No,” I say. “No. No. Don’t be stupid,” I say to him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say to him. “Don’t lie to me goddamn you,” but now my voice is high and broken and shaking and “No,” I gasp, “no, no, no—” I’m suddenly disgusted with myself. I have to get out of this room as soon as possible, or my own thoughts will wage war against me. I make a hasty decision and for the first time, pay little attention to what I’m wearing. I tug on a fresh pair of pants and go without a shirt. I slip my good arm into the sleeve of a blazer and allow the other shoulder to drape over the sling carrying my injured arm. I look ridiculous, exposed like this, but I’ll find a solution tomorrow. He snorts and the sound echoes in the dead air between us. I don’t lift my head. I don’t meet the eyes he’s drilling in my direction. I taste the stale, wasted oxygen and sigh. My throat is tight with something familiar to me, something I’ve learned to swallow. I hear him hesitate for only an instant before edging toward the door. He slides open a small slot and peers through to a world that no longer exists.

His eyes scan the silhouette of my structure and the slow motion makes my heart race. 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. But sir,” he says, eyes trained on my arm, “you’ll need assistance—there’s a process—you’ll require a convalescent aide—”

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My hand shakes as I reach for the little blue bottle I was given this morning. I place two of the square-shaped pills on my tongue and allow them to dissolve. I’m not sure what they do; I only know they help replenish the blood I’ve lost. So I lean against the wall until my head clears and I feel stronger on my feet.

Shatter Me's numerous metaphors, similes, and endless descriptions just didn't make sense. What is this?: His is my second visit this morning. The first was from my medics, who confirmed that the surgery went well. They said that as long as I stay in bed this week, the new drugs they’ve given me should accelerate my healing process. They also said that I should be fit to resume daily activities fairly soon, but I’ll be required to wear a sling for at least a month. Good to see you’re all right, sir.” His voice is a nervous, shaky thing. “Good to see you’re all right.”Warner’s father put a bullet in my body and I can still feel the echoes of it. If I focus, I can relive the exact moment it happened; the pain: so intense, so excruciating; I’ll never be able to forget it. Good morning,” I assume. I’m unsure of my voice, of the hour and this day, of these words leaving my lips and this body that contains me. This is not a dystopia, it is a romance. This is not a novel, it is a collection of similes and metaphors, most of which do not make sense. I originally gave Shatter Me two stars because that's my sort of kneejerk reaction to books I don't like, but after thinking it over for a while, I can't recall anything positive about it that would justify a rating of more than one star. But Castle is staring at me with hopeful eyes, generous eyes, eyes that have no idea that these new words he’s offered me are so much worse. Worse because as much as I know the truth, it still hurts to hear it. It hurts to remember that though I might live in a warm bubble with Adam, the rest of the world still sees me as a threat. A monster. An abomination. Access-restricted-item true Addeddate 2022-02-14 07:09:48 Bookplateleaf 0008 Boxid IA40342015 Camera Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control) Collection_set printdisabled External-identifier