Hiya! Hope you enjoy my latest fic! Important info: Tobias and Tris are the same age, it's written in Tobias's POV and this is set in modern day (i.e. no factions - though the quote at the start is of course from the books).
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Veronica Roth.
We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another. - Dauntless Manifesto
I remember my childhood very clearly. That's not a good thing. My younger years were a living nightmare, a concoction of beatings and manipulation and terror and tears.
That's not to say there weren't any good times. Sometimes, before my father came home, Mom would take me to the lake to feed the ducks with stale bread, and help me with my homework, and I lived for little moments like that, a flash of light in my small, dark world. And then, after my mother's suicide, there was high school: I always relied on Zeke and Shauna to cheer me up on the worst days.
There was little that I enjoyed from elementary school, though. There was too much teasing, bullying even, for me to appreciate the six hour break away from home. But, if I had to pick one happy memory from that time, excluding the moments I spent with my mother...
It would have to be Tris Prior.
And from there, I find my thoughts drifting to that humid afternoon in May, when that girl noticed my pain, helped me, stuck up for me...
I am no longer twenty-six, a surgeon at my local hospital with my own apartment - I am sixteen years younger, cooped up in a corner of the school yard, watching the other boys play a game of football. Trying to keep the tears from falling, making sure I hide those new bruises and weals by not flinching as I lean my back against the wall. To add to my discomfort, the air is clammy and stifling, and my skin is sticky; sweat drips from my hairline down to my forehead. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference if I cried. Maybe the tears would camouflage with the sweat, salt mingling with salt - it's all the same, really.
I never had a friend in my life, until today.
I turn away from the football-playing boys. Most are people I don't get on with, Eric and Peter and Drew and their cronies.
My other peers' activities are nowhere near as interesting. Edward and Myra are "going out", whatever that really means - they don't even know themselves, Myra said she heard the term from her older brother when he was talking about his girlfriend. Eric laughed at her and said she was just trying too hard to be cool. I think he's right, but I never say that out loud.
Right now, they are just talking to each other. Edward leans in and cups a hand around his mouth, presumably telling her a secret.
Lauren is playing jump-rope with some of the other girls. She's the only person who is nice to me, but she still has her own friends, and I'm not one of them.
My eyes fall on Tris, with her friends Christina, Will and Al. She is climbing the tallest tree in the grassy part of the yard, while the other three stand around her, cheering her on.
Come on, Tris!
You can do it, Tris!
Go Tris!
Quick, before Ms Cooper comes out and sees you!
I smile - the teacher who was supposed to be supervising us went inside for some reason, and Tris is taking advantage of that. I wish I had at least some of her guts.
Beatrice and Caleb Prior are Irish twins. Our teacher told us that when we happened to be learning about twins one day. They're not twins at all, and neither are they from Ireland - which is confusing - but they were born in the same year, and Caleb is the eldest of the two. Caleb never interested me - he's the type pf person who stays in at break to help the teacher, not because he wants to, but because he's a teacher's pet, a suck-up; and of course, there's those little arrogant smiles he flashes the classroom when he gets the highest grade, and Ms Jenkins brings him to the top of the room, forcing us to applaud.
As if being Irish twins wasn't special enough - though in all honesty we forgot about that after a day - the Priors are also new to our class. They were accepted here after Tris was expelled for punching a student who was bullying her, and knocking out both his front teeth. Rumours spread quickly and easily in this community, until even the children know what wasn't their business in the first place. Only the information that matters, like my father beating me twice a week, doesn't get around - it's well hidden, like the dust I push under the mat when I'm sweeping the floor.
Tris doesn't look aggressive, though. She is short and very skinny, doesn't talk much, and she's smart, but doesn't show off about it like Caleb.
And yet, even though most of us are only around ten years of age, we know to keep our distance from her. One day in the distant future, it will hit me why, like a ton of bricks, like one of my father's punches to my stomach; it's because of her straight, self-assured posture, her eyes that aren't afraid to meet your gaze.
