Unravel Me (31 page)

He spends far too long just looking at me. Not answering my question. And then he
says

“On the darkest days you have to search for a spot of brightness, on the coldest days
you have to seek out a spot of warmth; on the bleakest days you have to keep your
eyes onward and upward and on the saddest days you have to leave them open to let
them cry. To then let them dry. To give them a chance to wash out the pain in order
to see fresh and clear once again.
”

“I can’t believe you have that memorized,” I whisper.

He leans back again. Closes his eyes again. Says, “
Nothing in this life will ever make sense to me but I can’t help but try to collect
the change and hope it’s enough to pay for our mistakes.
”

“I wrote that, too?” I ask him, unable to believe it’s possible he’s reciting the
same words that fell from my lips to my fingertips and bled onto a page. Still unable
to believe he’s now privy to my private thoughts, feelings I captured with a tortured
mind and hammered into sentences I shoved into paragraphs, ideas I pinned together
with punctuation marks that serve no function but to determine where one thought ends
and another begins.

This blond boy has my secrets in his mouth.

“You wrote a lot of things,” he says, not looking at me. “About your parents, your
childhood, your experiences with other people. You talked about hope and redemption
and what it would be like to see a bird fly by. You wrote about pain. And what it’s
like to think you’re a monster. What it was like to be judged by everyone before you’d
even spoken two words to them.” A deep inhale. “So much of it was like seeing myself
on paper,” he whispers. “Like reading all the things I never knew how to say.”

And I wish my heart would just shut up shut up shut up shut up.

“Every single day I’m sorry,” he says, his words barely a breath now. “Sorry for believing
the things I heard about you. And then for hurting you when I thought I was helping
you. I can’t apologize for who I am,” he says. “That part of me is already done; already
ruined. I gave up on myself a long time ago. But I am sorry I didn’t understand you
better. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to help you to be stronger. I wanted
you to use your anger as a tool, as a weapon to help harness the strength inside of
you; I wanted you to be able to fight the world. I provoked you on purpose,” he says.
“I pushed you too far, too hard, did things to horrify and disgust you and I did it
all on purpose. Because that’s how I was taught to steel myself against the terror
in this world. That’s how I was trained to fight back. And I wanted to teach you.
I knew you had the potential to be more, so much more. I could see greatness in you.”

He looks at me. Really, really looks at me.

“You’re going to go on to do incredible things,” he says. “I’ve always known that.
I think I just wanted to be a part of it.”

And I try. I try so hard to remember all the reasons why I’m supposed to hate him,
I try to remember all the horrible things I’ve seen him do. But I’m tortured because
I understand too much about what it’s like to be tortured. To do things because you
don’t know any better. To do things because you think they’re right because you were
never taught what was wrong.

Because it’s so hard to be kind to the world when all you’ve ever felt is hate.

Because it’s so hard to see goodness in the world when all you’ve ever known is terror.

And I want to say something to him. Something profound and complete and memorable
but he seems to understand. He offers me a strange, unsteady smile that doesn’t reach
his eyes but says so much.

Then

“Tell your team,” he says, “to prepare for war. Unless his plans have changed, my
father will be ordering an attack on civilians the day after tomorrow and it will
be nothing short of a massacre. It will also be your only opportunity to save your
men. They are being held captive somewhere in the lower levels of Sector 45 Headquarters.
I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

“How did you—”

“I know why you’re here, love. I’m not an idiot. I know why you’re being forced to
spend time with me.”

“But why offer the information so freely?” I ask him. “What reason do you have to
help us?”

There’s a flicker of change in his eyes that doesn’t last long enough for me to examine
it. And though his expression is carefully neutral, something in the space between
us feels different all of a sudden. Charged.

“Go,” he says. “You must tell them now.”

Adam, Kenji, Castle, and I are camped out in his office trying to discuss strategy.

Last night I ran straight to Kenji—who then took me to Castle—to tell him what Warner
told me. Castle was both relieved and horrified, and I think he still hasn’t digested
the information yet.

