Remember Me ("Shatter Me" FanFiction)

AARON WARNER

» Disclaimer: This FanFiction contains spoilers for the 'Shatter Me' series by Tahereh Mafi. 

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Chapter 1 » The Wedding, Part 1

I am quite unremarkable.

I stare, unblinking at the unfamiliar, yet somewhat familiar figure reflected before me. I have aged. Where I was once unblemished, I have become rough with circumstance. I am not the same man I was a year prior. It is no secret that the children of the Supreme Commanders are inherently beautiful—but none of our physical attributes combined compare to Ella, my soon-to-be wife. Her beauty is an exquisite rarity that I'd never imagined attainable, nor dreamed possible—

I exhale slowly and run a hand through my hair, painfully refocusing on my reflection. I rarely fancied the presence of a mirror in my personal quarters back on Sector 45. I've never considered myself beautiful, or worthy of wasting precious time on examining my features. My eyes and hair are my mothers', but I don't need a mirror to recall the colours. I see her every night; whether it be in dreams or nightmares, there is no significant difference anymore. Her eyes were the colour of emerald in the sunlight; two jewels in stark contrast with my bleak, melancholic childhood. Her face swims in my vision, the memory as clear as if it were yesterday. The dimpled, vivacious smile she saved only for me in the stolen moments away from the abuse my father inflicted. Her thick, curly hair the colour of the sun. 

My breath hitches in the back of my throat. I wipe the traitorous tear from my cheek, which serves as the only indication of my emotional discomfort. My father always disciplined against my inclination to emotion...with varying degrees of failure. I despise everything my father was, everything he endeavoured to turn me into; however, in his wake I detest most of all the thought that he almost succeeded in rendering me a monster. I believe that if it weren't for Ella, he would have succeeded in one way or another—by asserting absolute control and stripping me of my humanity, or by my eventual suicide. Ella Sommers rescued me, not only from my father, but from myself and who I believed I was destined to be. As I smooth out the wrinkles in my borrowed, ill fitted, traditional black and white suit, I smile. I laugh quietly to myself in disbelief. Ella Sommers, soon to be Ella Warner. My heart skips a beat and struggles to regain its composure. Who would have thought this tremendous day possible?

"I know you know that I know, but you look dashing." I hesitate to turn, hyper aware of the new emotions in the vicinity. Nazeera stands in the doorway, dressed in a satin, navy gown. My heart skips another beat—not in response to her beauty, but a newfound feeling of regret encapsulates my heart. This time, the emotion is mine alone. There are a thousand things I wish to say to Nazeera, all of which include thank you, I'm sorry, forgive me, but the necessary words allude me. In response to regaining the memories stolen from us by our parents, the Supreme Commanders, I learned of both my childhood and Nazeera's fundamental role within Ella's. Ella, Emmaline and Nazeera were close, almost as close as sisters. This bond was what protected and kept Ella alive when I failed to do so. I struggle to form a sentence, then reconsider. The look on my face must speak volumes, as Nazeera smiles and enters the room, waving a hand offhandedly, "I didn't do any of it for you, exactly. But you're welcome." Before I can protest, she produces an artificial white rose from her clutch and pins it to my lapel, straightening my navy tie in the process. 

Outside the chamber, I hear our guests in the garden. I haven't been allowed to oversee any of the ceremonial decorations, thanks to Kenji. I stifle a groan at the thought of having to spend the rest of my existence on the same planet as Kishimoto; but, I'd suffer through even this torment to see Ella smile. "It's nearly time. Are you ready?" Nazeera doesn't allow me the time to respond. She slips her arm in the crook of my elbow and leads me out into the foyer. The lifeless, beige room is lit artificially, in stark contrast with the dim moonlight streaming through the door. Nazeera steers me toward the glass door overseeing the garden. "Yes," I reply, in response to her earlier question. Soft piano and hints of violin commence. I step outside. The guests turn.

I have waited an eternity for this moment.