Tris is the type of girl who stands up for herself, to slap you for something as simple as calling her Beatrice too many times - that happened to Peter last week when he was trying to annoy her and the coward hasn't gone near her since.
Nobody picks Tris to be their friend; she chooses them. And she decided on three people who are completely different to her: Christina, a chatty girl who plays with her mother's makeup and goes to school with it on, much to the teacher's irritation; Will, a friendly, intelligent boy; and Al, a gentle giant who towers over all of us and wouldn't hurt a fly.
I find myself wishing I was one of her friends, too, but Tris will come to me only when she feels like it. And a tiny part of me is too scared to approach her myself - scared of rejection, maybe.
I stare at my hands again. I cope with my home life by writing, by venting my emotions out on a pocket-sized notebook. I like to carry it around with me, though after the events of today I will see what a terrible idea that is and shred the book to pieces and dump it in a public trash can - I'm surprised that my father never found it before.
If I had thrown it away before today, would I have still befriended Tris Prior? And if the answer is no, would that be a good thing, considering what happened to her later?
I take a break from the memory. This is when everything goes cloudy - I can't remember what happens, why exactly Eric and Peter walked up to me and taunted me. I know they shoved me from my spot, and my notebook - or diary - fell from my pocket. None of my clothes used to fit me right - I was too tall and thin, so they hung off me weirdly.
I can't recall why I was getting teased this time, but I do remember my ill-fitting attire, and sometimes, that's how memories work. The insignificant details are easier to recollect.
Now things are becoming clearer again; now, even though her appearance is fuzzy at best, I can still hear Tris's words like they were spoken only yesterday, and I am back in the schoolyard again, that wretched notebook lying bare and exposed on the drain for all to see...
Eric stares at the notebook, curling his lip mockingly.
"What's this?" he says, his sneer growing wider, and my panic growing with it.
Everything is in that notebook: little things, like the chocolate cake I ate with Mom last month and the time Lauren shared her lunch with me, and big things, like how my father beat me with his belt at least once a week since I turned nine, old enough to withstand it.
How Dad Beat Me Every Night.
They will know everything about that, and I can't bear it.
Eric picks it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, and tilts his head. The part of my brain that values my dignity screams at me to lunge at Eric and grab it off him, but I know better. That will only increase his interest, and he will make it his personal aim to get hold of it before the day's out.
"Did you hear me?" he asks, kicking me in the stomach. "Are you deaf or something?"
He doesn't know that I am used to worse pain than this; but he will know soon.
I resolve to destroy the notebook, if I am lucky enough to get it back.
Luck isn't usually on my side, though; it avoids me as if I were an unpleasant smell.
"Is this... a diary?" Eric scoffs after flicking through the pages, smirking and nudging Peter. "Peter! Come here." He looks back at me, his gaze boring into mine. "Let's have a look at Tobias's little diary."
"Hey, let me read it out," says Peter, taking the notebook from Eric and opening it on a random page. Peter can't make fun of me; he still sounds more like a girl than half the females in our class. That makes me feel better, but only very slightly. After all, I'm sure Peter doesn't have an abusive father; I'd take the high voice any day.
"Dear Diary," Peter speaks in an even higher pitch than usual. I scowl, because I never start off my entries like that, opting instead to write straight to the point.
My anger is replaced by great apprehension - granted, most of the situations I write about are good, to remind me of what I have when times are bad. But a fair number of the entries describe or reference my father's treatment of me - what if Peter has landed on one of those?
I am torn in two. Maybe, just maybe, if my secrets are brought out into the open, my life will improve. But my father said that if I dare tell anyone, he will kill me, and I believe him because I am ten and gullible and in truth, I often thought he would murder me if he kept hitting me like that.
No, I don't want Peter and Eric to reveal what happens behind the scenes at the Eaton household, I truly don't.
