Two
(t-minus 20)
She's still in my bed when I wake up the next morning. For a few minutes, I refuse to get up, trying to process what happened last night and how I'm supposed to deal with it. I wasn't even that drunk - in fact, I wasn't drunk at all -, but I somehow thought it'd be a good idea to fuck Tris.
The reward for that stupid decision is that, for the first time in over a year, I'm waking up next to someone. And, as if the whole 'morning after' thing wasn't hard enough, she's likely to expect me to be nice and caring and - god forbid - romantic.
I'm none of those. I don't want to be.
I sneak out of the bed and, grabbing my pants from the floor, walk out of the bedroom. Once dressed, I make my way to the kitchen, where I take my time brewing us some coffee. I know she'd probably like it if I brought her breakfast in bed or something, but I couldn't be romantic even if I wanted to - the only thing in my fridge is a six-pack of beer.
She's still sound asleep when I get back, and as I climb back onto the bed, I do my best not to wake her. I can't help staring at her naked body - this is likely to be the last chance I'll ever get to stare unabashedly at her ass, so I'd better enjoy it while I can.
I remember the first time I saw her, a tiny, skinny girl dressed in grey clothes a few sizes too big for her. I remember being told she'd been the first jumper, and I remember thinking it didn't make her any less of a coward, because only a coward would look as afraid of me as she did. I remember having to admit to myself - as she knocked out a girl bigger than her, as she stood still when Four threw knives at her, as she challenged me at every chance that she got - that she was in fact Dauntless, even if she didn't look like one.
But she does now. Actually, she looks a lot like all the other girls I've slept with in the past two years.
Except that none of them had Abnegation hands tattooed on their shoulder.
For some reason, it makes me think of Jeanine and her theory about Tris being Divergent. I've never taken that too seriously - Jeanine is always seeing signs of Divergence in everyone - but, after last night, I wonder if she's right. Tris is too selfless, too brave, too smart. There's no way she has only one aptitude, but I've never heard of anyone with three.
She's too illogical.
There's no point in wondering about it, though. In three weeks, I'll have all the confirmation I could possibly need - about her and Number Boy and all the other people I've been keeping under my watch.
Besides, Divergent or not, Tris is a liability, and I've claimed her as mine months ago. Before the attack on Abnegation is over, I'll put a bullet in her head, just like I've been fantasizing about for the last year.
I close my eyes and I can almost see her, kneeling on the floor in front of me, the defiance in her grey-blue eyes slowly fading away as submission and acceptance take over. I can almost hear her begging me for mercy - Eric, please - and the thought of hearing those words again brings me so much pleasure it almost - almost - makes me hard.
I have to admit, sleeping with her certainly complicates things. Yesterday, all I wanted was to press a gun against her forehead; today, I'd be more than happy with my cock in her mouth.
Just as I decide to brush these thoughts aside, my alarm clock starts ringing. She doesn't move a single muscle, but I know, just by the slight shift in her breathing, that she's awake.
I've been through my share of waking up on a stranger's bed, and I know what it feels like to need a few minutes to remember how I got there. In fact, I hate this feeling to the point that I decided, ages ago, I'd stop spending the night in someone else's bed.
So, I just wait for her to say something, sipping at my coffee as I watch her.
"Hey," she whispers, her eyes still closed. Her voice is heavy with sleep, but even that can't hide the hint of sweetness in it - it almost feels like she thinks she's with Four.
Just the thought of it makes me feel sick.
"Hey," I reply, half-expecting her to jump away when she recognizes my voice. Much to my surprise, she rolls over and smiles at me like this is exactly the situation she was expecting to see when she opened her eyes.
Oh, fuck.
"I got you some coffee," I say, fully aware of how distant I sound. I've never been so uncomfortable near a girl before, not even when I was a virgin - truth be told, even that morning after wasn't this bad, and I did lose my virginity on Max's couch, in a haze fuelled by cocaine and vodka. "I don't have any sugar or milk or anything, but I guess we could break into Max's if you want some."
She laughs and sits up, wrapping my blanket around her body as she leans against the headboard. I realize, although it's clearly too late, that offering her something to wear would have been nice - in an entirely harmless way.
"It's okay; I don't like any of that, either."
We drink our coffees in silence, and I'm sure she's feeling at least as uncomfortable as I am. I've had plenty of one-night stands, but I'd be surprised if she told me she slept with anyone other than Four - in fact, I'm still a bit surprised that she did sleep with him.
