He hates her, wants to fucking reap the life of her body, tear her limb from limb, wants to rob her of the air she breathes in every day. He wants to watch her burn, wants her to live through all her fears every day, he wants to be the one to put her there. Wants to be the only one to watch her scream in terror. He almost did it, he almost got to her, but Edward kept screaming, he almost got her over the edge, but he didn't mean for her to slip, if only she hadn't struggled. If Four hadn't become her fucking knight in shining armor, God he could have just scared her and had her know that he was the one in control here.

Then it was number boy to the rescue, having the nerve to keep it up with him until she called his name, Four's name, not his. Jealousy sunk in, he wanted her to know, that Four wasn't the only one fawning over her. First it was ranking, he couldn't understand how a tiny Abnegation prude could take him on in a match, to dare try and fight back. To get first in initiation, to rub it in his face in a way that she wasn't brought up to do. She was a rebel, and maybe that's why he hated her, or maybe he hated the fact that he couldn't have her.

Four was an ongoing nuisance, was a pestering force that continued to frustrate him, was the reason that he had so much anger, if it weren't just for the attention he got from Eric, but it had to be in every painful and uncomfortably twist in his stomach and chest he had every time he watched them together. Saw her smile at him, he didn't want her to smile, or maybe he did. He didn't want Four to be the reason, didn't want the trainer in the picture. It drove him insane, after they were together.

Punching bags weren't enough to take the edge off, his TMC training wasn't enough, the labor he put his body through. He didn't have a girlfriend, he didn't want one, he just wanted to vent the hurt he felt, why did he hurt anyway? And whenever he asked himself what was wrong with him, his mind would flash to the bubbly and happy blonde that was getting married in a few months.

Initiation was long over, and it had been nearly three years, he was already 19, and one of the most assholish tendencied masochistic bastard of a man out there. That didn't keep him from wanting, he wanted things he couldn't have, it turned into hate, and disposition, and anger and the rage kept him going. He had a score to settle, and he wanted it done. She was always at the source it seemed, and he no longer wanted to watch her suffer, he wanted to feel her squirm, wanted to inhale her excited heady scent and damn her as he let her bleed.

He found he did that lately, even while beating the shit out of a leather sand bag, he often thought of her, and what she might sound like, what she looked like under those clothes. She filled out nicely. He wanted to ruin her. De-purify her, destroy any self confidence she had, get her afraid of interloping again, wanted to hear her scream and beg. But that wasn't right, was it. No it never was, his sexual fantasies always went so far, until he had the urge to make her suffer. Why was it that he was so hell bent on hearing her spit profanities at him, to feel her struggle beneath him as he took what he wanted? Was he sick?

His hands stopped beating the leather, stopped pounding and began throbbing, even though he wrapped them. Maybe he shouldn't bite his nails as much. But was that it? That made him stop? That single, three worded endearing thought that meant he might have given a shit about what he did to people? Was he sick? He didn't know, but it was enough to make him take a breather and sit down, his hair being tugged from his scalp and his breath huffing past his lips. But he liked doing it, it was why he thought about it, why he did the things he did in the first place, why he scolded himself for stopping there, for never going further, never completing the horror he started instead of letting loose. Was something wrong with him? Surely not, he wanted to watch her bleed, right? Wanted anyone who ever wronged him to burn in a hell he made for them, just for them so they could scream until their voices gave out. Was he sick? It was a thought he took for the month.

Standing by the chasm with a bottle of whiskey in his grasp was probably not the best idea, but who gave a shit? No one, obviously. He grinned at the prospect, he was granted attention only when he did as he was told, only when he excelled, he didn't have any friends, no one would miss him. So who gave a shit if he accidently fell down?

He wasn't a coward though, was he? Was he a coward for attacking her, 3 on 1 in the dark late at night, for slipping his hand in places she hated, for trying to get rid of competition. He laughed to himself, fuck cloak and dagger, do it in daylight. He wasn't a coward, not like Al who couldn't bear the thought of not being loved, what an idiot. He smiled, looking down into the rushing water and breathing in the slight salt, in the damp that came with it. But couldn't he not bear being loved? Wasn't that why he picked on his sister? Why he was the home wrecker while in Candor, why he got other people to believe they weren't loved either, that he was capable of giving it? All he knew was that he liked seeing the agony on their faces, his enemies, that he was good at manipulation, and lying, and dealing pain. He'd never tried being gentle.