"Mom took me to the bowling alley for half an hour today, before Dad came home from work." I finally let myself exhale. This was recent, and I know there is nothing defamatory about my father there. "We played against each other. Mom was really good, but I did well in the last few rounds and beat her. I had lots of homework so we had to go home early, but I still really enjoyed my day out. Signed, Four." Peter finishes with a flourish.
"Four?" Eric steps closer to me, raises an eyebrow and gives a short laugh. "Four?" He pauses for effect. "What kind of name is that?"
My cheeks feel even hotter than before, and considering it's a scorching day, that says something about how embarrassed I feel. Four was the name of one of the superheroes Mom and I saw at a movie in the cinema. The hero had four fears, hence the name - though I'm not sure how he would know that for certain - but I thought it was a cool nickname, so I used it to sign off my entries. It gave me a sense of security, of anonymity, though my future self will laugh at this. Any idiot could tell it was in my handwriting, joined and scrawly and very distinctive.
Eric looms over me, his figure casting a dark shadow over me, and I don't feel much like a superhero when I feel the tears making an untimely return, threatening to spill over the rim of my eyes. My heart was in my mouth. We learned what this meant last week, but now I can feel its meaning too.
If I let Eric laugh about my pen name, maybe they'll forget to read more of my "diary", or perhaps they'll simply do both - why not torture their prey as much as possible before killing it? I'm doomed, either way; there is no escape from the villains. I'm getting defeated and I'm just letting them do what they want with me, because I will only learn to use my fists in high school.
From the corner of my eye, I see a small form coming towards us, and a flash of blonde hair.
"Stop." Her voice is loud, but firm. Peter, Eric and I turn to look at whoever interrupted them - it's Tris Prior, standing there with her arms crossed.
"Stop?" Eric parrots back, glaring at her.
"Excuse us, Beatrice," Peter smirks, "but we're kind of busy right now, so if you don't mind leaving, that'd be great."
"Stop calling me that!" says Tris, balling her fists.
"Why should I, Beatrice?"
"Why should I, Beatrice?" Tris does a perfect imitation of Peter's voice, and despite everything, I can't hold back a grin. It's a small triumph for Team Tobias and Tris, but it's a triumph nonetheless.
"You sound just like a chipmunk, Peter." It's Tris's turn to smirk. It's not quite true, but Peter's face reddens anyway, getting the point, and he scowls.
"Why are you here anyway?" Eric asks Tris, folding his arms.
"To stop people like you from picking on Tobias."
Eric laughs. "Ooh, I'm scared! Ahh! Help! Beatrice's going to attack me! Run away!"
"Shut up."
"Ohh, I don't think you're allowed to say that, Beatrice!" Team Eric and Peter are making a comeback. "We're going to tell on you -"
Tris jumps up and grabs my notebook from Eric without warning, and he can do nothing but stare at her - I don't think he expected that. He reminds me of that goldfish I used to have, opening and closing his mouth. My father killed the fish after I didn't make my bed properly, and made me watch. Flashbacks come rushing back - the fish, who I named Billy, squirming in my father's hands as he removed it from the water after much effort, then he cut it with a knife on a chopping board like it was our dinner for the evening. I cried, but not as much as I did when he beat me afterwards.
"You're an idiot, Eric." Tris hands me back the notebook, and I accept it gratefully, ramming it back into my pocket.
"Leave me and Tobias alone." She puts her face closer to Eric's and Peter's. "And if you tell on me, I'll tell on you too, so don't try it. You're nothing but bullies, and you know how much Ms Jenkins hates bullying."
I've no idea if I'm imagining it, but I think they look a bit frightened before Peter shoves her, and they both run away before Tris can retaliate.
I look at Tris for a long time, who continues to glare at the evil duo. I don't understand why she would stand up for me; we're not friends.
"What?" she says, turning to me with that annoyed look still on her face.
