I do not own anything!
Chapter 2
TRIS
We pull up to 21U, and my mouth goes dry and breathing nearly stops. Tori tells me a lot of the football team and fans are celebrating a preseason win. Pretty much all the walls are glass and I can see inside. While most of the crowd seem to have filed out, there are still a few who are hanging around. Crowds are not really my thing. In fact, being around any people in general makes me feel queasy.
"You might want to change into some different clothes." says Tori as she puts the car into park.
I look down at myself and agree with her. I've been wearing these clothes for a while now, and I've taken off the sweatshirt I'd worn during the flight. That wouldn't seem like a problem except if I'm not careful, the scar on my chest could show. Tori knows how insecure I am about what happened and how much I want to keep it to myself.
"Tori, could you go in first. I'm afraid if I walk in with you…"
"They are just people, Tris. Nice people, good kids, you should talk to them."
"I can't. I mean, I am tired. It has been a long day. Can't I just go back to your house?"
"Our house," she corrects me. "And no. I need to close up today and it would be a waste to take you there now."
"Fine, just go in first. Please. I'll come in right after, I promise."
"Alright."
She walks in first and the group of people sitting around a large table immediately look up and start talking to her. Tori is almost ageless in the way she can so easily have a conversation with people at different ages.
While she continues talking and moves attentions to the counter, I walk in and go straight to the back without being noticed by anyone. Once I am alone in Tori's office bathroom, I take a breath.
I have my carry-on backpack slung across my shoulder, but I pull it off and dig around to find the change of clothes I packed. After a second, I just dump all the contents onto the floor and search around. I see my pain medicine, my scar removal cream (that barely works), my sober badge, my sketch book, and finally my clothes. I have a big t-shirt, leggings, and a big plain black sweatshirt.
As I begin to change, I try to look away from the other scar on my body. Right at my bikini line was where they had to slice me open for the C-section.
I try to remind myself I made the right decision to give her up for adoption, considering the only reason I was having her was because I was raped.
After it happened, I didn't want to tell anyone. I wanted to forget it even happened, and for a little while, I convinced myself that it wasn't real. But you can't really hide a pregnancy. When people asked who the father was, I couldn't tell them. Peter's words still hung around me. Caleb was the one made me brake, and when I finally told him what I had been denying, that his best friend raped me, he didn't believe me. My own brother did not believe me, his sister. Soon, word spread and things went bad. People called me names, and Peter was right—they didn't believe me.
After I had the baby, I tried to believe that people would forget, but it only got worse. That's when I started drinking. It was a weak and desperate affair, but it felt like the only option at the time. And eventually it turned into a nasty habit.
As much as I hate Peter for what he did to me, I hate my brother more.
He made our mom a promise a long time ago that we would look after each other. He promised her that he would look after me. And he broke his word. To mom. I will never forgive him for what he did, and I hope I never see him ever again.
I get into new clothes, checking for my chain with my mother's ring around my neck. I pull my hair out of its mess bun and sit down to put my shoes back on. When I pull my converse on, I graze my finger on the silver anklet hidden under my sock. Tori was the one who gave it to me, for my baby she told me. It is a simple chain with a rose charm. That's her name, Rose.
I walk out to the others. Tori is standing at the bar preparing a bunch of root beer floats. The other people look happy, really happy. I wonder what it's like to be happy like that; it's been so long since I've felt like that. They laugh so hard it could be contagious if I weren't so damaged in self-loathing. I do not look long at them, in fact, I barley look in that direction.
I keep my head down and walk over to a booth in the corner with my sketch book and pencil in hand. At 'camp' they encouraged me to turn my pain to art.
How cliché.
I flip through my book and try to find a blank page. I have turned Peter into the monster he really is in these pages. My latest drawing is a little baby girl, my baby girl, bathed in roses. Mostly, my work has been really dark, because that is how I've been feeling. But right now I dig down deep into my memory to a time when I was happy. I begin to sketch my mother and me at Coney Island. After I've gotten a good start on it, I flip to another page and start drawing the scene I see in front of me. I spend the rest of the evening there, feeling the tiniest amount of happy I can muster.
Maybe this place won't be too bad.
Author's Note
I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing. Please review!
Be brave, everyone!
