Unravel Me (8 page)

I look up too fast. “But I’m not—I’m n-not trying to hurt anyone—”

“That doesn’t matter,” he says, standing up. “Good intentions are great, but they
don’t change the facts. You
are
dangerous. Shit, you’re
scary
dangerous. More dangerous than me and everyone else in here. So don’t ask me to act
like that knowledge, in and of itself, isn’t a threat to us. If you’re going to stay
here,” he says to me, “you have to learn how to control what you do—how to contain
it. You have to deal with who you are and you have to figure out how to live with
it. Just like the rest of us.”

3 knocks at the door.

Kenji is still staring at me. Waiting.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“And you and Kent need to sort out your drama ASAP,” he adds, just as Sonya and Sara
walk back into the room. “I don’t have the time, the energy, or the interest to deal
with your problems. I like to mess with you from time to time because, well, let’s
face it”—he shrugs—“the world is going to hell out there and I suppose if I’m going
to be shot dead before I’m twenty-five, I’d at least like to remember what it’s like
to laugh before I do. But that does not make me your clown or your babysitter. At
the end of the day I do not give two shits about whether or not you and Kent are going
steady. We have a million things to take care of down here, and less than none of
them involve your love life.” A pause. “Is that clear?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“So are you in?” he says.

Another nod.

“I want to hear you say it. If you’re in, you’re all in. No more feeling sorry for
yourself. No more sitting in the training room all day, crying because you can’t break
a metal pipe—”

“How did you kn—”

“Are you
in
?”

“I’m in,” I tell him. “I’m in. I promise.”

He takes a deep breath. Runs a hand through his hair. “Good. Meet me outside of the
dining hall tomorrow morning at six a.m.”

“But my hand—”

He waves my words away. “Your hand, nothing. You’ll be fine. You didn’t even break
anything. You messed up your knuckles and your brain freaked out a little and basically
you just fell asleep for three days. I don’t call that an injury,” he says. “I call
that a goddamn vacation.” He stops to consider something. “Do you have any idea how
long it’s been since I’ve gone on
vacation
—”

“But aren’t we training?” I interrupt him. “I can’t do anything if my hand is wrapped
up, can I?”

“Trust me.” He cocks his head. “You’ll be fine. This … is going to be a little different.”

I stare at him. Wait.

“You can consider it your official welcome to Omega Point,” he says.

“But—”

“Tomorrow. Six a.m.”

I open my mouth to ask another question but he presses a finger to his lips, offers
me a 2-finger salute, and walks backward toward the exit just as Sonya and Sara head
over to my bed.

I watch as he nods good-bye to both of them, pivots on 1 foot, and strides out the
door.

6:00 a.m.

I catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall and realize it’s only 2:00 in the afternoon.

Which means 6:00 a.m. is 16 hours from now.

Which means I have a lot of hours to fill.

Which means I have to get dressed.

Because I need to get out of here.

And I really need to talk to Adam.

“Juliette?”

I jolt out of my own head and back to the present moment to find Sonya and Sara staring
at me. “Can we get you anything?” they ask. “Are you feeling well enough to get out
of bed?”

But I look from one set of eyes to another and back again, and instead of answering
their questions, I feel a crippling sense of shame dig into my soul and I can’t help
but revert back to another version of myself. A scared little girl who wants to keep
folding herself in half until she can’t be found anymore.

I keep saying, “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry about everything, for all of this,
for all the trouble, for all the damage, really, I’m so, so sorry—”

I hear myself go on and on and on and I can’t get myself to stop.

It’s like a button in my brain is broken, like I’ve developed a disease that forces
me to apologize for everything, for existing, for wanting more than what I’ve been
given, and I can’t stop.

It’s what I do.

I’m always apologizing. Forever apologizing. For who I am and what I never meant to
be and for this body I was born into, this DNA I never asked for, this person I can’t
unbecome. 17 years I’ve spent trying to be different. Every single day. Trying to
be someone else for someone else.

And it never seems to matter.

But then I realize they’re talking to me.

“There’s nothing to apologize for—”

“Please, it’s all right—”

Both of them are trying to speak to me, but Sara is closer.

