Unravel Me (32 page)

Oh.

God.

I am so horribly attracted to him.

The guilt is growing inside of me in stacks, settling on my bones, snapping me in
half. It’s a cable twisted around my neck, a caterpillar crawling across my stomach.
It’s the night and midnight and the twilight of indecision. It’s too many secrets
I no longer contain.

I don’t understand why I want this.

I am a terrible person.

And it’s like he
sees
what I’m thinking, like he can feel the change happening in my head, because suddenly
he’s different. His energy slows down, his eyes are deep, troubled, tender; his lips
are soft, still slightly parted and now the air in this room is too tight, too full
of cotton and I feel the blood rushing around in my head, crashing into every rational
region of my brain.

I wish someone would remind me how to breathe.

“Why can’t you answer my question?” He’s looking so deeply into my eyes that I’m surprised
I haven’t buckled under the intensity and I realize then, right in this moment I realize
that everything about him is intense. Nothing about him is manageable or easy to compartmentalize.
He’s too much. Everything about him is too much. His emotions, his actions, his anger,
his aggression.

His love.

He’s dangerous, electric, impossible to contain. His body is rippling with an energy
so extraordinary that even when he’s calmed down it’s almost palpable. It has a presence.

But I’ve developed a strange, frightening faith in who Warner really is and who he
has the capacity to become. I want to find the 19-year-old boy who would feed a stray
dog. I want to believe in the boy with a tortured childhood and an abusive father.
I want to understand him. I want to unravel him.

I want to believe he is more than the mold he was forced into.

“I think you can change,” I hear myself saying. “I think anyone can change.”

And he smiles.

It’s a slow, delighted smile. The kind of smile that breaks into a laugh and lights
up his features and makes him sigh. He closes his eyes. His face is so touched, so
amused. “It’s just so sweet,” he says. “So unbearably sweet. Because you really believe
that.”

“Of course I do.”

He finally looks at me when he whispers, “But you’re wrong.”

“What?”

“I’m heartless,” he says to me, his words cold, hollow, directed inward. “I’m a heartless
bastard and a cruel, vicious being. I don’t care about people’s feelings. I don’t
care about their fears or their futures. I don’t care about what they want or whether
or not they have a family, and I’m not sorry,” he says. “I’ve never been sorry for
anything I’ve done.”

It actually takes me a few moments to find my head. “But you apologized to me,” I
tell him. “You apologized to me just last night—”

“You’re different,” he says, cutting me off. “You don’t count.”

“I’m not different,” I tell him. “I’m just another person, just like everyone else.
And you’ve proven you have the capacity for remorse. For compassion. I know you can
be kind—”

“That’s not who I am.” His voice is suddenly hard, suddenly too strong. “And I’m not
going to change. I can’t erase the nineteen miserable years of my life. I can’t misplace
the memories of what I’ve done. I can’t wake up one morning and decide to live on
borrowed hopes and dreams. Someone else’s promises for a brighter future.

“And I won’t lie to you,” he says. “I’ve never given a damn about others and I don’t
make sacrifices and I do not compromise. I am not good, or fair, or decent, and I
never will be. I can’t be. Because to try to be any of those things would be
embarrassing
.”

“How can you think that?” I want to shake him. “How can you be ashamed of an attempt
to be better?”

But he’s not listening. He’s laughing. He’s saying, “Can you even picture me? Smiling
at small children and handing out presents at birthday parties? Can you picture me
helping a stranger? Playing with the neighbor’s dog?”

“Yes,” I say to him. “Yes I can.” I’ve already seen it, I don’t say to him.

“No.”

“Why not?” I insist. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“That kind of life,” he says, “is impossible for me.”

“But why?”

Warner clenches and unclenches 5 fingers before running them through his hair. “Because
I feel it,” he says, quieter now. “I’ve always been able to feel it.”

“Feel what?” I whisper.

“What people think of me.”

“What …?”

