Listen to: When You're Gone by Avril Lavigne.
You're in your fear landscape again.
You know this place well, but the familiarity still can't stop your knees from quaking. The large cliff stands proudly, high in the clouds, so you can't even see clearly what's awaiting you after the fall; but through the mist, you can't even see the bottom. Wind howls and slaps you repeatedly in your face, blowing your hair flat; but you don't even have the heart to care. You grip your own sweaty hands, your knuckles turning white, not just out of fear, but of anticipation. Anticipation, for the fears coming ahead. This is the easiest one, and yet you are chickening out already. "Be brave, Four." You mutter.
With a deep breath you jump; the wind buffets back your hair and you speed through the clouds. Before you can scream, your fear landscape has shifted.
You're in a room. It's dark, and it's barely high enough for you to stand. You feel the blood draining from your face, and even though the place is firmly enclosed—a bit more than you would prefer—you still feel the wind sending chills down your back. You hug your arms, feeling goosebumps raise on your arms, and as if in a dream you feel slender arms slip around your waist. "Tri…?" You breathe.
And the déjà vu is gone; you're alone in the tiny cupboard. Through your hazy fear you remember the time she slinked her arms around you and crouched with you, using her soothing voice to lull your fears away. You crouch in the corner and hug your knees, trying to draw a deep breath, only to breathe heavily like a dog. You bury your face in your knees and bite your lip. "Tri…," you try again. But you can't say it.
And then you're in a room. You're half-wearing a suit; looks like you were just putting it on. Your left arm is through its left sleeve, the other half hanging limply down your back. You look down and note your black tie is untied, hanging around your neck like a dead snake. You search the room for a mirror as you slip your right arm through the sleeve, knowing that there will be one. That there always is one.
You find it, hanging on the door this time. You steady your breath as you look in, but still feels the surprise and fear wash over you as Marcus's cold gaze glares back. You raise a hand to your tie, and Marcus mimics, his hand reaching for his Abnegation grey suit, his dark blue gaze still holding yours haughtily as you struggle to meet his. With a clumsy knot you tie your tie and try to smooth it out, looking at your tie in the reflection as an excuse to advert Marcus's cruel eyes. Out of the corner of your eyes you see Marcus's gaze fall on your tie critically, and you raise your head defiantly again, only to see him jerk his head upward at you, glaring.
You take a deep breath. You know what to do—at least, you think you do. Still trying to hold Marcus's gaze, you lower your hands to your waist and undo your belt slowly, trying to not notice Marcus's cruel glare as he reaches for his. Finally you straighten and puff out your chest, ignoring the frantic beat in your chest. "For Evelyn!" You rasp.
And you lash out; Marcus copies your moves perfectly, and you try not to flinch away as you bring the belt down on the mirror. It cracks immediately, and you meet Marcus's stare one last time as his figure crumbles to the floor.
The landscape shifts, and you clench your fists, squeezing your eyes shut. Last one, you think, last one. The fourth one.
You daren't open your eyes. You know the landscape's ready, and you know the more time you waste the more afraid you will be, but you're just not ready. Not ready to see her face. Not ready to see her blonde locks and wide eyes and terrified but slightly hopeful smile. Not ready to see her.
"Four?"
Your eyes fly open and you see her, her blonde locks and wide eyes and terrified but slightly hopeful smile. She is sprawled on the other side of the room, her black shirt stained with blood, which makes it a shade of dark crimson. Blood pools around her blonde head, but she doesn't seem to care, or seem able to care. Her face sometimes contorts—and her body jerks, and you know the unbearable pain she's going through right now. You take a few tentative steps towards her, expecting a gun pointed at your head or shackled around your ankles—anything to restrict you from running to her—but there isn't, and you almost trip over your own feet. You wobble and rush to her side, taking her blood-stained head into your lap and stroking her hair. "Tri-Tris?" You croak.
"Tobias." She simply says, and you feel tears forming in your eyes. "Tobias."
"I miss you." You whisper to the almost limp figure in your lap. She seems confused through her pain-contorted features, and you realize that she is just a mirage—a figment of your fear. She was always there. She still is.
