Restore Me Page 11

  So I wait for her to say more.

  She doesn’t.

  She’s still watching her brother, who’s off in the distance with Warner now, the two of them discussing something we can no longer hear.

  It’s an interesting scene, the two of them.

  Warner is wearing a dark, bloodred suit today. No tie, and no overcoat—even though it’s freezing outside—just a black shirt underneath the blazer, and a pair of black boots. He’s clutching the handle of a briefcase and a pair of gloves in the same hand, and his cheeks are pink from the cold. Beside him, Haider’s hair is a wild, untamed shock of blackness in the gray morning light. He’s wearing slim black slacks and yesterday’s chain-link shirt underneath a long blue velvet coat, and doesn’t seem at all bothered by the wind blowing the jacket open to reveal his heavily built, very bronzed upper body. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s intentional. The two of them walking tall and alone on the deserted beach—heavy boots leaving prints in the sand—makes for a striking image, but they’re definitely overdressed for the occasion.

  If I were being honest, I’d be forced to admit that Haider is just as beautiful as his sister, despite his aversion to wearing shirts. But Haider seems deeply aware of how handsome he is, which somehow works against him. In any case, none of that matters. I’m only interested in the boy walking beside him. So it’s Warner I’m staring at when Kenji says something that pulls me suddenly back to the present.

  “I think we better get back to base, J.” He checks the time on the watch he’s only recently started wearing. “Castle said he needs to talk to you ASAP.”

  “Again?”

  Kenji nods. “Yeah, and I have to talk to the girls about their progress with James, remember? Castle wants a report. By the way, I think Winston and Alia are finally done fixing your suit, and they actually have a new design for you to look at when you have a chance. I know you still have to get through the rest of your mail from today, but whenever you’re done maybe we could—”

  “Hey,” Nazeera says, waving at us as she walks up. “If you guys are heading back to base, could you do me a favor and grant me clearance to walk around the sector on my own today?” She smiles at me. “I haven’t been back here in over a year, and I’d like to look around a little. See what’s changed.”

  “Sure,” I say, and smile back. “The soldiers at the front desk can take care of that. Just give them your name, and I’ll have Kenji send them my pre-authorizati—”

  “Oh—yeah, actually, you know what? Why don’t I just show you around myself?” Kenji beams at her. “This place changed a lot in the last year. I’d be happy to be your tour guide.”

  Nazeera hesitates. “I thought I just heard you say you had a bunch of things to do.”

  “What? No.” He laughs. “Zero things to do. I’m all yours. For whatever. You know.”

  “Kenji—”

  He flicks me in the back and I flinch, scowling at him.

  “Um, okay,” Nazeera says. “Well, maybe later, if you have time—”

  “I’ve got time now,” he says, and he’s grinning at her like an idiot. Like, an actual idiot. I don’t know how to save him from himself. “Should we get going?” he says. “We can start here—I can show you around the compounds first, if you like. Or, I mean, we can start in unregulated territory, too.” He shrugs. “Whatever you prefer. Just let me know.”

  Nazeera looks suddenly fascinated. She’s staring at Kenji like she might chop him up and put him in a stew. “Aren’t you a member of the Supreme Guard?” she says. “Shouldn’t you stay with your commander until she’s safely back to base?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah—no, she’ll be fine,” he says in a rush. “Plus we’ve got these dudes”—he waves at the six soldiers shadowing us—“watching her all the time, so, she’ll be safe.”

  I pinch him, hard, in the side of his stomach.

  Kenji gasps, spins around. “We’re only like five minutes from base,” he says. “You’ll be okay getting back by yourself, won’t you?”

  I glare at him. “Of course I can get back by myself,” I shout-whisper. “That’s not why I’m mad. I’m mad because you have a million things to do and you’re acting like an idiot in front of a girl who is obviously not interested in you.”

