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

“Psycho!”
“She’s got some kind of disease—”
No one talked to me. Everyone stared. I was young enough
that I still cried. I ate lunch alone by a chain-link fence and
never looked in the mirror. I never wanted to see the face
everyone hated so much. Girls used to kick me and run
away. Boys used to throw rocks at me. I still have scars
somewhere.
I watched the world pass by through those chain-link
fences. I stared out at the cars and the parents dropping off
their kids and the moments I’d never be a part of. This was
before the diseases became so common that death was a
natural part of conversation. This was before we realized the
clouds were the wrong color, before we realized all the
animals were dying or infected, before we realized everyone
was going to starve to death, and fast. This was back when
we still thought our problems had solutions. Back then,
Adam was the boy who used to walk to school. Adam was
the boy who sat 3 rows in front of me. His clothes were
worse than mine, his lunch nonexistent. I never saw him
eat.
One morning he came to school in a car.
I know because I saw him being pushed out of it. His father
was drunk and driving, yelling and flailing his fists for some
reason. Adam stood very still and stared at the ground like
he was waiting for something, steeling himself for the
inevitable. I watched a father slap his 8-year-old son in the
face. I watched Adam fall to the floor and I stood there,
motionless as he was kicked repeatedly in the ribs.
“It’s all your fault! It’s your fault, you worthless piece of
shit,” his father screamed over and over and over again
until I threw up right there, all over a patch of dandelions.
Adam didn’t cry. He stayed curled up on the ground until
his father gave up, until he drove away. Only once he was
sure everyone was gone did his body break into heaving