Shatter Me Complete Collection Read online

  I thought I would need privacy.

  I’m such a fool.

  Adam is not the boy I remember.

  I was in third grade.

  I’d just moved into town after being thrown out of asked to leave my old school. My parents were always moving, always running away from the messes I made, from the playdates I’d ruined, from the friendships I never had. No one ever wanted to talk about my “problem,” but the mystery surrounding my existence somehow made things worse. The human imagination is often disastrous when left to its own devices. I only heard bits and pieces of their whispers.

  “Freak!”

  “Did you hear what she did—?”

  “What a loser.”

  “—got kicked out of her old school—”

  “Psycho!”

  “She’s got some kind of disease—”

  No one talked to me. Everyone stared. I was young enough that I still cried. I ate lunch alone by a chain-link fence and never looked in the mirror. I never wanted to see the face everyone hated so much. Girls used to kick me and run away. Boys used to throw rocks at me. I still have scars somewhere.

  I watched the world pass by through those chain-link fences. I stared out at the cars and the parents dropping off their kids and the moments I’d never be a part of. This was before the diseases became so common that death was a natural part of conversation. This was before we realized the clouds were the wrong color, before we realized all the animals were dying or infected, before we realized everyone was going to starve to death, and fast. This was back when we still thought our problems had solutions. Back then, Adam was the boy who used to walk to school. Adam was the boy who sat 3 rows in front of me. His clothes were worse than mine, his lunch nonexistent. I never saw him eat.

  One morning he came to school in a car.

  I know because I saw him being pushed out of it. His father was drunk and driving, yelling and flailing his fists for some reason. Adam stood very still and stared at the ground like he was waiting for something, steeling himself for the inevitable. I watched a father slap his 8-year-old son in the face. I watched Adam fall to the floor and I stood there, motionless as he was kicked repeatedly in the ribs.

  “It’s all your fault! It’s your fault, you worthless piece of shit,” his father screamed over and over and over again until I threw up right there, all over a patch of dandelions.

  Adam didn’t cry. He stayed curled up on the ground until his father gave up, until he drove away. Only once he was sure everyone was gone did his body break into heaving sobs, his small face smeared into the dirt, his arms clutching at his bruised abdomen. I couldn’t look away.

  I could never get that sound out of my head, that scene out of my head.

  That’s when I started paying attention to Adam Kent.

  “Juliette.”

  I suck in my breath and wish my hands weren’t trembling. I wish I had no eyes.

  “Juliette,” he says again, this time even softer and my body is in a blender and I’m made of mush. My bones are aching aching aching for his warmth.

  I won’t turn around.

  “You always knew who I was,” I whisper.

  He says nothing and I’m suddenly desperate to see his eyes. I suddenly need to see his eyes. I turn to face him despite everything only to see he’s staring at his hands. “I’m sorry,” is all he says.

  I lean back against the wall and press my lids shut. Everything was a performance. Stealing my bed. Asking for my name. Asking me about my family. He was performing for Warner. For the guards. For whoever was watching. I don’t even know what to believe anymore.

  I need to say it. I need to get it out. I need to rip my wounds open and bleed fresh for him. “It’s true,” I tell him. “About the little boy.” My voice is shaking so much more than I thought it would. “I did that.”

  He’s quiet for so long. “I never understood before. When I first heard about it. I didn’t realize until just now what must’ve happened.”

  “What?” I never knew I could blink so much.

  “It never made sense to me,” he says, and each word kicks me in the gut. He looks up and looks more agonized than I ever want him to be. “When I heard about it. We all heard about it. The whole school—”

  “It was an accident,” I choke out, failing not to fall apart. “He—h-he fell—and I was trying to help him—and I just—I didn’t—I thought—”

  “I know.”

  “What?” I gasp so loud I’ve swallowed the entire room in one breath.

  “I believe you,” he says to me.

  “What . . . why?” My eyes are blinking back tears, my hands unsteady, my heart filled with nervous hope.

  He bites his bottom lip. Looks away. Walks to the wall. Opens and closes his mouth several times before the words rush out. “Because I knew you, Juliette—I—God—I just—” He covers his mouth with his hand, drops his fingers to his neck. Rubs his forehead, closes his eyes, presses his lips together. Pries them open. “That was the day I was going to talk to you.” A strange sort of smile. A strange sort of laugh. He runs a hand through his hair. Looks up at the ceiling. Turns his back to me. “I was finally going to talk to you. I was finally going to talk to you and I—” He shakes his head, hard, and attempts another painful laugh. “God, you don’t remember me.”

  Hundreds of thousands of seconds pass and I can’t stop dying.

  I want to laugh and cry and scream and run and I can’t choose which to do first.

  I confess.

  “Of course I remember you.” My voice is a strangled whisper. I squeeze my eyes shut. I remember you every day forever in every single broken moment of my life. “You were the only one who ever looked at me like a human being.”

  He never talked to me. He never spoke a single word to me, but he was the only one who dared to sit close to my fence. He was the only one who stood up for me, the only person who fought for me, the only one who’d punch someone in the face for throwing a rock at my head. I didn’t even know how to say thank you.

