Restore Me

by Mafi, Tahereh

  “I just think it’s important, you know, if you and J ever try to repair this damage. You have to get your shit together.”

  “What do you mean, repair this damage?” I say, my eyes flying open. “I’ve already lost her. The damage is done.”

  At this, he looks surprised. “So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away? All this talk of I love her blah blah and that’s it?”

  “She doesn’t want to be with me. I won’t try to convince her she’s wrong.”

  Kenji laughs. “Damn,” he says. “I think you might need to get your bolts tightened.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He gets to his feet. “Whatever, bro. Your life. Your business. I liked you better when you were drunk on your meds.”

  “Tell me something, Kishimoto—”

  “What?”

  “Why would I take relationship advice from you? What do you know about relationships aside from the fact that you’ve never been in one?”

  A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Wow.” He nods, looks away. “You know what?” He gives me the finger. “Don’t pretend to know shit about me, man. You don’t know me.”

  “You don’t know me, either.”

  “I know that you’re an idiot.”

  I suddenly, inexplicably, shut down.

  My face pales. I feel unsteady. I don’t have any fight left in me today and I don’t have any interest in defending myself. I am an idiot. I know who I am. The terrible things I’ve done. It’s indefensible.

  “You’re right,” I say, but I say it quietly. “And I’m sure you’re right that there’s a great deal I don’t know about you, too.”

  Something in Kenji seems to relax.

  His eyes are sympathetic when he says, “I really don’t think you have to lose her. Not like this. Not over this. What you did was, like—yeah, that shit was beyond horrible. Torturing her freaking sister? I mean. Yeah. Absolutely. Like, ten out of ten you’ll probably go to hell for that.”

  I flinch.

  “But that happened before you knew her, right? Before all this”—he waves a hand—“you know, whatever it is that happened between you guys happened. And I know her—I know how she feels about you. There might be something to save. I wouldn’t lose hope just yet.”

  I almost crack a smile. I almost laugh.

  I don’t do either.

  Instead, I say, “I remember Juliette telling me you gave a similar speech to Kent shortly after they broke up. That you spoke expressly against her wishes. You told Kent she still loved him—that she wanted to get back together with him. You told him the exact opposite of what she felt. And she was furious.”

  “That was different.” Kenji frowns. “That was just . . . like . . . you know—I was just trying to help? Because, like, logistically the situation was really complicated—”

  “I appreciate your trying to help me,” I say to him. “But I will not beg her to return to me. Not if it’s not what she wants.” I look away. “In any case, she’s always deserved to be with someone better. Maybe this is her chance.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kenji lifts an eyebrow. “So if, like, tomorrow she hooks up with some other dude you’re just gonna shrug and be like—I don’t know? Shake the guy’s hand? Take the happy couple out to dinner? Seriously?”

  It’s just an idea.

  A hypothetical scenario.

  But the possibility blooms in my mind: Juliette smiling, laughing with another man—

  And then worse: his hands on her body, her eyes half closed with desire—

  I feel suddenly like I’ve been punched in the stomach.

  I close my eyes. Try to be steady.

  But now I can’t stop picturing it: someone else knowing her the way I’ve known her, in the dark, in the quiet hours before dawn—her gentle kisses, her private moans of pleasure—

  I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Hey—I’m sorry—it was just a question—”

  “I think you should go,” I say. I whisper the words. “You should leave.”

  “Yeah—you know what? Yeah. Excellent idea.” He nods several times. “No problem.” Still, he doesn’t move.

  “What?” I snap at him.

  “I just, uh”—he rocks back and forth on his heels—“I was wondering if you, uh, wanted any more of those medicine thingies though? Before I get out of here?”

  “Get. Out.”

  “All right, man, no problem, yeah, I’m just gonna—”

  Suddenly, someone is banging on my door.

  I look up. Look around.

  “Should I, um”—Kenji is looking at me, a question in his eyes—“you want me to get that?”

