Chapter 2:
Tobias' POV:
I hate the way she smiles. I feel like choking her when she talks to me because she doesn't finish any of her sentences with Tobias―only Four. When she laughs, it's not hers―it's short and quiet, almost as if every joke she hears isn't that funny―and it infuriates me. I don't like when our hands brush to pick up a book or pencil she dropped because she doesn't make it last. I can't stand the way she walks―no swinging of her arms, no shake of her hips, no skip in her step.
It's like she's trying so hard to tell me she doesn't love me and adore me; that she doesn't, in the least bit, care for me. And I hate it.
But I don't hate her, not even close. I want to run my hand through her long, blond hair and feel her―undeniably―soft lips on mine. I want to know her. I want her to wrap her thin frame around me, to glide a delicate hand across my cheekbones, my lips. I want her to lean against me, her soft breath against my ear.
"I love you; I want you; I need you."
When she walks by me, I can smell her light perfume and… her. I thirst for her when she sits in front of me in class, when I see her across the dining hall, in the tattoo parlor, when she goes home, everywhere we can't be together. I see her as I walk by, see her place her bag on her porch and bend to kiss her mother's cheek, a greeting on her tongue. They watch me as I walk. I stare back.
"Tris," is all she said to me. "My name is Tris."
"See that?The guards?" he said, pointing to the moving figures in the distance. I nod."You can't let 'em see you. What're you going to do about it?"
"You want me to shoot them?" I ask, my voice higher than I've ever heard it.
"Yeah. You want to get your bike back, don't you? He took it from you. Besides, you don't have to shoot them dead. Just disable them," he says. I can't really tell if he's joking or not when he says it, but the wink he gives me makes me laugh.
Rising from my crouch, I hold the gun in my right hand. "Just know, that if we get into trouble, I'm blaming you for teaching me this," I say to him. Amar just laughs, calling my bluff.
I sprint into the Pedrad manor, stopping when I get to the mile-high fence. I turn my head, and see Amar nod. I grasp onto the bar closest to me, and start scaling the fence as quietly as I can. When I jump down, Zeke Pedrad―first born, prankster, bike-stealer―is waiting behind a bush for me.
"You're good," he says in his squeaky sixth-grader voice. I don't respond, just stare at my bike handle in his hand. "You want this back? I'll play you for it." He holds up a paintball gun. I smile viciously.
"How are we going to play," I say lowly, speaking as I do to outsiders. I take the gun from his hand, surreptitiously slipping my real one into my back pocket.
"Capture the Flag?" he asks. I nod, and he runs off.
I go my own way, hiding my own blue flag under one of the table cloths, making sure it sticks out a little so if he is able to, he'll find it fairly.
I keep my gun out in front of me, constantly looking in all directions as I make my way around the mansion. I don't see Zeke or his flag, but I won't take my chances going anywhere far from my own. As I'm rounding a corner, someone knocks into me, and we both fall loudly.
"Ow," Uriah says, rubbing his forehead. He looks up at me. "Oh, hey. You're that Four kid, right?" I nod. "What ya doing?"
"Your brother stole my bike and asked me to play paintball with him for it."
I grins. "Want me to tell you where he is?"
"No," I say standing. "I'll find him."
I never got my bike back. Let's just say, although I'm an ace with a gun, Zeke has had a lot more practice with paintball guns. And he had Uriah tell him where I was.
A glimmer catches my eye, and I see Christina slide into the seat in front of me, next to Zeke. Tris slides next to me. They talk, but I keep to myself, as always. They make nothing of it. However, I steal glances at Tris whenever I can, see her do the same to me. I feel my insides do a flip as she bats her long lashes, acting on something Zeke or Christina said. I turn back to my phone, and feel my ears heat up.
She's just a girl.
What would it be like… to hear her screams? I think. To hear her yell my name…
"Tobias," she'd say, her voice thick. Her next shrill scream fills the air. "Tobias, please. I love you."
"Four," she sings, bringing me from my reverie. "Yo―"
"Don't call me that," I say.
She looks at me quizzically, but when I don't say anything else, she doesn't ask. I inch closer to her, feeling nothing but the buzz of emotions racing through me as her arm brushes mine. I should be scared, though―we're on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the rushing water, far below―but I'm not. One slip, and I'm dead, but I'm not scared. She doesn't seem to be either.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asks.