You think of finding the wound and stopping the bleeding, but you already know it was no use. You see the lights in her beautiful eyes dim, and you feel frantic. She looks up at you, wide eyes pleading: Just end the pain. End the pain.
You feel your heart tearing itself apart, and you gently shuffle backward, letting her sprawl on the ground, one hand over her fatal stomach wound. "Tris," you say, your voice catching, "I love you."
"I love you too." She breathes, unable to manage anything louder than that. She lifts a hand weakly, and you take it, pulling her into a full embrace as your lips meet, and you let your tears flow.
You don't know how long you have kissed, nor how long you have wept; only when she falls limp in your arms do you gently set down her body, and the landscape melts.
-oOo-
You close your eyes as the landscape shifts. Your heart is beating frantically from your past three fears.
You wait for Tris to call your name, to see her mangled body in front of you, to kiss her, comfort her, and whisper her name as she dies—again—in your arms. The fear is still there, but you feel adrenaline rush through you. It doesn't matter if she'll die. It's an illusion, but you will see Tris again. You wait.
And you wait.
And you wait.
The silence is uncomfortable. You open your eyes to the room. The room you last saw Tris died.
"Tris?" You call aloud, your voice rising. The panic is evident. You worry—that you are late, that she is dead, that something's wrong. "Tris?" You call again.
You notice the clean floor, clear of stains of any kind. The corner where Tris is usually either curled up or lying spread-eagle is unusually bare. "Tris…" You whisper, trying to hide your panic, bending down to touch the ground reverently. "Where are you?"
You curl up into the corner, despite your fear for confined spaces, hoping to drink up her scent or anything—but there is nothing. No trace that Tris has ever been here. And then it hits you.
It's the absence of Tris.
You wanted to see her. You're scared of, more than anything in the world, that you wouldn't be able to.
So you weren't.
You feel your breath slow, and the room ripples, then the mirage melts. You curl into a ball on the cold floor, and allow the tears to flow.
Tris is gone, and it wasn't scary.
It was just incredibly sad.
And you know it.
In the deep of your heart.
You know.
That you will never see your Tris again.
-oOo-
Goodbye my almost lover
Goodbye my hopeless dream
I'm trying not to think about you
Can't you just let me be
So long my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
Should've known you've bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do
-Almost Lover, A Fine Frenzy
WARNING: This is an enormous A/N. If you're impatient, skip it.
Hey new people. On the mostly impossible occasion that you know me, don't be alarmed to see me in the wrong fandom. (By wrong, I mean, not the one I usually am in. Anyway, just no offense meant to this fandom. It's awesome, or else I wouldn't be here.) I just read the Divergent Trilogy a few days ago, and this just couldn't get out of my mind. So here I am: sadistic me, ruining other people's lives in a whole new world. (Thanks Mike. *Eye roll*)
I know nobody's sitting well with the ending to Allegiant. But hey, for somebody who likes tragedies, I just want a shoutout to everyone. Life isn't perfect. Learn from your losses, and look forward. There's always a forward. (I think I'm feeling a bit too optimistic for a pessimist.) And personally, although it's nice seeking comfort in the Alive!Tris fanfics, I like to embrace life. (Again, no offense.) I'm sure plenty of you have read TFIOS. It's beautiful, in a sad way. I feel the same about Allegiant. Same ending: anyone who watched The Bridge to Terabithia as a kid? I loved it. Still do.
I hope I find friends who like tragedies as much as I do.
Read and review, please and thank you, et cetera.
Peace out.
-Ctenophore. D
P.S. I don't think Four is a cursed number. In Chinese, it sounds like "die", and superstitious people hate it. But I don't. It's my student ID, which makes it my favorite number, and Tobias being Four just makes it more awesome. It also helped me avoid superstitious teachers (a.k.a. my Chinese teacher) calling on my ID. She likes number three, but she has literally never called on me by my ID. She also seems to think that, among our 43 people, the numbers 20-23 and 30-33 seem most random. It's weird but fun, sort of. I've been thinking of indulging more people in that observation.
P.P.S. I suddenly realized in my username: Ctenophore. D! Cteno4. D! LOL!
P.P.P.S. Did any of you actually read all that A/N up there? I admire your patience ;-)