Imagine Me (Shatter Me #6) - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,51

and I’m not sure how best to proceed.

“This is unsettling,” Anderson finally says, and mostly to himself. He presses two fingers to the inside of his wrist, and lifts his wrist to his mouth.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “Tell Max there’s been an unusual development. I need to see him at once.”

Anderson spares me a brief glance before dismissing, with a single shake of his head, the entire mortifying exchange.

He stalks toward the boy strapped down on the bed and says, “This young man is part of an ongoing experiment.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I say nothing.

Anderson bends over the boy, toying with various wires, and then stiffens, suddenly. Looks up at me out of the corner of his eye. “Can you imagine why this boy is part of an experiment?”

“No sir.”

“He has a gift,” Anderson says, straightening. “He came to me voluntarily and offered to share it with me.”

I blink, still uncertain how to respond.

“But there are many of you—Unnaturals—running wild on this planet,” Anderson says. “So many powers. So many different abilities. Our asylums are teeming with them, overrun with power. I have access to nearly anything I want. So what makes him special, hmm?” He tilts his head at me. “What power could he possibly have that would be greater than yours? More useful?”

Again, I say nothing.

“Do you want to know?” he asks, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

This feels like a trick. I consider my options.

Finally, I say, “I want to know only if you want to tell me, sir.”

Anderson’s smile blooms. White teeth. Genuine pleasure.

I feel my chest warm at his quiet praise. Pride straightens my shoulders. I avert my eyes, staring quietly at the wall.

Still, I see Anderson turn away again, appraising the boy with another single, careful look. “These powers were wasted on him anyway.”

He removes the touchpad slotted into a compartment of the boy’s bed and begins tapping the digital screen, scrolling and scanning for information. He looks up, once, at the monitors beeping out various vitals, and frowns. Finally, he sighs, dragging a hand through his perfectly arranged hair. I think it looks better for being mussed. Warmer. Softer. Familiar.

The observation frightens me.

I turn away sharply and glance out the window, wondering, suddenly, if I will ever be allowed to use the bathroom.

“Juliette.”

The angry timbre of his voice sends my heart racing. I straighten in an instant. Look straight ahead.

“Yes, sir,” I say, sounding a little breathless.

I realize then that he’s not even looking at me. He’s still typing something into the touchpad when he says, calmly, “Were you daydreaming?”

“No, sir.”

He returns the touchpad to its compartment, the pieces connecting with a satisfying metallic click.

He looks up.

“This is growing tiresome,” he says quietly. “I’m already losing patience with you, and we haven’t even come to the end of your first day.” He hesitates. “Do you want to know what happens when I lose patience with you, Juliette?”

My fingers tremble; I clench them into fists. “No, sir.”

He holds out his hand. “Then give me what belongs to me.”

I take an uncertain step forward and his outstretched hand flies up, palm out, stopping me in place. His jaw clenches.

“I am referring to your mind,” he says. “I want to know what you were thinking when you lost your head long enough to gaze out the window. I want to know what you are thinking right now. I will always want to know what you’re thinking,” he says sharply. “In every moment. I want every word, every detail, every emotion. Every single loose, fluttering thought that passes through your head, I want it,” he says, stalking toward me. “Do you understand? It’s mine. You are mine.”

He comes to a halt just inches from my face.

“Yes, sir,” I say, my voice failing me.

“I will only ask this once more,” he says, making an effort to moderate his voice. “And if you ever make me work this hard again to get the answers I need, you will be punished. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. His eyes narrow. “What were you daydreaming about?”

I swallow. Look at him. Look away.

Quietly, I say:

“I was wondering, sir, if you would ever let me use the bathroom.”

Anderson’s face goes suddenly blank.

He seems stunned. He regards me a moment longer before saying, flatly: “You were wondering if you could use the bathroom.”

“Yes, sir.” My face heats.

Anderson crosses his arms across his chest. “That’s all?”

I feel suddenly compelled to tell him what I thought about his