Believe Me (Shatter Me, #6.5)

by Tahereh Mafi

“But it’s my wedding day,” she says. “And I have nothing to wear.” “You’re right.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to kill him.”

Juliette Ferrars, one of the most feared, most lauded heroes of our known world, is crying over a dog.

To the world, she is formidable. To me? She is the world.

When I hear her laugh, I am happy.

I lost faith in people—in the world—long ago. But no matter how much bloodshed and darkness she experiences, Ella never seems to lose hope in humanity. She is always striving to build a better future. She is always gentle and kind with those she loves. It is still so strange to me that I am one of those people.

I want, above all else, for her to be safe. I want people to stop trying to kill her. I want, for the first time in my life, to live in peace, undisturbed; I want to be required by no one but my wife.

Sometimes I’m so desperate for quiet I think I might commit murder for a moment of silence.

news flash: she’s, like, a genuinely nice person. She actually gives a shit about other people. She doesn’t threaten to murder people all the time. And she likes my jokes.” “She’s very charitable, I know.”

She’s like—she’s like sunshine. And you’re a dark, violent rain cloud. Sun and rain don’t—”

“I was wrong,” he says, making a crude heart shape with his hands. “Sun and rain make a rainbow.”

He’s happy for Ella, in particular. I experience a pang at that, at the love and devotion she’s inspired in others. It’s a rare thing to find even a single person who desires your unqualified joy; she has found many. She’s built her own family.

I exist on the outskirts of this phenomenon: hyperaware that I eclipse her light with my darkness, worried always that she will find me wanting.

I watch her bloom in the company of those she cares about, all while I try to drown out their voices, to kill the noise in my head. I worry, constantly, that despite my efforts, I will not be able to be what she wants.

If Ella were a house, she would be a grand home, one with many rooms and doors, all of which were easily unlocked, flung open. If I were a house, I would be haunted.

“Too true,” I say quietly. “There are few, indeed, who’ve ever prioritized my personal happiness. I wouldn’t expect you to be the exception.”

I feel myself change when she’s near me; the effect is powerful. My body unclenches, my limbs grow heavy. All the tension I carry seems to melt away, taking with it my resolve; I become almost lethargic with relief.

“I don’t care, love. I don’t care about any of it. I just want you. I want you to be my family.”

my mind has always been my fiercest adversary.

I would happily watch the world go up in flames if anything happened to her, and if that’s not enough for you, you can go to hell.”

“What on earth does she see in you? You’re nothing but a callous, coldhearted narcissist. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. I hope you know how lucky you are that Juliette tolerates your presence. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her. I sure as hell wouldn’t vouch for you.” I lower my eyes, absorbing these blows with studied indifference. My body is not unlike the moon, cratered so thoroughly by brutality it’s hard to imagine it untouched by violence. “Good night,” I say quietly, and turn to leave.

Sometimes I fear I will be trapped forever in this cycle: incapable of happiness, inseparable from my demons.

I didn’t understand then that a home is not always a place. Sometimes, it’s a person.

“Stop,” Ella says angrily. “Stop calling him names. He’s not a dickhead. He’s not a jackass. He’s not self-absorbed. I don’t know why you guys think it’s okay to just say whatever terrible things you want about him—to his face— as if he’s made of stone. You all do it. You all insult him over and over again and he just takes it—he doesn’t even say anything—and somehow you’ve convinced yourselves it’s okay. Why? He’s a real, flesh-and-blood person. Why don’t you care? Why don’t you think he has feelings? What the hell is wrong with you?”

I worry, sometimes, that my love for her will expand beyond the limitations of my body, that it will one day kill me with its heft.

“We’re getting married today?” “Yes,” she says, blushing fiercely. “I mean—only if you want to.” I smile at her then, smile so wide I start laughing, disbelief rendering me foreign even to myself. I hardly recognize this sound.

I’m trying, but I can’t stop laughing. “Huh,” says Winston quietly. “I didn’t even know his face could do that.” “Yeah,” Kenji says. “It’s super weird the first time you see it.” “I can’t look away. I’m trying to look away and I can’t. It’s like if a baby was born with a full set of teeth.” “Yes! Exactly. It’s exactly like that!” “But nice, too.”

“Can you two keep your commentary to yourselves?” I say, pivoting to face them. “Is it so impossible for you to just be happy for—” The words die in my throat. Winston and Kenji are both bright-eyed and beaming, the two of them failing to fight back enormous smiles.

