Chapter 6
TOBIAS
I wake up with every muscle in my body feeling sore and stiff after what I can safely say has been the most uncomfortable night of my life. Understandable, since I was yet again forced to cram myself up on a sofa that's barely five and a half feet wide. But I bear it. I'd hate to make Beatrice uncomfortable by forcing myself in the bedroom with her, especially since we've made some progress and she's promised to try and be civil.
There are two more bedrooms in the house, but they're bare. Beatrice and I won't be able to lay claim on an extra bed until we need it. That is, until we have children. Which, at this rate, won't be anytime soon. I'd have better luck making friends with the sofa.
Stretching myself out for the first time in eight hours, I feel agony and relief at the same time. I take in a breath and then let out a loud groan as I exhale, something I would never dare to do in my father's house. I relish it, dragging it out more than I need to.
"Tobias?" I hear Beatrice say, and it suddenly wakes and shuts me up.
"I apologize. I didn't know you were awake," I say, embarrassed. I stand to my feet and fold my sheets quickly before setting them down in the far corner of the sofa.
"Don't be silly," she says sweetly as she stands at the bottom of the stairs. "There's no need to apologize. Good morning, by the way."
"Good morning," I reply softly.
Then, fully dressed and ready for the day, Beatrice makes her way over to the kitchen. "I've already prepared breakfast," she says. "I figured you'd be leaving early for work today."
Hesitantly, I follow her into the kitchen. It's still a bit unnerving seeing her behave this way when less than two days ago she threw me out of my own bedroom. It's like she's a whole different person. But I do prefer this side of her. I guess the reality of this, of us, hit her the minute the wedding was over and knocked her into a less than rational state.
But Marcus did warn me that women can go from hot to cold in a millisecond, so I'm not surprised. I'm just glad that Beatrice has been in a better mood since then. I was relieved that she heard me when we spoke yesterday, and it made me even happier to prove my father wrong. You don't have to beat someone into hearing and respecting you. Respect is earned when it is given. And with time, with treating Beatrice as my equal, things could only get better. Maybe one day she'll even let me sleep in the bed.
But I know better than to push her. It would be selfish to, considering how uncomfortable she would be sleeping beside me, a man she barely knows. She'll let me in when she's good and ready to.
She may try to hide it now, but I've already seen that Beatrice is not afraid to make known her discontent, a quality uncharacteristic of Abnegation women. It makes me think and rethink everything I do and say, because I'm constantly fearful that I'll do something to upset her, setting us backwards instead of forward. Earning her trust will not be easy, but I'm at least grateful that she's given me the chance.
"Have a seat," Beatrice says to me as I walk into the kitchen. Not sure if she would be displeased if I sat at the head of the table, where it is customary for the man of the home to sit in Abnegation families, I pull out the corner chair closest to me. I'd hate to make her feel the way Marcus made me feel; like a servant.
She sets the plate of bread and eggs in front of me, along with a tall glass of milk. Then she sits at the chair across from mine and smiles.
"You didn't make any for yourself?" I ask when I realize that the only plate on the table is mine.
"I did," she says. "But I'm not hungry yet. I'll have breakfast a little later."
"Oh," I say, feeling a little bit disappointed. I guess I was hoping we would eat together. This already feels strange enough as it is since, for as far back as I can remember, I've always been the one making breakfast. Still, I pick up my fork and say, "Thank you, Beatrice. This looks lovely."
"You're most welcome, Tobias," she says sweetly, and then she just sits there looking at me.
Smiling, I take a big scoop out of my plate. But when I taste the first mouthful of eggs, it takes all the self-control that I possess in my body to not spit it out the minute it touches my tongue. The eggs are nauseatingly salty, as if she threw the entire bottle of salt in it. So I grab the glass of milk, chugging it down to wash away the bitter taste, but the milk is sour and warm, and it only further rouses the already violent urge that I have to vomit. Desperately reaching for the only other thing in my plate, I take a slice of bread that I soon find is almost too hard to chew. It makes me want to choke, but daring to not take even another sip of that milk, I summon control of my body and I swallow.
With kind grey eyes, Beatrice looks at me, expectant. So I force it all down, not wanting to hurt her feelings. She's obviously not the best cook, although I'm almost certain that the last time I ate from Beatrice's hand, it was divine; nothing even remotely close to the disaster that sits in my plate. Unless that was a lie, and it wasn't Beatrice who had prepared that dinner.
