. He smiles to himself. Sits down again. Says, “No one else will ever need to know.” “What do you mean?” ...

But he grins, so brilliantly, not even paying attention. “I love it when you say my name,” he says. “I don’t even know why.”

“Warner isn’t your name,” I point out. “Your name is Aaron.” His smile is wide, so wide. “God, I love that.” “Your name?” “Only when you say it.” “Aaron? Or Warner?” His eyes close. He tilts his head back against the wall. Dimples.

“Every single day I’m sorry,” he says, his words barely a breath now. “Sorry for believing the things I heard about you. And then for hurting you when I thought I was helping you. I can’t apologize for who I am,” he says. “That part of me is already done; already ruined. I gave up on myself a long time ago. But I am sorry I didn’t understand you better. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to help you to be stronger. I wanted you to use your anger as a tool, as a weapon to help harness the strength inside of you; I wanted you to be able to fight the world. I provoked you on purpose,” he says. “I pushed you too far, too hard, did things to horrify and disgust you and I did it all on purpose. Because that’s how I was taught to steel myself against the terror in this world. That’s how I was trained to fight back. And I wanted to teach you. I knew you had the potential to be more, so much more. I could see greatness in you.”

“You’re going to go on to do incredible things,” he says. “I’ve always known that. I think I just wanted to be a part of it.”

There’s a flicker of change in his eyes that doesn’t last long enough for me to examine it. And though his expression is carefully neutral, something in the space between us feels different all of a sudden. Charged.