Unravel Me (27 page)

My heart is starting to hurt.

I watch the hard movement in his throat. The rise and fall of his chest. The tense
line of his jaw and the way he’s sitting so perfectly still. He doesn’t say anything,
anything at all.

I want so desperately to touch him.

“Smartass.” Kenji is chuckling, shaking his head as he reacts to something James just
said. “You know that’s not what I meant. Anyway,” he sighs, “we’re not ready to deal
with that kind of insanity just yet. We take out Anderson when we’re ready to take
over. That’s the only way to do this right.”

Adam stands up abruptly. He pushes away his untouched bowl of food and clears his
throat. Looks at Kenji. “So that’s why you didn’t kill him when he was right in front
of you.”

Kenji scratches the back of his head, uncomfortable. “Listen man, if I had any idea—”

“Forget it.” Adam cuts him off. “You did me a favor.”

“What do you mean?” Kenji asks. “Hey man—where’re you going—”

But Adam is already walking away.

I go after him.

I’m following Adam down an empty corridor as he exits the dining hall even though
I know I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t be talking to him like this, shouldn’t be encouraging
the feelings I have for him but I’m worried. I can’t help it. He’s disappearing into
himself, withdrawing into a world I can’t penetrate and I can’t even blame him for
it. I can only imagine what he must be experiencing right now. These recent revelations
would be enough to drive a weaker person absolutely insane. And even though we’ve
managed to work together lately, it’s always been during such high-stress situations
that there’s hardly been any time for us to dwell on our personal issues.

And I need to know that he’s all right.

I can’t just stop caring about him.

“Adam?”

He stops at the sound of my voice. His spine goes rigid with surprise. He turns around
and I see his expression shift from hope to confusion to worry in a matter of seconds.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is everything okay?”

Suddenly he’s in front of me, all 6 feet of him, and I’m drowning in memories and
feelings I’ve made no effort to forget. I’m trying to remember why I wanted to talk
to him. Why I ever told him we couldn’t be together. Why I would ever keep myself
from a chance at even 5 seconds in his arms and he’s saying my name, saying, “Juliette—what’s
wrong? Did something happen?”

I want so desperately to say yes, yes, horrible things have happened, and I’m sick,
I’m so sick and tired and I really just want to collapse in your arms and forget the
rest of the world. Instead I manage to look up, manage to meet his eyes. They’re such
a dark, haunting shade of blue. “I’m worried about you,” I tell him.

And his eyes are immediately different, uncomfortable, closed off. “You’re worried
about me.” He blows out a hard breath. Runs a hand through his hair.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay—”

He’s shaking his head in disbelief. “What are you doing?” he says. “Are you mocking
me?”

“What?”

He’s pounding a closed fist against his lips. Looking up. Looking like he’s not sure
what to say and then he speaks, his voice strained and hurt and confused and he says,
“You broke up with me. You gave up on us—on our entire future together. You basically
reached in and ripped my heart out and now you’re asking me if I’m okay? How the hell
am I supposed to be okay, Juliette? What kind of a question is that?”

I’m swaying in place.

“I didn’t mean—” I swallow, hard. “I-I was t-talking about your—your dad—I thought
maybe—oh, God, I’m sorry—you’re right, I’m so stupid—I shouldn’t have come, I sh-shouldn’t—”

“Juliette,” he says, so desperately, catching me around the waist as I back away.
His eyes are shut tight. “Please,” he says, “tell me what I’m supposed to do. How
am I supposed to feel? It’s one shitty thing right after another and I’m trying to
be okay—God, I’m trying so hard but it’s really freaking
difficult
and I miss”—his voice catches—“I miss you,” he says. “I miss you so much it’s killing
me.”

My fingers are clenched in his shirt.

My heart is hammering in the silence.

I see the difficulty he has in meeting my eyes when he whispers, “Do you still love
me?”

And I’m straining every muscle in my body just to keep myself from reaching forward
to touch him. “Adam—of course I still love you—”

“You know,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, “I’ve never had anything like this
before. I can barely remember my mom, and other than that it was just me and James
and my piece-of-shit dad. And James has always loved me in his own way, but you—with
you
—” He falters. Looks down. “How am I supposed to go back?” he asks, so quietly. “How
am I supposed to forget what it was like to be with you? To be loved by you?”

