Shadow Me (Shatter Me, #4.5)

by Tahereh Mafi

Sometimes I can’t remember why we’re friends.

So much drama in one day I can hardly keep it all straight. Apparently Juliette has a long-lost sister. Apparently Warner tortured Juliette’s sister. Warner and Juliette broke up. Juliette ran off screaming. Warner had a panic attack. Warner’s ex-girlfriend showed up. His ex-girlfriend slapped him. Juliette got drunk. No, wait—J got drunk and she shaved her head. And then I saw Juliette in her underwear—an image I’m still trying to erase from my mind—and then, as if all that wasn’t enough to deal with, after dinner last night, I did something very, very stupid.

I whisper a quick thank-you to the unknown, to the air, to the lonely ghosts eavesdropping on my private conversations with no one.

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.

“Kishimoto, if I considered other people’s mediocre standards a sufficient metric by which to measure my own accomplishments, I’d never have amounted to anything.”

“No more than usual”

Everyone thinks I’m not supposed to give a shit—that I shouldn’t—but I do. I always do. And I give a shit about this asshole, too.

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. So why should I care?

“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.”

Shit. This kid is breaking my heart.

Somehow, I’ve become a magnet for pain. Other people’s pain. My own pain.

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. It’s crazy how much I wish I didn’t care. I wish, so much, all the time, that I didn’t give a shit about this sort of thing—that I could be like Warner, a frozen, unforgiving island; or even like Adam, who’s found his happiness in family, in his relationship with his brother—but I’m like neither. Instead, I’m a big, raw, bleeding heart, and I spend my days pretending not to notice that I want more. That I need more. 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. Like it’s a superpower I have. A gift, even. And I’ve got no one to share it with. Everyone thinks I’m a joke.

She unhooked the hood from around her shoulders and crossed her arms. Her hair was long. Dark. Her eyes were deep. They were a light, honey color, bright against her brown skin. She was so beautiful it was scaring me.

And then I think she asked me another question, but I’d gone suddenly deaf. I’d lost my head. She was talking to me about the country my parents were born in—a place that really means something to me—and I couldn’t even concentrate. She touched her mouth a lot. Ran her finger along the edge of her bottom lip a lot. She had a habit of tapping, often, at the diamond piercing there, and I’m not sure she was even aware she was doing it. But it was almost like she was telling me—directing me—to look at her mouth. I couldn’t help it. I was thinking about kissing her. I was thinking about a lot of things. Pinning her to the wall. Undressing her slowly. Running my hands down her naked body. And then, suddenly— Taking a cold shower. All at once, her smile faded. Her voice was soft, a little concerned when she said, “Hey, are you okay?”

I wanted to. I wanted to melt into the Earth. Evaporate. Disappear.

Laughed. And then I said, with perfect nonchalance, “I’m joking, obviously. I think I’m just exhausted. Anyway, good night.”

I’m not this guy. I’m not some fifteen-year-old boy who can’t keep his pants on. I’m not.

I managed to snag a muffin on my way down, and I wipe quickly at my face, hoping I haven’t left evidence around my mouth. I don’t know how Warner feels about muffins, but I’m guessing he’s not a fan.

“In love. You’re having trouble in your love life. Is that why you were late?” I feel the blood drain from my face. “How the hell would you know something like that?” “You reek of it.” He nods at me, my body. “You’re practically emanating lovelorn agony.”

I force out a humorless: “Ha.”

The dude moves like a prince. He’s always dressed like a prince. Shiny boots and fitted suits and shit. I sigh, irrationally irritated. Am I jealous? Damn, maybe I’m jealous. Warner always seems so pulled together. He’s always cold and cool. Always has a line, a comeback. A clear head. I bet he’s never struggled like I have with a girl. Never had to work so hard t— Wow. I’m an idiot. I don’t know how I managed to forget that his girlfriend literally just broke up with him. I was there. I saw the fallout. Dude had a panic attack all over the floor. He was crying. I sigh, hard, and run both hands through my hair. I know it should make me feel better, but it only makes me feel worse to realize that Warner is just as prone to relationship failure as I am. It makes me think I don’t stand a chance with Nazeera. Ugh, I hate everything.

I’m getting fewer serial-killer vibes from him than I have from the other kids. But

“Damn princess,” I say softly. “Is that really you?” She looks at me for only a second, but it feels more like she looks through me, and something about the cold, poisonous expression in her eyes breaks my heart like nothing else.

isn’t like this. She’s not cold like this. I’ve seen her get angry—hell, I’ve seen her lose her mind—but she’s never been cruel. She’s not mean. And it’s not that I think Lena deserves better, because I don’t. I don’t give a shit about Lena. 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.

