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I shake my head. Finally manage to find a shirt and put it on. “Yeah, you put that on backward,” Kenji says to me.
Run, Juliette. Run until you drop dead. Make sure your heart stops before they ever reach you. Before they ever touch you. Run, I said. —AN EXCERPT FROM JULIETTE’S JOURNALS IN THE ASYLUM
turn up and down a few side streets and then I’m surrounded, on all sides, by the skeleton of an old freeway, twelve lanes wide, an enormous metal structure half collapsed in the middle of the road.
My entire life has been an experiment.
I have a sibling. A sister. And an altogether different set of parents, biological parents, who treated me no differently than my adoptive ones did, donating my body to research as if I were nothing more than a science experiment.
I pull an inch-long piece of glass out of the inside of my eyelid and toss it, with a small clatter, to the ground.
I knew I was able to project my abilities—my strength, for certain—but I didn’t know that there was any projectional power in my voice.
Nazeera was trying to warn me. Last night—she’s barely known me and she was trying to tell me the truth long before any of the others ever did—
We’ve been here for almost two hours, just he and I. Talking. And of all the things I thought would happen today, I certainly did not think it would involve Juliette running away from me, and my befriending this idiot.
“You just can’t, man. You can’t be with someone and keep that many secrets from them.” “It’s never stopped me before.” Here, Kenji hesitates. His eyes widen, just a little. “What do you mean, before?” “Before,” I say. “In other relationships.”
I almost crack a smile. I almost laugh. I don’t do either.
It’s just an idea. A hypothetical scenario. But the possibility blooms in my mind: Juliette smiling, laughing with another man—
I feel suddenly like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I close my eyes. Try to be steady. But now I can’t stop picturing it: someone else knowing her the way I’ve known her,
“You really think,” I say carefully, “that I need to tell Juliette about the other women I’ve been with?” “Uh, yeah,” he says, “but what does that have to do with—” I stare at him. He stares back. His mouth drops open.
“You mean—with this girl—the one downstairs—?”
“It was inevitable, really. It shouldn’t be surprising.”
Warner’s not a bad person. He’s just trying to find a way to survive this insanity, just like the rest of us.”
“What?” I say, scared now. “Who is she?” “Who is she? Are you serious? She’s Warner’s ex-girlfriend.” I nearly fall out of the tree.
“Lena’s been in a rage ever since she heard the stories of how he fell for you, especially because you were supposed to be, like, fresh out of a mental asylum, you know?
“When did they break up?” I ask. “Like . . . eight months ago?” Now I stop asking questions.
THEYVE ONLY KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR 5-6MO
“So you and Warner have some drama and now you just don’t care about anything? That’s real mature.”
He was exhibiting suicidal tendencies. Self-harming. And I got really scared. I called Warner because I knew Haider would listen to him.”
“Warner didn’t say a word. He just got on a plane. And he stayed with us for a couple of weeks.
“Very cool.” And then, more quietly, “Kenji is going to be pissed.” Nazeera stops smiling. “What does he have to do with anything?” “Well—” I nod in her general direction. “I mean, what you just did? That’s Kenji’s thing.
Why do you think we’re here? The Reestablishment is planning on destroying Sector 45.” She stares at me. “And that includes everyone in it.”
“I’m really sorry, bro,” I hear Kenji shout, “she wouldn’t listen to me—” And then, “Open the door, Warner. I promise this will only hurt a little.”
Lena slaps me across the face so hard I feel it ring in my ears. Kenji screams, but only briefly, and I take a steadying breath. I look up at her without lifting my head. “Are you done?”
“I can’t let you punch me in the face, Lena.” “I would do worse to you.” “And yet you wonder why things didn’t work out between us.”
“Please, Lena,” I say, feeling truly exhausted now. “You’re upset, I understand. But it’s not my fault you feel this way. I don’t love you. I never have. And I never led you to believe I did.”
She despises me again. And I’m here once more. In the abyss. Dissolving slowly in the acid of emotion.
Loneliness is an old friend standing beside you in the mirror, looking you in the eye, challenging you to live your life without it.
Loneliness is a bitter, wretched companion. Sometimes it just won’t let go.
And then I find it, a set of electric hair clippers, and I decide it’s time to give myself a haircut.
And I drag the clippers across my head in a slightly jagged motion. Once. Twice.
WHY SHE GOIN BALD TOO
I have the same haircut as Warner now.
It’s only then that I notice he’s not alone. Kenji and Warner are standing in front of me, the two of them staring at me like they’re horrified,
something inside of me is trying to remember that we are angry with Warner, that we don’t like him anymore and we do not want to see him or speak to him but then he touches my face— and I sigh
I rest my cheek against his palm and remember something beautiful, something kind, and a rush of feeling floods through me
Warner closes his eyes.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, his eyes still closed. “Why—”
hes so patient with her it actually melts my heart
“Kishimoto,” he says quietly. “Please turn on the shower.” “On it.” And Kenji’s gone.
“Do you like my hair?” I say. He nods. “Really?”
“Shower’s ready,” I hear Kenji shout. And then, suddenly, his voice is closer. “You got this, bro? Or do you want me to take it from here?”
“No.” A pause. “No, you can go. I’ll make sure she’s safe. Please tell the others I’m not feeling well tonight. Send my apologies.”
Warner is carrying me in his arms and I bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smells so familiar. Safe.
“I miss you already,” I mumble against his skin. “I miss this, miss you, miss you” and then he puts me down, steadies me on my feet, and helps me walk into the standing shower.
Juliette is asleep. She emerged from the shower, climbed into my lap and promptly fell asleep against my neck, all the while mumbling things I know for certain she’ll regret having said in the morning.
It took every bit of my self-control to unhook her soft, warm figure from around me, but somehow I managed it.
I can’t go back to our bedroom—my bedroom—where the proof of her is still fresh, too alive;
It’s alarming, having so many people privy to my private life.