“Their feelings—their energy—it’s—I don’t know what it is,” he says, frustrated, stumbling
backward, shaking his head. “I’ve always been able to tell. I know how everyone hates
me. I know how little my father cares for me. I know the agony of my mother’s heart.
I know that you’re not like everyone else.” His voice catches. “I know you’re telling
the truth when you say you don’t hate me. That you want to and you can’t. Because
there’s no ill will in your heart, not toward me, and if there was I would know. Just
like I know,” he says, his voice husky with restraint, “that you felt something when
we kissed. You felt the same thing I did and you’re ashamed of it.”

I’m dripping panic everywhere.

“How can you know that?” I ask him. “H-how—you can’t just
know
things like that—”

“No one has ever looked at me like you do,” he whispers. “No one ever talks to me
like you do, Juliette. You’re different,” he says. “You’re so different. You would
understand me. But the rest of the world does not want my sympathies. They don’t want
my smiles. Castle is the only man on Earth who’s been the exception to this rule,
and his eagerness to trust and accept me only shows how weak this resistance is. No
one here knows what they’re doing and they’re all going to get themselves slaughtered—”

“That’s not
true
—that can’t be true—”

“Listen to me,” Warner says, urgently now. “You must understand—the only people who
matter in this wretched world are the ones with real power. And you,” he says, “
you
have power. You have the kind of strength that could shake this planet—that could
conquer it. And maybe it’s still too soon, maybe you need more time to recognize your
own potential, but I will always be waiting. I will always want you on my side. Because
the two of us—the two of us,” he says, he stops. He sounds breathless. “Can you imagine?”
His eyes are intent on mine, eyebrows drawn together. Studying me. “Of course you
can,” he whispers. “You think about it all the time.”

I gasp.

“You don’t belong here,” he says. “You don’t belong with these people. They will drag
you down with them and get you
killed
—”

“I have no other choice!” I’m angry now, indignant. “I’d rather stay here with those
who are trying to help—trying to make a difference! At least they’re not murdering
innocent people—”

“You think your new friends have never killed before?” Warner shouts, pointing at
the door. “You think Kent has never killed anyone? That Kenji has never put a bullet
through a stranger’s body? They were
my
soldiers!” he says. “I saw them do it with my own eyes!”

“They were trying to survive,” I tell him, shaking, fighting to ignore the terror
of my own imagination. “Their loyalties were never with The Reestablishment—”

“My loyalties,” he says, “do not lie with The Reestablishment. My loyalties lie with
those who know how to live. I only have two options in this game, love.” He’s breathing
hard. “Kill. Or be killed.”

“No,” I tell him, backing away, feeling sick. “It doesn’t have to be like that. You
don’t have to live like that. You could get away from your father, from that life.
You don’t have to be what he wants you to be—”

“The damage,” he says, “is already done. It’s too late for me. I’ve already accepted
my fate.”

“No—Warner—”

“I’m not asking you to worry about me,” he says. “I know exactly what my future looks
like and I’m okay with it. I’m happy to live in solitude. I’m not afraid of spending
the rest of my life in the company of my own person. I do not fear loneliness.”

“You don’t have to have that life,” I tell him. “You don’t have to be alone.”

“I will not stay here,” he says. “I just wanted you to know that. I’m going to find
a way out of here and I’m going to leave as soon as I have the chance. My vacation,”
he says, “has officially come to an end.”

Tick tock.

Castle called an impromptu meeting to brief everyone on the details of tomorrow’s
fight; there are less than 12 hours until we leave. We’ve gathered in the dining hall
because it’s the easiest place to seat everyone at once.

We had 1 final meal, a handful of forced conversation, 2 tense hours filled with brief,
spastic moments of laughter that sounded more like choking. Sara and Sonya were the
last to sneak into the hall, both spotting me and waving a quick hello before they
sat down on the other side of the room. Then Castle began to speak.

Everyone will need to fight.

All able-bodied men and women. The elderly unable to enter battle will stay back with
the youngest ones, and the youngest ones will include James and his old group of friends.

James is currently crushing Adam’s hand.