"Thanks," is all I can manage.
"For what?"
"For getting back my notebook."
"They're just bullies," she points out again, crouching down on the ground next to me. "If you show them you're not afraid, they'll start to leave you alone."
"Really? That's all I have to do?"
"Yeah. That's all." I wonder briefly if that would work on my father. She smiles a little. "Was it really a diary?"
I hesitate. "Kind of," I tell her. "I'll throw it in the trash when I get home, though." I don't think Eric and Peter realise how they've ruined my best coping mechanism, how they treated it like something to be ashamed of, and that devalues it for me. It's not the same anymore - it's a hindrance I must get rid of.
"You shouldn't."
"I want to."
"Why? Because they read it?"
"I don't want that to happen again," I shrug.
She pouts, but changes the subject. "You look lonely," she says, and I'm not sure what to make of that comment. "I could be your friend if you want. Unless you like being alone."
"Yeah. I'd like that. Be your friend, I mean." Tris Prior chose me, and there is no way I'm refusing her offer, even if I'm daunted by the mere thought of hanging out with somebody.
The bell rings, and Tris smiles at me.
"I guess we have to go back inside now," she says, rolling her eyes.
I'm not a friendly person, never was; but I find it in me to smile back at her, and copy her eye roll. "Yeah. I heard we're doing more grammar this afternoon."
"More grammar?" she whines.
I don't remember what happens after that.
Oddly, my other memories of Tris are mixed up and probably inaccurate, but despite that, we were the best of friends, stuck together like glue. I even developed a crush on her, those kind of pre-pubescent feelings that don't amount to anything serious - if a desire to be around her all the time and making a Valentine's card for her and blushing when people noticed that I liked her counts as a crush.
Then I recall what took place almost a year later - Tris's death. The idiot went and killed herself by accidentally letting go of her brand new bouncy ball of all things on the road, and running across without looking to get it. It was a red light and a busy street; she didn't stand a chance.
A bawling, snotty-nosed Caleb had told me everything - he was with her, but the car had hit Tris before he had any time to react.
'Heartbroken' is a severe understatement for how I felt. I was furious with her at first, though - a ten year old not looking up and down the street and valuing a toy over her own safety? Tris was supposed to be smart - Tris wasn't so reckless. What a stupid, stupid way to die.
But kids will be kids. I was stupid too, carrying that notebook to school, having it in the first place.
Then the grief set in, full force. Tris was my friend, and while she didn't know anything about what went on at home - I always made sure she never paid any visits - she was my first companion, the person I confided in the little issues I suffered at school.
The girl who defended me when no one else would, not even Lauren.
To top it all off, my mother also went off and killed herself months later, this time deliberate; and my father's beatings got worse and worse til I let it all out to Shauna at eighteen. I was no longer a child, and out of school - I got my own place and psychological help all thanks to Shauna and Zeke, and I will always be grateful to them for my current state of sanity.
There's a certain beauty in small actions like Zeke's and Shauna's, and Tris's. You only see the major ones on the news, like saving a drowning child, or a family from a burning building. But Tris's ordinary act of bravery - because it took courage to stand up to Peter and Eric - saved me, too. She saved me from having my secrets placed in the wrong hands, hands that would scatter them around for the entire school to see. She saved me from becoming too pessimistic when I was heading that way.
Tris was no saint, either. We had fights, many fights, some caused by her. But that doesn't matter. When someone passes away, you only see their best parts, and they tend to take on an image of someone more perfect than who they were. I know this. But still, she was mostly good, in her own unique, spirited way that could only be described as Tris.
I still think of Tris Prior from time to time. I've made new friends since - Zeke and Shauna in high school, some work colleagues - but Tris was my first friend. I can't ever forget that - won't. Don't want to.
Hope you liked and please review! Now I can say that I've written from 3 different POVs: first Peter's, then Tris's, and now Tobias's.