Extraits

..............................................BRASIER.............................................

J'ai un cœur, dit la science, mais je suis un monstre, dit la société.

Je serai toujours et à jamais, à jamais seule, parce que personne n'est en sécurité avec moi.

C'est maintenant que tu me fais du mal. C'est atroce ce que tu me fais...

Maybe Warner was right all along.

Maybe he and I really are perfect for each other.

He spins around and he says, “I do not want your sympathy!”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you—”

“The truth,” he says, “is a painful reminder of why I prefer to live among the lies.”

“Please.”

He says “Please don’t shoot me for this.”

And he kisses me.

“Juliette,” he says, and he mouths the name, barely speaking at all, and he’s pouring molten lava into my limbs and I never even knew I could melt straight to death.

“I want you,” he says. He says “I want all of you. I want you inside and out and catching your breath and aching for me like I ache for you.” He says it like it’s a lit cigarette lodged in his throat, like he wants to dip me in warm honey and he says “It’s never been a secret. I’ve never tried to hide that from you. I’ve never pretended I wanted anything less.”

“You—you said you wanted f-friendship—”

“Yes,” he says, he swallows, “I did. I do. I do want to be your friend.” He nods and I register the slight movement in the air between us. “I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend,” he says. “The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body, Juliette—”

“No,” I gasp. “Don’t—don’t s-say that—”

I don’t know what I’ll do if he keeps talking I don’t know what I’ll do and I don’t trust myself

“I want to know where to touch you,” he says. “I want to know how to touch you. I want to know how to convince you to design a smile just for me.” I feel his chest rising, falling, up and down and up and down and “Yes,” he says. “I do want to be your friend.” He says “I want to be your best friend in the entire world.”

I can’t think.

I can’t breathe

“I want so many things,” he whispers. “I want your mind. Your strength. I want to be worth your time.” His fingers graze the hem of my top and he says “I want this up.” He tugs on the waist of my pants and says “I want these down.” He touches the tips of his fingers to the sides of my body and says, “I want to feel your skin on fire. I want to feel your heart racing next to mine and I want to know it’s racing because of me, because you want me. Because you never,” he says, he breathes, “never want me to stop. I want every second. Every inch of you. I want all of it.”

He looks at me. Really, really looks at me.

“You’re going to go on to do incredible things,” he says. “I’ve always known that. I think I just wanted to be a part of it.”

“You can always avoid killing people, Warner. You avoid killing them by not going to war.”

But he grins, so brilliantly, not even paying attention. “I love it when you say my name,” he says. “I don’t even know why.”

“Warner isn’t your name,” I point out. “Your name is Aaron.”

His smile is wide, so wide. “God, I love that.”

“Your name?”

“Only when you say it.”

“Aaron? Or Warner?”

His eyes close. He tilts his head back against the wall. Dimples.