Imagine Me (Shatter Me, #6)

by Tahereh Mafi

Come back to life, love I’ll be here when you wake up

Shatter me.

“Every single time you claim to understand even a fraction of what I’m feeling, I want to disembowel you. I want to sever your carotid artery. I want to rip out your vertebrae, one by one. You have no idea what it is to love her,” he says angrily. “You couldn’t even begin to imagine. So stop trying to understand.”

“Actually, I heard that blood’s good for you. You know—organic. Antioxidants and shit. Very popular with vampires.”

She’s not even close to being short, but in my arms, she feels small. Pocket-sized. Like she was always meant to fit here, against my chest. It’s like heaven.

Heat, torturous heat, presses against my lungs, fills my blood. My lips part. I feel parched. I look up and he’s right in front of me and I do nothing. I do nothing as I watch his throat move. I do nothing as my eyes devour him. I feel faint. I study the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle slope where his neck meets shoulder. His lips look soft. His cheekbones high, his nose sharp, his brows heavy, gold. He is finely made. Beautiful, strong hands. Short, clean nails. I notice he wears a jade ring on his left pinkie finger. He sighs.

He smiles and I stare—two dimples, straight teeth, shining eyes. A sudden, incomprehensible heat rushes across my skin, sets me aflame. I feel violently hot. Sick with fever. Finally, he says: “So you are in there.”

“Love,” he whispers.

My eyes close reflexively. I breathe him in and my mouth fills with flavor—fresh air, fragrant flowers, heat, happiness—and I’m struck by the strangest idea that we’ve been here before, that I’ve lived this before, that I’ve known him before and then I feel, I feel his breath on my skin and the sensation, the sensation is— heady, disorienting.

I try to speak but he kisses my neck and I gasp, his hands still caught around my face. I’m breathless, heart pounding, pulse pounding, head pounding. He touches me like he knows me, knows what I want, knows what I need. I feel insane. I don’t even recognize the sound of my own voice when I finally manage to say, “Do I know you?” “Yes.” My heart leaps. The simplicity of his answer strangles my mind, digs for truth. It feels true. Feels true that I’ve known these hands, this mouth, those eyes. Feels real.

His hands are still caught under my shirt, his bare arms wrapped around my bare skin and his mouth lingers above mine, the heat between us threatening to ignite. He pulls me closer and I bite back a moan, losing my head as the hard lines of his body sink into me. He is everywhere, his scent, his skin, his breath. I see nothing but him, sense nothing but him, his hands spreading across my torso, my lungs compressing under his careful, searing exploration. I lean into the sensations, his fingers grazing my stomach, the small of my back. He touches his forehead to mine and I press up, onto my toes, asking for something, begging for something—

He tastes like heat and peppermint, like summer, like the sun. I want more.

“Come back to me, love. Come back.” I’m still struggling to breathe, desperately searching his eyes for answers. Explanations. “Where?” “Here,” he whispers, pressing my hands to his heart. “Home.”

Here. This. My bones against his bones. This is my home.

“You know my name,” he says softly. “You’ve always known me, love. I’ve always known you. And I’m so—I’m so desperately in love with you—”

And this time, when I look up, I see his face. “Aaron,” I gasp. He drops to his knees.