Any mistakes are clearly my own I apologise.

Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent, because if I did Will would never have died and Peter wouldn't be evil.

I tried to hide for the rest of the day, even after the pager that came with my job buzzed with a 444 number, meaning report to the control room. I didn't know why, but I wasn't in the mood for seeing anyone, and the idea of working with Peter made my stomach churn.

I was under my bed in the dark when Christina came to find me.

"Tris?" she called, flipping on the light switch. I held my breath and sucked in my stomach even though it would make no difference.

And then, at the worst possible time, my stomach rumbled.

Christina sighed, and I imagined her agitatedly resting a hand on her hip and rolling her eyes. "I know you're here. Come out now if you don't want this to get dirty."

I slowly edged out from under the bed, a sheepish smile on my face. "Oh hi," I greeted her, and she imitated the picture I had of her in my head.

She yanked me up by my arms and sat me down on my bed, looking like a thunderous mother finding her child with its hand stuck in the cookie jar.

"Beatrice Prior, I have been looking for you all day," she began, puffing out her chest. "And do you know who told me you were missing. Peter. Of all people, I had to hear my best friend was missing from the guy who not even a year ago tried to kill you? And then Four got wind of it and-"

I piped up, suddenly interested. "And what? What did Four do?"

She eyed me suspiciously. "Well he went straight to Eric, and then Eric said he would page you-"

"I must have missed it," I shrugged it off. "Anyway, what's the big deal? So I had a headache and no appetite, I'm always holed up in here."

"Well maybe if you weren't being such a vampire you would know! Someone in your group threw themselves into the chasm."

I felt the pang of grief rip through me as I thought of Al, my big, soft giant floating in the river. And then I reminded myself how he also tried to help in my murder and the feeling passed.

"When people told me it happened more than you'd like I never actually believed it," Christina said, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

I pulled her into an awkward hug.

"When's the funeral?" I asked. Funerals in the Dauntless compound were a big thing. I remember the last one, when old Maggie from the kitchens died after slipping on some oil with a knife in her hand. As a remembrance the craftsman constructed a beautiful knife with a leaf handle with her name on it and a lethal edge, and everyone gathered round it and watched it burn. It would've been quite beautiful if not for the fact most people wouldn't remember the amount they were drinking.

"Tomorrow, 10. I'll meet you at my room, ok? I'll lend you something to wear." She kissed my forehead like a child and left me to curl up and sleep.

I woke at nine, quickly showered and headed over to Christina's room on the other side of the compound still in my pyjamas. She worked in the clothing shop, her dream job no less. They had just started letting her design her own outfits. One major benefit? She got a lot of store credit, hence the massive wardrobe.

I knocked softly on her door and let myself in. Christina was just putting the finishing touched on her eyebrows when she looked up.

"God, how do you always look so natural in the mornings?" she pondered before seating me firmly on her vanity seat and getting to work enhancing my features.

I was used to this by now. It usually took her ten minutes to apply some eyeliner, lip-gloss and pick a suitable outfit. I was usually left to study her room. Which was, in an understatement, gorgeous.

Taking complete adventure of her position at work, Christina had stuck designs all over her walls, as well as pictures from magazines and even a few dresses she never wore. Her room was big enough for her to be able to put up a partition to separate bedroom and wardrobe, which was handy because without it she would be sleeping on a pile of clothes. In her wardrobe, in which I gracefully sat at her floor length mirror on a stool, her collection was very impressive. Racks and racks of clothes cut up the room making it impossible to move from the door to the back wall unless you knew the route off by heart. The back wall was completely covered with shoes, majoritively heels, and I wondered how Christina actually afforded it all. The room was mostly black, but you could see hints of rebellious pinks and blues, even a flowery pair of heels.

After Christina was finished pinning my hair into a sombre up do similar to her own she disappeared into her clothing maze, emerging five minutes later with two plain black dress, one strapless and one long sleeved and lacy, and stiletto heels and plain pumps. I knew which ones were destined for me straight away, so I pulled on the long sleeved dress and the pumps. Even though Christina was so much taller than me the dress still hit high on my thigh. I could only imagine how short it must be on her. Then I saw her dress and no more imagining was needed, it only just brushed the bottom of her bum. She was so inappropriate, but I loved her nonetheless.

We made our way down the pit, me walking on the outside in case Christina tripped in her killer heels. Mostly everyone was already there, with glasses of whiskey or scotch mostly. The Dauntless didn't drink lightly or sparingly.

We walked over to the drinks table, and Christina quickly poured two shots of a dark brown liquid. She toasted me, downed hers and slid mine over. I shook my head but she insisted. Christina was a heavy drinker, always coming into my room at three in the morning sticking of puke and the Chasm. I didn't see the appeal, but the way she was staring at me, and how Peter was acting and how awkward things were with Four and with another suicide looming over me I forgot about my reasoning and downed the shot.

It burned on the way down but I was proud I didn't grimace like most people were. Christina looked impressed, her eyebrows hiking up into her newly cut full fringe. She poured herself a larger drink and excused herself. I watched as she cut her way through the crowd, stopping to talk to a few people. Standing alone I did the only thing I could. Drink.

I settled on an amber whiskey and sat in a nearby chair, the bottle within reach if need be.

I lost track of time, so when I saw a shadow hovering above me I was so drunk that I was seeing blurry visions of two people, even though I couldn't identify them.

"Tris, are you ok?" I heard a gruff voice, and instead of answering I just downed my glass and poured another one.

I felt the bottle disappear from my hand and I groaned in protest.

"No more for you, I think," the voice said. I was so close to grasping a name but I just couldn't.

"Meanie," I sighed, and slumped forwards so my entire body slid of the chair. Before I hit the floor, I was scooped up and carried off. Where to, I didn't find out because my will to hold onto consciousness disappeared and I fell into oblivion.