  Kenji steps back, looking injured. “Why are you trying to hurt me, J? Where’s your vote of confidence? Where’s the love and support I require at this difficult hour? I need you to be my wingwoman.”

  “You do know that I can hear you, right?” Nazeera tilts her head to one side, her arms crossed loosely against her chest. “I’m standing right here.”

  She looks somehow even more stunning today, her hair wrapped up in silks that look like liquid gold in the light. She’s wearing an intricately braided red sweater, a pair of black, textured leather leggings, and black boots with steel platforms. And she’s still got those heavy gold knuckles on both her fists.

  I wish I could ask her where she gets her clothes.

  I only realize Kenji and I have both been staring at her for too long when she finally clears her throat. She drops her arms and steps cautiously forward, smiling—not unkindly—at Kenji, who seems suddenly unable to breathe. “Listen,” she says softly. “You’re cute. Really cute. You’ve got a great face. But this,” she says, gesturing between them, “is not happening.”

  Kenji doesn’t appear to have heard her. “You think I’ve got a great face?”

  She laughs and frowns at the same time. Waves two fingers and says, “Bye.”

  And that’s it. She walks away.

  Kenji says nothing. His eyes are fixed on Nazeera’s disappearing form in the distance.

  I pat his arm, try to sound sympathetic. “It’ll be okay,” I say. “Rejection is har—”

  “That was amazing.”

  “Uh. What?”

  He turns to look at me. “I mean, I’ve always known I had a great face. But now I know, like, for sure that I’ve got a great face. And it’s just so validating.”

  “You know, I don’t think I like this side of you.”

  “Don’t be like that, J.” Kenji taps me on the nose. “Don’t be jealous.”

  “I’m not je—”

  “I mean, I deserve to be happy, too, don’t I?” And he goes suddenly quiet. His smile slips, his laugh dies away, and Kenji looks, if only for a moment—sad. “Maybe one day.”

  I feel my heart seize.

  “Hey,” I say gently. “You deserve to be the happiest.”

  Kenji runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Yeah. Well.”

  “Her loss,” I say.

  He glances at me. “I guess that was pretty decent, as far as rejections go.”

  “She just doesn’t know you,” I say. “You’re a total catch.”

  “I know, right? I keep trying to tell people.”

  “People are dumb.” I shrug. “I think you’re wonderful.”

  “Wonderful, huh?”

  “Yep,” I say, and link my arm in his. “You’re smart and funny and kind and—”

  “Handsome,” he says. “Don’t forget handsome.”

  “And very handsome,” I say, nodding.

  “Yeah, I’m flattered, J, but I don’t like you like that.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “How many times do I have to ask you to stop falling in love with me?”

  “Hey!” I say, shoving away from him. “You’re terrible.”

  “I thought I was wonderful.”

  “Depends on the hour.”

  And he laughs, out loud. “All right, kid. You ready to head back?”

  I sigh, look off into the distance. “I don’t know. I think I need a little more time alone. I’ve still got a lot on my mind. A lot I need to sort through.”

  “I get it,” he says, shooting me a sympathetic look. “Do your thing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you mind if I get going, though? All jokes aside, I really do have a lot to take care of today.”

 
“I’ll be fine. You go.”

  “You sure? You’ll be okay out here on your own?”

  “Yes, yes,” I say, and shove him forward. “I’ll be more than okay. I’m never really on my own, anyway.” I gesture with my head toward the soldiers. “These guys are always following me.”

  Kenji nods, gives me a quick squeeze on the arm, and jogs off.

  Within seconds, I’m alone. I sigh and turn toward the water, kicking at the sand as I do.

  I’m so confused.

  I’m caught between different worries, trapped by a fear of what seems my inevitable failure as a leader and my fears of Warner’s inscrutable past. And today’s conversation with Haider didn’t help with the latter. His unmasked shock that Warner hadn’t even bothered to mention the other families—and the children—he grew up with, really blew me away. It made me wonder how much more I don’t know. How much more there is to unearth.

