Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

tell him. “You apologized to me just last night—”
    “You’re different,” he says, cutting me off. “You don’t count.”
    “I’m not different,” I tell him. “I’m just another person, just like everyone else. And you’ve proven you have the capacity for remorse. For compassion. I know you can be kind—”
    “That’s not who I am.” His voice is suddenly hard, suddenly too strong. “And I’m not going to change. I can’t erase the nineteen miserable years of my life. I can’t misplace the memories of what I’ve done. I can’t wake up one morning and decide to live on borrowed hopes and dreams. Someone else’s promises for a brighter future.
    “And I won’t lie to you,” he says. “I’ve never given a damn about others and I don’t make sacrifices and I do not compromise. I am not good, or fair, or decent, and I never will be. I can’t be. Because to try to be any of those things would be embarrassing .”
    “How can you think that?” I want to shake him. “How can you be ashamed of an attempt to be better?”
    But he’s not listening. He’s laughing. He’s saying, “Can you even picture me? Smiling at small children and handing out presents at birthday parties? Can you picture me helping a stranger? Playing with the neighbor’s dog?”
    “Yes,” I say to him. “Yes I can.” I’ve already seen it, I don’t say to him.
    “No.”
    “Why not?” I insist. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
    “That kind of life,” he says, “is impossible for me.”
    “But why?”
    Warner clenches and unclenches 5 fingers before running them through his hair. “Because I feel it,” he says, quieter now. “I’ve always been able to feel it.”
    “Feel what?” I whisper.
    “What people think of me.”
    “What . . . ?”
    “Their feelings—their energy—it’s—I don’t know what it is,” he says, frustrated, stumbling backward, shaking his head. “I’ve always been able to tell. I know how everyone hates me. I know how little my father cares for me. I know the agony of my mother’s heart. I know that you’re not like everyone else.” His voice catches. “I know you’re telling the truth when you say you don’t hate me. That you want to and you can’t. Because there’s no ill will in your heart, not toward me, and if there was I would know. Just like I know,” he says, his voice husky with restraint, “that you felt something when we kissed. You felt the same thing I did and you’re ashamed of it.”
    I’m dripping panic everywhere.
    “How can you know that?” I ask him. “H-how—you can’t just know things like that—”
    “No one has ever looked at me like you do,” he whispers. “No one ever talks to me like you do, Juliette. You’re different,” he says. “You’re so different. You would understand me. But the rest of the world does not want my sympathies. They don’t want my smiles. Castle is the only man on Earth who’s been the exception to this rule, and his eagerness to trust and accept me only shows how weak this resistance is. No one here knows what they’re doing and they’re all going to get themselves slaughtered—”
    “That’s not true —that can’t be true—”
    “Listen to me,” Warner says, urgently now. “You must understand—the only people who matter in this wretched world are the ones with real power. And you,” he says, “ you have power. You have the kind of strength that could shake this planet—that could conquer it. And maybe it’s still too soon, maybe you need more time to recognize your own potential, but I will always be waiting. I will always want you on my side. Because the two of us—the two of us,” he says, he stops. He sounds breathless. “Can you imagine?” His eyes are intent on mine, eyebrows drawn together. Studying me. “Of course you can,” he whispers. “You think about it all the time.”
    I gasp.
    “You don’t belong here,” he says. “You don’t belong with these people. They will drag you down with them and get you killed —”
    “I have no other choice!” I’m angry now, indignant. “I’d rather stay here with those who are trying to help—trying to make a difference! At least they’re not murdering innocent people—”
    “You think your new friends have never killed before?” Warner shouts, pointing at the door. “You think Kent has never killed anyone? That Kenji has never put a bullet through a stranger’s body? They were my soldiers!” he says.