  I glare at him.

  “Yeah, I’ll get it,” he says, and runs to answer the door.

  It’s Delalieu, looking panicked.

  It takes more than a concerted effort, but I manage to pull myself together.

  “You couldn’t have called, Lieutenant? Isn’t that what our phones are for?”

  “I’ve been trying, sir, for over an hour, but no one would answer your phone, sir—”

  I roll my neck and sigh, stretching the muscles even as they tense up again.

  My fault.

  I disconnected my phone last night. I didn’t want any distractions while I was looking through my father’s files, and in the insanity of the morning I forgot to reconnect the line. I was beginning to wonder why I’ve had so much uninterrupted time to myself today.

  “That’s fine,” I say, cutting him off. “What’s the problem?”

  “Sir,” he says, swallowing hard, “I’ve tried to contact both you and Madam Supreme, but the two of you have been unavailable all day and, and—”

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “The supreme commander of Europe has sent her daughter, sir. She showed up unannounced a couple of hours ago, and I’m afraid she’s making quite a fuss about being ignored and I wasn’t sure what to d-do—”

  “Well, tell her to sit her ass down and wait,” Kenji says, irritated. “What do you mean she’s making a fuss? We’ve got shit to do around here.”

  But I’ve gone unexpectedly solid. Like the blood in my veins has congealed.

  “I mean—right?” Kenji is saying, nudging me with his arm. “What’s the deal, man? Delalieu,” he says, ignoring me. “Just tell her to chill. We’ll be down in a bit. This guy needs to shower and put his shirt on straight. Give her some lunch or something, okay? We’ll be right there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Delalieu says quietly. He’s talking to Kenji, but flashes me another look of concern. I do not respond. I’m not sure what to say.

  Things are happening too quickly. Fission and fusion in all the wrong places, all at once.

  It’s only once Delalieu has gone and the door is closed that Kenji finally says, “What was that about? Why do you look so freaked?”

  And I unfreeze. Feeling returns slowly to my limbs.

  I turn around to face him.

  “You really think,” I say carefully, “that I need to tell Juliette about the other women I’ve been with?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he says, “but what does that have to do with—”

  I stare at him.

  He stares back. His mouth drops open. “You mean—with this girl—the one downstairs—?”

  “The children of the supreme commanders,” I try to explain, squeezing my eyes shut as I do, “we—we all basically grew up together. I’ve known most of these girls all my life.” I look at him, attempting nonchalance. “It was inevitable, really. It shouldn’t be surprising.”

  But Kenji’s eyebrows are high. He’s trying to fight a smile as he slaps me on the back, too hard. “Oh, you are in for a world of pain, bro. A world. Of. Pain.”

  I shake my head. “There’s no need to make this dramatic. Juliette doesn’t have to know. She’s not even speaking to me at the moment.”

  Kenji laughs. Looks at me with something that resembles pity. “Yo
u don’t know anything about women, do you?” When I don’t respond, he says, “Trust me, man, I bet you anything that wherever J is right now—out there somewhere—she already knows. And if she doesn’t, she will soon. Girls talk about everything.”

  “How is that possible?”

  He shrugs.

  I sigh. Run a hand over my hair. “Well,” I say. “Does it really matter? Don’t we have more important things to contend with than the staid details of my previous relationships?”

  “Normally? Yes. But when the supreme commander of North America is your ex-girlfriend, and she’s already feeling really stressed about the fact that you’ve been lying to her? And then all of a sudden your other ex-girlfriend shows up and Juliette doesn’t even know about her? And she realizes there are, like, a thousand other things you’ve lied to her about—”

  “I never lied to her about any of this,” I interject. “She never asked—”

  “—and then our very powerful supreme commander gets, like, super, super pissed?” Kenji shrugs. “I don’t know, man, I don’t see that ending well.”

  I drop my head in my hands. Close my eyes. “I need to shower.”

