Shatter Me Complete Collection (101 page)

It takes a couple of seconds for the two of us to register what’s just happened before Kenji rips his hand away, and in a moment of perfect spontaneity, uses it to punch Adam in the face.

Everyone else in the room is now up and alert. Castle runs forward immediately, and Ian and Winston—who were already standing close by—hurry to join him. Brendan rushes out of the locker room in a towel, eyes searching for the source of the commotion; Lily and Alia jump off the bikes and crowd around us.

We’re lucky it’s so late; James is already sleeping quietly in the corner.

Adam was thrown back by Kenji’s punch, but he quickly regained his footing. He’s breathing hard, dragging the back of his hand across his now-bloody lip. He does not apologize.

No sound escapes my open, horrified mouth.

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” Kenji’s voice is soft but deathly sharp, his right fist still clenched. “Were you trying to get me killed?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I knew it wouldn’t kill you. Not that quickly. I’ve felt it before,” he says. “It just burns a little.”

“Pull yourself together, dickhead,” Kenji snaps. “You’re acting insane.”

Adam says nothing. He actually laughs, flips Kenji off, and heads in the direction of the locker room.

“Hey—are you okay?” I ask Kenji, trying to catch a glimpse of his hand.

“I’m fine,” he sighs, glancing at Adam’s retreating figure before looking back at me. “But his jaw is hard as hell.” He flexes his fist a little.

“But my touch—it didn’t hurt you?”

Kenji shakes his head. “Nah, I didn’t feel anything,” he says. “And I’d know if I did.” He almost laughs, and frowns instead. I cringe at the memory of the last time this happened. “I think Kent was deflecting your power somehow,” Kenji says.

“No he wasn’t,” I whisper. “He let go of my other hand. I felt the energy come back into me.”

We both look at Adam’s retreating figure.

Kenji shrugs.

“But then how—”

“I don’t know,” Kenji says again. He sighs. “I guess I just got lucky. Listen”—he looks around at everyone—“I don’t want to talk right now, okay? I’m going to go sit down. I need to cool off.”

The group breaks up slowly, everyone going back to their corners.

But I can’t walk away. I’m rooted in place.

I felt my skin touch Kenji’s, and that’s not something I
can ignore. Those kinds of moments are so rare for me that I can’t just shake them off; I never get to be that close to people without serious consequences. And I felt the power inside my body. Kenji should’ve felt
something
.

My mind is working fast, trying to solve an impossible equation, and a crazy theory takes root inside of me, crystallizing in a way I’d never thought it could.

This whole time I’ve been training to control my power, to contain it, to focus it—but I never thought I’d be able to turn it
off
. And I don’t know why.

Adam had a similar problem: he’d been running on
electricum
his whole life. But now he’s learned how to control it. To power it down when he needs to.

Shouldn’t I be able to do the same?

Kenji can go visible and invisible whenever he likes—it was something he had to teach himself after training for a long time, after understanding how to shift from one state of being to another. I remember the story he told me from when he was little: he turned invisible for a couple of days without knowing how to change back. But eventually he did.

Castle, Brendan, Winston, Lily—they can all turn their abilities on and off. Castle doesn’t move things with his mind by accident. Brendan doesn’t electrocute everything he touches. Winston can tighten and loosen his limbs at will, and Lily can look around normally, without taking snapshots of everything with her eyes.

Why am I the only one without an off switch?

My mind is overwhelmed as I process the possibilities. I
begin to realize that I never even
tried
to turn my power off, because I always thought it would be impossible. I assumed I was fated to this life, to an existence in which my hands—my skin—would always, always keep me away from others.

But now?

“Kenji!” I cry out as I run toward him.

Kenji glances over his shoulder at me, but doesn’t have the chance to turn all the way around before I crash into him, grabbing his hands and squeezing them in my own. “Don’t let go,” I tell him, eyes filling fast with tears. “Don’t let go. You don’t have to let go.”

Kenji is frozen, shock and amazement all over his face. He looks at our hands. Looks back up at me.

“You learned how to control it?” he asks.