Was that his problem? Not being gentle? What did being gentle with creatures who were fragile to begin with have to do with kindness? Or being sick? He scoffed, huffing out a laugh at himself, going down the invisible checklist, he was incapable of being loved or giving it, he liked hurting people, got jealous easily, was terrible at making friends, no one would give a fuck if he disappeared suddenly-sure people would wonder but hell, no one would care-and he'd never get what he always craved, he was an alcoholic at 19, fucked instead of loved any woman he came across, so what was the point in all this?

"Peter!"

Oh, what? He looked as he swayed, glaring at the voice, God couldn't a man drink in peace? A body crashed into him, or more so grabbed him. Had be been going over? Oh joy, an accident, he'd pull the person over with him. But that wasn't right, what had they ever done? Tried to stop him? Disturbed his late night early morning drinking? He was slammed down on the metal grate over the chasm, his whiskey flying over the edge and a body crumpling over him. Panting and huffing, he growled at the throbbing in his head, at the weight on top of him. It was a girl, that much he knew by the placement of her hips and the absence of a twitchy member. He inhaled, and though his breath and reek of heavy spirit he could smell honey, and something spicy, it might have been his drink but God he wanted the smell.

It came from her he found, and he grew light headed at the glimpse of her face. Grey blue eyes, parted lips and all, fuck him. Mother fucker, son of a bitch piece of shit oh fuck she was on top of him. Her lips inches from his and her hips locked perfectly on his. Oh shit. Ohhh if he had known just how well she filled out. He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he leaned up and captured her lips in his, though he doubted him kissing her was pleasant. He was drunk, and nearly fell over the side of the chasm. Still her lips were soft, and her body even softer, his arms moving on their own accord as they circled around her waist, crushing her to him as he kissed her. Her taste was addicting, and he felt like beating the shit out of Four for taking her lips for granted. He could worship her just from that. But he liked the feistiness he elicited from her as his cheek was a raging hot pink, her hand up for another.

She stood, fixing herself and brushing off dirt that might have come from him. Then she glared something hot that made him want to groan, "You know what, next time you want to jump, just go ahead, you disgusting waste of space," she shouted at him, or maybe she tried not to. The ring on her finger glittered and he got to his feet, staring her down and getting closer, inhaling her honey spice again. He could just bite her, suck and lick and see if she tasted as good as she smelled, if her skin was like her lips, if she'd ever let him down between her legs. He smirked at her, "Next time, mind your own fucking business Tris, go home to your fiance,"

"You know some people might give a damn if you decide you're a sack of rice near the chasm,"

"Like who?"

"People," She mumbled to him, looking down at the ground in shame, she hadn't stepped back. He was okay with that, but he wanted to touch her, and he was thrilled that he hadn't pictured killing her yet. His hand slid up her arm, nails ghosting her skin, calloused fingers closing around her arm softer than he thought he meant to do it, and she shivered. He was suddenly down by her neck, lips brushing her skin as he mumbled to her, "Go home to your fiance, before I do something he might not like," He watched as she struggled, glaring at the railing and then him for a second before she took a breath, eyes softening some. Then she pressed her hand to the side she had slapped, making him nearly flinch as it still stung despite his drunken stupor, then she was on her toes and pressing her lips to his cheek, her eyes an apology and full of worry. Why was she worried? She hated him, wanted to see his guts spill she had told him that.

She left him there in the chasm bridge, confused and turned on and partially angry, he wanted to be furious, wanted to demand she compensate for slapping him so openly. But he had deserved it, she was getting married, and he had taken advantage of her in such a way. He still stumbled home, crashing on his couch, trying not to think about her, but who was he trying to bull shit? That was impossible.

He was invited to the wedding, and he didn't know why. Hadn't she remembered the chasm? Both times? Didn't she remember how much he hated her? What fucked her into thinking inviting him was a good idea? Either way, even if he had an answer to those questions, he wouldn't attend. He didn't feel like being tortured, watching her kiss Four, he didn't want to go back into that dark place. He just got help for his problem, Erudite was keen on psychology and were very excited to peel into his mind, to give him some help. He didn't want the thoughts of death and horrific things coming back, didn't want to be his only friend with quiet voices egging him on, always questioning what was wrong and why he regret it every time. He wouldn't attend, because he didn't want to see that beaming smile on her face, to see her adorning a once in a lifetime outfit, to see her standing there with Four. He wouldn't attend.

He showed up last minute, just as she was about to walk down the aisle. He knew enough about weddings to know who everyone was by title, and damn did her father look stiff and uncomfortable. It seemed to be a full blown Abnegation wedding, which was small and dull and coarse and he felt the need to hit something for a little entertainment.

