(Very quick A/N before I continue to my best friend TheTrueAwesomeness: don't read this until you've read the series or I'm going to panic and might kill you in the process. Love you)
Chapter One
She's alive.
She's breathing, and twitching, and shifting once in a while and color is in her cheeks and she's asleep and she's alive.
He's never felt so much relief in his entire life.
Delalieu had assisted him on his feeble attempt to hide her and place her in the base, and he couldn't be more grateful the old man never questioned him in anything he did. Because if Delalieu had not, she... Juliette might as well be dead as she was on the floor of his mother's house.
The memory resurfaces in his mind, and he does not even attempt to hold it down even if it makes him so sick to the bones, he's close to dropping on his knees and spill out his breakfast.
But of course he does not. He is being watched, not just by his men but by his father himself, trying to see cracks in his perfectly masked face. When they do, they would pounce on him, like hungry predators on prey. He will not give them the satisfaction.
Instead he suffers in silence. He lets himself be haunted by the image, and he stands there and watches the whole thing replay over and over again in his mind.
The man who calls himself his father shoots her, Juliette, and he watches in horror, his heart shattering into a million pieces, as she's thrown back, hits the wall, then the floor. Her eyes are closed, and color is draining fast from her being, and blood, thick red blood begins to pool around her. He tries to pinpoint the exact location of the bullet in her stomach from where he is standing and he can't and it's mocking him. The world is mocking him, telling him he cannot save her, much less have her.
His first option was to run in front of her and use his body as a shield when the gun was fired. But even if he's fast enough to do it, the man who calls himself his father would have killed her still, and with both them wounded and a number of heartbeats away from death, he would not be able to save her.
He planted both his feet on the ground, taking all his willpower not to run towards her as she fell back, as if she weighed no more than a sheet of paper. He felt his blood turn ice cold as he watched the man who calls himself his father reveal the gun, shoot her without hesitation, place the gun back and walk away. Warner felt his father's emotions. There were none.
The devil.
He walked away like he just finished eating breakfast and was going to work. He walked away like he just had a nice small talk with his favorite son. He walked away like there was no girl bleeding to death in the room. But he didn't walk away fast enough to hide the smile he had on his face. He did not try to.
Warner wanted to rip his face off.
The man who calls himself his father smiled at Warner like he was sharing a little secret with him, and that Warner should be pleased he took off the thorn he was holding.
She's a rose, he wanted to scream.
But he waited. Warner waited until the man who calls himself his father was out of the room, the door shut and footsteps were inaudible. Not until then did he run... away from her.
Oh, he badly, badly wanted to run towards her and cradle her in his arms and tell her it's going to be alright but no. He didn't want to give her empty promises. She was going to be alright.
He ran to room where the healer twins were kept.
The rest of everything was a blur. But the memory of Juliette getting shot by the man who calls himself father replayed over and over his mind, Warner was sure he was going to go crazy if he didn't make sure she was alright.
He cut Delalieu off in midsentence, he does not even remember what they were conversing about. "You are dismissed," he says.
Delalieu's mouth is open, and he looks mildly hurt. "Sir?" he asks.
Warner scans the room and sees that they are alone. "I will get back to you on that, Delalieu," Warner clears himself. "You are dismissed."
Delalieu does not say anything else, salutes and walks out of the room. Once he's out, Warner stands up and tries his hardest not to fly to his room where she's staying.
He walks as calmly as he can, passing by every door, every hallway with a blank expression on his face, and his hands clamp together behind him. He is willing himself not to shake too much.
When he enters his room, he immediately bolts to where the bed is, and breathes in and out loudly as he finds her there still sleeping soundly.
His breaths are ragged as he takes off his coat, his guns, his belt like they are wearing him down. He runs to the bathroom and opens the faucet on the sink. He rolls his sleeves up and washes his face. He rips the towels off its place and wipes his face roughly and runs back to the bed.
She's still there. Still breathing. Still alive.
