Hi guys! So this is the first oneshot of my Divergent collections, because who doesn't love Divergent? I hope you enjoy!
I never expected life to move this slowly, I think as I lay in my bed. All of my moments have rushed by in blurs, whether it be my first time jumping on and off the trains, my blood plummeting into the burning coals. The lash of my father's belt. The gray strength of the small Abnegation girl landing in the net before anyone else. They have all moved too quickly, except for the life itself that encases them.
I don't know. Maybe I have had too many moments, so many experiences that needed to happen, so much planned out for me that my life stretched on and on and on, ninety-four years worth of moments. After all that time, that's what I am sure of; that everything in life is just a moment in time, one you can never get back, like the trees you pass by when you're in a train. The tree gets closer and closer, and then for a split second it's right next to you, parallel, and then you pass it, and it gets farther and farther away and you can never grasp the moment of connection again. You can reach back as far as your fingers can stretch, but you will never enclose it in them. And accepting it, accepting that loss, takes bravery.
I've learned that bravery, I've been learning it by stepping in slowly so that I'm damp and then wet and then drenched and then drowning in knowledge of that bravery so I can keep myself alive.
Finally, that swim is over, and I can let go.
I'm the only one left. Christina and Caleb and Cara and Zeke and Shauna, all of them have passed on. And each loss cut a piece out of me, definitely, but those losses also sharpened what is left.
Evelyn's death was hard. During the years after the fall of the faction system, I grew, and we grew closer. Every time we laughed or ate or talked, or even just sat together in the sound of silence, I acknowledged in my mind how grateful I was that I didn't use the memory serum on her. Each day I realized how foolish and childish it was, how cowardly and selfish it was, that I even thought of intoxicating her with the serum so I could turn her into the parent I wanted. I didn't own her, so I never had the right.
But as she turned herself into the mother she wanted to be, the more she belonged to me. Owning her and having her belong to me are two completely different things. I didn't own her. My father did. And I would never, ever, compare myself to my father and what he possessed, not even the tiniest grain of a simile between him and myself. Belonging, though, having a sense of belonging, is only warmth. We became a part of each other, a piece we could hold onto. I have never seen her better in my eyes when I figured out that she didn't only belong to me, but I belonged to her, too.
Only one other person made me feel better than that.
She never left my mind, not really. She always had a special spot in the back of my brain, the memories of her always there, always waiting, always beautiful.
I was able to have family in my mother and my friends, and my friends' children. They brought me joy I never thought I would have after Tris died. After she left and after I had moved on I knew I would have some sort of joy in my life, but I never thought I would have happiness through others to that great of an extent.
Sometimes the thought crossed my mind that it was selfish of me not to have children of my own. It made me feel stuck, deciding. Would I betray Tris by finding someone else, would that feeling stay with me forever? Or would it be a crime not to add another branch to my family tree? What would she want me to do?
My decision was both selfish and cowardly, in the end. But one of the most important parts of being brave through grief is to make your own decisions that sometimes center around yourself, for your own greater good. Did it save the ones I loved, as Tris said so many years ago? Yes, and no. A little bit of both. I was setting myself up for a life of loneliness, but that didn't matter. I had the love of so many good people, and that was enough to keep me floating.
…
Do you ever just…know? That you're absolutely sure that something is or something's going to happen? You know when there is good in someone evil, like the good in Peter, all those years ago, when he took the memory serum so he could start again, a life without the urge to hurt people. You know when love is true, like when my mother chose me over the city, and when she chose me time and time after that; or when every time I kissed Tris, I knew that nobody else would be able to make me feel anything close to the feelings she gave me. Knowing things like that is as simple as knowing when your body craves food or water.
Tonight, as I lay in my bed, I get that feeling of pure knowledge once again. This time it is not the knowledge of love or goodness or hunger or thirst; it is knowledge of freedom. My heart is tired of beating and pulsing blood through my body. My lungs are tired of expanding. I am tired of eating, drinking, walking, and talking. All I really am, all I can really feel, is that I'm tired.
Breathing has never been this difficult before. My chest has never moved so slowly as I inhale. I can barely feel the covers draped on top of me, or my head against my pillow.
My breaths start to shake as I take them. It pains me to send oxygen through my body, and I go from numb of every feeling to aware of every single flaw. My bent fingers, worn from years and years of age; my tattoo, the flames that lick across my back, sagging with my skin.
I am done here, I think. I am done, I know I am done, I want to go…
When Tris died, I wanted to take myself. Not actually, not my life; but my memories, all the important ones: Of my friends, of her. Back then, seventy-six years ago, I thought that that amount of suffering was insurmountable, that feeling of dread and self-loathing, hating to be alive when someone unworthy of death is dead. Now, I realize, that pain like that plummets compared to the pain of life I am experiencing now.
I'm gasping, ready to plead into the air to whoever's watching to make it stop, to make me stop… and I see a light in the doorway.
The rays of light bend and dance as they move closer to my bed, and I see that it is not light itself, but a person that the light comes from. Tris.
It's her, Tris, my Tris, walking to me, illuminated and beautiful. She looks like she did when I last saw her, the three ravens soaring across her collarbone, the golden hair of a warrior. She smiles, and through it, I feel pure warmth wash through me and every drop of pain and suffering dissolve. I look at her, and examine her small but muscular body intensified by the light that surrounds her. She never belonged here, on Earth, I think. She has always belonged up there. Always.
And then, I realize that maybe I belong up there, too.
"Tobias," she says, the first thing I've heard her say in years, too many years. "My Tobias." Her voice is low and clear like it always was, and the familiarity is so wonderful that I laugh.
"Tris," I say, and I'm not even sure if my lips have moved. "I'm so proud of you," she says, and her voice cracks. "You've done so well. You're respected, you built back your relationship with your mother, you were able to find family in our friends, too. Tobias, you really are the best person I've ever known."
She grabs my hand and lifts it up into her light, and suddenly I feel an indescribable sense of peace in my hand. My bent, wrinkled fingers straighten and smooth out and I feel the same sensation in the rest of my body. I'm eighteen again.
"I told you that I'd see you soon," I say, or think, or whatever, because it doesn't matter as long as she hears my words, absorbs them. "It took you long enough."
She laughs, and the sound echoes through the room. "Are they all there? Our friends, my mother?" She nods. "They're all there, and well, and waiting for you."
"Good," I say. Then she lifts me up, effortlessly for her small body and I feel no pain or burden of my old body when I stand up. Only peace, abundant peace, and love. Tris stands on her tiptoes and kisses me, and I respond so quickly and so happily. An inferno dives through my body, rushing through my veins and pumping out through my heart.
Tris takes my hand once again and leads me to the doorway. As she does, I stare down at my feet and see golden rays, my own, rising from my feet. I turn my head to look at my bedroom, and I smile at it before looking back at Tris. Yes. I belong up there, with those I love, just as much as she does. I know, finally, after ninety-four years of life, where I truly belong.
"Now, let there be light," she says, her voice filled with song, her skin radiating warmth.
And it is so.