"What time is it?"
"A quarter past six, why?"
"I never thought you were an early bird."
I sigh. In an ideal world, I would never set foot out of my apartment before noon, but I chose to get a job that requires a fuck-ton of sacrifice - including being at the training room at eight in the morning so I can spend my whole day with Number Boy and his pathetic initiates.
"Trust me, hanging Christina over the chasm would be tame compared to what would happen if I didn't punch something before spending a day with Four."
"Why do you have to watch him, anyway?"
"He fucked up last year. A lot."
I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice. After everything that happened on his watch - Peter hurting Edward, Tris almost getting killed, Al committing suicide -, I thought Max's unconditional love for Four was over. Then, the two of them spent hours locked in his office, supposedly discussing his relationship with Tris and all of his other fuck-ups and, when they came out, Max was determined to give him a second chance.
And as he so nicely reminded me, all I could do was smile and nod, like a good puppy.
The bastard sure as fuck knows how to separate his personal relationships from his work ones.
"I told you that already. Last night, remember?"
"I remember everything from last night, Eric."
She sounds cold, resentful. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she emanates annoyance. It takes me a while to realize she's upset because I'm acting like nothing happened.
For someone who once had the second highest IQ in Erudite, I'm surprisingly slow sometimes.
"Did I hurt you?"
"This is your priority?"
"This is the easiest conversation we'll have all day, so I figured we could just get it out of the way."
She looks at me in a way that makes it clear that she's choosing her words carefully. Then, with the same cruel tone I've used on her thousands of times, she says, "Nothing feels broken or bleeding, so I guess it's safe to say you've put me through worse."
"I take it I'm doing initiation right, then?"
"Keep telling yourself that."
I laugh, getting off the bed. I can feel her watching me with that Erudite-like curiosity as I open my closet and grab a T-shirt. I wouldn't have bothered with it if we kept on making small talk, but even I can't have a serious conversation with someone who's wearing a blanket.
"Put this on. I think we'll both feel more comfortable if you're wearing something."
She gives me a thankful smile when I hand her the shirt, and I walk out of the room to give her some privacy. When she walks into my living room wearing nothing but my shirt - which looks almost like a dress on her - I realize I've made a huge mistake. She looks so fucking sexy in it, I have to make a conscious effort not to rip it off of her.
"So, you want to talk about it. Talk."
"Why are you being such a jerk to me?"
I wasn't prepared for the accusation in her voice. 24 hours ago, this girl thought I was a monster; now, she's upset because I'm living up to her previous expectations.
That's exactly why I don't do mornings after.
"Because I don't think we have anything to say. We got drunk, we fucked, that's it. I've literally done this about a hundred times before, and I'll do it a hundred more. If you have a problem with it, then you're the one who should be talking."
Something in the way she's staring at me reminds me of her fear landscape. Amongst six solid, Dauntless leader-worthy fears, was a Stiff fear - one, at the time, I interpreted as a fear of sex.
I remember laughing at it, thinking that only a silly, Stiff little girl would be afraid of something this stupid. But I can see that same fear in her eyes now, and it makes me realize she wasn't afraid of sex itself. She was afraid of what a guy two years older than her would expect from her, and she was even more afraid of how he'd expect it to happen.
In other words, she was afraid Four would be more like me.
And now she's watching her seventh fear come to life.
I take a deep breath, my brain racing through all the possible approaches at once. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't want to hurt her any more than what's strictly necessary; therefore, being my usual self is out of the question. I also can't be the nice guy she needs and expects, because I don't know how to act like that and, more importantly, because I know that would give her the wrong idea, and she'd end up hurt, anyway.
But there's a third, much safer, possibility: I can meet some of her expectations by not being a total jerk, but I can also protect myself by not being nice. That's one hell of a grey area, but it gives me room for an approach that's never failed me before.
I can be impersonal.
"Do you regret it?"
When she looks up at me, I can see in her grey-blue eyes how torn she must be feeling. It seems fair to assume she enjoyed it, but I could also list a thousand reasons why she'd rather have hated it.
She hates me. In her eyes, I'm a heartless, sadistic monster who tried to kill her friend and who's directly responsible for all the bad things that happened to her in the past year. She'd never allow herself to love me, but she allowed me to fuck her last night, and she truly, deeply believes she should only have sex with the guy she loves. She'd only slept with Four, the guy who was still her boyfriend when she woke up yesterday, and I'd bet they made love the night before the break-up.
