Imagine Me (Shatter Me #6) - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,59

should.”

“Come on, asswipe. Sit down.”

Reluctantly, Warner makes his way over. He sits down and stares, blankly, at the meal in front of him.

I give him a few seconds of this before I say—

“Do you still remember how to do this? Or did you need me to feed you?” I stab a piece of tofu and point it in his direction. “Say ah. The tofu choo choo is coming.”

“One more joke, Kishimoto, and I will remove your spine.”

“You’re right.” I put down the fork. “I get it. I’m cranky when I’m hungry, too.”

He looks up sharply.

“That wasn’t a joke!” I say. “I’m being serious.”

Warner sighs. Picks up his utensils. Looks longingly at the door.

I don’t push my luck.

I keep my face on my food—I’m genuinely excited to be getting a second lunch—and wait until he takes several bites before I go for the jugular.

“So,” I finally say. “You proposed, huh?”

Warner stops chewing and looks up. He strikes me, suddenly, as a young guy. Aside from the obvious need for a shower and a change of clothes, he looks like he’s finally beginning to shed the tiniest, tiniest bit of tension. And I can tell by the way he’s holding his knife and fork now— with a little more gusto—that I was right.

He was hungry.

I wonder what he would’ve done if I hadn’t dragged him in here and sat him down. Forced him to eat.

Would he have just driven himself into the ground?

Accidentally died of hunger on his way to save Juliette?

He seems to have no real care for his physical self. No care for his own needs. It strikes me, suddenly, as bizarre. And concerning.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I proposed.”

I’m seized by a knee-jerk reaction to tease him—to suggest that his bad mood makes sense now, that she probably turned him down—but even I know better than that. Whatever is happening in Warner’s head right now is dark. Serious. And I need to handle this part of the conversation with care.

So I tread carefully. “I’m guessing she said yes.”

Warner doesn’t meet my eyes.

I take a deep breath, let it out slowly. It’s all beginning to make sense now.

In the early days after Castle took me in, my guard was up so high I couldn’t even see over the top of it. I trusted no one. I believed nothing. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I let anger rock me to sleep at night because being angry was far less scary than having faith in people— or in the future.

I kept waiting for things to fall apart.

I was so sure this happiness and safety wouldn’t last, that Castle would turn me out, or that he’d turn out to be a piece of shit. Abusive. Some kind of monster.

I couldn’t relax.

It took me years before I truly believed that I had a family. It took me years to accept, without hesitation, that Castle really loved me, or that good things could last. That I could be happy again without fear of repercussion.

That’s why losing Omega Point was so cataclysmic.

It was the amalgamation of nearly all my fears. So many people I loved had been wiped out overnight. My home. My family. My refuge. And the devastation had taken Castle, too. Castle, who’d been my rock and my role model; in the aftermath, he was a ghost. Unrecognizable. I didn’t know how anything would shake out after that. I didn’t know how we’d survive. Didn’t know where we’d go.

It was Juliette who pulled us through.

Those were the days when she and I got really close. That was when I realized I could not only trust her and open up to her, but that I could depend on her. I never knew just how strong she was until I saw her take charge, rising up and rallying us all when we were at our lowest, when even Castle was too broken too stand.

J made magic out of tragedy.

She found us safety and hope. Unified us with Sector 45— with Warner and Delalieu—even in the face of opposition, at the risk of losing Adam. She didn’t sit around waiting for Castle to take the reins like the rest of us did; there was no time for that. Instead, she dove right into the middle of hell, completely inexperienced and unprepared, because she was determined to save us. And to sacrifice herself in the process, if that was the cost. If it weren’t for her—if it weren’t for what she did, for all