Disclaimer: Disclaimed. Tobias POV. Slighly OOC.

"Hello?" I ask groggily, looking again at the unfamiliar number, "Who is this?"

"Is this Tobias Eaton?" Answers the guy at the other end.

"Depends. Who the fuck is this?"

"There's a girl here, she needs a ride home. She says you're her emergency contact."

"Where's 'here'?" I ask, throwing the covers off and looking for my pants. "What does she look like?"

"Blonde, dark eyes, really small," I don't know who he is describing, but continue to get dressed. I'd just take this girl to her house and then I could sleep.

"Where?"

He rattles off an address and after I finally find my clothes, I get in my car and set off.

It's a bar. Cute, tiny, place. There is a large sign in front sporting the name "Edward's". The sign is just small enough to annoy me. Nothing lights up, so I drive past it a few times before catch myself and park.

It's the same inside as it is outside. There are tiny circular tables, and small stools at the bar. The only people here are a muscular guy behind the bar serving tap water to a small, caramel-haired girl on a stool, and a middle-aged blonde wiping down the tables and collecting dishes.

I head over to the bar.

"Um, I'm looking for Al?" I say to the guy. He looks me over before scoffing under his breath like I can't hear him. My anger is rising, but I force it down. I just want to sleep, and beating this asshole isn't going to make that happen any faster.

"I'm Al," says the guy, "You're Tobias Eaton?"

The girl on the stool begins to laugh. Al's hand comes down on hers, which rests next to her water glass.

"Tris, please be quiet," he says quietly, as if talking to a child.

She stops laughing and exhales angrily.

"Tris?" I ask, bewildered.

She doesn't look at me. She does, however, pick up her glass, take a sip, and throw the rest of the liquid at Al's head. Then she turns, still not looking me in the eye, and says hoarsely, "Come on, Tobias, let's go."

I make no comment, hold out my hand, and help her off the stool. She grabs her messenger bag and we walk outside together.

. . .. . . . . .. . . . . . .. .. . .. . . . . . . . . . .. . . . .. . .. . . . . . .. . . . ..

"Where do you live?" I ask.

"I'm not telling you where I live," she replies

"Wha- so, am I supposed to guess?"

"I don't care, I'm just not going there."

I stare at her a minute before turning out of the bar's parking lot.

After a moment Tris asks quietly, "Where are we going?"

"My house," I say, "since you won't tell me where yours is."

Tris is silent the rest of the way. When we pull up, she silently follows me into the house. She goes to lie down on the couch, but I come out of my room with a blanket and two pillows. I help her up, lay down the bedding, and promptly flop down onto it. She raises her eyebrows.

"I can-"

"Don't even try it," I say, "you get the bed. Go on, you're probably tired."

She tries to hide a smile, but I can just barely see it on her pink lips. She wraps her arms around me in an uncharacteristic show of affection. I pat her back lightly and rest my chin on her shoulder, and somehow, it doesn't seem awkward.

When she pulls back, I catch at her wrist, and she gasps. I grab the sleeve of her dark brown turtleneck and pull it up to her elbow so fast that it tears a little. She tries to pull away. "Tobias," she half-whimpers, half-mutters. Her cheeks are red.

"Tris," I whisper blankly.

Her arm is covered in scars. There is a hand-shaped bruise along her wrist and the bottom of her hand, which was what caught my attention. Her flesh is ruined. Some of it is raised with white scars, most of it is bruised. A tiny bit of her porcelain skin still shows, but the rest is dried blood.

"Tris."

She sobs on air, though she's not crying, "Tobias, please," she whimpers, "not now."

I drop her arm, and she hurriedly pulls the sleeve of her sweater back down.

"Good night," she says firmly, and disappears into my bedroom.

. . .. . . .. . . .. . .. . . . . …. . . . . . . .. .. .. . .

I can't sleep. All I can think of is Tris, and not in a good way. I don't think of her hair and eyes and personality, but I think 'who the fuck did that, 'cause I want to murder them'

If her arm looks like that, then how bad is the rest of her body?

And who the fuck did that?!

Review if you want more! I might not update, 'cause my mom's in the hospital. My polyvore's on my bio. Also, thanks to my betas, pinkrose14, and alexmichele.