Ignite Me (Shatter Me, #3)

by Tahereh Mafi

But now I finally understand why he took such care with my wardrobe. He wasn’t trying to patronize me. He was enjoying himself. Aaron Warner Anderson, chief commander and regent of Sector 45, son of the supreme commander of The Reestablishment. He has a soft spot for fashion.

There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise. But in the moment, at least, we feel brave enough to say things we’d never say in the light.

“Oh God,” he gasps. He jerks back, breaks away. “I can’t do this. I won’t survive it.”

“And you trust me with all this information?” I say. “Why share your secrets with me?” His eyes darken, deaden, all of a sudden. He looks toward the wall. “Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to. Twice I’ve laid myself bare for you and all it’s gotten me was a bullet wound and a broken heart. Don’t torture me,” he says, meeting my eyes again. “It’s a cruel thing to do, even to someone like me.”

“You should get a dog, love. I hear they share much the same qualities.”

“You want me,” he says softly, his hands moving up my back, “and it’s killing you.”

“Come back to life, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Words, I think, are such unpredictable creatures. No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh.

“Do you never get exhausted being so wholly unbearable? You have as much charisma as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.”

“They’re called hormones.” I shoot him a dirty look. “I’m serious.” “Me too.” He cocks his head at me. “That’s like, biological and shit. Scientific. Maybe your lady bits are scientifically confused.” “My lady bits?” “Oh, I’m sorry”—Kenji pretends to look offended—“would you rather I use the proper anatomical terminology? Because your lady bits do not scare me—” “Yeah, no thanks.”

“This is so depressing,” Kenji says. “Yeah.” “We suck.” “Yeah.”

“I’m good at everything,” he points out. “Humble, too.” “And really good-looking.” I choke on a laugh.

“I mean, you know—like, a cute beast. A little beast that tears shit up and breaks the earth and sucks the life out of people.” “Nice.” “I’m here for you.” “I can tell.”

“Do you have any other stipulations?” “Not really.” “You don’t want to fix me, then? You don’t have a long list of things I need to work on?” “No.” I stare out the window. The view is so bleak. So cold. Covered in ice and snow. “There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t already wrong with me,” I say quietly. “And if I were smart I’d first figure out how to fix myself.” We’re both silent awhile. The tension is so thick in this small space. “Aaron?” I say, still watching the scenery fly by. I hear the small hitch in his breath. The hesitation. It’s the first time I’ve used his first name so casually. “Yes?” he says. “I want you to know,” I tell him, “that I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You don’t?” His voice is so soft and so scared I can scarcely hear it. “No,” I say. “I don’t. And I just thought you should know. I’m not trying to fix you; I don’t think you need to be fixed. I’m not trying to turn you into someone else. I only want you to be who you really are. Because I think I know the real you. I think I’ve seen him.”

“Why are you even using this stuff?” I ask him for the second time. “You don’t need it. Don’t use it if it makes you uncomfortable.” He’s quiet a moment. “You don’t think I need it?” “Of course not. Why . . . ? Are you in pain? Do your scars hurt?” “Sometimes,” he says quietly. “Not as much as they used to. I actually can’t feel much of anything on my back anymore.”

“I love you,” he says, his words harsh and soft all at once. “I love you and it isn’t enough. I thought it would be enough and I was wrong. I thought I could fight for you and I was wrong. Because I can’t. I can’t even face you anymore—”

“Hey—jazz hands!” Kenji barks. “Get your ass back over here.” He makes it a point to look as irritated as possible. “Back to work. And this time, focus. You’re not an ape. Don’t just throw your shit everywhere.”

Warner actually laughs. Out loud.

“I am going to MURDER YOU—” “No,” he says, pointing at me as he shifts backward again. “Bad Juliette. You don’t like to kill people, remember? You’re against that, remember? You like to talk about feelings and rainbows—”

“I need to cool off,” I tell him, trying to moderate my voice. “I’ll be back to shave your head while you’re sleeping.” Kenji looks genuinely terrified for the first time. “You wouldn’t.” I head toward the opposite wall. Hit the button for the elevator. “You’re a heavy sleeper, right?” “That’s not funny, J—that’s not even a little bit funny—” The elevator pings open. I step inside. “Good night, Kenji.” I can still hear him shouting at me as the doors close.

“I am being cool,” he says, his voice rising, eyes on fire. “I’m a freaking saint. I don’t know anyone else who would be as generous as I am right now.” He looks back at me. “You were lying to me the whole time we were together. You were cheating on me—”

Adam I hate you bruh. Especially considering your “generosity” compared to Warner’s.

“Aaron?” “Yes, love.”

And we are quotation marks, inverted and upside down, clinging to one another at the end of this life sentence. Trapped by lives we did not choose. It’s time, I think, to break free.

“We’re too different now. We want different things. And this?” I say, nodding at our hands. “All this managed to prove is that you are extremely good at turning me off.” Adam’s jaw clenches.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you exactly as you are.” Warner is looking at me like he might be going deaf and blind at the same time. “No,” he gasps. One broken, broken word. Barely even a sound. He’s shaking his head and he’s looking away from me and his hand is caught in his hair, his body turned toward the table and he says “No. No, no—” “Aaron—” “No,” he says, backing away. “No, you don’t know what you’re saying—” “I love you,” I tell him again. “I love you and I want you and I wanted you then,” I say to him, “I wanted you so much and I still want you, I want you right now—”

“Lift your hips for me, love,”

“Good morning, sweetheart.” “I like that,” I say quietly, smiling even though he can’t see it. “I like it when you call me sweetheart.”

“Aaron?” “Yes, love.”

“Juliette,” he says. “Yes?” I can hear him breathing. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For being my friend.”

“Yes, love?”

“I will be here every night,” he whispers, his words so soft, so tortured, “to keep you warm. I will kiss you until I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Aaron,” I whisper. “I love you,” he says.

“Everything looks so different to me now,” he says. “It feels different. It tastes different. You brought me back to life.” He’s quiet a moment. “I have never known this kind of peace. Never known this kind of comfort. And sometimes I am afraid,” he says, dropping his eyes, “that my love will terrify you.”

h e l l i s e m p t y a n d a l l t h e d e v i l s a r e h e r e

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

“You will go on to greatness,” he whispers. “I have never deserved you.” My heart. He leans in, kisses my forehead, so gently. And then he leaves.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? You think we can take on two hundred soldiers? I know I am an extremely attractive man, J, but I am not Bruce Lee.” “Who’s Bruce Lee?” “Who’s Bruce Lee?” Kenji asks, horrified. “Oh my God. We can’t even be friends anymore.” “Why? Was he a friend of yours?” “You know what,” he says, “just stop. Just—I can’t even talk to you right now.”

I taste something cold and hard in my mouth and spit it into my hand. It looks like a broken, mangled piece of metal. Like it was too flimsy to stand against me. Smart little bullet, I think.