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

But I don’t. My skin is pulsing with someone else’s life and
I don’t hate it.
I hate myself for enjoying it.
I enjoy the way it feels to be brimming with more life and
hope and human power than I knew I was capable of. His
pain gives me a pleasure I never asked for.
And he’s not letting go.
But he’s not letting go because he can’t. Because I have to
be the one to break the connection. Because the agony
incapacitates him. Because he’s caught in my snares.
Because I am a Venus flytrap.
And I am lethal.
I fall on my back and kick at his chest, willing him away
from me, willing his weight off of my small frame, his limp
body collapsed against my own. I’m suddenly screaming
and struggling to see past the sheet of tears obscuring my
vision; I’m hiccupping, hysterical, horrified by the frozen
look on this man’s face, his paralyzed lips wheezing gasps
through his lungs.
I break free and stumble backward. The sea of soldiers
parts behind me. Every face is etched in astonishment and
pure, unadulterated fear. Jenkins is lying on the floor and no
one dares approach him.
“Somebody help him!” I scream. “Somebody help him! He
needs a doctor—he needs to be taken—he needs—he—oh
God—what have I done—”
“Juliette—”
“DON’T TOUCH ME—DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME—”
Warner’s gloves are back in place and he’s trying to hold
me together, he’s trying to smooth back my hair, he’s trying
to wipe away my tears and I want to murder him.
“Juliette, you need to calm down—”
“HELP HIM!” I cry, falling to my knees, my eyes glued to
the figure lying on the floor. The other soldiers are finally
creeping closer, cautious as though he might be contagious.
“Please—you have to help him! Please—”