  He was the closest thing to a friend I ever had.

  I open my eyes and he’s standing right in front of me. My heart is a field of lilies blooming under a pane of glass, pitter-pattering to life like a rush of raindrops. His jaw is as tight as his eyes as tight as his fists as tight as the strain in his arms.

  “You’ve always known?” 3 whispered words and he’s broken my dam, unlocked my lips and stolen my heart all over again. I can hardly feel the tears streaming down my face.

  “Adam.” I try to laugh and my lips trip on a stifled sob. “I’d recognize your eyes anywhere in the world.”

  And that’s it.

  This time there’s no self-control.

  This time I’m in his arms and against the wall and I’m trembling everywhere and he’s so gentle, so careful, touching me like I’m made of porcelain and I want to shatter.

  He’s running his hands down my body running his eyes across my face running laps with his heart and I’m running marathons with my mind.

  Everything is on fire. My cheeks my hands the pit of my stomach and I’m drowning in waves of emotion and a storm of fresh rain and all I feel is the strength of his silhouette against mine and I never ever ever ever want to forget this moment. I want to stamp him into my skin and save him forever.

  He takes my hands and presses my palms to his face and I know I never knew the beauty of feeling human before this. I know I’m still crying when my eyes flutter closed.

  I whisper his name.

  And he’s breathing harder than I am and suddenly his lips are on my neck and I’m gasping and dying and clutching at his arms and he’s touching me touching me touching me and I’m thunder and lightning and wondering when the hell I’ll be waking up.

  Once, twice, a hundred times his lips taste the nape of my neck and I wonder if it’s possible to die of euphoria. He meets my eyes only to cup my face in his hands and I’m blushing through these walls from pleasure and pain and impossibi
lity.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.” His voice is husky, uneven, deep in my ear.

  I’m frozen in anticipation in expectation and I’m so worried he’ll kiss me, so worried he won’t. I’m staring at his lips and I don’t realize how close we are until we’re pulled apart.

  3 distinct electronic screeches reverberate around the room and Adam looks past me like he can’t understand where he is for a moment. He blinks. And runs toward an intercom to press the appropriate buttons. I notice he’s still breathing hard.

  I’m shaking in my skin.

  “Name and number,” the voice of the intercom demands.

  “Kent, Adam. 45B-86659.”

  A pause.

  “Soldier, are you aware the cameras in your room have been deactivated?”

  “Yes, sir. I was given direct orders to dismantle the devices.”

  “Who cleared this order?”

  “Warner, sir.”

  A longer pause.

  “We’ll verify and confirm. Unauthorized tampering with security devices may result in your immediate dishonorable discharge, soldier. I hope you’re aware of that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line goes quiet.

  Adam slumps against the wall, his chest heaving. I’m not sure but I could’ve sworn his lips twitched into the tiniest smile. He closes his eyes and exhales.

  I’m not sure what to do with the relief tumbling into my hands.

  “Come here,” he says, his eyes still shut.

  I tiptoe forward and he pulls me into his arms. Breathes in the scent of my hair and kisses the side of my head and I’ve never felt anything so incredible in my life. I’m not even human anymore. I’m so much more. The sun and the moon have merged and the earth is upside down. I feel like I can be exactly who I want to be in his arms.

  He makes me forget the terror I’m capable of.

  “Juliette,” he whispers in my ear. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I’m 14 years old again and I’m staring at the back of his head in a small classroom. I’m 14 years old and I’ve been in love with Adam Kent for years. I made sure to be extra careful, to be extra quiet, to be extra cooperative because I didn’t want to move away again. I didn’t want to leave the school with the one friendly face I’d ever known. I watched him grow up a little more every day, grow a little taller every day, a little stronger, a little tougher, a little more quiet every day. He eventually got too big to get beat up by his dad, but no one really knows what happened to his mother. The students shunned him, harassed him until he started fighting back, until the pressure of the world finally cracked him.

  But his eyes always stayed the same.

  Always the same when he looked at me. Kind. Compassionate. Desperate to understand. But he never asked questions. He never pushed me to say a word. He just made sure he was close enough to scare away everyone else.

  I thought maybe I wasn’t so bad. Maybe.

  I thought maybe he saw something in me. I thought maybe I wasn’t as horrible as everyone said I was. I hadn’t touched anyone in years. I didn’t dare get close to people. I couldn’t risk it.

  Until one day I did, and I ruined everything.

  I killed a little boy in a grocery store simply by helping him to his feet. By grabbing his little hands. I didn’t understand why he was screaming. It was my first experience ever touching someone for such a long period of time and I didn’t understand what was happening to me. The few times I’d ever accidentally put my hands on someone I’d always pulled away. I’d pull away as soon as I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be touching anyone. As soon as I heard the first scream escape their lips.

  The little boy was different.

  I wanted to help him. I felt such a surge of sudden anger toward his mother for neglecting his cries. Her lack of compassion as a parent devastated me and it reminded me too much of my own mother. I just wanted to help him. I wanted him to know that someone else was listening—that someone else cared. I didn’t understand why it felt so strange and exhilarating to touch him. I didn’t know that I was draining his life and I couldn’t comprehend why he’d grown limp and quiet in my arms. I thought maybe the rush of power and positive feeling meant that I’d been cured of my horrible disease. I thought so many stupid things and I ruined everything.

