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

nearly over my head when a door squeaks open. We both
freeze.
“Adam . . . ?”
He can hardly breathe. He tries to lower himself onto the
pillow beside me but I can still feel his heat, his figure, his
heart pounding in my ears. I’m swallowing back a million
screams. Adam leans his head up, just a little. Tries to sound
normal. “James?”
“Can I come sleep out here with you?”
Adam sits up. He’s breathing hard but he’s suddenly alert.
“Of course you can.” A pause. His voice slows, softens. “You
have bad dreams?”
James doesn’t answer.
Adam is on his feet.
I hear the muffled hiccup of 10-year-old tears, but can
barely distinguish the outline of Adam’s body holding James
together. “I thought you said it was getting better,” I hear
him whisper, but his words are kind, not accusing.
James says something I can’t hear.
Adam picks him up, and I realize how tiny James seems in
comparison. They disappear into the bedroom only to return
with bedding. Only once James is tucked securely in place a
few feet from Adam does he finally give in to exhaustion.
His heavy breathing is the only sound in the room.
Adam turns to me. I’ve been a slice of silence, struck,
shocked, cut deep by this reminder. I have no idea what
James has witnessed at such a tender age. I have no idea
what Adam has had to endure in leaving him behind. I have
no idea how people live anymore. How they survive.
I don’t know what’s become of my parents.
Adam brushes my cheek. Slips me into his arms. Says,
“I’m sorry,” and I kiss the apology away.
“When the time is right,” I tell him.
He swallows. Leans into my neck. Inhales. His hands are
under my shirt. Up my back.
I bite back a gasp. “Soon.”