Shatter Me Complete Collection (51 page)

The morning is a blur.

There’s so much to do, so much to prepare for, and there are so many people getting ready. But I know that ultimately this is
my
battle; I have unfinished business to deal with. I know this meeting has nothing to do with the supreme commander. He has no reason to care so much about me. I’ve never even met the man; I should be nothing more than expendable to him.

This is Warner’s move.

It has to be Warner who asked for me. This has something and everything to do with him; it’s a smoke signal telling me he still wants me and he’s not yet given up. And I have to face him.

I only wonder how he managed to get his father to pull these strings for him.

I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Someone is calling my name.

I stop in place.

Spin around.

James
.

He runs up to me just outside the dining hall. His hair, so blond; his eyes, so blue, just like his older brother’s. But I’ve missed his face in a way that has nothing to do with how much he reminds me of Adam.

James is a special kid. A sharp kid. The kind of 10-year-old who is always underestimated. And he’s asking me if we can talk. He points to one of the many corridors.

I nod. Follow him into an empty tunnel.

He stops walking and turns away for a moment. Stands there looking uncomfortable. I’m stunned he even wants to talk to me; I haven’t spoken a single word to him in 3 weeks. He started spending time with the other kids at Omega Point shortly after we arrived, and then things somehow got awkward between us. He stopped smiling when he’d see me, stopped waving hello from across the dining hall. I always imagined he’d heard rumors about me from the other kids and decided he was better off staying away. And now, after everything that’s happened with Adam—after our very public display in the tunnel—I’m shocked he wants to say anything to me.

His head is still down when he whispers, “I was really, really mad at you.”

And the stitches in my heart begin to pop. One by one.

He looks up. Looks at me like he’s trying to gauge whether or not his opening words have upset me, whether or not I’m going to yell at him for being honest with me. And I don’t know what he sees in my face but it seems to disarm him. He shoves his hands into his pockets. Rubs his sneaker in circles on the floor. Says, “You didn’t tell me you killed someone before.”

I take an unsteady breath and wonder if there will ever be a proper way to respond to a statement like that. I wonder if anyone other than James will ever even say something like that to me. I think not. So I just nod. And say, “I’m really sorry. I should’ve told y—”

“Then why didn’t you?” he shouts, shocking me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did everyone else know except for me?”

And I’m floored for a moment, floored by the hurt in his voice, the anger in his eyes. I never knew he considered me a friend, and I realize I should have. James hasn’t known many people in his life; Adam is his entire world. Kenji and I were 2 of the only people he’d ever really met before we got to Omega Point. And for an orphaned child in his circumstances, it must’ve meant a lot to have new friends. But I’ve been so concerned with my own issues that it never occurred to me that James would care so much. I never realized my omission would’ve seemed like a betrayal to him. That the rumors he heard from the other children must’ve hurt him just as much as they hurt me.

So I decide to sit down, right there in the tunnel. I make room for him to sit down beside me. And I tell him the truth. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

He glares at the floor. Says, “I don’t hate you.”

“No?”

He picks at his shoelaces. Sighs. Shakes his head. “And I didn’t like what they were saying about you,” he says, quieter now. “The other kids. They said you were mean and nasty and I told them you weren’t. I told them you were quiet and nice. And that you have nice hair. And they told me I was lying.”

I swallow, hard, punched in the heart. “You think I have nice hair?”

“Why did you kill him?” James asks me, eyes so open, so ready to be understanding. “Was he trying to hurt you? Were you scared?”

I take a few breaths before I answer.

“Do you remember,” I say to him, feeling unsteady now, “what Adam told you about me? About how I can’t touch anyone without hurting them?”

James nods.

“Well, that’s what happened,” I say. “I touched him and he died.”

“But why?” he asks. “Why’d you touch him? Because you wanted him to die?”

My face feels like cracked china. “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I was young—only a couple of years older than you, actually. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know that I could kill people by touching them. He’d fallen down at the grocery store and I was just trying to help him get to his feet.” A long pause. “It was an accident.”