I don’t even realize I’m crying until it’s too late.

“You say you love me,” he says. “And I know I love you.” He looks up, meets my eyes.
“So why the hell can’t we be together?”

And I don’t know how to say anything but “I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry, you have no idea
how sorry I am—”

“Why can’t we just try?” He’s gripping my shoulders now, his words urgent, anguished;
our faces too dangerously close. “I’m willing to take whatever I can get, I swear,
I just want to know I have you in my life—”

“We can’t,” I tell him. “It won’t be enough, Adam, and you know it. One day we’ll
take a stupid risk or take a chance we shouldn’t. One day we’ll think it’ll be okay
and it won’t. And it won’t end well.”

“But look at us now,” he says. “We can make this work—I can be close to you without
kissing you—I just need to spend a few more months training—”

“Your training might never be enough.” I cut him off, knowing I need to tell him everything
now. Knowing he has a right to know the same things I do. “Because the more I train,
the more I learn exactly how dangerous I am. And you c-can’t be near me. It’s not
just my skin anymore. I could hurt you just by holding your hand.”

“What?” He blinks several times. “What are you talking about?”

I take a deep breath. Press my palm flat against the side of the tunnel before digging
my fingers in and dragging them right through the stone. I punch my fist into the
wall and grab a handful of rough rock, crush it in my hand, allow it to sift as sand
through my fingers to the floor.

Adam is staring at me. Astonished.

“I’m the one who shot your father,” I tell him. “I don’t know why Kenji was covering
for me. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you the truth. But I was so blinded by this—this
all-consuming
rage
—I just wanted to kill him. And I was torturing him,” I whisper. “I shot him in his
legs because I was taking my time. Because I wanted to enjoy that last moment. That
last bullet I was about to put through his heart. And I was so close. I was so close,
and Kenji,” I tell him, “Kenji had to pull me away. Because he saw that I’d gone insane.

“I’m out of control.” My voice is a rasp, a broken plea. “I don’t know what’s wrong
with me or what’s happening to me and I don’t even know what I’m capable of yet. I
don’t know how much worse this is going to get. Every day I learn something new about
myself and every day it terrifies me. I’ve done terrible things to people,” I whisper.
I swallow back the sob building in my throat. “And I’m not okay,” I tell him. “I’m
not okay, Adam. I’m not okay and I’m not safe for you to be around.”

He’s staring at me, so stunned he’s forgotten how to speak.

“Now you know that the rumors are true,” I whisper. “I am crazy. And I am a monster.”

“No,” he breathes. “No—”

“Yes.”

“No,” he says, desperate now. “That’s not true—you’re stronger than this—I know you
are—I know
you
,” he says. “I’ve known your heart for ten years,” he says, “and I’ve seen what you
had to live through, what you had to go through, and I’m not giving up on you now,
not because of this, not because of something like this—”

“How can you say that? How can you still believe that, after everything—after all
of this—”

“You,” he says to me, his hands gripping me tighter now, “are one of the bravest,
strongest people I’ve ever met. You have the best heart, the best intentions—” He
stops. Takes a tight, shaky breath. “You’re the best person I’ve ever known,” he says
to me. “You’ve been through the worst possible experiences and you survived with your
humanity still intact. How the hell,” he says, his voice breaking now, “am I supposed
to let go of you? How can I walk away from you?”

“Adam—”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I refuse to believe that this is the end of us.
Not if you still love me. Because you’re going to get through this,” he says, “and
I will be waiting for you when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere. There won’t be
another person for me. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted and that’s never,” he
says, “that’s
never
going to change.”

“How touching.”

Adam and I freeze. Turn around slowly to face the unwelcome voice.

He’s right there.