He feels it in his bones, in his Energy. He can feel her presence, her life and it makes him take a deep exhale of relief.
Then fear starts to settle in again. His toes feel cold as he starts to think, What if she never wakes up?
He hates his reaction to this, his panic, his unsettlement. He hates that he's so useless and so vulnerable. But he does not hate that it's because of her.
He sits down carefully beside her.
"Juliette," he tries. Softly.
"Juliette, love," he says.
Nothing. She does not even stir.
His fear heightens. "Wake up," he whispers urgently. He bends toward her, his hand ready to reach her. "Wake up."
Her eyes fly open, clears, the familiar blue-green stabilizes him. Calms him, somehow.
He takes his hand back ungracefully and tries to remember how to breathe. In and out, he tells himself.
"Good morning," she says.
He does not bother tell her it's almost noon. He greets her with a smile instead, even though he's not sure he can pull it off successfully. He's been thinking too much. Worrying too much.
He moves aside as she sits up, forces his hands to himself as she closes her eyes as if warding off devils that are haunting her, and just looks at her.
When she reopens them, he allows himself to feel her presence again. It is a luxury, a secret sin he's always allowed himself to do. To sense her. It's not as good as touching her, but for now it's good enough. It's good enough.
She seems calm, it almost startles him. He feels her presence like a warm glow, a little light that is just switched on, flickers a bit and then steadies. Calm. Serene, even.
He's almost glad she does not know anything yet, because he knows it will crush her. What he knows will crush the little steady light.
She meets his eyes, and he's afraid the light might fade, but it stays calm. It glows brighter even. Warmer. "You saved my life," she says.
Grateful. She is grateful. It's an emotion so alien to him he doesn't question it when warmth consumes him.
Of course he saved her life. He might as well put a bullet through his own heart if he did not.
She feels to warm, so steady, it almost scares him that later she will know... She will have to know.
The light blazes. It's suddenly too hot. It's starting to go out of control. It dims then lights then dims then lights... Panic. She's panicking, he realizes.
Her eyes dart back and forth, across the room. She moves away from him too suddenly she hits the back of her head on the headboard, and she makes herself smaller. He could almost see her mind go through the memories of what transpired in this place...
His reaction is immediate. He tries to calm her. "It's ok. It's all right—"
"What am I doing here?" She's not listening to him. The fear is dominating her mind. It is so plain in her voice he didn't have to have a gift to know she is afraid. Terrified. Her eyes, big and wide, beautiful yet certainly frightened. "Why did you bring me here again—?"
And it pains him to see her this way. He curses himself over and over for scaring her. He needs to calm her down. "Juliette, please, I'm not going to hurt you—"
"Then why did you bring me here?" There is accusation in her voice. It's like she's forgotten that she's thanking him for saving her life just a moment ago. "Why bring me back to this hellhole—"
"I had to hide you."
She has to understand. He pleads with his eyes for her to understand this is the only way he could save her from everything. He pushes a breath out of his lungs and looks up the ceiling to make himself focus and not lose her like this.
The scorching heat subsides a bit. Confusion. "What? Why?"
She is listening, his brain tells him and he forces down a smile of relief. Instead, he slowly lowers his eyes to hers. "No one knows you're alive. I had to get back to base. I needed to pretend everything was back to normal and I was running out of time," he explains as softly as he can. She has to understand. She has to.
The light clicks off altogether. A certain breeze replaces it. Warm and cold. Refreshing. Soothing. A little trembling, but it's so much better than that light that almost turned into flame. He is so relieved he almost pushed himself towards her. But he stays in place, and watches her, satisfied with the feeling of her presence inside him.
She studies him in silence, and it soothes him that she finds him of any interest to be worth examining. Then she glances down and the breeze picks up and becomes an unsteady wind.
Warner steels himself for another wave shouting when she opens her mouth and is too surprised when she whispers and hesitates, "Did you . . . Did—I mean—my clothes—"
She plays with bottom of her shirt and looks so adorable he can't help but smile and stare at her. She faces becomes buried in a shade of red, and the wind becomes too warm as it paces.