He told me he was going to meet with Warner in the morning, just to follow up, just
to see if Warner would be willing to elaborate at all (he wasn’t), and that Kenji,
Adam, and I should meet him in his office at lunch.

So now we’re all crammed into his small space, along with 7 others. The faces in this
room are many of the same ones I saw when we journeyed into The Reestablishment’s
storage compound; that means they’re important, integral to this movement. And it
makes me wonder when I ever became a part of Castle’s core group at Omega Point.

I can’t help but feel a little proud. A little thrilled to be someone he relies on.
To be contributing.

And it makes me wonder how much I’ve changed in such a short period of time. How different
my life has become, how much stronger and how much weaker I feel now. It makes me
wonder whether things would’ve turned out differently if Adam and I had found a way
to stay together. If I ever would’ve ventured outside of the safety he introduced
to my life.

I wonder about a lot of things.

But when I look up and catch him staring at me, my wonders disappear; and I’m left
with nothing but the pains of missing him. Left wishing he wouldn’t look away the
moment I look up.

This was my miserable choice. I brought it upon myself.

Castle is sitting at his desk, elbows propped up on the table, chin resting on clasped
hands. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips pursed, his eyes focused on the papers
in front of him.

He hasn’t said a word in 5 minutes.

Finally, he looks up. Looks at Kenji, who is sitting right in front of him, between
me and Adam. “What do you think?” he says. “Offensive or defensive?”

“Guerrilla warfare,” Kenji says without hesitation. “Nothing else.”

A deep breath. “Yes,” Castle says. “I thought so too.”

“We need to be split up,” Kenji says. “Do you want to assign groups, or should I?”

“I’ll assign the preliminary groups. I’d like you to look them over and suggest changes,
if any.”

Kenji nods.

“Perfect. And weapons—”

“I’ll oversee that,” Adam says. “I can make sure everything is clean, loaded, ready
to go. I’m already familiar with the armory.”

I had no idea.

“Good. Excellent. We’ll assign one group to try and get on base to find Winston and
Brendan; everyone else will spread out among the compounds. Our mission is simple:
save as many civilians as possible. Take out only as many soldiers as is absolutely
necessary. Our fight is not against the men, but against their leaders—we must never
forget that. Kenji,” he says, “I’d like you to oversee the groups entering the compounds.
Do you feel comfortable doing that?”

Kenji nods.

“I will lead the group onto base,” Castle says. “While you and Mr. Kent would be ideal
for infiltrating Sector 45, I’d like you to stay with Ms. Ferrars; the three of you
work well together, and we could use your strengths on the ground. Now,” he says,
spreading out the papers in front of him, “I’ve been studying these blueprints all
ni—”

Someone is banging on the glass window in Castle’s door.

He’s a youngish man I’ve never seen before, with bright, light-brown eyes and hair
cropped so close to the crown I can’t even make out the color. His eyes are pulled
together, his forehead tight, tense. “Sir!” he’s shouting, he’s
been
shouting, I realize, but his voice is muffled and only then does it dawn on me that
this room must be soundproof, if only just a little bit.

Kenji jumps out of his chair, yanks the door open.

“Sir!” The man is out of breath. It’s clear he ran all the way here. “Sir, please—”

“Samuel?” Castle is up, around his desk, charging forward to grip this boy’s shoulders,
trying to focus his eyes. “What is it—what’s wrong?”

“Sir,” Samuel says again, this time more normally, his breathing almost within his
grasp. “We have a—a situation.”

“Tell me everything—now is not the time to hold back if something has happened—”

“It’s nothing to do with anything topside, sir, it’s just—” His eyes dart in my direction
for one split second. “Our … visitor—he—he is not cooperating, sir, he’s—he’s giving
the guards a lot of trouble—”

“What kind of trouble?” Castle’s eyes are two slits.

Samuel drops his voice. “He’s managed to make a dent in the door, sir. He’s managed
to dent the
steel door
, sir, and he’s threatening the guards and they’re beginning to worry—”

“Juliette.”