James is silent for a while.

He takes turns looking at me, looking at his shoes, at the knees he’s tucked up against his chest. He’s staring at the ground when he finally whispers, “I’m sorry I was mad at you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth,” I whisper back.

He nods. Scratches a spot on his nose. Looks at me. “So can we be friends again?”

“You want to be friends with me?” I blink hard against the stinging in my eyes. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“Are you going to be mean to me?”

“Never.”

“Then why would I be afraid of you?”

And I laugh, mostly because I don’t want to cry. I nod too many times. “Yes,” I say to him. “Let’s be friends again.”

“Good,” he says, and gets to his feet. “Because I don’t want to eat lunch with those other kids anymore.”

I stand up. Dust off the back of my suit. “Eat with us,” I tell him. “You can always sit at our table.”

“Okay.” He nods. Looks away again. Tugs on his ear a little. “So did you know Adam is really sad all the time?” He turns his blue eyes on me.

I can’t speak. Can’t speak at all.

“Adam says he’s sad because of you.” James looks at me like he’s waiting for me to deny it. “Did you hurt him by accident too? He was in the medical wing, did you know that? He was sick.”

And I think I’m going to fall apart, right there, but somehow I don’t. I can’t lie to him. “Yes,” I tell James. “I hurt him by accident, but now—n-now I stay away from him. So I can’t hurt him anymore.”

“Then why’s he still so sad? If you’re not hurting him anymore?”

I’m shaking my head, pressing my lips together because I don’t want to cry and I don’t know what to say. And James seems to understand.

He throws his arms around me.

Right around my waist. Hugs me and tells me not to cry because he believes me. He believes I only hurt Adam by accident. And the little boy, too. And then he says, “But be careful today, okay? And kick some ass, too.”

I’m so stunned that it takes me a moment to realize that not only did he use a bad word, he just touched me for the very first time. I try to hold on for as long as I can without making things awkward between us, but I think my heart is still in a puddle somewhere on the floor.

And that’s when I realize: everyone knows.

James and I walk into the dining hall together and I can already tell that the stares are different now. Their faces are full of pride, strength, and acknowledgment when they look at me. No fear. No suspicion. I’ve officially become one of them. I will fight with them, for them, against the same enemy.

I can see what’s in their eyes because I’m beginning to remember what it feels like.

Hope.

It’s like a drop of honey, a field of tulips blooming in the springtime. It’s fresh rain, a whispered promise, a cloudless sky, the perfect punctuation mark at the end of a sentence.

And it’s the only thing in the world keeping me afloat.

“This isn’t how we wanted it to happen,” Castle says to me, “but these things never usually go according to plan.” Adam and Kenji and I are being fitted for battle. We’re camped out in one of the larger training rooms with 5 others I’ve never met before. They’re in charge of weapons and armor. It’s incredible how every single person at Omega Point has a job. Everyone contributes. Everyone has a task.

They all work together.

“Now, we still don’t know yet
exactly
why or how you can do what you do, Ms. Ferrars, but I’m hoping that when the time comes, your Energy will present itself. These kinds of high-stress situations are perfect for provoking our abilities—in fact, seventy-eight percent of Point members reported initial discovery of their ability while in critical, high-risk circumstances.”

Yup, I don’t say to him. That sounds about right.

Castle takes something from one of the women in the room—Alia, I think is her name. “And you shouldn’t worry about a thing,” he says. “We’ll be right there in case something should happen.”

I don’t point out that I never once said I was worried. Not out loud, anyway.

“These are your new gloves,” Castle says, handing them to me. “Try them on.”

These new gloves are shorter, softer: they stop precisely at my wrist and fasten with a snap-button. They feel thicker, a little heavier, but they fit my fingers perfectly. I curl my hand into a fist. Smile a little. “These are incredible,” I tell him. “Didn’t you say Winston designed them?”

Castle’s face falls. “Yes,” he says quietly. “He finished them just yesterday.”

Winston.