  “And . . . yeah, that’s my cue to go.”

  I look up, suddenly. “Is there anything I can do?” I say. “To stop this from getting worse?”

  “Oh, so now you’re taking relationship advice from me?”

  I fight the impulse to roll my eyes.

  “I don’t really know man,” Kenji says, and sighs. “I think, this time, you just have to deal with the consequences of your own stupidity.”

  I look away, bite back a laugh, and nod several times as I say, “Go to hell, Kishimoto.”

  “I’m right behind you, bro.” He winks at me. Just once.

  And disappears.

  JULIETTE

  There’s something simmering inside of me.

  Something I’ve never dared to tap into, something I’m afraid to acknowledge. There’s a part of me clawing to break free from the cage I’ve trapped it in, banging on the doors of my heart begging to be free.

  Begging to let go.

  Every day I feel like I’m reliving the same nightmare. I open my mouth to shout, to fight, to swing my fists but my vocal cords are cut, my arms are heavy and weighted down as if trapped in wet cement and I’m screaming but no one can hear me, no one can reach me and I’m caught. And it’s killing me.

  I’ve always had to make myself submissive, subservient, twisted into a pleading, passive mop just to make everyone else feel safe and comfortable. My existence has become a fight to prove I’m harmless, that I’m not a threat, that I’m capable of living among other human beings without hurting them.

  And I’m so tired I’m so tired I’m so tired I’m so tired and sometimes I get so angry

  I don’t know what’s happening to me.

  —AN EXCERPT FROM JULIETTE’S JOURNALS IN THE ASYLUM

  We land in a tree.

  I have no idea where we are—I don’t even know if I’ve ever been this high, or this close to nature—but Nazeera doesn’t seem bothered at all.

  I’m breathing hard as I turn to face her, adrenaline and disbelief colliding, but she’s not looking at me. She looks calm—happy, even—as she looks out across the sky, one foot propped up on a tree branch while the other hangs, swinging gently back and forth in the cool breeze. Her left arm rests on her left knee and her hand is relaxed, almost too casual, as it clenches and unclenches around something I can’t see. I tilt my head, part my lips to ask the question when she interrupts me.

  “You know,” she says suddenly, “I’ve never, ever shown anyone what I can do.”

  I’m caught off guard.

  “No one? Ever?” I say, stunned.

  She shakes her head.

  “Why not?”

  She’s quiet for a minute before she says, “The answer to that question is one of the reasons why I wanted to talk to you.” She touches an absent hand to the diamond piercing at her lip, tapping the tip of one finger against the glittering stone. “So,” she says. “Do you know anything real about your past?”

  And the pain is swift, like cold steel, like knives in my chest. Painful reminders of today’s revelations. “I know some things,” I finally say. “I learned most of it this morning, actually.”

  She nods. “And that’s why you ran off like you did.”

  I turn to face her. “You were watching me?”

  “I’ve been shadowing you, yeah.”

  “Why?”

  She smiles, but it looks tired. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

  I stare at her, confused.

  She sighs. Swings both her legs under her and looks out into the distance. “Never mind.”

  “No, wait—what do you mean? Am I supposed to remember you?”

  She shakes her head.

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  “Forget it,” she says. “It’s nothing. You just look really familiar, and for a split second I thought we’d met before.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Okay.” But now she won’t look at me, and I have a strange feeling she’s holding something back.

  Still, she says nothing.

  She looks lost in thought, chewing on her lip as she looks off in the distance, and doesn’t say anything for what feels like a long time.

  “Um. Excuse me? You put me in a tree,” I finally say. “What the hell am I doing here? What do you want?”

  She turns to face me. That’s when I realize that the object in her hand is actually a bag of little hard candies. She holds it out to me, indicating with her head that I should take one.

  But I don’t trust her. “No thanks,” I say.

