Peter is going to pay. I sit thinking as I scrub Edward's blood off of the floor. This is the last straw. He wasn't going to hurt anybody else. Ghost-like tingles crawl over my chest as I remember his invasive hands. "Doesn't look like stiff is much of a girl- oh wait! I think I found something!" The harsh words and laughter burns in my memory, and I feel my brow furrowing in anger. Yes- he is going to pay. I pick up the bloody sponge and toss it in the trashcan, and go in the bathroom to wash my hands. Edward's blood turns the water red and I watch the angry rose-colored tornado circle down the drain. When I come back the havoc has quieted down and everyone's changing into pajamas. Peter pulls a white t-shirt over his head, and I watch it settle over his broad, muscled shoulders. He would be too strong to take on- during the day. I smile to myself, then let it fade as Peter locks eyes with me. "Like what you see, stiff?" He taunts, grinning. I don't answer him. As he smirks I realize that he's probably handsome- to other girls. Taut muscles, broad shoulders, shiny dark hair, blue-green eyes, perfect teeth. But all I see is that malicious grin as his hands probed my body and held me inches from death above the roaring river. I shudder. I pick up the knife- recently lodged in Edward's eye socket, and take it to the bathroom; rinsing it in the sink. Nobody pays notice to me as bed preparations are made and lamps are flicked off. When I return to the bedroom all the lights are off, and I slide the knife under my pillow as I crawl under the covers of my bed.
I don't move until hours have passed, and the quiet snores of sleeping initiates sound from every bed. Slowly I pull back the covers and crawl meticulously out of my bed, grabbing the knife from under the pillow. Is this how Peter stabbed Edward? But I wasn't going to stab Peter- not yet. I reach Peter's bed, and his sleeping face is illuminated by the moonlit window above him. He looks peaceful- harmless, even. My stomach turns at the thought. Without a second thought I clap my hand over Peter's mouth and press the sharp edge of the knife against his throat. His eyes snap open, and he squints; trying to make out my face. But it's too dark. He struggles and I push my face next to his ear. "Make a sound, or try to escape; and I'll cut your throat." I hiss. The words surprise even me, the peaceful stiff. Are they my words? Then I remember what he did to me- what he did to Edward, and I push my inhibitions aside. I grab him by the hair and pull him up, out of bed. He doesn't protest. Good.
I drag Peter down the hallway outside our room, and lug him to the dead end with the bathroom doors on either side. In the middle there's another door- a closet. I open the door and shove peter in ahead of me. As I walk in and close the door behind me, something stringy and metallic tickles my face. A pull string. I pull it, and fluorescent light floods the small room. I look at Peter, my hand pressed tight against his face. His eyes widen in recognition. "Scream, and…" I hiss, flashing the knife at him. Though it's unlikely Peter would scream. I remove my hand from his mouth.
"Stiff." He growls. I chuckle darkly. "Maybe you should rethink that nickname while I have the knife." I whisper, reminding him. His mouth stretches into a taut line. "So..you thought eliminating Edward would make it easier for you?" I growl, pressing the knife to his temple, by his eye. "Maybe I should eliminate you." I threaten, pressing the tip into his skin. A pinprick of blood shines on his pale skin, and Peter gives me a death-glare. "Oh, don't want to ruin that beautiful little face?" I taunt, then realize what I said. I'd just admitted he was attractive. The ghosts of a smile play at Peter's lips, and I growl irritably, shoving my knee into his stomach. It knocks the wind out of him, and he chokes; lunging forward.
"Damn, stiff." He chokes. "Didn't think you had it in you." He teases. I grab him by the back of the neck and press my blade against his adam's apple. "Don't call me stiff." I murmur, glaring. "What, does it bother you?" Peter grins. I glare. He was so arrogant. "Do you have no regard for your life?" I whisper loudly, pressing the blade down hard, drawing blood. Peter smiles, saying nothing. "I don't know, I just think stiffs have too much regard for other people's lives. Messing with you is way too easy." He taunts, laughing as he stares at my chest with greedy eyes. My eyes darken. He underestimates me. I'm not stiff..I'm Divergent. And I will make him know. I shove the blade into Peter's shoulder, simultaneously clapping my hand back over his mouth. He screams into my hand as blood trickles from the wound, and again when I pull the knife out. The blade scrapes against the opened skin. Without warning, Peter kicks me in the shin, and I double over in pain. He starts to crawl torwards the door of the closet- but I'm too fast. I grab hold of wounded shoulder, pressing my fingernails into the knife wound. He cries out, and I grab a wash cloth from the shelf of the janitor closet, shoving it into his mouth to gag him. He wheezes, struggling in my grip.