I dare to meet her eyes and I’m surprised to see how soft they are. Gentle and green
and squinty from smiling. She sits down on the right side of my bed. Pats my bare
arm with her latex glove, unafraid. Unflinching. Sonya stands just next to her, looking
at me like she’s worried, like she’s sad for me, and I don’t have long to dwell on
it because I’m distracted. I smell the scent of jasmine filling the room, just as
it did the very first time I stepped in here. When we first arrived at Omega Point.
When Adam was injured. Dying.

He was dying and they saved his life. These 2 girls in front of me. They saved his
life and I’ve been living with them for 2 weeks and I realize, right then, exactly
how selfish I’ve been.

So I decide to try a new set of words.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I feel myself begin to blush and I wonder at my inability to be so free with words
and feelings. I wonder at my incapacity for easy banter, smooth conversation, empty
words to fill awkward moments. I don’t have a closet filled with umms and ellipses
ready to insert at the beginnings and ends of sentences. I don’t know how to be a
verb, an adverb, any kind of modifier. I’m a noun through and through.

Stuffed so full of people places things and ideas that I don’t know how to break out
of my own brain. How to start a conversation.

I want to trust but it scares the skin off my bones.

But then I remember my promise to Castle and my promise to Kenji and my worries over
Adam and I think maybe I should take a risk. Maybe I should try to find a new friend
or 2. And I think of how wonderful it would be to be friends with a girl. A girl,
just like me.

I’ve never had one of those before.

So when Sonya and Sara smile and tell me they’re “happy to help” and they’re here
“anytime” and that they’re always around if I “need someone to talk to,” I tell them
I’d love that.

I tell them I’d really appreciate that.

I tell them I’d love to have a friend to talk to.

Maybe sometime.

“Let’s get you back into your suit,” Sara says to me.

The air down here is cool and cold and often damp, the winter winds relentless as
they whip the world above our heads into submission. Even in my suit I feel the chill,
especially early in the morning, especially right now. Sonya and Sara are helping
me out of this hospital dress and back into my normal uniform and I’m shaking in my
skin. Only once they’ve zipped me up does the material begin to react to my body temperature,
but I’m still so weak from being in bed for so long that I’m struggling to stay upright.

“I really don’t need a wheelchair,” I tell Sara for the third time. “Thank you—really—I-I
appreciate it,” I stammer, “but I need to get the blood flowing in my legs. I have
to be strong on my feet.” I have to be strong, period.

Castle and Adam are waiting for me in my room.

Sonya told me that while I was talking to Kenji, she and Sara went to notify Castle
that I was awake. So. Now they’re there. Waiting for me. In the room I share with
Sonya and Sara. And I’m so afraid of what is about to happen that I’m worried I might
conveniently forget how to get to my own room. Because I’m fairly certain that whatever
I’m about to hear isn’t going to be good.

“You can’t walk back to the room by yourself,” Sara is saying. “You can hardly stand
on your own—”

“I’m okay,” I insist. I try to smile. “Really, I should be able to manage as long
as I can stay close to the wall. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal just as soon as I
start moving.”

Sonya and Sara glance at each other before scrutinizing my face. “How’s your hand?”
they ask at the same time.

“It’s okay,” I tell them, this time more earnestly. “It feels a lot better. Really.
Thank you so much.”

The cuts are practically healed and I can actually move my fingers now. I inspect
the brand-new, thinner bandage they’ve wrapped across my knuckles. The girls explained
to me that most of the damage was internal; it seems I traumatized whatever invisible
bone in my body is responsible for my
curse
“gift.”

“All right. Let’s go,” Sara says, shaking her head. “We’re walking you back to the
room.”

“No—please—it’s okay—” I try to protest but they’re already grabbing my arms and I’m
too feeble to fight back. “This is unnecessary—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” they chorus.

“I don’t want you to have to go through the trouble—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” they chorus again.

“I—I’m really not—” But they’re already leading me out of the room and down the hall
and I’m hobbling along between them. “I promise I’m fine,” I tell them. “Really.”

