Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

eating enough and getting sleep at night. But another part of me is afraid to see him now. Because seeing Adam means saying good-bye. It means really recognizing that I can’t be with him anymore and knowing that I have to find a new life for myself. Alone.
    But at least at Omega Point I’ll have options. And maybe if I can find a way to stop being scared, I’ll actually figure out how to make friends. To be strong. To stop wallowing in my own problems.
    Things have to be different now.
    I grab my food and manage to lift my head; I nod hello to the faces I recognize from yesterday. Not everyone knows about my being on the trip—the invitations to go on missions outside of Omega Point are exclusive—but people, in general, seem to be a little less tense around me. I think.
    I might be imagining it.
    I try to find a place to sit down but then I see Kenji waving me over. Brendan and Winston and Emory are sitting at his table. I feel a smile tug at my lips as I approach them.
    Brendan scoots over on the bench seat to make room for me. Winston and Emory nod hello as they shovel food into their mouths. Kenji shoots me a half smile, his eyes laughing at my surprise to be welcomed at his table.
    I’m feeling okay. Like maybe things are going to be okay.
    “Juliette?”
    And suddenly I’m going to tip over.
    I turn very, very slowly, half convinced that the voice I’m hearing belongs to a ghost, because there’s no way Adam could’ve been released from the medical wing so soon. I wasn’t expecting to have to face him so soon. I didn’t think we’d have to have this talk so soon. Not here. Not in the middle of the dining hall.
    I’m not prepared. I’m not prepared .
    Adam looks terrible. He’s pale. Unsteady. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his lips are pressed together and his eyes are weary, tortured, deep and bottomless wells. His hair is messy. His T-shirt is straining across his chest, his tattooed forearms more pronounced than ever.
    I want nothing more than to dive into his arms.
    Instead, I’m sitting here, reminding myself to breathe.
    “Can I talk to you?” he says, looking like he’s half afraid to hear my answer. “Alone?”
    I nod, still unable to speak. Abandon my food without looking back at Kenji or Winston or Brendan or Emory so I have no idea what they must be thinking right now. I don’t even care.
    Adam.
    Adam is here and he’s in front of me and he wants to talk to me and I have to tell him things that will surely be the death of me.
    But I follow him out the door anyway. Into the hall. Down a dark corridor.
    Finally we stop.
    Adam looks at me like he knows what I’m going to say so I don’t bother saying it. I don’t want to say anything unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I’d rather just stand here and stare at him, shamelessly drink in the sight of him one last time without having to speak a word. Without having to say anything at all.
    He swallows, hard. Looks up. Looks away. Blows out a breath and rubs the back of his neck, clasps both hands behind his head and turns around so I can’t see his face. But the effort causes his shirt to ride up his torso and I have to actually clench my fingers to keep from touching the sliver of skin exposed low on his abdomen, his lower back.
    He’s still looking away from me when he says, “I really— I really need you to say something.” And the sound of his voice—so wretched, so agonized—makes me want to fall to my knees.
    Still, I do not speak.
    And he turns.
    Faces me.
    “There has to be something,” he says, his hands in his hair now, gripping his skull. “Some kind of compromise— something I can say to convince you to make this work. Tell me there’s something .”
    And I’m so scared. So scared I’m going to start sobbing in front of him.
    “Please,” he says, and he looks like he’s about to crack, like he’s done, like this is it he’s about to fall apart and he says, “say something, I’m begging you—”
    I bite my trembling lip.
    He freezes in place, watching me, waiting.
    “Adam,” I breathe, trying to keep my voice steady. “I will always, a-always love you—”
    “No,” he says. “No, don’t say that—don’t say that—”
    And I’m shaking my head, shaking it fast and hard, so hard it’s making me dizzy but I can’t stop. I can’t say another word unless I want to start screaming and I can’t look at his face, I can’t bear to see what I’m doing to him—
    “No,