I can hardly speak. I manage to nod, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I think I’ve had it contained, all this time, and just didn’t know it. I never would’ve risked practicing it on anyone.”

“Damn, princess,” he says softly, his own eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you.”

Everyone is crowding around us now.

Castle pulls me into a fierce hug, and Brendan and Winston and Lily and Ian and Alia jump on top of him, crushing me all at once. They’re cheering and clapping and shaking my hand and I’ve never felt so much support or so much strength in our group before. No moment in my life has ever been more extraordinary than this.

But when the congratulations ebb and the good-nights
begin, I pull Kenji aside for one last hug.

“So,” I say to him, rocking on my heels. “I can touch anyone I want now.”

“Yeah, I know.” He laughs, cocking an eyebrow.

“Do you know what that means?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“You know what this
means
, right?”

“Because I’m flattered, really, but I still think we’re much better off as friends—”

“
Kenji
.”

He grins. Musses my hair. “No,” he says. “I don’t know. What does it mean?”

“It means a million things,” I say to him, standing on tiptoe to look him in the eye. “But it also means that now I will never end up with anyone by default. I can do anything I want now. Be with anyone I want. And it’ll be my choice.”

Kenji just looks at me for a long time. Smiles. Finally, he drops his eyes. Nods.

And says, “Go do what you gotta do, J.”

When I get off the elevator and step into Warner’s office, all the lights are off. Everything is swimming in an inky sort of black, and it takes me several tries to adjust my eyes to the darkness. I pad my way through the office carefully, searching for any sign of its owner, and find none.

I head into the bedroom.

Warner is sitting on the edge of the mattress, his coat thrown on the floor, his boots kicked off to the side. He’s sitting in silence, palms up on his lap, looking into his hands like he’s searching for something he cannot find.

“Aaron?” I whisper, moving forward.

He lifts his head. Looks at me.

And something inside of me shatters.

Every vertebra, every knuckle, both kneecaps, both hips. I am a pile of bones on the floor and no one knows it but me. I am a broken skeleton with a beating heart.

Exhale, I tell myself.

Exhale
.

“I’m so sorry,” are the first words I whisper.

He nods. Gets to his feet.

“Thank you,” he says to no one at all as he walks out the door.

I follow him across the bedroom and into his office. Call out his name.

He stops in front of the boardroom table, his back to me, his hands gripping the edge. “Please, Juliette, not tonight, I can’t—”

“You’re right,” I finally say. “You’ve always been right.”

He turns around, so slowly.

I’m looking into his eyes and I’m suddenly petrified. I’m suddenly nervous and suddenly worried and suddenly so sure I’m going to do this all wrong but maybe wrong is the only way to do it because I can’t keep it to myself anymore. There are so many things I need to tell him. Things I’ve been too much of a coward to admit, even to myself.

“Right about what?” His green eyes are wide. Scared.

I hold my fingers to my mouth, still so afraid to speak.

I do so much with these lips, I think.

I taste and touch and kiss and I’ve pressed them to the tender parts of his skin and I’ve made promises and told lies and touched lives all with these two lips and the words they form, the shapes and sounds they curve around. But right now my lips wish he would just read my mind because the truth is I’ve been hoping I’d never have to say any of it, these thoughts, out loud.

“I do want you,” I say to him, my voice shaking. “I want you so much it scares me.”

I see the movement in his throat, the effort he’s making to keep still. His eyes are terrified.

“I lied to you,” I tell him, words tripping and stumbling
out of me. “That night. When I said I didn’t want to be with you. I lied. Because you were right. I was a coward. I didn’t want to admit the truth to myself, and I felt so guilty for preferring you, for wanting to spend all my time with you, even when everything was falling apart. I was confused about Adam, I was confused about who I was supposed to be and I didn’t know what I was doing and I was stupid,” I say. “I was stupid and inconsiderate and I tried to blame it on you and I hurt you, so badly.” I try to breathe. “And I’m so, so sorry.”

“What—” Warner is blinking fast. His voice is fragile, uneven. “What are you saying?”