“You spend so much time thinking about what’s best for me. You’re always worried about my safety and my happiness and the things I might need. Why don’t I get to do that for you? Why don’t I get to think about your happiness?” “I am happy, love,” I say quietly. “You make me happy.”

But seeing her like this— It’s impossible to describe what it does to me to see her so happy, smiling so wide she can hardly speak. I only know that I never want to do anything to make it stop.

Kenji and Nazeera laugh at that, Kenji drawing an arm around Nazeera’s waist as they walk, pulling her closer. She leans into him, planting a brief kiss at the base of his jaw.

I’m going to need to take back the band.” “What?” she says, pulling away. She stares at her hand, heartbroken in an instant. “Why?” “Those are the rules.” I’m still smiling when I touch her face, grazing her cheek with my knuckles. “I promise, after I give this ring to you today, I’ll never ask for it back.”

“I’m going to marry you today. And then I’m going to make love to you until you can’t remember your name.”

In the center is a home. Not a house—not a building—but a home, salvaged from the wreckage. It’s been painted a simple, tasteful shade of white—not too white—its walls and roof repaired, the front door and shutters a pale sage green.

“There’s no one in the whole world like you,” she says, and I can practically feel her heart beating between us. “I’m so grateful for you.” These words cause me an acute pain, a kind of pleasure that makes it hard to breathe. “I am nothing,” I say to her. “If I manage to be anything, it is only because of you.” “Don’t say that,” she says, hugging me tighter. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Emotional tremors continue to wreck me. They are setting up for our wedding, I realize. In our house.

“No,” Ella whispers against my chest. “It’s not true. You deserve every good thing in the world, Aaron. I love you more every single day, and I didn’t even think that was possible.” This declaration nearly kills me.

“You need quiet,” she says. “You need space, and privacy. I want you to know that I know that—that I see you. I appreciate everything you do for me, and I see it, I see it every single time you sacrifice your comfort for mine. But I want to take care of you, too. I want to give you peace. I want to give you a home. With me.”

Ella looks up, slowly at first, her expression softening at the sight of my face. I wonder what she sees in me then. I wonder whether she’s able to see right through me even now, and then I surprise myself for wondering. Ella is the only one who’s ever bothered to wonder whether I’m more than I appear.

“Ella, I don’t . . . I’ve done nothing to deserve you. The way you make me feel—the things you say to me— It’s terrifying. I keep thinking the world will realize, any second now, how completely unworthy I am. I keep waiting for something horrible to happen, something to reset the scales and return me to hell, where I belong, and then all of this will just disappear. You’ll just disappear. God, just thinking about it—”

“I love you,” she says. “I’ve always loved you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s right, buddy.” Kenji is grinning now. “We’re going to be neighbors.”

I try to think, then, of what Ella would do. “Thank you,” I say into the silence. “For everything.” The crowd erupts into whoops and cheers at that, the tension gone in an instant.

For what feels like a dangerously long time I feel paralyzed in place, studying the imperfect walls and windows of a home that is mine, that will be mine today, tonight, tomorrow. I can’t believe it. I could kiss its rotting floor.

He leads me through the small house as if he’s walked these paths a hundred times—and I realize then that he has. All these days he’s been working on this project. For Ella. For me.

James rolls his eyes and lunges at me, hugging me right around the middle in a show of unprecedented self-assurance that shocks me, briefly, into paralysis. “Congratulations,” he says against my sweater. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

I have to remind myself that James is not only— biologically—my brother, but also a child, and undeserving of rejection. I pat him on the head in a single, wooden movement that startles a laugh out of Kenji, a gasp from Winston, stunned silence from Brendan, and slack-jawed astonishment from Adam. I clear my throat, disengaging from James as gently as I can. “Thank you,” I say to him.

“You’re welcome,” he says, beaming. “Thanks for inviting me.” “I didn’t invi—” “So!” Adam cuts me off, trying a...

And I feel as if I’ve stepped into a strange, alternate reality, into a world where I didn’t think I’d ever belong. I could never have anticipated that somehow, somewhere along this tumultuous path— I’d acquired friends.

Kenji is right; I don’t enjoy surprises. This is fundamentally true, and yet—I would like to be the kind of person who enjoys surprises. I want to live a life like this, to be able to withstand unexpected moments of kindness delivered by the person I love most in the world. It’s only that I don’t know what to do with these experiences; my body doesn’t know how to accept or digest them.

“You think this is funny? What am I supposed to do with a dog?” “Um, I don’t know”—she shoots me an incredulous look—“give it a loving home?” “Don’t be ridiculous.”