I feel a pang of guilt but it leaves me quickly as he rears backwards, shoving me to the ground. The knife clatters out of my hand and peter grabs it, pinning me down and raising it above me. I gasp, raising my arms to protect myself. Then, without warning, I shove my thumb on his knife wound, hard. He screams into the gag, and I pin him back onto the ground, straddling his chest. I punch him in the jaw, and again in the nose; and blood pours out. It's broken. Peter stuggles to breathe, shoving against me. His blue-green eyes water, almost puppy-like. He groans again as blood trickles from his shoulder and down his arm. Then he has his hands on my hips, and I panic. My brain flashes back to his hands sliding over my hips at the ravine, and I bring the knife down as he shoves my hips in an attempt to escape. Peter's screams are muffled by the gag, and dark blood spreads on his white t-shirt. His hands shake and drop from my hips to clamp over the knife. Dark blood coats his hands as he tries to pull it out, but his hands, shaking and slippery, don't get a hold. Something between a moan and a sob and a scream escapes his lips, almost animal. Then I'm lifted off his chest by strong hands, and I meet the eyes of Tobias. He sets me on my feet, then goes to pick up Peter, removing his gag.
I stand and watch the scene unfold. Tobias picks up Peter, carrying him out of the room. A pool of blood is left behind, and blood drips behind them as Tobias carries Peter to the nurse. Peter doesn't make a sound- he must be unconscious. I say nothing, following quietly behind them. Four carries Peter into the nurse and sets him on the table,and takes a seat beside the curtain. I sit quietly next to him. Peter's awake now, the nurse talks to him in a hushed voice. Black plays at the edges of my vision as I hear the slip of blood as the nurse attempts to pull out the knife. Peter's screams fill the room, and I clap my hands over my ears and shut my eyes. It doesn't help. I hear the clack of metal as the nurse drops the knife onto a metal tray, and the fizzt of water as the nurse jets it into his wounds. Peter doesn't scream anymore, he whimpers quietly, mixed with moans of pain. I hear a dripping noise- more blood. Then a gurgling that I can't identify.
"Get the oxygen!" The nurse screams suddenly. A man in a white lab coat rushes into the room, holding a large tank and a box full of sharp-looking tools and plastic tubes. I hear Peter- gasping as if struggling for air. "He's burst a lung!" The nurse says, loud enough for me to hear. I stare at the blue curtain, at the shadows of the nurse running back and forth as she hooks up tubes to a big tank and takes out metal tools. The heart monitor screams, beeping loud and fast. Peter wheezes, chokes. I feel bile rise in my throat. Blood drips on the hospital floor. Then Tobias grabs my hand and leads me out of the room.
Tobias doesn't speak as we walk down the hall. I don't say anything, either. I can hear Peter screaming again, and my ears ring. I think I might pass out. My stomach turns. "I need to—" I gasp, charging for the bathroom. I swing open a stall door and puke into the toilet. Tobias doesn't come behind me and hold my hair. In fact, when I return to the hall he's gone. I walk back to my room alone, the cool air conditioning sending goosebumps up my arms. I'd done the right thing- an eye for an eye- hadn't I? No. A voice at the back of my head challenges. You attacked an unarmed, defenseless person; and panicked when he tried to escape.I cover my ears. "SHUT UP!" I scream. He deserved it. He did. I feel like I'm going to puke again, so I press my back to the wall and slide down to the floor, putting my head between my knees. Then my vision fades to black. Peter screams in the next room. I hear nothing.
