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

the freedom to touch anyone before. Certainly no one has
ever wanted my hands on them. Adam is an entirely new
experience.
Touching him is all I want to think about.
“The cuts aren’t too bad,” he continues, the tips of his
fingers running across my calves. I suck in my breath. “But
we’ll have to clean them up, just in case. Sometimes it’s
safer being cut by a butcher knife than being scratched by a
random scrap of metal. You don’t want it to get infected.”
He looks up. His hand is now on my knee.
I’m nodding and I don’t know why. I wonder if I’m
trembling on the outside as much as I am on the inside. I
hope it’s too dark for him to see just how flushed my face is,
just how embarrassing it is that he can’t touch my knee
without making me crazy. I need to say something. “We
should probably get going, right?”
“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and seems to return to
himself. “Yeah. We have to go.” He peers through the
evening light. “We have some time before they realize I’m
still alive. And we have to use it to our advantage.”
“But once we leave this place—won’t the tracker start
back up again? Won’t they know you’re not dead?”
“No.” He jumps into the driver’s side and fumbles for the
ignition. There’s no key, just a button. I wonder if it
recognizes Adam’s thumbprint as authorization. A small
sputter and the machine roars to life. “Warner had to renew
my tracker serum every time I got back. Once it’s gone? It’s
gone.” He grins. “So now we can really get the hell out of
here.”
“But where are we going?” I finally ask.
He shifts into gear before he responds.
“My house.”