  She shrugs. Unwraps one of the colorful candies and pops it in her mouth. “So,” she says. “What’d Warner tell you today?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Did he tell you that you have a sister?”

  I feel a knot of anger beginning to form in my chest. I say nothing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she says. She bites down hard on the candy in her mouth. Crunches quietly beside me. “Did he tell you anything else?”

  “What do you want from me?” I say. “Who are you?”

  “What did he tell you about your parents?” she asks, ignoring me even as she glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Did he tell you that you were adopted? That your biological parents are still alive?”

  I only stare at her.

  She tilts her head. Studies me. “Did he tell you their names?”

  My eyes widen automatically.

  Nazeera smiles, and the action brightens her face. “There it is,” she says, with a triumphant nod. She peels another candy from its wrapper and pops it in her mouth. “Hmm.”

  “There what is?”

  “The moment,” she says, “where the anger ends, and the curiosity begins.”

  I sigh, irritated. “You know my parents’ names?”

  “I never said that.”

  I feel suddenly exhausted. Powerless. “Does everyone know more about my life than I do?”

  She glances at me. Looks away. “Not everyone,” she says. “Those of us with ranks high enough in The Reestablishment know a lot, yeah,” she says. “It’s our business to know. Especially us,” she says, meeting my eyes for a second. “The kids, I mean. Our parents expect us to take over one day. But, no, not everyone knows everything.” She smiles at something, a private joke shared only with herself, when she says, “Most people don’t know shit, actually.” And then, a frown. “Though I guess Warner knows more than I thought he did.”

  “So,” I say. “You’ve known Warner for a long time.”

  Nazeera pushes her hood back a bit so I can better see her face, leans against a branch, and sighs. “Listen,” she says quietly. “I only know what my dad told us about you guys, and I’m wise enough to the game now to know that most of the things I’ve heard are probably nonsense. But—”

 
She hesitates. Bites her lip and hesitates.

  “Just say it,” I tell her, shaking my head as I do. “I’ve already heard so many people tell me I’m crazy for falling for him. You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “What? No,” she says, and laughs. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I mean, I get why people might think he’s trouble, but he’s my people, you know? I knew his parents. Anderson made my own dad seem like a nice guy. We’re all kind of messed up, that’s true, but Warner’s not a bad person. He’s just trying to find a way to survive this insanity, just like the rest of us.”

  “Oh,” I say. Surprised.

  “Anyway,” she says with a shrug, “no, I understand why you like him. And even if I didn’t, I mean—I’m not blind.” She raises a knowing eyebrow at me. “I get you, girl.”

  I’m still stunned. This might be the very first time I’ve heard anyone but myself make an argument for Warner.

  “No, what I’m trying to say is that I think it might be a good time for you to focus on yourself for a little while. Take a beat. And anyway, Lena’s going to be here any minute, so it’s probably best for you to stay away from that situation for as long as you can.” She shoots me another knowing look. “I really don’t think you need any more drama in your life, and that whole”—she gestures to the air—“thing is bound to just—you know—get really ugly.”

  “What?” I frown. “What thing? What situation? Who’s Lena?”

  Nazeera’s surprise is so swift, so genuine, I can’t help but feel instantly concerned. My pulse picks up as Nazeera turns fully in my direction and says, very, very slowly, “Lena. Lena Mishkin. She’s the daughter of the supreme commander of Europe.”

  I stare at her. Shake my head.

  Nazeera’s eyes widen. “Girl, what the hell?”

  “What?” I say, scared now. “Who is she?”

  “Who is she? Are you serious? She’s Warner’s ex-girlfriend.”

  I nearly fall out of the tree.

  It’s funny, I thought I’d feel more than this.

  Old Juliette would’ve cried. Broken Juliette would’ve split open from the sudden impact of today’s many heartbreaking revelations, from the depth of Warner’s lies, from the pain of feeling so deeply betrayed. But this new version of me is refusing to react; instead, my body is shutting down.