Shatter Me - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,36
quickly,” he continues. “You might find yourself enjoying this situation a lot more than you anticipated. Lucky for you, I’m willing to be patient.” He grins. Leans back. “Though it certainly doesn’t hurt that you’re so alarmingly beautiful.”
I’m dripping red paint on the carpet.
He’s a liar and a horrible, horrible, horrible human being and I don’t know if I care because he’s right, or because it’s so wrong, or because I’m so desperate for some semblance of recognition in this world. No one has ever said anything like that to me before.
It makes me want to look in the mirror.
“You and I are not as different as you might hope.” His grin is so cocky I want to twist it with my fist.
“You and I are not as similar as you might hope.”
He smiles so wide I’m not sure how to react. “I’m nineteen, by the way.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m nineteen years old,” he clarifies. “I’m a fairly impressive specimen for my age, I know.”
I pick up my spoon and poke at the edible matter on my plate. I don’t know what food really is anymore. “I have no respect for you.”
“You will change your mind,” he says easily. “Now hurry up and eat. We have a lot of work to do.”
TWENTY-ONE
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.
It’s been one week since I’ve spoken a word to Adam.
I turned to him once. Opened my mouth just once but never had a chance to say anything before Warner intercepted me. “You are not allowed to speak to the soldiers,” he said. “If you have questions, you can find me. I am the only person you need to concern yourself with while you’re here.”
Possessive is not a strong enough word for Warner.
He escorts me everywhere. Talks to me too much. My schedule consists of meetings with Warner and eating with Warner and listening to Warner. If he is busy, I am sent to my room. If he is free, he finds me. He tells me about the books they’ve destroyed. The artifacts they’re preparing to burn. The ideas he has for a new world and how I’ll be a great help to him just as soon as I’m ready. Just as soon as I realize how much I want this, how much I want him, how much I want this new, glorious, powerful life. He is waiting for me to harness my potential. He tells me how grateful I should be for his patience. His kindness. His willingness to understand that this transition must be difficult.
I cannot look at Adam. I cannot speak to him. He sleeps in my room but I never see him. He breathes so close to my body but does not part his lips in my direction. He does not follow me into the bathroom. He does not leave secret messages in my notebook.
I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined everything he said to me.
I need to know if something has changed. I need to know if I’m crazy for holding on to this hope blossoming in my heart and I need to know what Adam’s message meant but every day that he treats me like a stranger is another day I begin to doubt myself.
I need to talk to him but I can’t.
Because now Warner is watching me.
The cameras are watching everything.
“I want you to take the cameras out of my room.”
Warner stops chewing the food/garbage/breakfast/ nonsense in his mouth. He swallows carefully before leaning back and looking me in the eye. “Absolutely not.”
“If you treat me like a prisoner,” I tell him, “I’m going to act like one. I don’t like to be watched.”
“You can’t be trusted on your own.” He picks up his spoon again.
“Every breath I take is monitored. There are guards stationed in five-foot intervals in all the hallways. I don’t even have access to my own room,” I protest. “Cameras aren’t going to make a difference.”
A strange kind of amusement dances on his lips. “You’re not exactly stable, you know. You’re liable to kill someone.”
“No.” I grip my fingers. “No—I wouldn’t—I didn’t kill Jenkins—”
“I’m not talking about Jenkins.” His