He didn't know why he showed up, he told himself that he wouldn't, yet here he was, watching and listening to the vows exchange, watched them lean in, but caught the look of apprehension on her face. What was she nervous about? Marrying the man she'd always been with? There was nothing to worry about, she'd be just fucking fine and dandy with that bitch of a man. Did Four even know what he held so gently? She wasn't one to be held gently, was one to be cherished and cared for yes, but she was anything but fragile. She wasn't going to break, he admired that about her.

Watching them dance was hell, catching how Four pressed her closer to him, how Four kissed her frequently and caught his gaze just as much. It was torture, sitting there turning down every drink offered when he really fucking needed one, he hated Four more than ever now, because he did it on purpose. It was obvious the invitation wasn't sent by him. Whatever, get over it bitch. He stared at the floor, watching the polished reflection of them spinning, smiling, laughing and dancing, enjoying each others company. He had to step out, get some air, his nails were picked red, and his knuckles were white.

The bathroom was empty enough, and he took the time to glare at the reflection of himself in the water in his hands. He was such an idiot, thinking, hoping, wanting everything her. He knew he was teasing himself, leading himself on every second he was near her. Fuck. Why did it matter? Why was he hung up on her? Why couldn't he get over her, let her go? He hit the wall, his knuckles popping. He sighed, well, that was counterproductive. After cleaning his hand he returned to the tables that surrounded the dance area. She was seated at the table was was alone at, and her new husband was surprisingly absent from her side.

"Sick of him already?"

She looked up at him, shock reaching her eyes and making her part her perfect lips, God how he wanted to kiss her again. He tucked his hands gingerly in his pockets, wearing the only grey clothes he could find. She recovered quickly and gave him a small smile, she stood for a second, but his hand stopped her, it was her wedding, she shouldn't give up her seat. Staring at him curiously she shook her head, smiling, "No, he's talking with my father," She answered, lacing her fingers in her lap, eyes taking him in. "You look good, Peter," She began, pulling his attention, "What happened?"

"What have I always looked like shit?" He mused, smirking as a delighted laugh escaped her small body. "You look different," She explained, rising to her feet, grabbing his arm gently and eventually sliding her hand into his, "Dance with me,"

"I don't dance,"

"It'll give me an excuse to talk to you," She mumbled, smiling at him and pulling him again, catching how he hissed through his teeth when her hands touched his cracked open knuckles. Her brows furrowed slightly before she spoke, placing his hands on her, "You came,"

"I did," He confirmed, pulling her a bit closer so that he could inhale her sweet scent. Her fingers squeezed his arm, "I didn't think you would," She continued, voice light as she rested her forehead to his shoulder.

"I didn't think so either," He muttered, brushing his nose to her hair,

"So why did you?" She asked him, eyebrows raised and her lips a teasing smile,

"I don't really know, but I imagine your husband isn't pleased with me being here,"

"He can grow up," She huffed, and he laughed at her. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed out of humor. It seemed that she was the only one able to do that. They danced in silence for a bit, him feeling her press to him, her heart pounding against him as she held him tightly. She broke the silence, "I forgive you,"

"What?"

"For what you did to me, I forgive you," She repeated, catching his gaze as he reached out and spun her gently, watching her soft hair swirl with her. His heart cringing when she smiled at him, why was she smiling? Did he not cause her enough pain back then? Was she okay with it now? Why was she forgiving him? "I think I understand now why you did it, took me a while though," She told him, looking up at his eyes.

"Why did I do it then?" He nearly growled, making her fingers dig into his arm.

"You were afraid, and jealous and unused to everything,"

"No," He huffed, a laugh hardly vibrating his chest, "That's not it,"

"What is it then?" She demanded, upset that he kept the answer, so he pulled her closer and dipped her, leaning down and staring her in the face, "Not something you want to hear," She was pulled back up, spinning around him then back into his arms, they twirled, "Tell me," She said, determination in her eyes as always as he sighed at her. He didn't feel the need to keep it in anymore, and it might save him the burden of holding it in, "I'm in love with you," He told her, and the look of shock on her face was enough. He was out the door as soon as Four had turned from speaking with Andrew.

Hey guys, a story I've been venting on, really, one that goes in depth to Peter's mind about Tris, and his struggling attraction for her. Tell me what you think of it, and I'll update accordingly, I would however, like to apologize for my negligence to my other stories, I'm moving into my new house all this week, and house hunting all last week has made things more hectic than what they need to be. Things will be back to normal soon, I promise.