Defy Me (Shatter Me, #5)

by Tahereh Mafi

She looked like she’d disappeared into herself somewhere—like she’d found a small room in her brain and had locked herself inside.

And if you don’t get that, I’m glad things didn’t work out between the two of you.”

And it’s not insane to imagine that sometimes even horrible people are searching for a way out of their own darkness.”

no amount of success seems to soothe him.

My head is a stone, heavy and useless, my eyes cemented to my skull.

Right now I’m nothing but pain and exhaustion and raw emotion, and I don’t have the bandwidth for another serious conversation.

I let her touch me the way she wants to, let her put her hands on my body and kiss me wherever, however she wants. She touches me in a proprietary way, like I already belong to her, and I don’t mind. I kind of love it. And I let her take the lead for as long as I can bear it.

I love watching that girl move. Talk. Breathe. Whatever.

You don’t know that Aaron has been in love with Ella for the better part of his entire life. They’ve known each other since childhood.”

The reason he had to keep wiping their memories was because it didn’t matter how many times he reset the story or remade the introductions— Aaron always fell in love with her. Every time.

My brain is slowly disconnecting from my body, like I’m being removed from myself.

No one warned me about the nightmares, the panic attacks, or the dark, destructive thoughts that would follow. No one explained to me how darkness works, how it feasts on itself or how it festers. I hardly recognize myself these days.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember how to act.

I feel different. Heavier, like my feet have been more firmly planted, liberated by certainty, free to grow roots here in my own self, free to trust unequivocally in the strength and steadiness of my own heart. It’s an empowering discovery, to find that I can trust myself—even when I’m not myself—to make the right choices. To know for certain now that there was at least one mistake I never made.

There’s never enough time to think, much less to plan an escape, to assess my surroundings, or to wander the halls outside my door.

I feel it, feel my thin morals dissolving. I feel my flimsy, moth-eaten skin of humanity begin to come apart, and with it, the veil keeping me from complete darkness. There are no lines I won’t cross. No illusions of mercy.

I feel oddly liberated, no longer shackled by an obligation to decency.

It feels like something long dead inside of me is being slowly returned to life—like my hopes and dreams are being resuscitated, like the holes in my heart are being slowly, carefully mended.

I relied entirely upon my routines and schedules to keep me tethered to the endless horrors of my job and its demands. I was inflexible beyond reason. I was hanging on to humanity by a thread. I felt both wild and nearly out of my mind, all the time.

Today is not forever. Happiness does not happen. Happiness must be uncovered, separated from the skin of pain. It must be claimed. Kept close. Protected.

I don’t even know why it sounds ridiculous, exactly, just that it doesn’t feel like me. I don’t know how to put on a performance. I don’t want to make a scene. I’d find it excruciating to be so vulnerable in front of other people or in an unfamiliar setting. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.

I don’t even understand why I’m suddenly self-conscious. I never feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I like the way I look naked.

I don’t want any part of me to be off-limits to her. I want her to know me exactly as I am,

The truth is, I love these moments most. The quiet contentment. The peace.

Right now, little is certain. But tonight, I’m choosing to celebrate. We’re going to celebrate the small and large joys. Birthdays and engagements. We’re going to find time for happiness.

I want to remember to celebrate more. I want to remember to experience more joy. I want to allow myself to be happy more frequently.