A/N: Ok, so this my first Divergent story, hope you all like it. Constructive criticism is welcome, nasty comments not so much.
Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own any of the Divergence characters Veronica Roth does, I have however, thrown my own characters into the mix but I'll let you know which ones they are when they come into the story.
Or at least that's what I was going to do, what now I've written it, I'm not sure if I should continue with my story or leave it as a one-shot. What do you think?
Fear. It courses through his veins. It immobilises him; claws at him like a cat – making him feel as though he is as small, weak and vulnerable as a mouse. The fear brings on the panic, this in turn coils around him like a snake. It squeezes the breath out of him, and causes his body to freeze in anticipation.
Truth be told, he does not know what is worse; the feeling of being trapped in this enclosed space, or the footsteps he can hear; growing closer by the second.
He hears fingers expertly undoing what is considered a clothing accessory in other – 'normal' – households, but which is used a vicious weapon in his.
Not that he would ever call this place home. This wasn't home; this was hell. This was a prison he couldn't wait to get out of. His tormentor, the man who he was forced to call 'Father' was the perfect example of everything Tobias never,ever, wanted to become.
He began to tremble uncontrollable as the footsteps neared.
He would rather stay in this unbearable small, airless container than have to face the man who would no doubt lash him until he couldn't stand.
And even then, he might stop…
Tobias wanted to cry, but tears only brought more pain. He hated pain. He hated fear. He hated the various bruises, welts and scars that littered his body; more specially, his back.
He wondered if he would ever be free of this living hell. If he would ever escape, If his father's true colours would ever be unmasked? No, probably not. And yet, and yet, there was hope. Maybe. It was choosing day soon. Well, in a few months. Choosing day meant freedom. It had to do. If it didn't, if it didn't…then…
The sudden sound of silence made Tobias hold his breath, there was the turning of the doorknob, then there was light. A rough, violent hand reached out and grabbed him. Pulling him out of the cramped caged, and into the light.
Despite himself, Tobias couldn't help but let out a pleading cry as he was thrown against the wall.
Marcus ordered him to stand, and he did albeit shakily and unsteadily.
He ordered him to remove his shit; and his did, his entire body trembling with pure, uncontained fear.
How do you control fear? He asked himself as the grey, plain fabric slipped from his hands onto the floor. He wished he knew the answer; he'd give anything to control this terror and overwhelming panic that resided within him.
Hell, he'd do anything to not take a beating anymore.
He turned round, slowly, and pressed his hands firmly against the wall – all the better to steady himself, physically anyway, emotionally he was a wreck. Tears had blurred his vision and his voice shook as he begged and pleaded for mercy. Though he knew that none would come, and that he would be lashed until the skin peeled off his back and crimson blood coated his skin.
He had long since realised that begging was a useless, and yet he still did it – whether that was out of a feeble hope that one day it would work, or simply out of habit, he didn't know.
He closed his eyes as he heard the belt soar through the air over his father's shoulder and physically and mentally prepared himself for what was to come. He bit down on his lip in an effort to keep from screaming as the belt whizzed through the air, he heard it and despite himself let out a pitiful sob.
The belt connected with his skin and-
He bolted up, his senses too caught up in his vivid nightmare to take in that he was in fact lying in a nice warm bed, as opposed to being whipped black and blue by a deranged sadist.
Tobias's eyes flew around the room, and once he'd realised where he was he immediately turned his gaze sharply to the left, and as he took in the empty space beside him,all of a sudden a new panic arose.
A panic that was far, far greater than the one he had experienced in that hell hole.
He called out her name, over and over he called out her name, but he received no reply.
The sound of footsteps caused him to relax. Yes! She was here! Still here, still safe. They were both safe. No. Out of nowhere, a voice in the back of his mind told him he was not safe, and neither was Tris. He understood what the voice meant when he saw the door swing open and Tris, his beautiful Tris, his world, his absolute everything, was stood covered in blood. A gaping wound spurting crimson fluid out of her chest her features contorted in pain, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
Behind stood Marcus, he had a knife.
Tobias let out a roar that mirrored that of a wounded animal as he rushed towards Tris. Tris, Beatrice, the girl, no womanbecause that's what she had become, who was bleeding, and scared and dying right in front of him. Oh God, she wasdying!
''Tris! Tris!'' He called her name over and over again as she collapsed into his arms.
His mind went blank, he couldn't think. Couldn't 't breathe.
Tris dying.
Leaving him.
Marcus hands covered in her blood.
Blood everywhere.
There was so much blood.
So. Much. Blood!
''Tobias. Tobias wake up. Wake up. Come on, it's a nightmare it's not real. Now wake up. Please!
Please! Four!''
Four heard the words, knew the voice, and as he bolted up for the second, and hopefully final, time, he looked into all toofamiliar eyes and he felt his heart ache and shatter, For the woman who stared at him with a mixed expression of worry and pity, was not the one he wanted to see.
''Honey?'' A soft gentle voice, the voice of a woman he loved dearly.
But it was not her voice.
He would never hear her voice again.
Beatrice.
Tris.
Six.
She had been known by any names to begin with, but eventually he had come to know her as only word; Mine.
For she had been his, not a cruel, manipulative or even possessive way, she had been his in a kind, loving, gentle and warmly honest way.
He'd loved her with more than his heart; he'd loved her from his very core. If there was such a thing as a soul, that was what he had loved her with. They're love had being as much emotional and mental as it had been physical.
She'd been his world, his everything. His reason to live, his reason to die, and she'd been the strength within him that he'd never really known he'd had until she came into his life.
Now she was gone.
Now she was dead.
And as he lied to his Mother that he was fine, that everything was alright and he was ok now, he could not help but wonder if he would ever be whole again?
Once he'd longed to control fear, now he longed to vanish to grief. The latter, he'd realised was considerably worse because it could not be contained. It could be hidden from the outside world, unlike fear, but it could never be replaced nor beaten. It was like a ghost; it lingered on and no one else was ever aware of its everlasting presence.
How do you kill a ghost? He asked himself, the answer was simple; you couldn't. You just had to live with it.
The only thing that ever stopped him from becoming a ghost himself was that –if there was an afterlife - Tris would kick his arse, and ask him why he'd come to back to her too soon.
She'd have wanted him to live.
That much he knew.
For he'd known her inside out, in every way possible.
Tris.
His Tris.
His beautiful, ghostly Tris, would she always haunt him this way?