When I open my eyes Christina is standing above me, looking down at me with a confused expression. "Ummm….Tris? Why are you sleeping in the hallway? Is it about what happened with Edward last night? Because Peter wasn't there when it was time to sle-" She rambles, then the bell rings for breakfast. "Let's go!" She shouts over the noise, helping me to my feet. I fight through a cloudy layer of fog in my brain. What happened last night? I try to remember, but my nervous system is blocking it out. As we round the hallway, I see a little trail of red-brown spots on the linoleum. Dry blood. Then it all comes rushing back, along with a fierce wave of nausea. Did I kill Peter?
I walk into the cafeteria with Christina, and she grabs our trays. I scoop spoonfuls of the breakfast onto my plate nonchalantly, then sit with Christina at our usual table in the middle of the cafeteria. I look around, but Four is nowhere to be seen. He must think I'm a monster- that I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. I swallow my breakfast quickly, needing to escape. I get up and push out of the cafeteria, without saying goodbye to Christina. The doors swing shut behind me, and I begin to walk down the hall. When I reach the initiate sleeping quarters, I barge in, breathing hard, and massaging my temples. Then I look up- and Peter sits on his bed, eyes open.
I don't know what to do- what to say. I close the door of the dorm, and Peter cringes away from the noise, against his pillows. He's afraid…of me. I stare at him silently. "You gonna kill me, Stiff?" He asks quietly, not meeting my eyes. It should amuse me that Peter's voice is laced with fear, but instead a brick of guilt hits the bottom of my stomach. I look down at the ground, then back up at Peter. He closes his eyes and clenches his hands, but I can still see them shaking. "What did the doctors say?" I ask. God. That's the stupidest thing to say. Peter doesn't answer for a while, then he opens his eyes and sucks in a breath. "I burst a lung. I was going to die. They said it was luck that Four got there in time." He says quietly. "I told them I fell onto the fence posts outside…the ones with the protruding nails. I don't think they believed me." He chuckles darkly, but then he shuts his mouth into an expressionless line. It was just like him- nobody else could know that he had weaknesses. But I find myself unable to get angry with him. His eyes are large and blue, with dark bags under them from sleeplessness; and his dark hair is matted against his face from sweat and tears. The bridge of his nose- that I broke- is covered in white gauze. Dark bruises, scabbed cuts, and dried tears shine stickily on his face. I made Peter cry. The thought is strange, and sad.
"Tris-" It almost surprises me when he uses my real name. "If four hadn't come…would you have killed me?" He asks quietly. I ponder this. I know the answer already, but I'm trying to decide if I should tell him. Should I lie and say "No, it was just a joke!" Like Peter had when he hung me over the ravine, or will I tell it to him straight? I suck in a breath. "Yes." I answer. "I would have."
Peter nods, staring at me with a blank expression. "I figured that much." He says. His words interest me. "Why?" I wonder aloud. "I thought stiffs care too much?" I say. Peter's face hardens. "You're not just Abnegation, are you, Tris?" He asks. My smirk drops. "What makes you say that?" I demand, a little too fiercely. Peter's eyes lock with mine. "No reason." He whispers. No reason that he'll say aloud. But I won't demand anything of him- not now. I change the subject. "Do you regret what you did?" I wonder. "Honestly? No." Peter growls. "He deserved it." He says. I don't bother to ask what for, it's not like Peter has good reasoning anyways. "Then why should I regret what I did? You deserved it." I contradict. Peter glances at me. "I never said you should." He says seriously, looking down at the ground. "If there's one thing I regret.." Peter begins, but he doesn't continue. But he doesn't have to. I know what he'll say.
"It doesn't make it right." I say quietly. Peter looks back at me. "It doesn't make it right." He repeats. And we've reached an understanding- probably the closest one Peter and I could ever. We don't say anything else, because it's already been said. We sit, Peter on his bed and I against the doorframe, until Christina and the others return and put on their clothes after breakfast. Christina takes my hand and leads me to the fighting room. I'll be facing Molly. Peter sits on the sidelines. We don't speak to each other for the rest of the day. Or the rest of the week. Or the rest of initiation. But we don't have to.
Because it won't make it right.