Free Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi

intentions.
    “Seize her,” Warner says softly. Silence has stuffed itself into every corner of this building. His voice is the only sound in the room.
    Jenkins steps forward.
    My eyes are flooding and I squeeze them shut. I pry them open. I blink back at the crowd and spot a familiar face. Adam is staring at me, horrified.
    Shame has covered every inch of my body.
    Jenkins offers me his hand.
    My bones begin to buckle, snapping in synchronicity with the beats of my heart. I crumble to the floor, folding into myself like a flimsy crepe. My arms are so painfully bare in this ragged T-shirt.
    “Don’t—” I hold up a tentative hand, pleading with my eyes, staring into the face of this innocent man. “Please don’t — ” My voice breaks. “You don’t want to touch me—”
    “I never said I did.” Jenkins’s voice is deep and steady, full of regret. Jenkins who has no gloves, no protection, no preparation, no possible defense.
    “That was a direct order, soldier,” Warner barks, trains a gun at his back.
    Jenkins grabs my arms.
    NO NO NO I gasp.
    My blood is surging through my veins, rushing through my body like a raging river, waves of heat lapping against my bones. I can hear his anguish, I can feel the power pouring out of his body, I can hear his heart beating in my ear and my head is spinning with the rush of adrenaline fortifying my being.
    I feel alive.
    I wish it hurt me. I wish it maimed me. I wish it repulsed me. I wish I hated the potent force wrapping itself around my skeleton.
    But I don’t. My skin is pulsing with someone else’s life and I don’t hate it.
    I hate myself for enjoying it.
    I enjoy the way it feels to be brimming with more life and hope and human power than I knew I was capable of. His pain gives me a pleasure I never asked for.
    And he’s not letting go.
    But he’s not letting go because he can’t. Because I have to be the one to break the connection. Because the agony incapacitates him. Because he’s caught in my snares.
    Because I am a Venus flytrap.
    And I am lethal.
    I fall on my back and kick at his chest, willing him away from me, willing his weight off of my small frame, his limp body collapsed against my own. I’m suddenly screaming and struggling to see past the sheet of tears obscuring my vision; I’m hiccupping, hysterical, horrified by the frozen look on this man’s face, his paralyzed lips wheezing gasps through his lungs.
    I break free and stumble backward. The sea of soldiers parts behind me. Every face is etched in astonishment and pure, unadulterated fear. Jenkins is lying on the floor and no one dares approach him.
    “Somebody help him!” I scream. “Somebody help him!
    He needs a doctor—he needs to be taken—he needs—he— oh God—what have I done—”
    “Juliette—”
    “DON’T TOUCH ME—DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME—”
    Warner’s gloves are back in place and he’s trying to hold me together, he’s trying to smooth back my hair, he’s trying to wipe away my tears and I want to murder him.
    “Juliette, you need to calm down—”
    “HELP HIM!” I cry, falling to my knees, my eyes glued to the figure lying on the floor. The other soldiers are finally creeping closer, cautious as though he might be contagious. “Please—you have to help him! Please— ”
    “Kent, Curtis, Soledad—TAKE CARE OF THIS!” Warner shouts to his men before scooping me up into his arms.
    I’m still kicking when the world goes black.

FOURTEEN
    The ceiling is fading in and out of focus.
    My head is heavy, my vision is blurry, my heart is strained. There is a distinct flavor of panic lodged somewhere underneath my tongue and I’m fighting to remember where it came from. I try to sit up and can’t understand why I was lying down.
    Someone’s hands are on my shoulders.
    “How are you feeling?” Warner is peering down at me.
    Suddenly my memories are burning in my eyes and Jenkins’ face is swimming in my consciousness and I’m swinging my fists and