Unravel Me (9 page)

He catches himself, swallows hard.

“That will be a subject,” he says steadily, “for another time. Perhaps just between
the two of us. But I am here today because Mr. Kent asked me to be here.”

I look up. Look at Castle. Look at Adam.

Adam looks like he wants to run.

I decide I can’t wait any longer. “You’ve learned something about him,” I say, and
it’s less of a question than it is a fact. It’s so obvious. There’s no other reason
why Adam would bring Castle here to talk to me.

Something terrible has already happened. Something terrible is about to happen.

I can feel it.

Adam is staring at me now, unblinking, his hands in fists pressed into his thighs.
He looks nervous; scared. I don’t know what to do except to stare back at him. I don’t
know how to offer him comfort. I don’t even know how to smile right now. I feel like
I’m trapped in someone else’s story.

Castle nods, once, slowly.

Says, “Yes. Yes, we’ve discovered the very intriguing nature of Mr. Kent’s ability.”
He walks toward the wall and leans against it, allowing me a clearer view of Adam.
“We believe we now understand why he’s able to touch you, Ms. Ferrars.”

Adam turns away, presses one of his fists to his mouth. His hand looks like it might
be shaking but he, at least, seems to be doing better than I am. Because my insides
are screaming and my head is on fire and panic is stepping on my throat, suffocating
me to death. Bad news offers no returns once received.

“What is it?” I fix my eyes on the floor and count stones and sounds and cracks and
nothing.

1

2, 3, 4

1

2, 3, 4

1

2, 3, 4

“He … can disable things,” Castle says to me.

5, 6, 7, 8 million times I blink, confused. All my numbers crash to the floor, adding
and subtracting and multiplying and dividing. “What?” I ask him.

This news is wrong. This news doesn’t sound horrible at all.

“The discovery was quite accidental, actually,” Castle explains. “We weren’t having
much luck with any of the tests we’d been running. But then one day I was in the middle
of a training exercise, and Mr. Kent was trying to get my attention. He touched my
shoulder.”

Wait for it.

“And … suddenly,” Castle says, pulling in a breath, “I couldn’t perform. It was as
if—as if a wire inside of my body had been cut. I felt it right away. He wanted my
attention and he inadvertently shut me off in an attempt to redirect my focus. It
was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” He shakes his head. “We’ve now been working with
him to see if he can control his ability at will. And,” Castle adds, excited, “we
want to see if he can
project
.

“You see, Mr. Kent does not need to make contact with the skin—I was wearing my blazer
when he touched my arm. So this means he’s already projecting, if only just a little
bit. And I believe, with some work, he’ll be able to extend his gift to a greater
surface area.”

I have no idea what that means.

I try to meet Adam’s eyes; I want him to tell me these things himself but he won’t
look up. He won’t speak and I don’t understand. This doesn’t seem like bad news. In
fact, it sounds quite good, which can’t be right. I turn to Castle. “So Adam can just
make someone else’s power—their
gift
—whatever it is—he can just make it stop? He can turn it off?”

“I appears that way, yes.”

“Have you tested this on anyone else?”

Castle looks offended. “Of course we have. We’ve tried it on every gifted member at
Omega Point.”

But something isn’t making sense.

“What about when he arrived?” I ask. “And he was injured? And the girls were able
to heal him? Why didn’t he cut off their abilities?”

“Ah.” Castle nods. Clears his throat. “Yes. Very astute, Ms. Ferrars.” He paces the
length of the room. “This … is where the explanation gets a little tricky. After much
study, we’ve been able to conclude that his ability is a kind of …
defense
mechanism. One that he does not yet know how to control. It’s something that’s been
working on autopilot his entire life, even though it only works to disable other preternatural
abilities. If there was ever a risk, if Mr. Kent was ever in any state of danger,
in any situation where his body was on high alert, feeling threatened or at risk of
injury, his ability automatically set in.”

He stops. Looks at me. Really looks at me.

