Unravel Me (10 page)

“What?” He’s frozen in place, his eyes too wide, his chest rising and falling too
fast. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t touch me,” I tell him. “You can’t touch me and I’ve already hurt you—”

“No—Juliette—” Adam is up, he’s cleared the room, he’s on his knees next to me and
he reaches for my hands but I have to snatch them back because my gloves were ruined,
ruined in the research lab and now my fingers are bare.

Dangerous.

Adam stares at the hands I’ve hidden behind my back like I’ve slapped him across the
face. “What are you doing?” he asks, but he’s not looking at me. He’s still staring
at my hands. Barely breathing.

“I can’t do this to you.” I shake my head too hard. “I don’t want to be the reason
why you’re hurting yourself or weakening yourself and I don’t want you to always have
to worry that I might accidentally
kill
you—”

“No, Juliette, listen to me.” He’s desperate now, his eyes up, searching my face.
“I was worried too, okay? I was worried too. Really worried. I thought—I thought that
maybe—I don’t know, I thought maybe it would be bad or that maybe we wouldn’t be able
to work through it but I talked to Castle. I talked to him and explained everything
and he said that I just have to learn to control it. I’ll learn how to turn it on
and off—”

“Except when you’re with me? Except when we’re together—”

“No—what? No,
especially
when we’re together!”

“Touching me—being with me—it takes a physical toll on you! You run a
fever
when we’re together, Adam, did you realize that? You’d get sick just trying to fight
me off—”

“You’re not hearing me—please—I’m telling you, I’ll learn to control all of that—”

“When?” I ask, and I can actually feel my bones breaking, 1 by 1.

“What? What do you mean? I’ll learn now—I’m learning
now
—”

“And how’s it going? Is it easy?”

His mouth falls closed but he’s looking at me, struggling with some kind of emotion,
struggling to find composure. “What are you trying to say?” he finally asks. “Are
you”—he’s breathing hard—“are you—I mean—you don’t want to make this work?”

“Adam—”

“What are you
saying
, Juliette?” He’s up now, a shaky hand caught in his hair. “You don’t—you don’t want
to be with me?”

I’m on my feet, blinking back the tears burning my eyes, desperate to run to him but
unable to move. My voice breaks when I speak. “Of course I want to be with you.”

He drops his hand from his hair. Looks at me with eyes so open and vulnerable but
his jaw is tight, his muscles are tense, his upper body is heaving from the effort
to inhale, exhale. “Then what’s happening right now? Because something is happening
right now and it doesn’t feel okay,” he says, his voice catching. “It doesn’t feel
okay, Juliette, it feels like the opposite of whatever the hell okay is and I really
just want to hold you—”

“I don’t want to h-hurt you—”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he says, and then he’s in front of me, looking at me,
pleading with me. “I swear. It’ll be fine—we’ll be fine—and I’m better now. I’ve been
working on it and I’m stronger—”

“It’s too dangerous, Adam, please.” I’m begging him, backing away, wiping furiously
at the tears escaping down my face. “It’s better for you this way. It’s better for
you to just stay away from me—”

“But that’s not what I want—you’re not asking me what
I
want—,” he says, following me as I dodge his advances. “I want to be with you and
I don’t give a damn if it’s hard. I still want it. I still want you.”

I’m trapped.

I’m caught between him and the wall and I have nowhere to go and I wouldn’t want to
go even if I could. I don’t want to have to fight this even though there’s something
inside of me screaming that it’s wrong to be so selfish, to allow him to be with me
if it’ll only end up hurting him. But he’s looking at me, looking at me like I’m
killing
him and I realize I’m hurting him more by trying to stay away.

I’m shaking. Wanting him so desperately and knowing now, more than ever, that what
I want will have to wait. And I hate that it has to be this way. I hate it so much
I could scream.

But maybe we can try.

“Juliette.” Adam’s voice is hoarse, broken with feeling. His hands are at my waist,
trembling just a little, waiting for my permission. “Please.”

And I don’t protest.

