Author's Note: This is a series that is truly beloved to me. All the rights to the story and characters belong to Tahereh Mafi. The underlined words are the equivalent of the strikethroughs in the story. Thanks!
Warner closes the space between us quickly. All the air rushes out of my chest in one breath. Everything is just a little too close all of a sudden. Too close, too close, too close. I can feel the evil pouring off his shoulders, drifting around his entire being.
He smiles and narrows his eyes, thinking I'm breathless from lust, not from fear. Maybe I am. How did this become my life? In a matter of weeks I have gone from hiding in the corner of a cell that I thought I would die in to standing in front of a shirtless 19-year-old boy on a military base. Not only that, I was placed in my concrete prison for harming a small child with my touch. And now I am here. And he's demanding that I do it all over again.
My fear cannot stop my rage, though. I raise both my hands so they rest just an inch from his gorgeously sculpted chest. Blue mixes with green when our eyes meet. Mine convey a warning, a chance to take it all back; his are defiant, stupidly brave and ready to try anything.
I close my eyes and draw in a breath. Rage courses through me like never before. My hands fall forward and land just above Warner's abs.
A gasp.
The usual rush of feeling someone else's skin contacting mine.
I take a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of touching another person. Even if that person is evil, bloodthirsty, and my worst enemy.
Then I open my eyes.
I notice three things all at once. First: I feel exactly the same. Second: My energy is almost diminished. Three: Warner is still on his feet.
My eyes fall closed again, but my hands remain in place. They contract in frustration so that just the tips of my fingers are brushing his abdomen. He takes in another sharp breath. But not from pain. This is not happening. This is NOT happening to me. I want to scream, to cry, to fall to my knees because it cannot be possible that the one person I hate most on this earth, the only being whose existence I would ever consider ending, is immune to my power.
A 19-year-old blonde boy with a gun in his belt and an evil glint in his eye is safe from Mother Nature's little trick, but the wide-eyed abused little boy doesn't get to grow up?
I finally look back up, but I am met with yet another surprise. Instead of the cocky smirk I was sure would be plastered across his face, his expression is pure surprise. Shock. Then, slowly, unadulterated happiness. I can see my face, heartbroken, scared, confused, all my emotions reflected in his eyes.
I feel a slight wistfulness pass through me as my hands drop away and the contact ends. Before I have a chance to miss it, he picks my hands back up again and simply holds them in his own. I try to pull away, but he simply holds them tighter.
"Juliette," his voice is breathy. I love the way he says my name. He glances down at my hands and then back to my face. "This is the most exquisite feeling I have ever had."
He pauses again, marveling at whatever he is experiencing, "Is this what it is like when you touch people?" He asks, as if I can feel what he is feeling. I have never seen Warner so entranced. Almost innocent. A new level of respect for me appears on Warner's face. It's as if he can't imagine why I don't touch people all the time, simply for the rush.
"What are you talking about? I don't feel anything. It's like you took my power…"
Realization hits me squarely in the chest. Warner took my power. Warner took my power! A million questions bubble to the surface. Is he "gifted" like myself? Are there actually others? Could he take their powers if he wanted?
No answers are to be found, however, because Warner suddenly pushes me back. My spine contacts the wall, but not uncomfortably so. He pins me there with my arms at my sides.
And he leans in to my ear.
So.
Close.
Come closer.
"Juliette….this changes everything."