SEVENTY-TWO
I’m blind again.
Heat is pouring into my being with such intensity it’s literally taken over my vision. I can’t feel anything but hot, hot, searing hot heat flooding my bones, my nerves, my skin, my cells.
Everything is on fire.
At first I think it’s the same heat in my chest, the same pain from the hole where my heart used to be, but then I realize this heat doesn’t actually hurt. It’s a soothing kind of heat. So potent, so intense, but somehow it’s welcome. My body does not want to reject it. Does not want to flinch away from it, is not looking for a way to protect itself from it.
I actually feel my back lift off the floor when the fire hits my lungs. I’m suddenly gasping in huge, raging hyperventilated breaths, taking in lungfuls of air like I might cry if I don’t. I’m drinking oxygen, devouring it, choking on it, taking it in as quickly as possible, my entire body heaving as it strains to return to normal.
My chest feels like it’s being stitched back together, like the flesh is regenerating itself, healing itself at an inhuman rate and I’m blinking and breathing and I’m moving my head and trying to see but it’s still so blurry, still unclear but it’s getting easier. I can feel my fingers and my toes and the life in my limbs and I can actually hear my heart beating again and suddenly the faces above me come into focus.
All at once the heat is gone.
The hands are gone.
I collapse back onto the floor.
And everything goes black.
SEVENTY-THREE
Warner is sleeping.
I know this because he’s sleeping right next to me. It’s dark enough that it takes me several tries to blink my eyes open and understand that I’m not blind this time. I catch a glimpse out the window and find the moon filled to the brim, pouring light into this little room.
I’m still here. In Anderson’s house. In what probably used to be Warner’s bedroom.
And he’s asleep on the pillow right next to me.
His features are so soft, so ethereal in the moonlight. His face is deceptively calm, so unassuming and innocent. And I think of how impossible it is that he’s here, lying next to me. That I’m here, lying next to him.
That we’re lying in his childhood bed together.
That he saved my life.
Impossible is such a stupid word.
I shift hardly at all and Warner reacts immediately, sitting straight up, chest heaving, eyes blinking. He looks at me, sees that I’m awake, that my eyes are open, and he freezes in place.
There are so many things I want to say to him. So many things I have to tell him. So many things I need to do now, that I need to sort through, that I have to decide.
But for now, I only have one question.
“Where’s your father?” I whisper.
It takes Warner a moment to find his voice. He says, “He’s back on base. He left right after”—he hesitates, struggles for a second—“right after he shot you.”
Incredible.
He left me bleeding all over his living room floor. What a nice little present for his son to clean up. What a nice little lesson for his son to learn. Fall in love, and you get to watch your love get shot.
“So he doesn’t know I’m here?” I ask Warner. “He doesn’t know I’m alive?”
Warner shakes his head. “No.”
And I think, Good. That’s very good. It’ll be so much better if he thinks I’m dead.
Warner is still looking at me. Looking and looking and looking at me like he wants to touch me but he’s afraid to get too close. Finally, he whispers, “Are you okay, love? How do you feel?”
And I smile to myself, thinking of all the ways I could answer that question.
I think of how my body is more exhausted, more defeated, more drained than it’s ever been in my life. I think about how I’ve had nothing but a glass of water in 2 days. How I’ve never been more confused about people, about who they seem to be and who they actually are, and I think about how I’m lying here, sharing a bed in a house we were told doesn’t exist anymore, with one of the most hated and feared people of Sector 45. And I think about how that terrifying creature has the capacity for such tenderness, how he saved my life. How his own father shot me in the chest. How only hours earlier I was lying in a pool of my own blood.
I think about how my friends are probably still locked in battle, how Adam must be suffering not knowing where I am or what’s happened to me. How Kenji is still pulling the weight of so many. How Brendan and Winston might still be lost. How the people of Omega Point might all be dead. And it makes me think.
I feel better than I ever have in my entire life.
I’m amazed by how different I feel now. How different I know things will be now. I have so many things to do. So many scores to settle. So many friends who need my help.
Everything has changed.
Because once upon a time I was just a child.
Today I’m still just a child, but this time I’ve got an iron will and 2 fists made of steel and I’ve aged 50 years. Now I finally have a clue. I’ve finally figured out that I’m strong enough, that maybe I’m a touch brave enough, that maybe this time I can do what I was meant to do.
This time I am a force.
A deviation of human nature.
I am living, breathing proof that nature is officially screwed, afraid of what it’s done, what it’s become.
And I’m stronger. I’m angrier.
I’m ready to do something I’ll definitely regret and this time I don’t care. I’m done being nice. I’m done being nervous. I’m not afraid of anything anymore.
Mass chaos is in my future.
And I’m leaving my gloves behind.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My mother. My father. My brothers. My family. I love you laughing. I love you crying. I love you laughing and crying into every pot of tea we’ve ever finished together. You’re the most incredible people I’ve ever met and you’ll be forced to know me all my life and you’ve never once complained. Thank you always, for every hot cup. For never letting go of my hand.
Jodi Reamer. I said hello and you smiled so I asked about the weather and you said the weather? The weather is unpredictable. I said what about the road? You said the road is known to be bumpy. I said do you know what’s going to happen? You said absolutely not. And then you introduced me to some of the best years of my life. I say, forgetting you, it’s impossible.
Tara Weikum. You read the words I write with my heart and my hands and understand them with an accuracy that is both painful and astounding. Your brilliance, your patience, your unfailing kindness. Your generous smiles. It’s such an honor to work with you.
Tana. Randa. We’ve shed many tears together—in sadness, in joy. But the most tears I’ve ever wept were in the moments I spent laughing with you. Your friendship has been the greatest gift; it’s a blessing I’m determined every day to deserve.
Sarah. Nathan. For your unwavering support. You two are beyond-words amazing.
Sumayyah. For your shoulder and your ear and the safe space you grant me. I don’t know what I’d do without it.
A huge, huge thank-you to all of my dear friends at HarperCollins and Writers House who are never thanked enough for all they do: Melissa Miller, for all your love and enthusiasm; Christina Colangelo, Diane Naughton, and Lauren Flower, for your energy and passion and invaluable marketing prowess; Hallie Patterson, my exceptionally talented publicist, who is both clever and unfailingly kind. More thanks to Cara Petrus and Sarah Kaufman, for their fabulous design work; and Colin Anderson, the digital illustrator whose work continues to astound me. Thanks also to Brenna Franzitta: because I’m thankful every single day to have a copy editor as brilliant as you (and I hope I just used that colon correctly); Alec Shane, for everything, but also for knowing how to respond gracefully when oddly shaped, leaking children’s toys show up in his office; Cecilia de la Campa, for always working to make my books available all around the world; Beth Miller, for her continued support; and Kassie Evashevski at UTA, for her silent grace and razor-sharp instinct.
Thanks always to all my readers! Without you I’d have no one to talk to but the characters in my head. Thank you for sharing Juliette’s journey with me.
And to all my friends on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and my blog: Thank you. Really. I wonder if you’ll ever truly know how much I appreciate your friendship, your support, and your generosity.
Thank you forever.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tahereh Mafi is a girl. She was born in a small city somewhere in Connecticut and
currently resides in Orange County, California, where the weather is just a little
too perfect for her taste. When unable to find a book, she can be found reading candy
wrappers, coupons, and old receipts. Shatter Me and Unravel Me are the first two novels in a trilogy about Juliette. You can visit Tahereh online
at www.taherehbooks.com.
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