  I know exactly how I feel when I look into his eyes, but sometimes being with Warner gives me whiplash. He’s so unused to communicating basic things—to anyone—that every day with him comes with new discoveries. The discoveries aren’t all bad—in fact, most of the things I learn about him only make me love him more—but even the harmless revelations are occasionally confusing.

  Last week I found him sitting in his office listening to old vinyl records. I’d seen his record collection before—he has a huge stack that was apportioned to him by The Reestablishment along with a selection of old books and artwork—he was supposed to be sorting through it all, deciding what to keep and what to destroy. But I’d never seen him just sit and listen to music.

  He didn’t notice me when I’d walked in that day.

  He was sitting very still, looking only at the wall, and listening to what I later discovered was a Bob Dylan record. I know this because I peeked in his office many hours later, after he’d left. I couldn’t shake my curiosity; Warner had only listened to one of the songs on the record—he’d reset the needle every time the song finished—and I wanted to know what it was. It turned out to be a song called “Like a Rolling Stone.”

  I still haven’t told him what I saw that day; I wanted to see if he would share the story with me himself. But he never mentioned it, not even when I asked him what he did that afternoon. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but the omission made me wonder why he’d keep it from me.

  There’s a part of me that wants to rip his history open. I want to know the good and the bad and just get all the secrets out and be done with it. Because right now I feel certain that my imagination is much more dangerous than any of his truths.

  But I’m not sure how to make that happen.

  Besides, everything is moving so quickly now. We’re all so busy, all the time, and it’s hard enough to keep my own thoughts straight. I’m not even sure where our resistance is headed at the moment. Everything is worrying me. Castle’s worries are worrying me. Warner’s mysteries are worrying me. The children of the supreme commanders are worrying me.

  I take in a deep breath and exhale, long and loud.

  I’m staring out across the water, trying to clear my mind by focusing on the fluid motions of the ocean. It was just three weeks ago that I’d felt stronger than I ever had in my whole life. I’d finally learned how to make use of my powers; I’d learned how to moderate my strength, how to project—and, most important, how to turn my abilities on and off. And then I’d crushed Anderson’s legs in my bare hands. I stood still while soldiers emptied countless rounds of lead into my body. I was invincible.

  But now?

  This new job is more than I bargained for.

  Politics, it turns out, is a science I don’t yet understand. Killing things, breaking things—destroying things? That, I understand. Getting angry and going to war, I understand. But patiently playing a confusing game of chess with a bunch of strangers from around the world?

  God, I’d so much rather shoot someone.

  I’m making my way back to base slowly, my shoes filling with sand as I go. I’m actively dreading whatever it is Castle wants to talk to me about, but I’ve been gone for too long already. There’s too much to do, and there’s no way out of this but through. I have to face it. Deal with it, whatever it is. I sigh as I flex and unflex my fists, feeling the power come in and out of my body. It’s still a strange thrill for me, to be able to disarm myself at will. It’s nice to be able to walk around most days with my powers turned off; it’s nice to be able to accidentally touch Kenji’s skin without worrying I’ll hurt him. I scoop up two handfuls of sand. Powers on: I close my fist and the sand is pulverized to dust. Powers off: the sand leaves a vague, pockmarked impression on my skin.

  I drop the sand, dusting off the remaining grains from my palms, and squint into the morning sun. I’m searching for the soldiers who’ve been following me this whole time, because, suddenly, I can’t spot them. Which is strange, because I just saw them a minute ago.

  And then I feel it—

  Pain

  It explodes in my back.

  It’s a sharp, searing, violent pain and I’m blinded by it in an instant. I spin around in a fury that immediately dulls, my senses dimming even as I attempt to harness them. I pull up my Energy, thrumming suddenly with electricum, and wonder at my own stupidity for forgetting to turn my powers back on, especially out in the open like this. I was too distracted. Too frustrated. I can feel the bullet in my shoulder blade incapacitating me now, but I fight through the agony to try and spot my attacker.

