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His face shows no emotion but a sudden strain in his jaw, an unmistakable tension in his arms. “You can just kill me—” “Juliette,” he says. “Please.”
“Please don’t let go of me put me down,” I tell him.
“I have to watch you, Juliette.” He says my name like a whisper. “Warner wants you to understand what he’s offering you, but you’re still considered . . . a threat. He’s made you my assignment. I can’t leave.”
all I see is an 8-year-old boy who doesn’t remember that he used to be the kindest person I ever knew.
“And you can’t leave?” I ask. He rubs his forehead and sits down on the bed. He sighs. “You have to get ready. Warner will be expecting you for dinner.”
“He’s not going to hurt me?”
They think they can wash away my memories, my loyalties, my priorities with a few hot meals and a room with a view. They think I am so easily purchased.
I didn’t want to be draped in silk. All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.
I had so much time to listen. To look. To study people and places and possibilities. All I had to do was open my eyes. All I had to do was open a book—to see the stories bleeding from page to page. To see the memories etched onto paper.
I spent my life folded between the pages of books.
In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I ...
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My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences...
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I don’t understand why I still haven’t looked in the mirror, why I’m afraid of what I’ll see, why I’m not sure if I’ll recognize the face that might stare back at me.
They’ve been waiting for me.
They think I’m a doll they can dress up and twist into prostration. But they’re wrong. “Warner is waiting for you.”
And I don’t care what Warner wants me to look like.
I hope the whole thing catches fire.
I hope I disappoint Warner in every possible way.
It’s enchanting.
I hurry forward and Warner beams at me.
“You know . . . there are clothes in your armoire.”
He’s turned almost entirely in my direction
I hate his smile.
“Juliette?” I inhale too quickly. A stifled cough is ballooning in my throat. His glassy green eyes glint in my direction. “Are you not hungry?” Words dipped in sugar. His gloved hand touches my wrist and I nearly sprain it in my haste to distance myself from him.
“Don’t confuse stupidity for bravery, love. I know you haven’t eaten anything in days.”
“I’d really rather die than eat your food and listen to you call me love,” I tell him.
Warner spares him a swift glance and when he looks my way again his eyes have hardened. He holds my gaze for a few infinitely long seconds before he pull...
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He shot it without even looking. He could’ve killed someone.
“Choose your words very wisely, Juliette. One word from me and your life here won’t be so easy.”
“Do I have to get Kent to do all my work for me?”
Warner’s smile slides back into place. “No one asked what you like, love. Now eat. I need you to look your best when you stand beside me.”
Warner insists on accompanying me to my room.
“I don’t want you to hate me,” Warner says as we make our way toward the elevator. “I’m only your enemy if you want me to be.” “We will always be enemies,” I say. “I will never be what you want me to be.”
“I really think you’ll change your mind.” He glances at me with a small smile. A shame, really, that such striking looks should be wasted on such a miserable human being. “You and I, Juliette—together? We could be unstoppable.”
He’s dressed impeccably from head to toe
“Maybe you could wear something nice.” “What’s your first name?” I ask him. We’re standing in front of my door.
“You want to know my name.” I don’t do it on purpose, but my eyes narrow just a bit. “Warner is your last name, isn’t it?” He almost smiles. “You want to know my name.” “I didn’t realize it was a secret.”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he whispers, too close to my neck. I inch backward. Swallow hard. “You already know my name.” He’s not looking at my eyes. “You’re right. I should rephrase that. What I meant to say was I’ll tell you mine if you show me yours.”
“Don’t worry.” He grins. “I’m sure it won’t hurt you at all.”
Warner’s commands are bouncing off the walls and exploding in my eardrums. He doesn’t need to chase me. He’s getting others to do the work for him.
“Seize her,” Warner says softly. His voice is the only sound in the room.
My bones begin to buckle, snapping in synchronicity with the beats of my heart. I crumble to the floor,
“That was a direct order, soldier,” Warner barks, trains a gun at his back.
my head is spinning with the rush of adrenaline fortifying my being. I feel alive.
I wish it hurt me. I wish it maimed me. I wish it repulsed me. I wish I hated the potent force wrapping itself around my skeleton.
But I don’t. My skin is pulsing with someone else’s life and I don’t hate it. I hat...
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His pain gives me a pleasure I never asked for. And he’s not letting go.
And I am lethal.
I break free and stumble backward. The sea of soldiers parts behind me.
“Somebody help him!” I scream. “Somebody help him! He needs a doctor—he needs to be taken—he needs—he—oh God—what have I done—”
