Shatter Me

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Sometimes I wish I never had to sleep. Sometimes I think that if I stay very, very still, if I never move at all, things will change. I think if I freeze myself I can freeze the pain. Sometimes I won’t move for hours. I will not move an inch. I catch the rose petals as they fall from my cheeks, as they float around the frame of my body, as they cover me in something that feels like the absence of courage." Leads,” I demand. I move toward my bathroom and wince against the cold air as it hits my skin; I’m still without a shirt. Trying to remain calm. “Tell me you have not brought me this information without leads.”

Juliette does nothing but sulk around, wait for death, and whine. I saw no potential of her growing.

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Also... kissing when you are fleeing for your lives?? I'm sure this is not the correct way of things, right? And yet it occurs in way too many young adult books. I'm like: "run, run, run!" but the characters are too busy swapping saliva. I must be old-fashioned in my thinking that staying alive is kinda important. Of course you do.” I shake my head. Regret it. Close my eyes against the sudden unsteadiness. “Do not give me information I’ve already deduced for myself,” I manage to say. “I want something concrete. Give me a solid lead, Lieutenant, or leave me until you have one.” What is it?” I use my left arm to steady myself against the mattress and force myself upright. It takes every ounce of energy I have left, and I’m clinging to the bed frame. I wave away Delalieu’s effort to help; I close my eyes against the pain and dizziness. “Tell me what’s happened,” I say to him. “There’s no point in prolonging bad news.” My skin is cold and clammy; I’m making a herculean effort to breathe. Torture is roaring through my right arm and making it difficult for me to focus. I have to squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and force myself to pay attention. I try to fight it off but it lingers, and the more I try to ignore the memory, it multiplies into a monster that can no longer be contained. I don’t even realize I’ve fallen against the wall until I feel the cold climbing up my skin; I’m breathing too hard and squeezing my eyes shut against the sudden wash of mortification.

Now I am left with the crushing decision of whether or not I try book two (since I, like an idiot, already bought it) or if I just march the whole trilogy down to my favorite used book store and hope the fact that this series is about to have a new book published gets me top dollar. Hate looks like everybody else until it smiles. Until it spins around and lies with lips and teeth carved into semblance of something too passive to punch." No One Knows Why Juliette Has Such Incredible Power. It Feels Like A Curse, A Burden That One Person Alone Could Never Bear. But The Reestablishment Sees It As A Gift, Sees Her As An Opportunity. An Opportunity For A Deadly Weapon. I only know that I was transported by someone in a white van who drove 6 hours and 37 minutes to get me here. I know I was handcuffed to my seat. I know I was strapped to my chair. I know my parents never bothered to say good-bye. I know I didn’t cry as I was taken away.

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Sometimes I think the loneliness inside of me is going to explode through my skin and sometimes I’m not sure if crying or screaming or laughing through the hysteria will solve anything at all. Sometimes I’m so desperate to touch to be touched to feel that I’m almost certain I’m going to fall off a cliff in an alternate universe where no one will ever be able to find me. This better happen. I am not joking. I am tired of great books (cough, cough: The Song of the Lioness Quartet and The Dust Lands Trilogy: Blood Red Road; Rebel Heart; Raging Star) not becoming movies or TV shows after they are optioned. Dear book gods (and I know you exist because you inspired Tahereh to write this series), make this real. Yes, I know TV/movies don't always make great adaptations and the books are 99.9% of the time better, but please do it anyway. Because I need this. Ah, Ms. Ferrars. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by sitting in the corner.” Castle’s easy grin dances into the room before he does. I actually stand up this time. My eyes are filling fast with tears and I blink and blink but the world is a mess and I want to laugh because all I can think is how horrible and beautiful it is, that our eyes blur the truth when we can’t bear to see it. Shit!” He practically flings the tray through the opening, pausing only to slap his palm against his shirt. “Shit, shit.” He curls his fingers into a tight fist and clenches his jaw. He’s burned his hand. I would’ve warned him if he would’ve listened.