He’s breathing harder now, leaning into me, resting his forehead against my shoulder.
He places his hands flat against the center of my stomach, only to inch them down
my body, slowly, so slowly and I gasp.

There’s an earthquake happening in my bones, tectonic plates shifting from panic to
pleasure as his fingers take their time moving around my thighs, up my back, over
my shoulders and down my arms. He hesitates at my wrists. This is where the fabric
ends, where my skin begins.

But he takes a breath.

And he takes my hands.

For a moment I’m paralyzed, searching his face for any sign of pain or danger but
then we both exhale and I see him attempt a smile with new hope, a new optimism that
maybe everything is going to work out.

But then he blinks and his eyes change.

His eyes are deeper now. Desperate. Hungry. He’s searching me like he’s trying to
read the words etched inside of me and I can already feel the heat of his body, the
power in his limbs, the strength in his chest and I don’t have time to stop him before
he’s kissing me.

His left hand is cupping the back of my head, his right tightening around my waist,
pressing me hard against him and destroying every rational thought I’ve ever had.
It’s deep. So strong. It’s an introduction to a side of him I’ve never known before
and I’m gasping gasping gasping for air.

It’s hot rain and humid days and broken thermostats. It’s screaming teakettles and
raging steam engines and wanting to take your clothes off just to feel a breeze.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes you realize oxygen is overrated.

And I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I know it’s probably stupid and irresponsible
after everything we’ve just learned but someone would have to shoot me to make me
want to stop.

I’m pulling at his shirt, desperate for a raft or a life preserver or something, anything
to anchor me to reality but he breaks away to catch his breath and rips off his shirt,
tosses it to the floor, pulls me into his arms and we both fall onto my bed.

Somehow I end up on top of him.

He reaches up only to pull me down and he’s kissing me, my throat, my cheeks, and
my hands are searching his body, exploring the lines, the planes, the muscle and he
pulls back, his forehead is pressed against my own and his eyes are squeezed shut
when he says, “How is it possible,” he says, “that I’m this close to you and it’s
killing me that you’re still so far away?”

And I remember I promised him, 2 weeks ago, that once he got better, once he’d healed,
I would memorize every inch of his body with my lips.

I figure now is probably a good time to fulfill that promise.

I start at his mouth, move to his cheek, under his jawline, down his neck to his shoulders
and his arms, which are wrapped around me. His hands are skimming my suit and he’s
so hot, so tense from the effort to remain still but I can hear his heart beating
hard, too fast against his chest.

Against mine.

I trace the white bird soaring across his skin, a tattoo of the one impossible thing
I hope to see in my life. A bird. White with streaks of gold like a crown atop its
head.

It will fly.

Birds don’t fly, is what the scientists say, but history says they used to. And one
day I want to see it. I want to touch it. I want to watch it fly like it should, like
it hasn’t been able to in my dreams.

I dip down to kiss the yellow crown of its head, tattooed deep into Adam’s chest.
I hear the spike in his breathing.

“I love this tattoo,” I tell him, looking up to meet his eyes. “I haven’t seen it
since we got here. I haven’t seen you without a shirt on since we got here,” I whisper.
“Do you still sleep without your shirt on?”

But Adam answers with a strange smile, like he’s laughing at his own private joke.

He takes my hand from his chest and tugs me down so we’re facing each other, and it’s
strange, because I haven’t felt a breeze since we got here, but it’s like the wind
has found a home in my body and it’s funneling through my lungs, blowing through my
blood, mingling with my breath and making it hard for me to breathe.

“I can’t sleep at all,” he says to me, his voice so low I have to strain to hear it.
“It doesn’t feel right to be without you every night.” His left hand is threaded in
my hair, his right wrapped around me. “God I’ve missed you,” he says, his words a
husky whisper in my ear. “Juliette.”

I am

lit

on fire.

It’s like swimming in molasses, this kiss, it’s like being dipped in gold, this kiss,
it’s like I’m diving into an ocean of emotion and I’m too swept up in the current
to realize I’m drowning and nothing even matters anymore. Not my hand which no longer
seems to hurt, not this room that isn’t entirely mine, not this war we’re supposed
to be fighting, not my worries about who or what I am and what I might become.

