Unravel Me (36 page)

I curl into my seat and stare at Kenji, who is struggling to breathe in and out. I
prop my head up on my fist, fighting the sleep weaving its way into my consciousness.
I don’t deserve to sleep. I should stay here all night and watch over him. I would,
too, if I could touch him without destroying his life.

“You two should really get to bed.”

I jolt awake, jerking up, not realizing I’d actually dozed off for a second. Castle
is staring at me with a soft, strange look on his face.

“I’m not tired,” I lie.

“Go to bed,” he says. “We have a big day tomorrow. You need to sleep.”

“I can walk her out,” Adam says. He moves to stand up. “And then I can be right back—”

“Please.” Castle cuts him off. “Go. I’ll be fine with the girls.”

“But you need to sleep more than we do,” I tell him.

Castle smiles a sad smile. “I’m afraid I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”

He turns to look at Kenji, his eyes crinkling in happiness or pain or something in
between. “Did you know,” Castle says to us, “that I’ve known Kenji since he was a
small boy? I found him shortly after I’d built Omega Point. He grew up here. When
I first met him he was living in an old shopping cart he’d found on the side of the
highway.” Castle pauses. “Has he ever told you that story?”

Adam sits back down. I’m suddenly wide-awake. “No,” we both say at the same time.

“Ah—forgive me.” Castle shakes his head. “I shouldn’t waste your time with these things,”
he says. “I think there’s too much on my mind right now. I’m forgetting which stories
to keep to myself.”

“No—please—I want to know,” I tell him. “Really.”

Castle stares into his hands. Smiles a little. “There’s not much to it,” he says.
“Kenji has never talked to me about what happened to his parents, and I try not to
ask. All he ever had was a name and an age. I stumbled upon him quite accidentally.
He was just a boy sitting in a shopping cart. Far from civilization. It was the dead
of winter and he was wearing nothing but an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants a
few sizes too big for him. He looked like he was freezing, like he could use a few
meals and place to sleep. I couldn’t just walk away,” Castle says. “I couldn’t just
leave him there. So, I asked him if he was hungry.”

He stops, remembering.

“Kenji didn’t say a single thing for at least thirty seconds. He simply stared at
me. I almost walked away, thinking I’d frightened him. But then, finally, he reached
out, grabbed my hand, placed it in his palm and shook it. Very hard. And then he said,
‘Hello, sir. My name is Kenji Kishimoto and I am nine years old. It’s very nice to
meet you.’” Castle laughs out loud, his eyes shining with an emotion that betrays
his smiles. “He must’ve been starving, the poor kid. He always,” Castle says, blinking
up at the ceiling now, “he always had a strong, determined sort of personality. So
much pride.

Unstoppable, that boy.”

We’re all silent for a while.

“I had no idea,” Adam says, “that you two were so close.”

Castle stands up. Looks around at us and smiles too brightly, too tightly. Says, “Yes.
Well, I’m sure he’s going to be just fine. He’ll be just fine in the morning, so you
two should definitely get some sleep.”

“Are you su—”

“Yes, please, get to bed. I’ll be fine here with the girls, I promise.”

So we get up. We get up and Adam manages to lift James from Kenji’s bed and into his
arms without waking him. And we walk out.

I glance back.

I see Castle fall into his chair and drop his head into his hands and rest his elbows
on his knees. I see him reach out a shaky hand to rest on Kenji’s leg and I wonder
at how much I still don’t know about these people I live with. How little I’ve allowed
myself to become a part of their world.

And I know I want to change that.

Adam walks me to my room.

It’s been lights-out for about an hour now, and, with the exception of faint emergency
lights glowing every few feet, everything is, quite literally, out. It’s absolute
blackness, and even still, the guards on patrol manage to spot us only to warn us
to go straight to our separate quarters.

Adam and I don’t really speak until we reach the mouth of the women’s wing. There’s
so much tension, so many unspoken worries between us. So many thoughts about today
and tomorrow and the many weeks we’ve already spent together. So much we don’t know
about what’s already happening to us and what will eventually happen to us. Just looking
at him, being so close and being so far away from him—it’s painful.

