Defy Me (Shatter Me)

Happiness does not happen. Happiness must be uncovered, separated from the skin of pain. It must be claimed. Kept close.

Protected.

“I love you, Ella,” I whisper. “I will love you for the rest of my life. My heart is yours. Please don’t ever give it back to me.”

“Have you ever heard of Blue Streak?”
I blink at him. “That’s the name of a movie?”
“Romeo Must Die? Bad Boys? Rush Hour? Rush Hour 2? Rush Hour 3? Actually, Rush Hour 3 wasn’t that great. Tangled?”

I hear her sharp, angry huff. “Will you at least look at me when I’m talking to you?”

“Can’t.”

“What?” She sounds startled. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Can’t look at you.”

She hesitates. “Why not?”

“Too pretty.”

The reason he had to keep wiping their memories was because it didn’t matter how many times he reset the story or remade the introductions— Aaron always fell in love with her. Every time.

Right now, little is certain. But tonight, I’m choosing to celebrate. We’re going to celebrate the small and large joys. Birthdays and engagements. We’re going to find time for happiness. Because how can we stand against tyranny if we ourselves are filled with hate? Or worse—

Nothing?

I want to remember to celebrate more. I want to remember to experience more joy. I want to allow myself to be happy more frequently. I want to remember, forever, this look on Aaron’s face, as he’s bullied into blowing out his birthday candles for the very first time.

This is, after all, what we’re fighting for, isn’t it?

A second chance at joy.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WARNER

in red icing.

The piping is a little sloppy. The icing is imperfect. But when someone dims the lamps and lights the candles, Aaron goes suddenly still beside me. I squeeze his hand as he looks at me, his eyes round with a new emotion.

There’s tragedy and beauty in his eyes: something stoic that refuses to be moved, and something childlike that can’t help but feel joy. He looks, in short, like he’s in pain.

“Aaron,” I whisper. “Is this okay?”

He takes a few seconds to respond, but when he finally does, he nods. Just once—but it’s enough.

“Yes,” he says softly. “This is okay.”

And I feel myself relax.

And it wasn’t until we literally walked through the doors of the dining tent and everyone screamed happy birthday at him that he finally believed me. It wasn’t much, of course. We hadn’t really had time to prepare. I knew his birthday was coming up because I’d been keeping track of it ever since the day he told me what his father used to do to him, every year, on his birthday. I swore to myself I would do whatever I could to replace those memories with better ones. That forever and ever I would try to drown out the darkness that had inhaled his entire young life.

She’s looking for her clothes, oblivious to my presence, but her dress is on the floor in a corner she hasn’t glimpsed yet, and I doubt she’d want to put that bloodied dress back on anyway. I should tell her that I found a drawer full of simple, standard clothes we’re probably allowed to borrow.

Maybe later.

For now, I step behind her, slip my hands around her waist. She startles and the sheet falls to the floor. “Ella,” I
say softly, tugging her body against mine. “Sweetheart, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

I turn her around, slowly. She looks down at herself, surprised—always surprised—by the sight of her naked body. “I don’t have any clothes on,” she whispers.

“I know,” I say, smiling as I run my hands down her back, appreciating her softness, her perfect curves. I wish I could store these moments. I wish I could revisit them. Relive them. She shivers in my arms and I pull her closer.

“It’s not fair,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “It’s not fair that you can sense emotions. That it’s impossible to keep secrets from you.”

“What’s not fair,” I say, “is that you’re about to put your clothes on and force me to leave this bedroom and I don’t know why.”

She stares at me, her eyes wide and nervous even as she smiles. I can sense that she’s torn, her heart in two places at once. “Aaron,” she says softly. “Don’t you like surprises?”

“I hate surprises.”

She laughs. Shakes her head. “I guess I should’ve known that.”

I stare at her, my eyebrows raised, still waiting for an explanation.

“They’re going to kill me for telling you,” she says. And then at the look in my eyes, “Not— I mean, not literally. But just—” Finally, she sighs. And she won’t look at me when she says—

“We’re throwing you a birthday party.”

I’m certain I’ve heard her wrong.

Hey, is it cool if I still call you J?” he says. “I know your name is Ella and everything, but I got so used to calling you J that it just feels right, you know?”

“You can still call me J,” she says. And then she frowns. “Kenji, what’s wrong?”

I groan.

“Get out,” I snap at him. “I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care. We don’t wish to be disturbed. Ever.”

Ella shoots me a sharp look. She ignores me when she says, to Kenji, “It’s okay. I care. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Kenji says. “But I know your boyfriend won’t listen to me, so I wanted to let you know that it’s almost midnight and we really need you guys to get down to the dining tent ASAP, okay?” He shoots Ella a loaded look, and her eyes widen. She nods. I feel a sudden rush of excitement move through her, and it leaves me confused.

“What’s going on?” I say.

But Kenji is already walking away.

“Bro, you really need to, like, eat a pizza or something,”
he says, slapping me on the shoulder as he leaves. “You have too many abs.”

“What?” My eyebrows pull together. “That’s not—”

“I’m joking,” Kenji says, pausing in the doorway just before he leaves. “Joking,” he says again. “It was a joke. Jesus.”

And then he slams the door behind him. I turn around.