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

“You shouldn’t care,” he says with a tilt of his head,
gesturing to my dress. “But it’s obvious you do.”
I zip my lips and pray my hands aren’t shaking too much. I
don’t know where Adam is. I don’t know how badly he’s
hurt. I don’t know what Warner will do, how far he’ll go in
the pursuit of what he wants but the prospect of Adam in
pain is like a cold hand clutching my esophagus. I can’t
catch my breath. I feel like I’m struggling to swallow a
toothpick. If Adam is trying to help me it could cost him his
life.
I touch the piece of paper tucked into my pocket.
Breathe.
Warner’s eyes are on my window.
Breathe.
“It’s time to go,” he says.
Breathe.
“Where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer.
We step out the door. I look around. The hallway is
abandoned; empty. “Where is Adam everyone . . . ?”
“I really like that dress,” Warner says as he slips an arm
around my waist. I jerk away but he pulls me along, guiding
me toward the elevator. “The fit is spectacular. It helps
distract me from all your questions.”
“Your poor mother.”
Warner almost trips over his own feet. His eyes are wide;
alarmed. He stops a few feet short of our goal. Spins
around. “What do you mean?”
My stomach falls over.
The look on his face: the unguarded strain, the flinching
terror, the sudden apprehension in his features.
I was trying to make a joke, is what I don’t say to him. I
feel sorry for your poor mother, is what I was going to say to
him, that she has to deal with such a miserable, pathetic
son. But I don’t say any of it.