Sonya and Sara share a loaded look before they smile at me, not unkindly, but there’s
an awkward silence between us as we move through the halls. I spot people walking
past us and immediately duck my head. I don’t want to make eye contact with anyone
right now. I can’t even imagine what they must’ve heard about the damage I’ve caused.
I know I’ve managed to confirm all of their worst fears about me.

“They’re only afraid of you because they don’t know you,” Sara says quietly.

“Really,” Sonya adds. “We barely know you and we think you’re great.”

I’m blushing fiercely, wondering why embarrassment always feels like ice water in
my veins. It’s like all of my insides are freezing even though my skin is burning
hot too hot.

I
hate
this.

I
hate
this feeling.

Sonya and Sara stop abruptly. “Here we are,” they say together.

We’re in front of our bedroom door. I try to unlatch myself from their arms but they
stop me. Insist on staying with me until they’re sure I’ve gotten inside okay.

So I stay with them.

And I knock on my own door, because I’m not sure what else to do.

Once.

Twice.

I’m waiting just a few seconds, just a few moments for fate to answer when I realize
the full impact of Sonya’s and Sara’s presence beside me. They’re offering me smiles
that are supposed to be encouraging, bracing, reinforcing. They’re trying to lend
me their strength because they know I’m about to face something that isn’t going to
make me happy.

And this thought makes me happy.

If only for a fleeting moment.

Because I think wow, I imagine this is what it’s like to have friends.

“Ms. Ferrars.”

Castle opens the door just enough for me to see his face. He nods at me. Glances down
at my injured hand. Back up at my face. “Very good,” he says, mostly to himself. “Good,
good. I’m happy to see you’re doing better.”

“Yes,” I manage to say. “I—th-thank you, I—”

“Girls,” he says to Sonya and Sara. He offers them a bright, genuine smile. “Thank
you for all you’ve done. I’ll take it from here.”

They nod. Squeeze my arms once before letting go and I sway for just a second before
I find my footing. “I’m all right,” I tell them as they try to reach for me. “I’ll
be fine.”

They nod again. Wave, just a little, as they back away.

“Come inside,” Castle says to me.

I follow him in.

1 bunk bed on one side of the wall.

1 single bed on the other side.

That’s all this room consists of.

That, and Adam, who is sitting on my single bed, elbows propped up on his knees, face
in his hands. Castle shuts the door behind us, and Adam startles. Jumps up.

“Juliette,” he says, but he’s not looking at me; he’s looking at all of me. His eyes
are searching my body as if to ensure I’m still intact, arms and legs and everything
in between. It’s only when he finds my face that he meets my gaze; I step into the
sea of blue in his eyes, dive right in and drown. I feel like someone’s punched a
fist into my lungs and snatched up all my oxygen.

“Please, have a seat, Ms. Ferrars.” Castle gestures to Sonya’s bottom bunk, the bed
right across from where Adam is sitting. I make my way over slowly, trying not to
betray the dizziness, the nausea I’m feeling. My chest is rising and falling too quickly.

I drop my hands into my lap.

I feel Adam’s presence in this room like a real weight against my chest but I choose
to study the careful wrapping of my new bandage—the gauze stretched tight across the
knuckles of my right hand—because I’m too much of a coward to look up. I want nothing
more than to go to him, to have him hold me, to transport me back to the few moments
of bliss I’ve ever known in my life but there’s something gnawing at my core, scraping
at my insides, telling me that something is wrong and it’s probably best if I stay
exactly where I am.

Castle is standing in the space between the beds, between me and Adam. He’s staring
at the wall, hands clasped behind his back. His voice is quiet when he says, “I am
very, very disappointed in your behavior, Ms. Ferrars.”

Hot, terrible shame creeps up my neck and forces my head down again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Castle takes a deep breath. Exhales very slowly. “I have to be frank with you,” he
says, “and admit that I’m not ready to discuss what happened just yet. I am still
too upset to be able to speak about the matter calmly. Your actions,” he says, “were
childish. Selfish.
Thoughtless!
The damage you caused—the years of work that went into building and planning that
room, I can’t even begin to tell you—”