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you exactly as you are.”

Warner is looking at me like he might be going deaf and blind at the same time. “No,” he gasps. One broken, broken word. Barely even a sound. He’s shaking his head and he’s looking away from me and his hand is caught in his hair, his body turned toward the table and he says “No. No, no—”

“Aaron—”

“No,” he says, backing away. “No, you don’t know what you’re saying—”

“I love you,” I tell him again. “I love you and I want you and I wanted you then,” I say to him, “I wanted you so much and I still want you, I want you right now—”

Stop.

Stop time.

Stop the world.

Stop everything for the moment he crosses the room and pulls me into his arms and pins me against the wall and I’m
spinning and standing and not even breathing but I’m alive so alive so very very alive

and he’s kissing me.

Deeply, desperately. His hands are around my waist and he’s breathing so hard and he hoists me up, into his arms, and my legs wrap around his hips and he’s kissing my neck, my throat, and he sets me down on the edge of the boardroom table.

He has one hand under my neck, the other under my shirt and he’s running his fingers up my back and suddenly his thigh is between my legs and his hand is slipping behind my knee and up, higher, pulling me closer, and when he breaks the kiss I’m breathing so fast, head spinning as I try to hold on to him.

“Up,” he says, gasping for air. “Lift your arms up.”

I do.

He tugs up my shirt. Pulls it over my head. Tosses it to the floor.

“Lie back,” he says to me, still breathing hard, guiding me onto the table as his hands slide down my spine, under my backside. He unbuttons my jeans. Unzips them. Says, “Lift your hips for me, love,” and hooks his fingers around the waist of my pants and my underwear at the same time. Tugs them down.

I gasp.

I’m lying on his table in nothing but my bra.

Then that’s gone, too.

His hands are moving up my legs and the insides of my
thighs and his lips are making their way down my chest, and he’s undoing what little is left of my composure and every bit of my sanity and I’m aching, everywhere, tasting colors and sounds I didn’t even know existed. My head is pressed back against the table and my hands are gripping his shoulders and he’s hot, everywhere, gentle and somehow so urgent, and I’m trying not to scream and he’s already moving down my body, he’s already chosen where to kiss me. How to kiss me.

And he’s not going to stop.

I’m beyond rational thought. Beyond words, beyond comprehensible ideas. Seconds are merging into minutes and hearts are collapsing and hands are grasping and I’ve tripped over a planet and I don’t know anything anymore, I don’t know anything because nothing will ever be able to compare to this. Nothing will ever capture the way I’m feeling right now.

Nothing matters anymore.

Nothing but this moment and his mouth on my body, his hands on my skin, his kisses in brand-new places making me absolutely, certifiably insane. I cry out and cling to him, dying and somehow being brought back to life in the same moment, the same breath.

He’s on his knees.

I bite back the moan caught in my throat just before he lifts me up and carries me to the bed. He’s on top of me in an instant, kissing me with a kind of intensity that makes me wonder why I haven’t died or caught on fire or woken
up from this dream yet. He’s running his hands down my body only to bring them back up to my face and he kisses me once, twice, and his teeth catch my bottom lip for just a second and I’m clinging to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and running my hands through his hair and pulling him into me. He tastes so sweet. So hot and so sweet and I keep trying to say his name but I can’t even find the time to breathe, much less to say a single word.

I shove him up, off me.

I undo his shirt, my hands shaking and fumbling with the buttons and I get so frustrated I just rip it open, buttons flying everywhere, and I don’t have a chance to push the fabric off his body before he pulls me into his lap. He wraps my legs around his hips and dips me backward until the mattress is under my head and he leans over me, cupping my face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses around my mouth and he pulls me close and he kisses me, kisses me until time topples over and my head spins into oblivion.

It’s a heavy, unbelievable kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world. The kind that takes forever and no time at all. His hands are holding my cheeks, and he pulls back just to look me in the eye and his chest is heaving and he says, “I think,” he says, “my heart is going to explode,” and I wish, more than ever, that I knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever.

Because this.

This is everything.