Restore Me (Shatter Me, #4)

by Tahereh Mafi

But the fire of true hatred, I realize, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much, if I did not care.

Once, while he was deeply immersed in some important paperwork at dinner, I put a cookie on a plate in front of him just to see what would happen. He glanced up at me, glanced back at his work, whispered a quiet thank you, and ate the cookie with a knife and fork. He didn’t even seem to enjoy it. This, needless to say, makes him the polar opposite of Kenji, who loves to eat everything, all the time, and who later told me that watching Warner eat a cookie made him want to cry.

I have a great fear of drowning in the ocean of my own silence. In the steady thrum that accompanies quiet, my mind is unkind to me. I think too much. I feel, perhaps, far more than I should. It would be only a slight exaggeration to say that my goal in life is to outrun my mind, my memories. So I have to keep moving.

“Who says you can’t be cute and kick ass at the same time?” Kenji winks at me. “I do it every day.”

“People are idiots, love. Their opinions are worthless.”

“The world tried to crush you,” I say, gently now, “and you refused to be shattered.

“But you must never, ever let the idiots into your head. They will only lead you astray.” Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “But how?” she says, her voice breaking on the word. “How do I get them out of my head?” “Set them on fire.” Her eyes go wide. “In your mind,” I say, attempting a smile. “Let them fuel the fire that keeps you striving.” I reach out, touch my fingers to her cheek. “Idiots are highly flammable, love. Let them all burn in hell.”

I have a heart, says science, but I am a monster, says society.