He does not want to scare her with what his reaction to her feelings so he turns his gaze to his hands. He's smiling into his hands. He tries not to deliberate how stupid he must look. "No," he says. "The girls took care of that. I just carried you to bed."
"The girls," she says too quietly his head shoots back up. The wind slows down a little too much.
Warner watches in quiet panic as her eyes changes as millions of thoughts must be pillaging through her. Too soon, he thinks. She remembered too soon.
The wind is picking up speed again. Turning into a hurricane that almost blows him away. She's worried, and scared and hopeful and a mesh of emotions and she wants to do something.
Warner reaches up and catches her as she tries to stand up and with her strength, fails. Her breaths are ragged, and her eyebrows are furrowed in the frustration of her weakness. But the wind does not slow down.
"Warner, what happened? What's happening with the battle—?"
"Please, you need to start slowly; you should eat something—" he hears desperation in his voice in effort to stop the growing hurricane. He holds her shoulder to steady her, but she does not want to listen to him. She does not want calm.
"Tell me—"
He stalls. "Don't you want to eat first? Or shower?"
"No." Her voice was firm and defiant. "I have to know now."
This stubborn, stubborn girl. He will never win against her. Never in his life. Or the next. He takes a deep breath and hope in this short lapse of conversation she changes her mind. The hurricane tells him otherwise. It's starting to spin now.
He reaches for the ring on the smallest finger of his left hand in effort to calm himself enough to speak. "It's over."
A thunder echoes inside him. "What?"
There's no going back now. "It's over."
She breathes out one word. "No."
Lightning flashes together with the spinning hurricane he names her presence. She's a powerful little thing, but she also needs to know. He nods at her, it's true, he's saying.
"No."
The storm stops so suddenly Warner panics. "Juliette."
"No," she says, and suddenly there's fire and rain and ice replacing the storm. "No. No. Don't be stupid. Don't be ridiculous. Don't lie to me goddamn you," she's screaming and whispering at the same time and he tries to reach her but she backs away from him. "No, no, no, no—" she's gasping and catching her breath...
His eyes widen as he watches her stand up and not fail this time.
Ice. There's only ice right now, and his heart is stabbed by dull knives. Too defective to draw blood, but still good enough to cause pain. She is extremely terrified.
"Juliette," he says.
She just blinks at him. She does not seem to hear him. Her eyes are watery and she tries to blink the tears away.
"Juliette," he says again and reaches for her.
It happens too quickly. She slips on the crumpled sheets on the floor and falls stomach first on the ground.
He bends down and stretches one hand to help her up but she screams for him to stop. Just stop. The ice of her emotions freezes everything inside him.
"Why?" she asks. "Why is the battle over?"
If Warner stays silent enough he could almost hear the ice shift and crack.
Maybe he just needs a pick so he can shape the ice into something wonderful. Maybe he can come up with a lie, make everything easier for her. But no, he can't let her hope like that just to crush it later. He does not want her hurt.
So he says it, her blue-green eyes wide, bracing her for the impact of his words. "Because they're dead, love. They're all dead."
.
.
.
(A/N: I'm probably going to jail for this.
Yes. What you see now is the exact first chapter of Ms. Mafi's 3rd book of the Shatter Me series written in the eyes of Aaron Warner Anderson.
Yes. I am going to rewrite the whole book, but in the same way. In the eyes of Aaron Warner Anderson.
I really honestly wish Ms. Mafi and the law will forgive me. I really, really can't help it. I'm desperate. I can't get him out of my head.
I have a serious issue. I'm obsessed with Aaron Warner Anderson. Which is the reason you have read what you have just read.
I'm really sorry because I know I will never ever do justice to Ignite Me in Warner's POV. The book is really really awesome and it's a crime for me to do this. Both literally and metaphorically.
Anyhow, what do you think? Because I think Warner may be someone worth going to jail for. Or it's just me.)