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“I want,” I gasp, “I want you to get rid of the cameras. Get rid of them or I will die fighting you for the right.”
“I was wondering when you’d wake up. I’ve been waiting for the fire I know must be eating away at you every single day. You’re buried in hatred, aren’t you? Anger? Frustration? Itching to do something? To be someone?” “No.” “Of course you are. You’re just like me.” “I hate you more than you will ever understand.”
“We’re going to make an excellent team.” “We are nothing. You are nothing to me—” “I know what you want.” He leans in, lowers his voice. “I know what your little heart has always longed for. I can give you the acceptance you seek. I can be your friend.”
“I know everything about you, lov...
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“I’ve wanted you for a very long time. I’ve waited forever for you to be ready. I’m not going to let you go so easily.” “I don’t want to be a monster,” I say, perhaps more for my sake than his. “Don’t fight what you’re born to be.” He grasps my shoulders. “Stop letting everyone else tell you what’s wrong and right. Stake a claim! You cower when you could conquer. You have so much more power than you’re aware of and quite frankly I’m”—he shakes his head—“fascinated.” “I am not your freak,” I snap. “I will not perform for you.” “I’m not afraid of you, my dear,” he says softly. “I’m absolutely
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A slow smile spreads across his face. He touches gloved fingers to my cheek and tilts my head up, catching my chin in his grip when I flinch away. “You’re absolutely delicious when you’re angry.”
“That detail makes this game so much more appealing.” “You’re sick, you’re so sick—
“You should be thanking me. I saved you from that sick hole of an asylum—I brought you into a position of power.
“You’re lying to yourself.” I’m ready to destroy him.
“Maybe I understand you, Juliette. Maybe you should trust me. Maybe you should accept the fact that you’ve tried to be someone you’re not for so long and that no matter what you did, those bastards were never happy. They were never satisfied. They never gave a damn, did they?”
value human life a lot more than you do, Warner.” He opens his mouth to speak before he stops. Laughs out loud and shakes his head. Smiles at me. “What?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“You just said my name.” He grins even wider. “You’ve never addressed me directly before. That must mean I’m making progress with you.” “I just told you I don’t—”
He cuts me off. “I’m not worried about your moral dilemmas. You’re just stalling for time because you’re in denial. Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll ...
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“Of course you are. You don’t know it yet, Juliette, but you are a very bad girl,” he says, clutching his heart. “Just my type.” This conversation is impossible.
“Yes.” He looks thoughtful. “I like watching you squirm. He makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t he?”
I want to crush Warner’s spine in my hand.
Warner drops his clothes to the floor and looks at me almost intimately. I have to swallow back the revulsion bubbling in my mouth. His perfect face. His perfect body. He repulses me. I want his exterior to match his broken black interior. I want to cripple his cockiness with the palm of my hand.
“If I do this you’ll get rid of all the cameras in my room. All the bugs. Everything.” He steps closer. Dips his head. He’s staring at my lips, studying me in an entirely new way.
“My promises aren’t worth much, love,” he whispers.
His hand on my waist. His breath sweet and warm on my neck. “I’m an exceptional liar.” ...
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“You can go to hell.” I’m limp.
Adam blinks for a moment too long. “Yes, sir.” “Juliette?” I freeze. My back is to Warner and I don’t turn around. “I do expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.”
This makes it possible for me to have some privacy. I thought I would need privacy. I’m such a fool. Adam is not the boy I remember.
“Juliette.” I suck in my breath and wish my hands weren’t trembling. I wish I had no eyes. “Juliette,” he says again, this time even softer. I won’t turn around. “You always knew who I was,” I whisper.
I confess. “Of course I remember you.” My voice is a strangled whisper. I squeeze my eyes shut. I remember you every day forever in every single broken moment of my life.
He’s running his hands down my body running his eyes across my face and I’m running marathons with my mind. Everything is on fire.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.” His voice is husky, uneven, deep in my ear. I’m frozen in anticipation in expectation and I’m so worried he’ll kiss me, so worried he won’t. I’m staring at his lips and I don’t realize how close we are until we’re pulled apart.
“Come here,” he says, his eyes still shut. I tiptoe forward and he pulls me into his arms. Breathes in the scent of my hair and kisses the side of my head and I’ve never felt anything so incredible in my life.
He makes me forget the terror I’m capable of. “Juliette,” he whispers in my ear. “We need to get the hell out of here.”
I’m 14 years old and I’ve been in love with Adam Kent for years.
hushed tones, and someone clearing his throat. I’m not sure what to do. “I’ll be down in a minute,” Adam says a little loudly. I realize he’s trying to end the conversation. “C’mon, man, I just want to see her—” “She’s not a goddamn spectacle, Kenji. Get the hell out of here.”
“Wait—just tell me: Does she light shit on fire with her eyes?” Kenji laughs and I cringe, slumping to the floor behind the bed. I curl into myself and try not to hear the rest of the conversation. I fail. Adam sighs. I can picture him rubbing his forehead. “Just get out.” Kenji struggles to muffle his laughter. “Damn you’re sensitive all of a sudden, huh? Hanging out with a girl is changing you, man—”
He whispers, “How are you?” and I want to kiss every beautiful beat of his heart.
want to get out of here,” is all I can think of. He squeezes me against his chest and I marvel at the power, the glory, the wonder in such a simple movement.
Every butterfly in the world has migrated to my stomach. “Juliette.” I lean back to see his face.
“But—you mean—you’ll come with me . . . ? You’d be willing to do that for me?” He smiles a small smile. His lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you.”
“God, Juliette, I’d follow you anywhere. You’re the only good thing left in this world.”
2 weeks of dresses and showers and food I want to throw across the room.
2 weeks of Warner smiling and touching my waist, laughing and guiding the small of my back, making sure I look my best as I walk beside him. He thinks I’m his trophy. His secret weapon.
But then, more than anything else, I’ve found I don’t hate Warner as much as I thought I did. I feel sorry for him.
But he never says a word about his mother.
I think Warner thinks that I understand. That I understand him. And I do. And I don’t. Because we’re not the same. I want to be better.
“I can’t believe Warner actually agreed to get rid of your cameras,” Adam said to me one night. “He’s insane. He’s sick in a way I’ll never understand.” Adam sighed. “He’s obsessed with you.”
And for all his threats, he doesn’t want to force you. He wants you to want it. To choose him, in a way.”
“He’s losing his edge. And whenever I see his face I’m always about two inches away from doing something stupid. I’d love to break his jaw.” Yes. Warner is losing his edge.
He says Warner hates his father but loves the power. The destruction. The devastation.
Things are getting too comfortable and I’m beginning to panic.
I’m practically convulsing in fear of what this might mean. I clear my throat and Warner spins around. He takes too long to speak; his eyes are busy traveling the road map of my body. I want to rip up the carpet and sew it to my skin. He smiles and offers me his hand.
understand how my feet move in the next instant. I don’t understand my hands and what they’re doing or how they decided to fly forward, fingers splayed, charging toward the window. I only know I want to feel Warner’s neck snap between my own two hands. I want him to experience the same terror he just inflicted upon a child. I want to watch him die. I want to watch him beg for mercy. I catapult through the concrete walls. I crush the glass with 10 fingers.
I’m clutching a fistful of gravel and a fistful of fabric at Warner’s neck and there are 50 different guns pointed at my head.