“When you first met, for example, Mr. Kent was working as a soldier, on guard, always
aware of the risks in his surroundings. He was in a constant state of
electricum
—a term we use to define when our Energy is ‘on,’ so to speak—because he was always
in a state of danger.” Castle tucks his hands into his blazer pockets. “A series of
tests have further shown that his body temperature rises when he is in a state of
electricum
—just a couple of degrees higher than normal. His elevated body temperature indicates
that he is exerting more energy than usual to sustain this. And, in short,” Castle
says, “this constant exertion has been exhausting him. Weakening his defenses, his
immune system, his self-control.”

His elevated body temperature.

That’s why Adam’s skin was always so hot when we were together. Why it was always
so intense when he was with me. His ability was working to fight mine. His energy
was working to
defuse
mine.

It was
exhausting him
.
Weakening his defenses
.

Oh.

God.

“Your physical relationship with Mr. Kent,” Castle says, “is, in truth, none of my
business. But because of the very unique nature of your gifts, it’s been of great
interest to me on a purely scientific level. But you must know, Ms. Ferrars, that
though these new developments no doubt fascinate me, I take absolutely no pleasure
in them. You’ve made it clear that you do not think much of my character, but you
must believe that I would never find joy in your troubles.”

My troubles.

My troubles have arrived fashionably late to this conversation, inconsiderate beasts
that they are.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please just tell me what the problem is. There’s a problem,
isn’t there? Something is wrong.” I look at Adam but he’s still staring away, at the
wall, at everything but at my face, and I feel myself rising to my feet, trying to
get his attention. “Adam? Do you know? Do you know what he’s talking about?
Please
—”

“Ms. Ferrars,” Castle says quickly. “I beg you to sit down. I know this must be difficult
for you, but you must let me finish. I’ve asked Mr. Kent not to speak until I’m done
explaining everything. Someone needs to deliver this information in a clear, rational
manner, and I’m afraid he is in no position to do so.”

I fall back onto the bed.

Castle lets out a breath. “You brought up an excellent point earlier—about why Mr.
Kent was able to interact with our healer twins when he first arrived. But it was
different with them,” Castle says. “He was weak; he knew he needed help. His body
would not—and, more importantly, could not—refuse that kind of medical attention.
He was vulnerable and therefore unable to defend himself even if he wanted to. The
last of his Energy was depleted when he arrived. He felt safe and he was seeking aid;
his body was out of immediate danger and therefore unafraid, not primed for a defensive
strategy.”

Castle looks up. Looks me in the eye.

“Mr. Kent has begun having a similar problem with you.”

“What?” I gasp.

“I’m afraid he doesn’t know how to control his abilities yet. It’s something we’re
hoping we can work on, but it will take a lot of time—a lot of energy and focus—”

“What do you mean,” I hear myself ask, my words heavy with panic, “that he has
already begun
having a similar problem with me?”

Castle takes a small breath. “It—it seems that he is weakest when he is with you.
The more time he spends in your company, the less threatened he feels. And the more
… intimate you become,” Castle says, looking distinctly uncomfortable, “the less control
he has over his body.” A pause. “He is too open, too vulnerable with you. And in the
few moments his defenses have slipped thus far, he’s already felt the very distinct
pain associated with your touch.”

There it is.

There’s my head, lying on the floor, cracked right open, my brain spilling out in
every direction and I can’t I don’t I can’t even I’m sitting here, struck, numb, slightly
dizzy.

Horrified.

Adam is
not
immune to me.

Adam has to
work
to defend himself against me and I’m exhausting him. I’m making him sick and I’m
weakening his body and if he ever slips again. If he ever forgets. If he ever makes
a mistake or loses focus or becomes too aware of the fact that he’s using his
gift
to control what I might do—

I could hurt him.

I could
kill
him.

Castle is staring at me.

Waiting for my reaction.

I haven’t been able to spit the chalk out of my mouth long enough to string a sentence
together.

“Ms. Ferrars,” he says, rushing to speak now, “we are working with Mr. Kent to help
him control his abilities. He’s going to train—just as you are—to learn how to exercise
this particular element of who he is. It will take some time until we can be certain
he’ll be safe with you, but it will be all right, I assure you—”

“No.” I’m standing up. “No no no no no.” I’m tripping sideways. “NO.”

