author's notes: i'm going to dedicate this to the lovely kat [roseusvortex], even though it's horrible because i wrote it at one in the morning. sorry, kat.
forever lost
There are days when he can't remember anything; not what had been served at lunch, not any of the conversations he'd had...not even his training. His muscles remember the vigorous routines he must have done, but that changes nothing.
It worries him sometimes.
At other times, he doesn't give a damn.
He knows he's hated, he knows he isn't doing his future Dauntless member self any favours with his behaviour. Sometimes he cares, sometimes he doesn't.
He feels almost robotic in nature. There are the days when he feels nothing at all, like he's walking through life — if it can be called that — in a haze. He breathes, he eats, he sleeps...and he forgets.
•
"What are you saying?"
She scoffs. "As if you don't remember!" She steps closer, poking her finger into his chest. He tries to ignore the shiver the touch sent down his spine.
Her flat, emotionless voice draws him back. "You tried to throw me in the fucking Chasm, Peter. How the hell do you forget that?"
He almost wants to write this down. The Stiff, swearing? A moment to preserve forever. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he says, turning one side of his mouth up in a small, wry, self-deprecating smile. He really doesn't understand. Why had he done that?
To her, it looks like he was smirking. "You jerk. I can't believe you!" She turns on her heel, exhaling a tiny huff, and he catches a glimpse of her anger-red cheeks as she flings the door open so hard it hits the wall and stomps out.
He watches her stride down the corridor, and his chest feels oddly heavy. For once, he finds himself wanting his memory to be normal: he wants to remember the cute way she abuses her lower lip through chewing it when she's nervous or angry, and the way that no matter how hard she brings her foot down it makes little sound, and the way that his name exits her lips.
It's too bad all of this will be deleted sometime before tomorrow morning.
•
He savours all of their interactions — usually bad, but once he thinks he saves her life. He wishes he could remember.
And then he's pretty sure he drank some serum, and then it's his life all over again — as soon as something happens, he forgets — only he didn't go back in time, which is unfortunate, because then he could have started anew with Tris and not been such an asshat.
And when his memory starts clearing enough for him to remember little things, he finds himself in some building he doesn't remember from "Before" — no surprise there — with some injured brunette girl, and whenever he asks someone about Tris, his brave Tris, they make some excuse and hurry away. It's like they don't think he's capable of seeing the pursed lips and the "sorry-for-your-loss" expressions. He does. He's had enough of that look in his lifetime.
But he keeps asking.
And they keep not telling him.
It's a cycle — a well-meaning cycle, perhaps, though he doesn't see why anyone thinks they shouldn't tell him she's gone, she's dead. It wasn't like he'd ever shown he had a heart.
And maybe, now, he doesn't. Maybe it was turned to ash like his brave Tris's remains and scattered to the winds.
Forever lost.