Defy Me (Shatter Me, #5)

by Tahereh Mafi

And if you don’t get that, I’m glad things didn’t work out between the two of you.”

And it’s not insane to imagine that sometimes even horrible people are searching for a way out of their own darkness.”

Thank you for appreciating my face. I’ve always thought I had an underappreciated face.”

“All right,” he says, picking at his pizza. “Makes sense. I mean she’s not even that pretty.” My plate falls out of my hand. Pizza hits the floor. I feel a sudden, unwelcome need to punch Ian in the face. “Are you— Are you out of your mind? Not even— She’s, like, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life, and you’re out here saying she’s not even that pretty? Have y—” “See what I’m saying?” Ian cuts me off. He’s looking at Winston. “Wow,” Winston says, staring solemnly at the pizza on the ground. “Yeah, Kenji is definitely full of shit.” I drag a hand across my face. “I hate you guys.”

The reason he had to keep wiping their memories was because it didn’t matter how many times he reset the story or remade the introductions— Aaron always fell in love with her. Every time.

Aaron Warner Anderson is the only emotional through line in my life that ever made sense. He’s the only constant. The only steady, reliable heartbeat I’ve ever had. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, Aaron

This time, I’ve decided to play along.

feel it, feel my thin morals dissolving. I feel my flimsy, moth-eaten skin of humanity begin to come apart, and with it, the veil keeping me from complete darkness. There are no lines I won’t cross. No illusions of mercy. I wanted to be better for her. For her happiness. For her future. But if she’s gone, what good is goodness?

My love. My beautiful love.

I want to marry her.

“Aaron?” I say again, this time softly. “Are you all right?” He blinks, startled. “Yes,” he says, drawing in a sharp breath. “Yes. Yes, I’m perfect.” I manage a small smile. “I’m glad you finally agree with me.”

He has that kind of face. The kind of face that makes you forget where you are, who you are, what you might’ve been about to do or say.

And it doesn’t feel dangerous to dream that one day, Ella might be mine in every way. My wife. My family. My future.

“I love you, Ella,” I whisper. “I will love you for the rest of my life. My heart is yours. Please don’t ever give it back to me.”

I want to remember to celebrate more. I want to remember to experience more joy. I want to allow myself to be happy more frequently. I want to remember, forever, this look on Aaron’s face, as he’s bullied into blowing out his birthday candles for the very first time. This is, after all, what we’re fighting for, isn’t it? A second chance at joy.