Extraits

“You think I’m dramatic?” I ask him, eyes wide. “Do you even know yourself at all?”

“I am not dramatic, okay? My presence just commands a certain kind of attention—”

I snort.

“I do not have friends,” he says.

“Why can’t you try?”

He shakes his head.

“Why? Why not give it a chance—”

“Because I am afraid,” he finally says, voice shaking, “that your friendship would be the end of me.”

I’m still frozen in place as his office door slams shut behind him.

“Your meals will be delivered to you three times a day,” Warner is saying. “If you don’t eat, or if you miss a meal and find yourself hungry, feel free to shed your tears in the shower. And then learn to set a schedule. Don’t bring your complaints to me [...]

Leave things the way you found them. And if you do not shower on a regular basis, do not come within ten feet of me.”

“I have to go,” he says. “If you get bored in here, take the elevator back up. This elevator can only access two levels, so you can’t get lost.” He buttons his blazer. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t. “You’ll still be here,” he finally says, “when I return.”

It’s not exactly a question.

I nod anyway.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” he says, so quietly, “that you’re not trying to run away.”

“Go,” he says quietly. “I don’t want you to be here right now.”

“Then why did you bring me back with you?” I ask, angry. “If you don’t even want to see me—”

“Why don’t you understand?” He looks up at me and his eyes are so full of pain and devastation it actually takes my breath away.

My hands are shaking. “Understand what—?”

“I love you.”

He breaks.

His voice. His back. His knees. His face.

He breaks.

He has to hold on to the side of his desk. He can’t meet my eyes. “I love you,” he says, his words harsh and soft all at once. “I love you and it isn’t enough. I thought it would be enough and I was wrong. I thought I could fight for you and I was wrong. Because I can’t. I can’t even face you anymore—”

“Aaron—”

“Tell me it isn’t true,” he says. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m blind. Tell me you love me.”

My heart won’t stop screaming as it breaks in half.

I can’t lie to him.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to understand what I feel,” I try to explain.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please just go—”

“Aaron, please understand—I thought I knew what love was before and I was wrong—I don’t want to make that mistake again—”

“Please”—he’s begging now—“for the love of God, Juliette, I have lost my dignity—”

“Then why this?” I hold up the jar. “Where did you even get this from?”

“It’s nothing—it’s just—” He shakes his head. “Delalieu found it for me. It’s ridiculous,” he says. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Because you can’t reach your own back?”

“Do you need help?” I ask.

He stills. “What?”

“This is for your back, isn’t it?”

He runs a hand across his mouth, down his chin. “You won’t allow me to walk away from this with even an ounce of self-respect, will you?”

“I don’t care what anyone else says about you,” I tell him. “I think you’re a good person.”

Warner is blinking fast now. I can hear him breathing.

In and out.

Unevenly.

He says nothing.

“Do you . . . believe me?” I ask after a moment. “Can you sense that I’m telling the truth? That I really mean it?”

Warner’s hands are clenched around the steering wheel. His knuckles are white.

He nods.

Just once.

“Aaron?” I say, still watching the scenery fly by.

I hear the small hitch in his breath. The hesitation. It’s the first time I’ve used his first name so casually.

“Yes?” he says.

“I want you to know,” I tell him, “that I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“What?” He startles.

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” The world is blurring away as I watch it through the window. “And I don’t think you’re a psychopath. I also don’t think you’re a sick, twisted monster. I don’t think you’re a heartless murderer, and I don’t think you deserve to die, and I don’t think you’re pathetic. Or stupid. Or a coward. I don’t think you’re any of the things people have said about you.”

“Kenji?”

“Yeah?”

I take a deep breath. Try to count the stars. “What am I going to do?”

“About what?”

I hesitate. “About everything.”

Kenji makes a strange sound. “Shit if I know.”

“I don’t want to do this without you,” I whisper.

He leans back. “Who said you’re going to do anything without me?”

My heart skips a few beats. I stare at him.

“What?” he asks. Raises his eyebrows. “You’re surprised?”

“You’ll fight with me?” I ask him, hardly breathing. “Fight back with me? Even if it’s with Warner?”

Kenji smiles. Looks up at the sky. “Hell yeah,” he says.