I’m staring at my feet and at my hands and at these walls and I want to scream. I
want to run. I want to fall to my knees. I want to curse the world for cursing me,
for torturing me, for taking away the only good thing I’ve ever known and I’m stumbling
toward the door, searching for an outlet, for escape from this nightmare that is my
life and

“Juliette—please—”

The sound of Adam’s voice stops my heart. I force myself to turn around. To face him.

But the moment he meets my eyes his mouth falls closed. His arm is outstretched toward
me, trying to stop me from 10 feet away and I want to sob and laugh at the same time,
at the terrible hilarity of it all.

He will not touch me.

I will not allow him to touch me.

Never again.

“Ms. Ferrars,” Castle says gently. “I’m sure it’s hard to stomach right now, but I’ve
already told you this isn’t permanent. With enough training—”

“When you touch me,” I ask Adam, my voice breaking, “is it an effort for you? Does
it exhaust you? Does it drain you to have to constantly be fighting me and what I
am?”

Adam tries to answer. He tries to say something but instead he says nothing and his
unspoken words are so much worse.

I spin in Castle’s direction. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?” My voice is even shakier
now, too close to tears. “That he’s using his Energy to extinguish mine, and that
if he ever forgets—if he ever gets c-carried away or t-too vulnerable—that I could
hurt him—that I’ve
already
h-hurt him—”

“Ms. Ferrars, please—”

“Just answer the question!”

“Well yes,” he says, “for now, at least, that’s all we know—”

“Oh, God, I—I can’t—” I’m tripping to reach the door again but my legs are still weak,
my head is still spinning, my eyes are blurring and the world is being washed of all
its color when I feel familiar arms wrap around my waist, tugging me backward.

“Juliette,” he says, so urgently, “please, we have to talk about this—”

“Let go of me.” My voice is barely a breath. “Adam, please—I can’t—”

“Castle.” Adam cuts me off. “Do you think you can give us some time alone?”

“Oh.” He startles. “Of course,” he says, just a beat too late. “Sure, yes, yes, of
course.” He walks to the door. Hesitates. “I will—well, right. Yes. You know where
to find me when you’re ready.” He nods at both of us, offers me a strained sort of
smile, and leaves the room. The door clicks shut behind him.

Silence pours into the space between us.

“Adam, please,” I finally say, and hate myself for saying it. “Let go of me.”

“No.”

I feel his breath on the back of my neck and it’s killing me to be so close to him.
It’s killing me to know that I have to rebuild the walls I’d so carelessly demolished
the moment he came back into my life.

“Let’s talk about this,” he says. “Don’t go anywhere. Please. Just talk to me.”

I’m rooted in place.

“Please,” he says again, this time more softly, and my resolve runs out the door without
me.

I follow him back to the beds. He sits on one side of the room. I sit on the other.

He stares at me. His eyes are too tired, too strained. He looks like he hasn’t been
eating enough, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He hesitates, licks his lips before
pressing them tight, before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry I didn’t
tell you. I never meant to upset you.”

And I want to laugh and laugh and laugh until the tears dissolve me.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” I whisper. “It makes perfect sense. You wanted
to avoid all of
this
.” I wave a limp hand around the room.

“You’re not mad?” His eyes are so terribly hopeful. He looks like he wants to walk
over to me and I have to hold out a hand to stop him.

The smile on my face is literally killing me.

“How could I be mad at you? You were torturing yourself down there just to figure
out what was happening to you. You’re torturing yourself right now just trying to
find a way to fix this.”

He looks relieved.

Relieved and confused and afraid to be happy all at the same time. “But something’s
wrong,” he says. “You’re crying. Why are you crying if you’re not upset?”

I actually laugh this time. Out loud. Laugh and hiccup and want to die, so desperately.
“Because I was an idiot for thinking things could be different,” I tell him. “For
thinking you were a fluke. For thinking my life could ever be better than it was,
that
I
could ever be better than I was.” I try to speak again but instead clamp a hand over
my mouth like I can’t believe what I’m about to say. I force myself to swallow the
stone in my throat. I drop my hand. “Adam.” My voice is raw, aching. “This isn’t going
to work.”