No.

“I need your help,” Castle says without looking at me. “I know you don’t want to do
this, but you’re the only one he’ll listen to and we can’t afford this distraction,
not right now.” His voice is so thin, so stretched it sounds as if it might actually
crack. “Please do what you can to contain him, and when you deem it safe for one of
the girls to enter, perhaps we can find a way to sedate him without endangering them
in the process.”

My eyes flick up to Adam almost accidentally. He doesn’t look happy.

“Juliette.” Castle’s jaw tightens. “Please. Go now.”

I nod. Turn to leave.

“Get ready,” Castle adds as I walk out the door, his voice too soft for the words
he speaks next. “Unless we have been deceived, the supreme will be massacring unarmed
civilians tomorrow, and we can’t afford to assume Warner has given us false information.
We leave at dawn.”

The guards let me into Warner’s room without a single word.

My eyes dart around the now partially furnished space, heart pounding, fists clenching,
blood racing racing racing. Something is wrong. Something has happened. Warner was
perfectly fine when I left him last night and I can’t imagine what could’ve inspired
him to lose his mind like this but I’m scared.

Someone has given him a chair. I realize now how he was able to dent the steel door.
No one should’ve given him a chair.

Warner is sitting in it, his back to me. Only his head is visible from where I’m standing.

“You came back,” he says.

“Of course I came back,” I tell him, inching closer. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

He laughs. Runs a hand through his hair. Looks up at the ceiling.

“What happened?” I’m so worried now. “Are you—did something happen to you? Are you
okay?”

“I need to get out of here,” he says. “I need to leave. I can’t be here anymore.”

“Warner—”

“Do you know what he said to me? Did he tell you what he said to me?”

Silence.

“He just walked into my room this morning. He walked right in here and said he wanted
to have a conversation with me.” Warner laughs again, loud, too loud. Shakes his head.
“He told me I can change. He said I might have a
gift
like everyone else here—that maybe I have an
ability
. He said I can be different, love. He said he
believes
I can be
different
if I
want
to be.”

Castle told him.

Warner stands up but doesn’t turn around all the way and I see he’s not wearing a
shirt. He doesn’t even seem to mind that I can see the scars on his back, the word
IGNITE
tattooed on his body. His hair is messy, untamed, falling into his face and his pants
are zipped but unbuttoned and I’ve never seen him so disheveled before. He presses
his palms against the stone wall, arms outstretched; his body is bowed, his head down
as if in prayer. His entire body is tense, tight, muscles straining against his skin.
His clothes are in a pile on the floor and his mattress is in the middle of the room
and the chair he was just sitting in is facing the wall, staring at nothing at all
and I realize he’s begun to lose his mind in here.

“Can you believe that?” he asks me, still not looking in my direction. “Can you believe
he thinks I can just wake up one morning and be
different
? Sing happy songs and give money to the poor and beg the world to forgive me for
what I’ve done? Do you think that’s possible? Do you think I can change?”

He finally turns to face me and his eyes are laughing, his eyes are like emeralds
glinting in the setting sun and his mouth is twitching, suppressing a smile. “Do you
think I could be
different
?” He takes a few steps toward me and I don’t know why it affects my breathing. Why
I can’t find my mouth.

“It’s just a question,” he says, and he’s right in front of me and I don’t even know
how he got there. He’s still looking at me, his eyes so focused and so simultaneously
unnerving, brilliant, blazing with something I can never place.

My heart it will not be still it refuses to stop skipping skipping skipping

“Tell me, Juliette. I’d love to know what you really think of me.”

“Why?” Barely a whisper in an attempt to buy some time.

Warner’s lips flicker up and into a smile before they fall open, just a bit, just
enough to twitch into a strange, curious look that lingers in his eyes. He doesn’t
answer. He doesn’t say a word. He only moves closer to me, studying me and I’m frozen
in place, my mouth stuffed full of the seconds he doesn’t speak and I’m fighting every
atom in my body, every stupid cell in my system for being so attracted to him.