No Stiff would ever say that word out loud, but they'd all think she's a tramp who committed the ultimate act of self-indulgence - a dirty whore who slept with two guys in 24 hours. At some point between one and the other, she actually hated us both. She probably still does.
She's such a slut; she might as well stitch a scarlet A into all of her clothes, like in that book.
I feel a surge of sympathy towards her. I wish I could tell her that she's not a slut, that she did nothing wrong, that she's just acting like the reckless, carefree teenager all Dauntless are. But more than that - I wish she'd actually believe me if I said any of that.
"Okay, let's try an easier question," I say, giving her my best attempt at a gentle smile. "Did you like it?"
"That isn't any easier."
"Of course it is. It's an objective question, which requires an objective answer. I'm not asking if you think you shouldn't have liked it, I'm asking if you did, and I know for a fact that you're smart enough to know the difference."
I can see something come to life in her eyes, and I recognize it instantly. She's looking me like an Erudite who's stumbled onto a particularly clever question.
But that's an awful moment to be Erudite. This is the side of her that I find the most attractive, and I can't find her attractive. Not now, not while I'm still trying to handle the consequences of allowing myself to see something likeable in her.
"Nose," she mutters, and, just like that, that glimpse of Eruditeness is gone. I laugh, trying to conceal my relief.
"Look who's talking. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you weren't such a Stiff."
She punches my arm, harder than I expected from her - it actually hurts, and I have to keep myself from flinching.
After all the bullying from last year, there's no way I'd admit to her that she's capable of making me feel pain.
"Fine," I say, with the same bored tone I use with the initiates when they start playing around instead of jumping at each other's throats. I can tell she recognizes it, because her expression turns colder and she glares at me. "I'll go first."
"I thought I was supposed to do the talking."
"So far, you've just been trying to avoid my questions, so I thought I'd answer some of them. You know, as an encouragement."
"I thought your preferred method of encouragement was threatening to throw people out of your faction."
"No, that's just for bratty initiates who need to be put back in her place." I give her my best 'ruthless leader' smile, and she looks down at her lap.
Fuck, she's good. And she doesn't even know it.
"Anyway, as I was saying, I liked it." My voice is nonchalant, emotionless. I'd probably sound more passionate if we were talking about the weather. "You're much better than I expected from a Stiff."
"Well, you're exactly what I expected from a sadistic jerk."
"Should I take it as a compliment?"
Her eyes meet mine again. She looks annoyed, tired, desperate to end this conversation.
"Can't you just... let it go?"
"You wanted to talk about it."
"And why would you care about that?"
I hesitate. The only thing that comes to my mind is 'because I care about you', but that doesn't even make sense. We've had a few moments of pure, unadulterated bonding last night, but that's not enough to explain the way I'm feeling now.
Thankfully, this time she's the one who decides to stop waiting for an answer that's never coming.
"Look. What happened last night... It wasn't what I'm used to doing. I know you must have heard it a thousand times before, from all of your other... girls. But it's the truth. I mean, you're right, I'm a Stiff. I've never had a one-night stand, and I've never had... rough sex." She blushes violently, like those words are sinful on their own. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that, honestly, I don't know that I liked it. It was... pleasant enough, I guess? But I'm too overwhelmed by everything else and I can't answer any of those questions because I can't move past the fact that it's you."
"So, does that mean you regret it?"
She hesitates, biting her lower lip.
"Yeah, I guess I do."
Her tone is matter-of-factly, objective, Erudite.
I don't know why it hurts me, but it does. Right now, I feel exactly the way I did when Four beat me into oblivion and left me to peel myself off the floor.
The silence between us feels suffocating.
I force myself not to break it.
She moves away from me, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. With a sigh, she throws her head back, resting it on the back of the couch. I watch her for a few seconds, pushing all the negative feelings aside and shoving them into an imaginary box, just like I've done hundreds of times in my fear landscape.
When I speak again, my voice is cold, cutting, cruel.
"I'm going to take a shower. I don't want you here when I come back."
A/N
I'm sorry for the less than pretty ending, but The Boyfriend convinced me that, while this may not be the ending we wanted, it is the one they needed.
I promise I'll fix everything.
I'm still trying to decide what I'm doing for the next chapter - the immediate aftermath or a time skip -, so it may be a while before I update this, but I promise I won't let this one die. I'm absolutely in love with my plot.
Please review/fave/follow/send pitchforks my way.
- Giu