A/N: I realize how many Divergent "college" fan-fics there are, but I promise I will keep this as original as possible. If you spot any undeniable similarities to another story, please inform me because I don't read very many in this category. I promise plenty of FourTris fluff, but it will take a minute to develop considering I don't like the whole "instantaneous" relationship thing. Thank you all for reading, I appreciate all support even constructive criticism. As I done in my last story, I will include a song suggestion (that I usually listen to while writing it) at the beginning of each chapter. Again, thank you!
Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent or any of its characters, all rights credited to Veronica Roth.
Song suggestion: Shatter Me
"Somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
Somebody make me feel alive, and shatter me
So cut me from the line
Dizzy, spinning endlessly
Somebody make me feel alive, and shatter me!"
x- Lindsey Sterling ft. Lzzy Hale
I flip the unopened envelope between my fingers repeatedly. Every time I slightly push my thumb nail under the corner to open it, I instantly retreat, my nerves getting the better of me each time.
Come on, you've waited for this for months. Just open it!
My own thoughts scream at me to overcome the butterflies in my stomach, and the anxiety in my bones, to open the letter with the Collegiate Chicago post mark. I pick up the vintage Tiffany's letter opener, which was strategically placed on the cherry dining table next to the pile of ignored mail, and exchange positions allowing me to twirl the sterling silver blade across my fingertips with ease. I cannot stop myself from pacing back and forth on the hardwood until my legs begin to feel faint.
Get a grip, and open it!
Without allowing a single doubt re-enter my conscious, I plunge the tip deep into the seal and carelessly rip through the crease. I return the paper-knife back to the table and wipe my right palm on my shirt to try to rid it of the sweat gathering there.
"Miss Prior…thank you for submitting…with great pleasure that I inform you…Congratulations…O'Hare University, Dean of Admissions."
My eyes only registered key words of the letter, giving me the only information I needed.
I made it…
I suck in a breath.
"I can't believe I actually made it!"
I can't contain my thoughts from coming audible as my shout fills the dining room. I instantly clasp my hand over my mouth to stop myself, but I cannot suppress the smile that has overtaken my normal scowl.
O'Hare isn't a top Ivy League school, but it's where my mother went to college, and my brother Caleb. I force my eyes shut in prevention of letting my emotions escape, but it's all in vain. Silent tears run across my flushed cheeks despite of my protests. I haven't spoken to my mother since I left home to live with my friend Peter a year ago. My parent's religion bound them to a lifestyle I could have never committed to, but that is irrelevant to them I, suppose. After all, they refuse all contact with me now. At least I still have Caleb, he decided to leave the same day I did, but he has since surrounded himself in his studies in contrast to me taking a year off. He happens to be the main reason I wanted to apply to O'Hare, I'm hoping it will give us the opportunity to reconnect on my venture for a college degree.
It's not until I hear the sound of the front door opening that I realize I've been staring off into space with my acceptance letter still in hand. I try to gather my composure, and wipe any evidence of my crying from my face before Peter sees me like this. It isn't as if we're in a relationship or anything. I met him while in middle school, and we've been friends ever since. Caleb had a plan the instant he left the colony, but I had nowhere to go and a minimal amount of funds. Peter happened to bump into me at the bus station that same evening, and given our history, had no problem extending his hospitality by giving me an extra room in his upscale Chicago home (courtesy of his parents as a graduation gift).
"Hey, are you home?" I can hear his voice from the foyer.
"In the dining room!" I reply, failing to hide the emotion in my voice.
As he enters the room I can't help but notice his, usually, perfect brown hair is tussled, and his Oxford button up is unnaturally untucked from his trousers. I hold off on sharing my news to feed my curiosity: Bad day?
"The worst." His reply is short, but it is quickly followed by a charismatic smile. "No big deal though, nothing Peter Hayes can't handle. What are you so smiley about, Stiff?"
He glides closer to me, picking an apple from the small fruit basket in the middle of the dining table, and propping himself against the wood before biting into it.
"You know, I really wish you wouldn't call me that." Referring to his nickname for me that plays homage to my former life.
He laughs at the scowl that has taken over my expression: You make it so entertaining, though.
"Well, if you must know, it just so happened that I received a letter today." I gloat, hoping he'll take the bait.
"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. Success.
"Yes. From O'Hare University." I give my best dramatic pause before continuing. "They accepted me! I'm officially a member of this year's freshman class!"
I'm unsure of exactly what I expected, congratulations perhaps, a hug, or even a high-five would have been more suffice than his glare that is currently piercing my soul.
"Well…say something!"
"So, I guess you'll be leaving soon, huh?" He uses such a monophonic tone that it sends chills up my spine.
"Well, yes. All freshman have to live on campus for a semester, but I was hoping…"
I'm cut off by Peter's sarcastic "huff", and an eye roll to match.
"Thank you for considering my opinion in all of this. You didn't even tell me you had applied."
I almost think he's joking, but his frigid demeanor informs me otherwise.
"I would apologize, if I had a reason to. You knew that is where Caleb went. You also knew I was going to apply for college this year."
"Yeah, I was under the impression you would be applying to the same university as me!" He shouts while launching his half eaten apple across the room.
I'm shocked at his outburst, but I stand my ground while trying to hide my aggravation.
"I'm not sure why you would have got that impression considering I never expressed anything near that."
"Oh, I don't know, how about the past year we've spent together?" He says sarcastically.
"This past year has been wonderful, and I am beyond grateful for everything you've done for me, but I can't pass this up!"
I wait impatiently for his reply, rubbing one hand against my shirt to clear the sweat again, and clutching the paper tighter in the other. He simply stares at the floor for the longest time as if it is giving him some sort of advice. I don't want to pressure him for conversation, considering my own temper is flaring. At this point my arms are crossed and I cannot resist biting the inside of my cheek until the metallic taste of blood forces me to stop. It feels as if hours have passed, but I am almost positive it hasn't been more than five minutes, when Peter finally makes eye contact with me again. I almost instantly regret meeting his gaze.
"I'll leave you to it then. There are some extra suitcases in the guest room closet if you need them, don't bother returning them once you're finished. I assume you'll be gone by two weeks' time, so I suppose I'll just return home afterward. Best of luck to you."
He moves toward me in wide strides, shoving into my shoulder as he passes. I am in utter disbelief as I follow him into the next room, watching him gather his keys and jacket from the table next to the door.
"Peter, I'm…"
"For God's sake Beatrice, don't say it. I'm really not interested in hearing it anyway. It's my own fault," he laughs, "I should have known better than to think you actually felt anything toward me. You're nothing, but a Stiff, after all."
The ferocity he uses when slamming the door is nothing in comparison to his harsh words to me. I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for possibly leading him on over the past year, even though it was never my intention. I thought the feelings were mutual between us, as friends, but I guess I just ignored the signs of his affection. I look down at the crumpled letter still clutched in my right hand and sigh: I really hope this will be worth it.