"I don't know. A learning experience. Sometimes my friends and I come here and drink. It's not a good idea, obviously," I say. "If you fall while you're not drunk, we may find another place to hang." She scrunches up her nose, fighting off a smile.
I stare at her, waiting for her to storm off or at least tell me I'm a jerk or something. But she doesn't; doesn't talk, doesn't look at me funny. Nothing.
"What," I ask. "No slap in the face, no storming off, nothing? You have no reaction?"
"Why?" she asks. I don't answer her.
Tris still doesn't look at me, her eyes trained on the water below. She hasn't looked away much and I think she may be feeling uncomfortable because of my stare. I don't stop, though. I like to see her squirm, to see her attempt to avert her eyes. It's funny.
I don't know what's different about her, though. When Zeke told me to take her here, I didn't want to.
"She seems to not want me, so I don't want her," I told him. But it's not that easy. Zeke knows me the best.
"You and I both know you wouldn't just let her go," he said.
I see something peeking out from under her shirt and that's when I take a moment to really look at her. The flimsy shirt she's wearing―most definitely not her decision―doesn't cover much, though she pulls it up occasionally. It's riding up, though, and I see a patch of dark purple on her milky skin. A bruise.
"I hear what people say about you," she says. I don't move my eyes from the mark on her skin. "I'd like to see for myself, though."
What is there to see?
I don't answer right away. She sees me looking at her side and blushes, but doesn't move her shirt. When my eyes meet hers, I can't tell what she feels. I am usually able to figure everything about a person just by looking at them, but I just can't understand Tris.
And I can't really concentrate with her looking at me like that.
"What would you like to see?" I ask.
"Who are you, really, Four?"
"I told you not to call me that," I say, because I can't think of anything else. "I guess you'll have to find out." She raises an eyebrow. "Fine, my real name is Tobias. And I've been through hell."
She's looking downward, staring intently at the water. I like the way she looks when she concentrates―a blond brow raised, pink lips pursed. She gnaws on her bottom lip and turns to me.
"What about you?" I ask.
"Another time. I just… like this moment. It's comfortable."
Comfortable. She's comfortable.
"We are talking like we are in some sort of teen support group or something," I say. She laughs. Laughs. Loudly.
"Absolutely," she says.
I turn my attention to her bruise again. How did it happen?
What would it be like… to feel her skin? To feel her stomach clench as I hold her in my arms?
She's fragile, Tris. I can't press her too hard; just hard enough. I want to see her struggle, to see how she handles it. To see her eyes light up as she's handed a new challenge and work her way through it.
"Tobias, how do―"
"God, I love it when you say my name," I murmur breathlessly, my heart thumping rapidly. Thump. Thump, thump. Thump. Thump, thump. "I like yo―"
She shifts uncomfortably, blushing. "Don't."
"I do. A lot."
"Please, don't," she says.
I nod, kissing her instead. Her lips melt against mine, and I don't want to stop. She stiffens and I move away a few centimeters. "Do you like me, Tris? Did you like when I kissed you?" I say, grazing my fingers across her collarbone.
"Yes," she whispers.
"Dude," Zeke says, shaking my shoulders. "Gotta go to school, get up."
I blink a few times and rub my eyes. I rush out of bed, feeling as giddy as ever. I don't think I've slept so soundly―I have no open wounds to be cautious of, don't have my father spontaneously breaking into my room to drunkenly attack me. And then, I have my dream. My dream of Tris. Of kissing Tris. My hand hovers over the doorknob, and my breathing slows because I realize it was only a dream.
A/N: If this confused you, the part where Tobias went to gets his bike back, they were in the sixth grade. It's the story of how they met. Anyway, I'm in a funk. I have so many new ideas for fanfiction and crossovers, but I just can't write! I need help, so if anyone wants to collab, I have ideas. By the way, I need an updating regime, because I don't want to let you guys wait so long. I will probably try to start updating every week(hopefully not just one story. Or, I will update on the weekends (one story Friday, another Saturday, another Sunday.) because school is hectic. Did anyone else hate their Middle School and everyone in it?
-Alesandra