I want so desperately to bridge the gap between our bodies. I want to press my lips
to every part of him and I want to savor the scent of his skin, the strength in his
limbs, in his heart. I want to wrap myself in the warmth and reassurance I’ve come
to rely on.

But.

In other ways, I’ve come to realize that being away from him has forced me to rely
on myself. To allow myself to be scared and to find my own way through it. I’ve had
to train without him, fight without him, face Warner and Anderson and the chaos of
my mind all without him by my side. And I feel different now. I feel stronger since
putting space between us.

And I don’t know what that means.

All I know is that it’ll never be safe for me to rely on someone else again, to
need
constant reassurance of who I am and who I might someday be. I can love him, but
I can’t depend on him to be my backbone. I can’t be my own person if I constantly
require someone else to hold me together.

My mind is a mess. Every single day I’m confused, uncertain, worried I’m going to
make a new mistake, worried I’m going to lose control, worried I’m going to lose myself.
But it’s something I have to work through. Because for the rest of my life, I’ll always,
always be stronger than everyone around me.

But at least I’ll never have to be scared anymore.

“Are you going to be okay?” Adam asks, finally dispelling the silence between us.
I look up to find that his eyes are worried, trying to read me.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes. I’m going to be fine.” I offer him a tight smile, but it
feels wrong to be this close to him without being able to touch him at all.

Adam nods. Hesitates. Says, “It’s been one hell of a night.”

“And it’ll be one hell of day tomorrow, too,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, still looking at me like he’s trying to find something, like
he’s searching for an answer to an unspoken question and I wonder if he sees something
different in my eyes now. He grins a small grin. Says, “I should probably go,” and
nods at James bundled in his arms.

I nod, not sure what else to do. What to say.

So much is uncertain.

“We’ll get through this,” Adam says, answering my silent thoughts. “All of it. We’re
going to be okay. And Kenji will be fine.” He touches my shoulder, allows his fingers
to trail down my arm and stop just short of my bare hand.

I close my eyes, try to savor the moment.

And then his fingers graze my skin and my eyes fly open, my heart racing in my chest.

He’s staring at me like he might’ve done much more than touch my hand if he weren’t
holding James against his chest.

“Adam—”

“I’m going to find a way,” he says to me. “I’m going to find a way to make this work.
I promise. I just need some time.”

I’m afraid to speak. Afraid of what I might say, what I might do; afraid of the hope
ballooning inside of me.

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” I say.

I’m beginning to think of hope as a dangerous, terrifying thing.

I’m so tired when I walk into my room that I’m only half conscious as I change into
the tank top and pajama pants I sleep in. They were a gift from Sara. It was her recommendation
that I change out of my suit while I sleep; she and Sonya think it’s important to
give my skin direct contact with fresh air.

I’m about to climb under the covers when I hear a soft knock at my door.

Adam

is my first thought.

But then I open the door. And promptly close it.

I must be dreaming.

“Juliette?”

Oh. God.

“What are you
doing
here?” I shout-whisper through the closed door.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Right now. You need to speak with me right now.”

“Yes. It’s important,” Warner says. “I heard Kent telling you that those twin girls
would be in the medical wing tonight and I figured it would be a good time for us
to speak privately.”

“You heard my conversation with Adam?” I begin to panic, worried he might’ve heard
too much.

“I have zero interest in your conversation with Kent,” he says, his tone suddenly
flat, neutral. “I left just as soon as I heard you’d be alone tonight.”

“Oh.” I exhale. “How did you even get in here without guards stopping you?”

“Maybe you should open the door so I can explain.”

I don’t move.

“Please, love, I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. You should know that by now.”

“I’m giving you five minutes. Then I have to sleep, okay? I’m exhausted.”

“Okay,” he says. “Five minutes.”

I take a deep breath. Crack the door open. Peek at him.

He’s smiling. Looking entirely unapologetic.

