TOBIAS

THE SUN CATCHES the gleam of her eye as she turns her head towards me, her lips spreading just enough to show her teeth. It is not the reserved smile of Abnegation, nor the wide adrenaline rush grin of Dauntless, but of a strong girl, whose fate was not decided by the rules of the factions or the minds of the government who founded them, but by her own decisions, made in the haste of love and selflessness and danger. She steps closer, placing her hands on my chest and letting them slide up to my neck and linger on the ink tattooed there.

"Good morning," I say. She leans in, so that I can smell her scent, a mixture of fresh air and honey, like the color of her hair. I brush my fingers against her cheek, eager for the soft kiss I know is about to come. But before I can press my lips to hers and seal the space between us, she pulls back, her eyes glistening.

"What's wrong?" I say as I realize that the glistening is tears forming.

"I don't want to leave you," she says, and then bites her lip like she immediately regrets saying so.

"You don't have to. You can stay right here, forever, and we can be happy. We can be together and nothing will change that."

I tug at her hand to pull her back towards me, to fill the growing space between us. I am cold and I am not sure whether it is from the lack of her warmth pressing against me or the growing dread I have because I know I won't be able to stop her leaving. She pulls harder and her hand falls from my grasp.

"Tris…"

I can hear the desperation in my voice as the word escapes from my shaking lips. But she just says "I love you" before turning away and disappearing from my view. My vision is blurry with tears and I fall to my knees.

"TRIS!"

But there is no answer, just the orange light filtering in through the window, illuminating the spot where she had stood moments before.

My eyes blink open and I strain to see into the darkness. It must be close to dawn, because thin frames of light are beginning to form in the cracks between the blinds. I roll over and yank my pillow over my head, imaging her once more, the sunlight on her face, that beautiful smile…

I don't want to leave you.

The last words she spoke to me. Or the last message she had for me. The message she told Caleb to give to me if she didn't survive.

But he shouldn't have had to. She was supposed to live because Caleb was the one who volunteered to breach the Weapons Lab, but instead, she decided in that moment to be true to her Abnegation roots and she took his place. My beautiful, strong, selfless, brave Tris took his place. And because of that, I will never see her again. My last image of her will be from the atrium with the wild plants, contained for the purpose of momentary beauty and relief. Cacophony suspended in time so all the frantic elements can be analyzed and forgiven, in the space between chaos and calm.

I love you.

The last words she spoke to me. Herself, from her lips.

"I love you, too," I whisper into the pillow. "I'll see you soon."

I can feel the warm tear as it squeezes through my closed eyelid. I try to blink it away, but it is insistent on escaping so I let it fall, one salty symbol of all the love and ache and grief and pain that I've experienced since Tris' death. I have been forcing the numbness down throughout the past two and half years, but you can never really erase all the feelings you've ever felt for somebody.

Christina was right, all those years ago, when I tried to erase my memory and free myself from the pain I knew I would experience for the rest of my life. When she told me that Tris would not have wanted me to forget her and in this moment, although I can still feel the pain of loss, I am glad Christina was there. I don't know where I'd be or who I'd be if I didn't have my memories. Our memories.

And I'm glad I didn't allow myself to momentarily become the babbling idiot Peter was after the serum took effect. For days, he walked around patting people on the head and telling them "good job" when they said his name, like he was congratulating himself on even remembering he was the one they were addressing.

I push away the memories and drag myself out of bed, despite the early hour. Today is when I travel with Christina, Zeke, and Amar to the fringe to pick up those who volunteered to come to the city. Every Saturday, the company Christina works for known as the R.I.O.A., or Relocation Institution for Opportunity and Advancement, sends a vehicle down to the fringe to collect any one who has decided to transfer to the city. Usually a representative from the office, in this case Christina, and a few policeman, more for protection than force, make the journey. They made an exception for me to come along because I'm supposed to be learning more about what the "outside" situation is and how we, as the government of Chicago, can improve the lives of others and political stuff like that, but I really spoke up because I wanted a chance to spend some time with my friends again.

It's been so long since I had company that I enjoyed; Evelyn moved out of my apartment two weeks ago to join the farmers in the outer city limits. She liked the idea of spending her days peacefully plucking apples or tending to the soil or making strawberry jam. Something about protecting the fruit on our trees is one step towards protecting the innocence of our minds.

But I have a feeling that a large part of it had to do with the Director of the Farming Corporation, Abraham. He was part of Jack Kang's support staff, the former Candor representative. Some of the Bureau members call him "Honest Abe", which always cracks them up, but frankly I don't get it.

I grab a muffin and open the door to the balcony. A rush of fresh air presses against my face and I close my eyes, letting the gentle breeze soothe me. I absentmindedly pick out the blueberries and nibble on them as I watch the traffic down by the river.

The Bureau has turned the old marshlands into something of extreme beauty. There are people walking up and down the bank, children playing in the shallows, not burdened with the knowledge of what this place used to be.

Small boats drift lazily at the river's center, some fishing, others enjoying the steady pulse of the waves as they gently shove the sides and then retreat. The sun reflects off the water so it seems as though the shimmering light is emanating from the river itself. The breeze carries the humidity in the surrounding air, curling around my face, between my fingers, over my bare toes and across my neck.

Tris would have loved it here.

I leave my half eaten breakfast on the kitchen counter and change quickly into my clothes for the day: an unintimidating black t-shirt and blue jeans. My hair sticks up at random angles and I comb it down so I look at least somewhat professional. After my moment of weakness when I cut my hair, ready to begin a new life, I decided to leave it long because that's how I kept it when Tris and I had escaped Chicago, ready to start fresh without the limitations of faction values. It's a symbol of who I was then.

Before I had met Tris, it was difficult to keep my feelings under control. If something bothered me, I became determined to find a solution, whether it be controlling the fears in my fear landscape, or planning a way to get back at my father for everything he did wrong to Evelyn and I.

I became obsessive.

But when she was around me, I could see reason instead of incessant insanity. Her voice soothed the blood that boiled in my veins; her touch calmed my electrified nerves. The way I keep my hair is the only way I have to preserve the change I underwent when I met her.

The only way to keep me sane.