Shatter-Me-PDF-Shatter-Me-Series-Shatter-Me-Shatter-Me-1-Tahereh-Mafi (1)

feeling stupid. I’m feeling brave because I’m feeling stupid.
My words wear no parachutes as they fall out of my mouth.
“I only kill people if I need to.”
“Generous.”
“More than most.”
I laugh a sad laugh, sharing it with only myself.
“You can have the rest of the day to yourself. Our real work
will begin tomorrow. Adam will bring you to me.” He holds
my eyes. Suppresses a smile. “In the meantime, try not to
kill anyone.”
“You and I,” I tell him, anger coursing through my veins,
“you and I are not the same—”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“You think you can compare my—my disease—with your
insanity—”
“Disease?” He rushes forward, abruptly impassioned, and I
struggle to hold my ground. “You think you have a disease?”
he shouts. “You have a gift! You have an extraordinary
ability that you don’t care to understand! Your potential—”
“I have no potential!”
“You’re wrong.” He’s glaring at me. There’s no other way
to describe it. I could almost say he hates me in this
moment. Hates me for hating myself.
“Well you’re the murderer,” I tell him. “So you must be
right.”
His smile is laced with dynamite. “Go to sleep.”
“Go to hell.”
He works his jaw. Walks to the door. “I’m working on it.”