I shake my head.

He slips past me and sits down directly on my bed.

I close the door, make my way across the room from him, and sit on Sonya’s bed, suddenly
all too aware of what I’m wearing and how incredibly exposed I feel. I cross my arms
over the thin cotton clinging to my chest—even though I’m sure he can’t actually see
me—and make an effort to ignore the cold chill in the air. I always forget just how
much the suit does to regulate my body temperature so far belowground.

Winston was a genius to design it for me.

Winston.

Winston and Brendan.

Oh how I hope they’re okay.

“So … what is it?” I ask Warner. I can’t see a single thing in this darkness; I can
hardly make out the form of his silhouette. “You just left earlier, in the tunnel.
Even though I asked you to wait.”

A few beats of silence.

“Your bed is so much more comfortable than mine,” he says quietly. “You have a pillow.
And an actual blanket?” He laughs. “You’re living like a queen in these quarters.
They treat you well.”

“Warner.” I’m feeling nervous now. Anxious. Worried. Shivering a little and not from
the cold. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

Nothing.

Still nothing.

Suddenly.

A tight breath.

“I want you to come with me.”

The world stops spinning.

“When I leave tomorrow,” he says. “I want you to come with me. I never had a chance
to finish talking to you earlier and I thought asking you in the morning would be
bad timing all around.”

“You want me to come with you.” I’m not sure I’m still breathing.

“Yes.”

“You want me to run away with you.” This can’t possibly be happening.

A pause. “Yes.”

“I can’t believe it.” I’m shaking my head over and over and over again. “You really
have lost your mind.”

I can almost hear him smile in the dark. “Where’s your face? I feel like I’m talking
to a ghost.”

“I’m right here.”

“Where?”

I stand up. “I’m here.”

“I still can’t see you,” he says, but his voice is suddenly much closer than it was
before. “Can you see me?”

“No,” I lie, and I’m trying to ignore the immediate tension, the electricity humming
in the air between us.

I take a step back.

I feel his hands on my arms, I feel his skin against my skin and I’m holding my breath.
I don’t move an inch. I don’t say a word as his hands drop to my waist, to the thin
material making a poor attempt to cover my body. His fingers graze the soft skin of
my lower back, right underneath the hem of my shirt and I’m losing count of the number
of times my heart skips a beat.

I’m struggling to get oxygen in my lungs.

I’m struggling to keep my hands to myself.

“Is it even possible,” he whispers, “that you can’t feel this fire between us?” His
hands are traveling up my arms again, his touch so light, his fingers slipping under
the straps of my shirt and it’s ripping me apart, it’s aching in my core, it’s a pulse
beating in every inch of my body and I’m trying to convince myself not to lose my
head when I feel the straps fall down and everything stops.

The air is still.

My skin is scared.

Even my thoughts are whispering.

2

4

6 seconds I forget to breathe.

Then I feel his lips against my shoulder, soft and scorching and tender, so gentle
I could almost believe it’s the kiss of a breeze and not a boy.

Again.

This time on my collarbone and it’s like I’m dreaming, reliving the caress of a forgotten
memory and it’s like an ache looking to be soothed, it’s a steaming pan thrown in
ice water, it’s a flushed cheek pressed to a cool pillow on a hot hot hot night and
I’m thinking
yes
, I’m thinking
this
, I’m thinking
thank you thank you thank you

before I remember his mouth is on my body and I’m doing nothing to stop him.

He pulls back.

My eyes refuse to open.

His finger t-touches my bottom lip.

He traces the shape of my mouth, the curves the seam the dip and my lips part even
though I asked them not to and he steps closer. I feel him so much closer, filling
the air around me until there’s nothing but him and his body heat, the smell of fresh
soap and something unidentifiable, something sweet but not, something real and hot,
something that smells like
him
, like it belongs to him, like he was poured into the bottle I’m drowning in and I
don’t even realize I’m leaning into him, inhaling the scent of his neck until I find
his fingers are no longer on my lips because his hands are around my waist and he
says