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Kenji is staring at me—eyes narrowed—his hands on his hips, T-shirt taut across his chest. This is angry Kenji. Worried Kenji.
“We were,” Warner says icily. “Until you touched my hair.” “You asked me to give you a haircut—” “I said nothing of the sort! I asked you to trim the edges!” “And that’s what I did.”
“Hey!” Kenji shouts. “I am not here for this abusive relationship, okay?” He points at Warner. “I did not sign up for this shit!”
KENJI ✋🏼😭
Warner’s thick, gorgeous, golden hair—a defining feature of his beauty—chopped up by careless hands.
Butterflies invade my veins, and I force them out.
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.
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.
“Oh,” Adam says, and the word seems to deflate him.
Castle motions for me to take a seat. I do.
it's a parallel (i think) from the first book or Unravel Me!
Now that he and I are fully alone, Castle looks a little shaken, a little more serious. Maybe even . . . scared?
We never talk about the fact that Delalieu is my grandfather. That he is the only kind of father I have left in the world.
Apparently treason is not enough of a crime to be left alone.
It’s another cold day today, all silver ruins and snow-covered decay.
I felt flashes of heat spark behind my eyes. Anger welled in my throat, vibrated along my spine.
And he saunters off, leaving me alone in the abandoned streets, tipping an imaginary hat as he walks away. I throw my shoe at him. The effort, however, is fruitless; Kenji catches my shoe midair. He’s now waiting for me, ten steps ahead, holding my tennis shoe in his hand as I hop awkwardly in his direction. I don’t have to turn around to see the smirks on the soldiers’ faces some distance behind us.
KENJI ✋🏼😭
You must speak with Mr. Warner. He will explain everything.
The rest of the world could so easily destroy me. And sometimes I’m not sure I’ll make it out of this alive.
We’re both silent a minute, the wind whistling harder than before.
Kent drops his head in his hands. “He really screwed us up, man.” “Yes. He did.”
this is some weird brotherly bonding
Kent is sitting up straighter now, staring into the sunlight. I’m beginning to see shades of my father in his face. Shades of myself.
I’d never thought of Kent as capable of complex thought.
“My family,” he says, meeting my gaze. “That’s all I care about now.”
Kenji shoots me a dark look and I cringe, apologizing with my eyes. My halfhearted apology does little to placate him.
There’s so much left to learn about the people I care about.
“You know, I think I might be the only one of us who doesn’t have daddy issues. I loved the shit out of my dad.”
This will, hopefully, be the beginning of that new world. The world wherein I’m the supreme commander.
The people of Sector 45 are trusting me with their loved ones—with their children and spouses who’ve become my soldiers—and I don’t want to risk any more of their lives unless absolutely necessary.
My confusion bleeds into anger. “I appreciate your concern, Castle, but I can do this on my own, thank you.”
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.
He never did teach me how to ride a bike. I figured that out on my own.
Instead, life with my father only made me wish for death.
They’re coming to collect their pound of flesh, and I fear that this time—as I have every time—I will end up paying with my heart.
“You don’t know shit about clothes, do you?” I turn around, tilt my head. “I’m sorry, when was I supposed to learn about fashion, Kenji? When I was growing up alone and tortured by my horrible parents? Or maybe when I was festering in an insane asylum?”
she CLOCKED him
“I’m capable of doing some things on my own, Kenji,” I snap. “I’m not totally clueless.” Kenji sighs. “Whatever you say, princess.”
i love their friendship ❤️
“Who says you can’t be cute and kick ass at the same time?” Kenji winks at me. “I do it every day.”
KENJI ✋🏼😭
I do my best to mask my anxiety.
Kenji and I are alone. “What the f—”
BAHAHAHA 😭 my bet is that Kenji said that
I’ve been sitting here, staring at these unopened boxes for so long that even the sun, it seems, has grown tired of staring.
“If they think you incapable it is because they are idiots. Idiots who’ve already forgotten that you were able to accomplish in a matter of months what they had been trying to do for decades. They are forgetting where you started, what you’ve overcome, how quickly you found the courage to fight when they could hardly stand.”
aaron warner the man that you are 🤭
“The world tried to crush you,” I say, gently now, “and you refused to be shattered.
“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.”
“Those who do not understand you,” I say softly, “will always doubt you.”
“And I,” I say, “I have never doubted you.” “Never?” I shake my head. “Not once.”
“He’s a walking disaster,” I say. “Look what he did to my hair.”
“I really don’t, but Kenji—” I groan and fall backward, pulling a pillow over my head.
oh how i love this 😭😭😭
“So,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Should we talk?” “Sure,” Kenji says, but he’s staring at the wall. “Let’s talk.” No one talks.
“Yeah, first question: Why are you such a dick?” Warner stands up. “Sweetheart,” he says quietly, “I hope you will forgive me for what I’m about to do to his face.” “Hey, asshole, I can still hear you.”
ohhh this is gonna be good 😭 i can't stop laughing
“I promise,” I say. “No more forced hangout sessions. No more spending time alone without me. Okay?” “You swear?” Kenji says. “I swear.” “Thank God,” Warner says. “Same, bro. Same.”
And I roll my eyes, irritated. This is the first thing they’ve managed to agree on in over a week: their mutual hatred of my hopes for their friendship.