Anderson is going after the people, Castle says. The people have been rioting, raging
against The Reestablishment now more than ever. Our battle gave them hope, Castle
says to us. They’d only heard rumors of a resistance, and the battle concretized those
rumors. They are looking to us to support them, to stand by them, and now, for the
first time, we will be fighting with our gifts out in the open.

On the compounds.

Where the civilians will see us for what we are.

Castle is telling us to prepare for aggression on both sides. He says that sometimes,
especially when frightened, people will not react positively to seeing our kind. They
prefer the familiar terror as opposed to the unknown or the inexplicable, and our
presence, our public display might create new enemies.

We have to be ready for that.

“Then why should we care?” someone shouts from the back of the room. She gets to her
feet and I notice her sleek black hair, one heavy sheet of ink that stops at her waist.
Her eyes are glittering under the fluorescent lights. “If they’re only going to hate
us,” she says, “why should we even defend them? That’s ridiculous!”

Castle takes a deep breath. “We cannot fault them all for the foolishness of one.”

“But it’s not just one, is it?” a new voice chimes in. “How many of them are going
to turn on us?”

“We have no way of knowing,” Castle says. “It could be one. It could be none. I am
merely advising you to be cautious. You must never forget that these civilians are
innocent and unarmed. They are being murdered for their disobedience—for merely speaking
out and asking for fair treatment. They are starved and they’ve lost their homes,
their families. Surely, you must be able to relate. Many of you still have family
lost, scattered across the country, do you not?”

There’s a general murmur among the crowd.

“You must imagine that it is your mother. Your father. Your brothers and sisters among
them. They are hurting and they are beaten down. We have to do what little we can
to help. It’s the only way. We are their only hope.”

“What about our men?” Another person gets to his feet. He must be in his late 40s,
round and robust, towering over the room. “Where is the guarantee that we will get
Winston and Brendan back?”

Castle’s gaze drops for only a second. I wonder if I’m the only one who noticed the
pain flit in and out of his eyes. “There is no guarantee, my friend. There never is.
But we will do our best. We will not give up.”

“Then what good was it to take the kid hostage?” he protests. “Why not just kill him?
Why are we keeping him alive? He’s done us no good and he’s eating our food and using
resources that should go to the rest of us!”

The crowd bursts into an aggravated frenzy, angry, insane with emotions. Everyone
is shouting at once, shouting things like, “Kill him!” and “That’ll show the supreme!”
and “We have to make a statement!” and “He deserves to die!”

There’s a sudden constriction in my heart. I’ve almost begun to hyperventilate and
I realize, for the very first time, that the thought of Warner dead is anything but
appealing to me.

It horrifies me.

I look to Adam for a different kind of reaction but I don’t know what I was expecting.
I’m stupid to be surprised at the tension in his eyes, his forehead, the stiff set
of his lips. I’m stupid to have expected anything but hatred from Adam. Of course
Adam hates Warner. Of course he does.

Warner tried to
murder
him.

Of course he, too, wants Warner dead.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Please!” Castle shouts. “I know you’re upset! Tomorrow is a difficult thing to face,
but we can’t channel our aggression onto one person. We have to use it as fuel for
our fight and we have to remain united. We cannot allow anything to divide us. Not
now!”

6 ticks of silence.

“I won’t fight until he’s dead!”

“We kill him tonight!”

“Let’s get him now!”

The crowd is a roar of angry bodies, determined, ugly faces so scary, so savage, so
twisted in inhuman rage. I hadn’t realized that the people of Omega Point were harboring
so much resentment.

“STOP!” Castle’s hands are in the air, his eyes on fire. Every table and chair in
the room has begun to rattle. People are looking around, scattered and scared, unnerved.

They’re still unwilling to undermine Castle’s authority. At least for now.

“Our hostage,” Castle begins, “is no longer a hostage.”

Impossible.

It’s
impossible
.

It’s not
possible
.

“He has come to me, just tonight,” Castle says, “and asked for sanctuary at Omega
Point.”