This is the only thing that matters.

This.

This moment. These lips. This strong body pressed against me and these firm hands
finding a way to bring me closer and I know I want so much more of him, I want all
of him, I want to feel the beauty of this love with the tips of my fingers and the
palms of my hands and every fiber and bone in my being.

I want all of it.

My hands are in his hair and I’m reeling him in until he’s practically on top of me
and he breaks for air but I pull him back, kissing his neck, his shoulders, his chest,
running my hands down his back and the sides of his torso and it’s incredible, the
energy, the unbelievable power I feel in just
being
with him, touching him, holding him like this. I’m alive with a rush of adrenaline
so potent, so euphoric that I feel rejuvenated, indestructible—

I jerk back.

Push away so quickly that I’m scrambling and I fall off the bed only to slam my head
into the stone floor and I’m swaying as I attempt to stand, struggling to hear the
sound of his voice but all I hear are wheezing, paralyzed breaths and I can’t think
straight, I can’t see anything and everything is blurry and I can’t, I refuse to believe
this is actually happening—

“J-Jul—” He tries to speak. “I-I c-ca—”

And I fall to my knees.

Screaming.

Screaming like I’ve never screamed in my entire life.

I count everything.

Even numbers, odd numbers, multiples of 10. I count the ticks of the clock I count
the tocks of the clock I count the lines between the lines on a sheet of paper. I
count the broken beats of my heart I count my pulse and my blinks and the number of
tries it takes to inhale enough oxygen for my lungs. I stay like this I stand like
this I count like this until the feeling stops. Until the tears stop spilling, until
my fists stop shaking, until my heart stops aching.

There are never enough numbers.

Adam is in the medical wing.

He is in the medical wing and I have been asked not to visit him. I have been asked
to give him space, to give him time to heal,
to leave him the hell alone.
He is going to be okay, is what Sonya and Sara told me. They told me not to worry,
that everything would be fine, but their smiles were a little less exuberant than
they usually are and I’m beginning to wonder if they, too, are finally beginning to
see me for what I truly am.

A horrible, selfish, pathetic monster.

I took what I wanted. I knew better and I took it anyway. Adam couldn’t have known,
he could never have known what it would be like to really suffer at my hands. He was
innocent of the depth of it, of the cruel reality of it. He’d only felt bursts of
my power, according to Castle. He’d only felt small stabs of it and was able and aware
enough to let go without feeling the full effects.

But I knew better.

I knew what I was capable of. I knew what the risks were and I did it anyway. I allowed
myself to forget, to be reckless, to be greedy and stupid because I wanted what I
couldn’t have. I wanted to believe in fairy tales and happy endings and pure possibility.
I wanted to pretend that I was a better person than I actually am but instead I managed
to out myself as the terror I’ve always been accused of being.

My parents were right to get rid of me.

Castle isn’t even speaking to me.

Kenji, however, still expects me to show up at 6:00 a.m. for whatever it is we’re
supposed to be doing tomorrow, and I find I’m actually kind of grateful for the distraction.
I only wish it would come sooner. Life will be solitary for me from now on, just as
it always has been, and it’s best if I find a way to fill my time.

To forget.

It keeps hitting me, over and over and over again, this complete and utter loneliness.
This absence of him in my life, this realization that I will never know the warmth
of his body, the tenderness of his touch ever again. This reminder of who I am and
what I’ve done and where I belong.

But I’ve accepted the terms and conditions of my new reality.

I cannot be with him. I will not be with him. I won’t risk hurting him again, won’t
risk becoming the creature he’s always afraid of, too scared to touch, to kiss, to
hold. I don’t want to keep him from having a normal life with someone who isn’t going
to accidentally kill him all the time.

So I have to cut myself out of his world. Cut him out of mine.

It’s much harder now. So much harder to resign myself to an existence of ice and emptiness
now that I’ve known heat, urgency, tenderness, and passion; the extraordinary comfort
of being able to touch another being.