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

together, that I’ll play games with him and read him stories
at night and I know I can’t. I know I never will. I know it will
never be possible.
And suddenly the world shifts out of focus.
I’m overcome by a rage, an intensity, an anger so potent
I’m almost elevated off the ground. I’m boiling with blind
hatred and disgust. I don’t even understand how my feet
move in the next instant. I don’t understand my hands and
what they’re doing or how they decided to fly forward,
fingers splayed, charging toward the window. I only know I
want to feel Warner’s neck snap between my own two
hands. I want him to experience the same terror he just
inflicted upon a child. I want to watch him die. I want to
watch him beg for mercy.
I catapult through the concrete walls.
I crush the glass with 10 fingers.
I’m clutching a fistful of gravel and a fistful of fabric at
Warner’s neck and there are 50 different guns pointed at my
head. The air is heavy with cement and sulfur, the glass
falling in an agonized symphony of shattered hearts.
I slam Warner into the corroded stone.
“Don’t you dare shoot her,” Warner wheezes at the guards.
I haven’t touched his skin yet, but I have the strangest
suspicion that I could smash his rib cage into his heart if I
just pressed a little harder.
“I should kill you.” My voice is one deep breath, one
uncontrolled exhalation.
“You—” He tries to swallow. “You just—you just broke
through concrete with your bare hands.”
I blink. I don’t dare look behind me. But I know without
looking backward that he can’t be lying. I must have. My
mind is a maze of impossibility.
I lose focus for one instant.