Shatter Me (Shatter Me, #1)

by Tahereh Mafi

that they shatter when they fall to the floor, that people curse the days the drops dare to tap on their doors. I am a raindrop.

I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through

Hate looks just like everybody else until it smiles.

There are no secrets in this building.

He spends an eternity simply staring at the soldiers, letting his few words marinate in their minds. Letting their own imaginations drive them insane. Letting the guilty among them tremble in anguish. Warner says nothing for so long. No one moves for so long.

I’m feeling stupid. I’m feeling brave because I’m feeling stupid. My words wear no parachutes as they fall out of my mouth.

I’m shaking shuddering splintering into teardrops and he’s holding me the way no one has ever held me before. Like he wants me.

“I’ll find a way to talk to you,” he says, and his hands are reeling me in and my face is pressed against his chest and the world is suddenly brighter, bigger, beautiful. The world suddenly means something to me, the possibility of humanity means something to me,

Killing time isn’t as difficult as it sounds. I can shoot a hundred numbers through the chest and watch them bleed decimal points in the palm of my hand. I can rip the numbers off a clock and watch the hour hand tick tick tick its final tock just before I fall asleep. I can suffocate seconds just by holding my breath. I’ve been murdering minutes for hours and no one seems to mind.

I don’t want to be anything for anyone but myself.

Things are getting too comfortable and I’m beginning to panic.

I take a deep breath and hope Warner doesn’t realize what just happened. I hope he doesn’t know he just touched my leg. And nothing happened.

I never have a chance to make my own decision.

“Laughter comes from living.” I shrug, try to sound indifferent. “I’ve never really been alive before.”

his body wrapped around mine, holding me together as if to affirm that my existence on this earth is not for nothing.

“I’m really happy you’re taking it so well—I am—but James, this really isn’t something to be excited about. We’re running for our lives.” “But we’re doing it together,” he says for the fifth time, a huge grin overcrowding his face.

Because moving forward is the only way to survive.

The sincerity with which he wants to know. He’s like a feral dog, crazed and wild, thirsty for chaos, simultaneously aching for recognition and acceptance. Love.

“And the others—what—they’re—” “You can meet them, if you’d like.” “I—yes—I’d like that,” I stammer, excited, 4 years old and still believing in fairies.