Shadow Me (Shatter Me, #4.5)

by Tahereh Mafi

I’m lonely but I’m not alone. My body works, my brain works, I’m alive. It’s a good life. I have to make a conscious effort to remember that. To choose to be happy every day. If I didn’t, I think my own pain would’ve killed me a long time ago.

Hated that I cried so hard when I saw a dead bird for the first time. Or that I used to bring home all the stray animals I found until Castle finally told me I had to stop, that we didn’t have the resources to keep them all. I was twelve. He made me let them go, and I cried for a week. I hated that I cried. Hated that I couldn’t help it. Everyone thinks I’m not supposed to give a shit—that I shouldn’t—but I do. I always do.

I’ve got my own problems, my own burdens, my own pain and frustration, and besides, no one ever asks me about my day. No one ever follows up with me, no one ever bothers to peer beneath the surface of my smile.

Sad

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I get it.” He looks up. Meets my eyes. “Do you?” “Yeah. I do.” “I don’t think you do, actually. In fact, I hope you don’t. I wouldn’t want you to know how I feel right now. I wouldn’t wish that for you.” That hits me harder than I expect. For a moment I don’t know what to say.

Winston’s been in love with Brendan for a long time, but I’m the only one who knows about it.

I’m so happy for my friends. I love them, even when they piss me off. I care about them. I want their joy. But it still hurts a little when it feels like, everywhere I look, everyone seems to have someone. Everyone but me.

Maybe it sounds weird to say, but I know I could love the shit out of someone. I feel it, in my heart. This capacity to love. To be romantic and passionate.

“I had to watch, quietly, as my own father sent down the decrees to have the women stripped. Soldiers paraded them into the streets and tore the clothing from their bodies. Ripped the scarves from their heads and publicly shamed them. It was violent and inhumane, and I was forced to bear witness. I was eleven years old,” she whispered. “I hated it. I hated my father for doing it. For making me watch. So I try to honor those women, when I can. For me, it’s a symbol of resistance.”

“Shit,” I said softly. “I think I might be in love with you.”

HA

Warner steps inside, closes the door behind them. “Why do you insist on eating like an animal?” he snaps at me. I frown, begin to speak, and he cuts me off with one hand. “Don’t you dare speak to me with your mouth full.”

But this—this display—is so out of character for Juliette that it must mean she’s hurting even more than I thought. More than I could’ve imagined. Like the pain has disfigured her. I would know. I know her.

I give her a lot of crap for being emotional all the time, but I love how empathetic she is. I love how she feels things so deeply that sometimes even joy manages to wound her. It’s who she is. She’s all heart.

I look up directly into Warner’s eyes, and, I’m not going to lie—it’s a disorienting experience. That dude has some wild eyes. Pale, ice green. It’s a little unnerving.

But now, suddenly— Their relationship makes sense. Suddenly everything she’s ever said to me about him makes sense. I still don’t think I understand Warner, but it’s obvious that something about her lights a fire in him. He looks alive when she’s in his arms. Human like I’ve never seen him before. Like he’s in love.

We settle into a comfortable silence, the two of us still holding on, and I’m thinking about how important this relationship is to me—how important Juliette is to me—when

Soon, small infractions alone would be enough to have you taken from your family. Show up late to work one day and sometimes they’d send you—or worse, someone you loved—across the planet. So far away you’d never be able to find your way back. That’s what happened to Brendan. He was torn from his family and sent here, to Sector 45, when he was fifteen.

Because it’s not the pain that’s unendurable. It’s the hopelessness. It’s the hopelessness that makes you reckless.

but when I look around the room I see the audience members begin to stir. Their shirts are torn and their faces are scratched, but no one appears to be dead.

What???