Destroy Me (Shatter Me, #1.5) by Tahereh Mafi EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author Name: Tahereh Mafi
- Book Genre: Dystopia, Fantasy, Novella, Romance, Science Fiction, Young Adult
- ISBN # 9780062208194
- Date of Publication: 2012-10-2
- PDF File Size: 4.5 MB
- EPUB File Size: 4.5 MB
Delalieu is standing at the foot of my bed, clipboard in hand.
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.
I told them it was an interesting theory.
“My slacks, Delalieu.” I’m sitting up, trying to steady my head against the
nausea of these new drugs. My right arm is essentially useless to me now.
I look up. Delalieu is staring at me, unblinking, Adam’s apple bobbing in
his throat.
I stifle a sigh.
“What is it?” I use my left arm to steady myself against the mattress and
force myself upright. It takes every ounce of energy I have left, and I’m
clinging to the bed frame. I wave away Delalieu’s effort to help; I close my
eyes against the pain and dizziness. “Tell me what’s happened,” I say to him.
“There’s no point in prolonging bad news.”
His voice breaks twice when he says, “Private Adam Kent has escaped, sir.”
My eyes flash a bright, dizzying white behind my eyelids.
I take a deep breath and attempt to run my good hand through my hair. It’s
thick and dry and caked with what must be dirt mixed with my own blood.
I’m tempted to punch my remaining fist through the wall.
Instead I take a moment to collect myself.
I’m suddenly too aware of everything in the air around me, the scents and
small noises and footsteps outside my door. I hate these rough cotton pants
they’ve put me in. I hate that I’m not wearing socks. I want to shower. I want
to change.
I want to put a bullet through Adam Kent’s spine.
“Leads,” I demand. I move toward my bathroom and wince against the cold
air as it hits my skin; I’m still without a shirt. Trying to remain calm. “Tell me
you have not brought me this information without leads.”
My mind is a warehouse of carefully organized human emotions. I can
almost see my brain as it functions, filing thoughts and images away. I lock
away the things that do not serve me. I focus only on what needs to be done:
the basic components of survival and the myriad things I must manage
throughout the day.
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