  Still, I’m too slow.

  Another bullet hits my thigh, but this time I feel it leave only a flesh wound, bouncing off before it can make much of a mark. My Energy is weak—and weakening by the minute—I think because of the blood I’m losing—and I’m frustrated, so frustrated by how quickly I’ve been overtaken.

  Stupid stupid stupid—

  I trip as I try to hurry on the sand; I’m still an open target here. My assailant could be anyone—could be anywhere—and I’m not even sure where to look when suddenly three more bullets hit me: in my stomach, my wrist, my chest. The bullets break off my body and still manage to draw blood, but the bullet buried, buried in my back, is sending blinding flashes of pain through my veins and I gasp, my mouth frozen open and I can’t catch my breath and the torment is so intense I can’t help but wonder if this is a special gun, if these are special bullets—

  oh

  The small, breathless sound leaves my body as my knees hit the sand and I’m now pretty sure, fairly certain these bullets have been laced with poison, which would mean that even these, these flesh wounds would be dangero—

  I fall, head spinning, backward onto the sand, too dizzy to see straight. My lips feel numb, my bones loose and my blood, my blood all sloshing together fast and weird and I start laughing, thinking I see a bird in the sky—not just one but many of them all at once flying flying flying

  Suddenly I can’t breathe.

  Someone has their arm around my neck; they’re dragging me backward and I’m choking, spitting up and losing lungs and I can’t feel my tongue and I’m kicking at the sand so hard I’ve lost my shoes and I think here it is, death again, so soon so soon I was too tired anyway and then

  The pressure is gone

  So swiftly

  I’m gasping and coughing and there’s sand in my hair and in my teeth and I’m seeing colors and birds, so many birds, and I’m spinning and—

  crack

  Something breaks and it sounds like bone. My eyesight sharpens for an instant and I manage to see something in front of me. Someone. I squint, feeling like my mouth might swallow itself and I think it must be the poison but it’s not; it’s Nazeera, so pretty, so pretty standing in front of me, her hands around a man’s limp neck and then she drops him to the ground

  Scoops me up

  You’re so strong and so pretty I mumble, so strong and I want to be like you, I say to her

  And she says shhh and tells me to be still, tells me I’ll be fine

&n
bsp; and carries me away.

  Warner

  Panic, terror, guilt—unbounded fears—

  I can hardly feel my feet as they hit the ground, my heart beating so hard it physically hurts. I’m bolting toward our half-built medical wing on the fifteenth floor and trying not to drown in the darkness of my own thoughts. I have to fight an instinct to squeeze my eyes shut as I run, taking the emergency stairs two at a time because, of course, the nearest elevator is temporarily closed for repairs.

  I’ve never been such a fool.

  What was I thinking? What was I thinking? I simply walked away. I keep making mistakes. I keep making assumptions. And I’ve never been so desperate for Kishimoto’s inelegant vocabulary. God, the things I wish I could say. The things I’d like to shout. I’ve never been so angry with myself. I was so sure she’d be fine, I was so sure she knew to never move out in the open unprotected—

  A sudden rush of dread overwhelms me.

  I will it away.

  I will it away, even as my chest heaves with exhaustion and outrage. It’s irrational, to be mad at agony—it’s futile, I know, to be angry with this pain—and yet, here I am. I feel powerless. I want to see her. I want to hold her. I want to ask her how she could’ve possibly let her guard down while walking alone, out in the open—

  Something in my chest feels like it might rip apart as I reach the top floor, my lungs burning from the effort. My heart is pumping furiously. Even so, I tear down the hall. Desperation and terror fuel my need to find her.

  I stop abruptly in place when the panic returns.

  A wave of fear bends my back and I’m doubled over, hands on my knees, trying to breathe. It’s unbidden, this pain. Overwhelming. I feel a startling prick behind my eyes. I blink, hard, fight the rush of emotion.