His was the very first face I saw when I woke up at Omega Point. His crooked nose, his plastic glasses, his sandy-blond hair and his background in psychology. His need for disgusting coffee.

I remember the broken glasses we found in the knapsack.

I have no idea what’s happened to him.

Alia returns with a leather contraption in her hands. It looks like a harness. She asks me to lift my arms and helps me slip into the piece, and I recognize it as a holster. There are thick leather shoulder straps that intersect in the center of my back, and 50 different straps of very thin black leather overlapping around the highest part of my waist—just underneath my chest—like some kind of incomplete bustier. It’s like a bra with no cups. Alia has to buckle everything together for me and I still don’t really understand what I’m wearing. I’m waiting for some kind of explanation.

Then I see the guns.

“There was nothing in the note about arriving unarmed,” Castle says as Alia passes him two automatic handguns in a shape and size I’ve come to recognize. I practiced shooting with these just yesterday.

I was terrible at it.

“And I see no reason for you to be without a weapon,” Castle is saying. He shows me where the holsters are on either side of my rib cage. Teaches me how the guns fit, how to snap the holder into place, where the extra cartridges go.

I don’t bother to mention that I have no idea how to reload a weapon. Kenji and I never got to that part in our lesson. He was too busy trying to remind me not to use a gun to gesticulate while asking questions.

“I’m hoping the firearms will be a last resort,” Castle says to me. “You have enough weapons in your personal arsenal—you shouldn’t need to shoot anyone. And, just in case you find yourself using your gift to destroy something, I suggest you wear these.” He holds up a set of what look like elaborate variations on brass knuckles. “Alia designed these for you.”

I look from her to Castle to the foreign objects in his hand. He’s beaming. I thank Alia for taking the time to create something for me and she stammers out an incoherent response, blushing like she can’t believe I’m talking to her.

I’m baffled.

I take the pieces from Castle and inspect them. The underside is made up of 4 concentric circles welded together, big enough in diameter to fit like a set of rings, snug over my gloves. I slip my fingers through the holes and turn my hand over to inspect the upper part. It’s like a mini shield, a million pieces of gunmetal that cover my knuckles, my fingers, the entire back of my hand. I can curl my fist and the metal moves with the motion of my joints. It’s not nearly as heavy as it looks.

I slip the other piece on. Curl my fingers. Reach for the guns now strapped to my body.

Easy.

I can do this.

“Do you like it?” Castle asks. I’ve never seen him smile so wide before.

“I love it,” I tell him. “Everything is perfect. Thank you.”

“Very good. I’m so pleased. Now,” he says, “if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to a few other details before we leave. I will return shortly.” He offers me a curt nod before heading out the door. Everyone but me, Kenji, and Adam leaves the room.

I turn to see how the guys are doing.

Kenji is wearing a suit.

Some kind of bodysuit. He’s black from head to toe, his jet-black hair and eyes a perfect match for the outfit molded to every contour of his body. The suit seems to have a synthetic feel to it, almost like plastic; it gleams in the fluorescent lighting of the room and looks like it’d be too stiff to move around in. But then I see him stretching his arms and rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet and the suit suddenly looks fluid, like it moves with him. He’s wearing boots but no gloves, and a harness, just like me. But his is different: it has simple holsters that sling over his arms like the straps of a backpack.

And Adam.

Adam is
gorgeous
wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, dark blue and dangerously tight across his chest. I can’t help but linger over the details of his outfit, can’t help but remember what it was like to be held against him, in his arms.
He’s standing right in front of me and I miss him like I haven’t seen him in years.
His black cargo pants are tucked into the same pair of black boots he was wearing when I first met him in the asylum, shin-high and sleek, created from smooth leather that fits him so perfectly it’s a surprise they weren’t made for his body. But there are no weapons on his person.

And I’m curious enough to ask.

“Adam?”

He lifts his head to look up and freezes. Blinks, eyebrows up, lips parted. His eyes travel down every inch of my body, pausing to study the harness framing my chest, the guns slung close to my waist.