The math is simple: J and I have been closer, longer. She and I have been through more shit together. We’ve had more time to talk about real things together. She’s my closest friend. Castle has been there for me, too, but he’s like a father to me, and I can’t talk to him or anyone else the way I do with Juliette. She’s different. She gets me. 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.

she says a word in Spanish—“I won’t be pretending”—more words in Spanish.

Ha. Of course. Juliette has a hangover. I bet she’s never had a hangover. And if this weren’t, like, a life or death situation, I’d think it was kind of hilarious.

my heart hurts for him.

Warner and Juliette are both so full of shit today. They’re pretending to be so hard, so cool and collected, and then—this. Juliette says one thing to him and Warner turns into an idiot. He’s staring at her, too dumb to speak, and she’s flushed, looking all hot and bothered just because he’s looking at her.

(I know the word sí. It means yes. I’m not a complete idiot.)

I almost slap him.

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.

want them to do the hard work of sucking out the poison from their past.” “Gross.” Castle smiles. “Indeed.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. Squeezes. “My greatest wish for you,” he says, “is for you to see yourself the way that I do: as a brilliant, handsome, compassionate young man who would do anything for the people he loves.”

Warner and Juliette are having a moment. A pretty passionate moment, right here, in the hall. I realize, as I watch them, that I’ve never seen them kiss before. I’m frozen. A little stunned. And I know I should, like, look away—I mean, I know in my head that I should? That it’s the decent thing to do? But I’m kind of fascinated. They clearly have crazy chemistry. Their relationship never made a lot of sense to me—I couldn’t understand how someone like Warner could be an emotional partner to anyone, much less someone like Juliette: a girl who eats, sleeps, and breathes emotion. I rarely saw him emote anything. I worried that Juliette was giving him too much credit, that she put up with too much of his bullshit in exchange for—I don’t even know what. A sociopath with an extensive coat collection? Mostly, I worried that she wasn’t getting the kind of love she deserved. 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. And not only in love, but beyond salvation. When they break apart they both look a little crazy, but Warner looks especially unhinged. His body is shaking. And when she suddenly takes off running down the hall, I know this won’t end well. My heart aches. For both of them. I watch as Warner slumps ba...

This is the girl I know. The friend I love. She’s all heart.

She’s so tiny. Like a little bird with hollow bones. You’d never know she was technically invincible. That she could probably melt the skin off my face if she wanted to.

I pat her head. So fuzzy.

Maybe Nazeera’s big secret is that she’s actually here to help us. Maybe there’s nothing to be afraid of. Maybe the woman is just perfect.

She sniffs, gently, and brushes away a few forgotten tears.

I leave Juliette’s room in a daze. It doesn’t seem right that so much horrible shit should be, like, allowed to go down in such a short period of time. There should be a fail-safe in the universe somewhere, something that automatically shuts down in the event of extreme human stupidity. Maybe an emergency lever. A button, even.

which is going to be its own kind of shitshow.

Honestly, the ridiculousness of this whole thing would almost be funny if I didn’t think we were all probably going to die.

The internet was one of the first things The Reestablishment took away, and without it the world became—in an instant—a bigger, scarier place. Everything was harder. Everyone felt helpless. I don’t think anyone realized just how much we relied on the internet for literally everything until the lights went off. Computers and phones were taken away. Destroyed. Hackers were found and publicly hanged.

I ran away from one of those orphanages when I was eight. Sometimes I think that’s why I care about James so much. I feel connected to him, in a way. When we were on base together Adam never told me that his little brother practically lived in one of those orphanages. It wasn’t until that day when we were on the run—when James and I had to hide out together while Adam and Juliette tried to find a car—that I realized where we were. I took one glance around those grounds and I saw that place for what it was. All those kids.

Maybe all this is why I feel like I understand Adam. Why I fight for him, even when he’s a dick. He comes off as an angry, explosive guy—and sometimes he really is an asshole—but it must be hard to watch your kid brother live all alone on a compound for tortured, abandoned children. It slowly kills your soul to watch a ten-year-old kid sob and scream in the middle of the night because his nightmares keep getting worse, and no matter what you do, you can’t seem to make it better.

his little brother in his arms until the sun came up. I think James is finally doing better, but sometimes I’m not sure Adam will ever recover from the blows he’s been dealt. It’s obvious he has PTSD. I don’t think he even sleeps anymore. I think he’s slowly losing his mind. And sometimes I wonder— If I had to live with that every day, I wonder if it would make me crazy, too. Because it’s not the pain that’s unendurable. It’s the hopelessness. It’s the hopelessness that makes you reckless. I would know.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him cry.

I place a hand over my heart. “Wow, I’m so sorry. That must be so difficult for you.”

There’s still too much I’m willing to die for.