Warner is standing right in front of us, his hands tied behind his back, his eyes
blazing bright with anger and hurt and disgust. Castle comes up behind him to lead
him in whatever whichever wherever direction and he sees where Warner is stuck, still,
staring at us, and Adam is like one block of marble, not moving, not making any effort
to breathe or speak or look away. I’m fairly certain I’m burning so bright I’ve burnt
to a crisp.

“You’re so lovely when you’re blushing,” Warner says to me. “But I really wish you
wouldn’t waste your affections on someone who has to beg for your love.” He cocks
his head at Adam. “How sad for you,” he says. “This must be terribly embarrassing.”

“You sick bastard,” Adam says to him, his voice like steel.

“At least I still have my dignity.”

Castle shakes his head, exasperated. Pushes Warner forward. “Please get back to work—both
of you,” he shouts at us as he and Warner make their way past. “You’re wasting valuable
time standing out here.”

“You can go to hell,” Adam shouts at Warner.

“Just because I’m going to hell,” Warner says, “doesn’t mean you’ll ever deserve her.”

And Adam doesn’t answer.

He just watches, eyes focused, as Warner and Castle disappear around the corner.

James joins us during our training session before dinner.

He’s been hanging out with us a lot since we got back, and we all seem happier when
he’s around. There’s something about his presence that’s so disarming, so welcome.
It’s so good to have him back.

I’ve been showing him how easily I can break things now.

The bricks are nothing. It feels like crushing a piece of cake. The metal pipes bend
in my hands like plastic straws. Wood is a little tricky because if I break it the
wrong way I can catch a splinter, but just about nothing is difficult anymore. Kenji
has been thinking of new ways to test my abilities; lately he’s been trying to see
if I can project—if I can focus my power from a distance.

Not all abilities are designed for projection, apparently. Lily, for example, has
that incredible photographic memory. But she’d never be able to project that ability
onto anyone else.

Projection is, by far, the most difficult thing I’ve ever attempted to do. It’s extremely
complicated and requires both mental and physical exertion. I have to be wholly in
control of my mind, and I have to know exactly how my brain communicates with whichever
invisible bone in my body is responsible for my gift. Which means I have to know how
to locate the source of my ability—and how to focus it into one concentrated point
of power I can tap into from anywhere.

It’s hurting my brain.

“Can I try to break something, too?” James is asking. He grabs one of the bricks off
the stack and weighs it in his hands. “Maybe I’m super strong like you.”

“Have you ever
felt
super strong?” Kenji asks him. “Like, you know, abnormally strong?”

“No,” James says, “but I’ve never tried to break anything, either.” He blinks at Kenji.
“Do you think maybe I could be like you guys? That maybe I have some kind of power,
too?”

Kenji studies him. Seems to be sorting some things out in his head. Says, “It’s definitely
possible. Your brother’s obviously got something in his DNA, which means you might,
too.”

“Really?” James is practically jumping up and down.

Kenji chuckles. “I have no idea. I’m just saying it might be
possi
—no,” he shouts, “James—”

“Oops.” James is wincing, dropping the brick to the floor and clenching his fist against
the gash bleeding in the palm of his hand. “I think I pressed too hard and it slipped,”
he says, struggling not to cry.

“You
think
?” Kenji is shaking his head, breathing fast. “Damn, kid, you can’t just go around
slicing your hand open like that. You’re going to give me a freaking heart attack.
Come here,” he says, more gently now. “Let me take a look.”

“It’s okay,” James says, cheeks flushed, hiding his hand behind his back. “It’s nothing.
It’ll go away soon.”

“That kind of cut is not just going to go away,” Kenji says. “Now let me take a look
at it—”

“Wait.” I interrupt him, caught by the intense look on James’ face, the way he seems
to be so focused on the clenched fist he’s hiding. “James—what do you mean it’ll ‘go
away’? Do you mean it’s going to get better? On its own?”

James blinks at me. “Well yeah,” he says. “It always gets better really quickly.”

“What does? What gets better really quickly?” Kenji is staring too now, already catching
on to my theory and throwing looks at me, mouthing
Holy shit
over and over again.

“When I get hurt,” James says, looking at us like we’ve lost our minds. “Like if you
cut yourself,” he says to Kenji, “wouldn’t it just get better?”