  I thought I was helping.

  I spent the next 3 years of my life in hospitals, law offices, juvenile detention centers, and suffered through pills and electroshock therapy. Nothing worked. Nothing helped. Outside of killing me, locking me up in an institution was the only solution. The only way to protect the public from the terror of Juliette.

  Until he stepped into my cell, I hadn’t seen Adam Kent in 3 years.

  And he does look different. Tougher, taller, harder, sharper, tattooed. He’s muscle, mature, quiet and quick. It’s almost like he can’t afford to be soft or slow or relaxed. He can’t afford to be anything but muscle, anything but strength and efficiency. The lines of his face are smooth, precise, carved into shape by years of hard living and training and trying to survive.

  He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s not afraid. He’s in the army.

  But he’s not so different, either. He still has the most unusually blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Dark and deep and drenched in passion. I always wondered what it’d be like to see the world through such a beautiful lens. I wondered if your eye color meant you saw the world differently. If the world saw you differently as a result.

  I should have known it was him when he showed up in my cell.

  A part of me did. But I’d tried so hard to repress the memories of my past that I refused to believe it could be possible. Because a part of me didn’t want to remember. A part of me was too scared to hope. A part of me didn’t know if it would make any difference to know that it was him, after all.

  I often wonder what I must look like.

  I wonder if I’m just a punctured shadow of the person I was before. I haven’t looked in the mirror in 3 years. I’m so scared of what I’ll see.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  I’m catapulted across the room by my own fear. Adam locks eyes with me before opening the door and I decide to retreat into a far corner of the room.

  I sharpen my ears only to hear muted voices, hushed tones, and someone clearing his throat. I’m not sure what to do.

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” Adam says a little loudly. I realize he’s trying to end the conversation.

  “C’mon, man, I just wanna see her—”

  “She’s not a goddamn spectacle, Kenji. Get the hell out of here.”

  “Wait—just tell me: Does she light shit on fire with her eyes?” Kenji laughs and I cringe, slumping to the floor behind the bed. I curl into myself and try not to hear the rest of the conversation.

  I fail.

  Adam sighs. I can picture him rubbing his forehead. “Just get out.”

  Kenji struggles to muffle his laughter. “Damn you’re sensitive all of a sudden, huh? Hangin’ out with a girl is changin’ you, man—”

  Adam says something I can’t hear.

  The door slams shut.

  I peek up from my hiding place. Adam looks embarrassed.

  My cheeks go pink. I study the intricate threads of the finely woven carpet under my feet. I touch the cloth wallpaper and wait for him to speak. I stand up to stare out the small square of a window only to be met by the bleak backdrop of a broken city. I lean my forehead against the glass.

  Metal cubes are clustered together off in the distance: compounds housing civilians wrapped in multiple layers, trying to find refuge from the cold. A mother holding the hand of a small child. Soldiers standing over them, still like statues, rifles poised and ready to fire. Heaps and heaps and heaps of trash, dangerous scraps of iron and steel glinting on the ground. Lonely trees waving at the wind.

  Adam’s hands slip around my waist.

  His lips are at my ear
and he says nothing at all, but I melt until I’m a handful of hot butter dripping down his body. I want to eat every minute of this moment.

  I allow my eyes to shut against the truth outside my window. Just for a little while.

  Adam takes a deep breath and pulls me even closer. I’m molded to the shape of his silhouette; his hands are circling my waist and his cheek is pressed against my head. “You feel incredible.”

  I try to laugh but seem to have forgotten how. “Those are words I never thought I’d hear.”

  Adam spins me around so I’m facing him and suddenly I’m looking and not looking at his face, I’m licked by a million flames and swallowing a million more. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before. I want to wash my soul in the bottomless blue of his eyes.

  He leans in until his forehead rests against mine and our lips still aren’t close enough. He whispers, “How are you?” and I want to kiss every beautiful beat of his heart.

  How are you? 3 words no one ever asks me.

  “I want to get out of here,” is all I can think of.

  He squeezes me against his chest and I marvel at the power, the glory, the wonder in such a simple movement. He feels like 1 block of strength, 6 feet tall.

  Every butterfly in the world has migrated to my stomach.

  “Juliette.”

  I lean back to see his face.

  “Are you serious about leaving?” he asks me. His fingers brush the side of my cheek. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you understand the risks?”

  I take a deep breath. I know that the only real risk is death. “Yes.”

  He nods. Drops his eyes, his voice. “The troops are mobilizing for some kind of attack. There have been a lot of protests from groups who were silent before, and our job is to obliterate the resistance. I think they want this attack to be their last one,” he adds quietly. “There’s something huge going on, and I’m not sure what, not yet. But whatever it is, we have to be ready to go when they are.”

  I freeze. “What do you mean?”

  “When the troops are ready to deploy, you and I should be ready to run. It’s the only way out that will give us time to disappear. Everyone will be too focused on the attack—it’ll buy us some time before they notice we’re missing or can get enough people together to search for us.”