"Did you enjoy it?" Beatrice asks with a hopeful smile when my plate is empty.
"I did," I lie, and my throat burns me almost as if punishing me. "Thank you for breakfast, Beatrice. I'd be more than happy to make breakfast tomorrow." And every other day after that, I think.
"It's no problem at all," she says as she stands from the table. She reaches for a container from the countertop that I didn't even realize was sitting there. "I made you lunch as well." Beatrice sets the container in front of me, and the growls of my stomach are more like screams of protest. I almost want to pretend to forget it when I leave, but then I feel guilty. She is trying, after all. I should appreciate that.
"Thank you, Beatrice," I say, defeated. "And thank you for doing the laundry yesterday, and doing the ironing today."
"It was my pleasure," she smiles. "This way, it's like you're taking tiny little pieces of me with you to work."
I nod, although I have no idea what she means. And then I stand and clear the table.
I'm about to tend to the dishes when Beatrice stops me. "It's ok. I'll do the dishes. You go get ready for work," she says with a smile. It's already late so I agree, and I quickly take a bath and put on the clothes that she was nice enough to lay out for me. Not before long I head out the door.
When the morning wind hits my face, I smile. It's a strange feeling; waking up when I want to, finding my clothes already tended to, going to work on my own. I still wouldn't dare to arrive late, since I spend most days shadowing Marcus at the City Hall. But at least now I feel as if I have some sort of control over my life. Ironic, since this version of my life is one that Marcus chose for me. And even with my neck stiff and the sour taste of breakfast still on my tongue, I prefer it. But only until I think of Beatrice and how difficult this has all been for her. I'd go back to living my old nightmare in a heartbeat if it meant that she could be happy and at home with her parents.
I walk to work like most Abnegation do, and I'm greeted by kind smiles on the way in. I'm known and respected by everyone here, and though I'm grateful that Andrew Prior was kind enough to defend my honour in front of my father, Marcus wasn't wrong to say I've never done anything to deserve it. All I do at the City Hall is show up.
Before I can even properly arrive at my father's office, Emily, our secretary, hands me a copy of yesterday's newspaper.
"Good Morning, Mr. Eaton," she says to me, her face flushed.
"Please, Emily. Call me Tobias," I say like I have said only a million times to her. Besides the fact that I hate to be known by the same name as my father, Emily and I are just about the same age. She chose only year after me.
"Thank you. But that would be improper. Especially at work," she says as she always does, not quite looking into my eyes.
Emily has made it pretty obvious that she fancies me. Truthfully, I was surprised that Marcus never saw her as a suitable match for me. Her father, Noah Taylor, is a councillor as well as Andrew Prior. And unlike Beatrice, Emily wouldn't have had to have been coerced to marry me. But as selfish as it would be to admit it, I do prefer Beatrice despite her horrible cooking and devilish tantrums. There's just something about her spirit that appeals to me, though I can't quite figure out what it is yet.
Kindly, Emily opens the door to my father's small office, ushering me in. I thank her and she closes it softly behind me.
"Tobias. Good. You're here," Marcus says roughly before I can issue him a greeting. "Have a seat. Let me update you on what's been happening over the past few days."
I take a seat across from his barren desk, grateful that he wants to discuss work instead of how I spent the last two days. Although I'd never dare to let him know about Beatrice's fit, or the fact that I'm sleeping on the sofa in the living room.
"I trust that Emily gave you a copy of yesterday's newspaper," he continues. "It's filth. All filth," he growls. "I'd love to grab the idiot who wrote this by the throat and strangle him until he's as blue as the tie around his neck. I can't believe-"
But suddenly, Marcus is interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Please, come in," he says loudly, but his tone ever so charming. I imagine Beatrice rolling her eyes at him and I smile.
"Marcus. Tobias," Noah nods politely as he greets us. "I'm sorry to interrupt."
"Nonsense. You are always free to join us," Marcus says kindly. "Tobias and I were just discussing the latest… upset," he sighs, "and the importance of civility even under these circumstances. We must not lose sight of who we are as a faction even though there are those who may try to test our strength."
I bite my bottom lip to keep my mouth from falling open. Despite the fact that I have no idea what upset Marcus is actually talking about, I am constantly amazed at his ability to transition from angry enforcer to his excellency, righteous and holy leader of the Abnegation. It makes me wonder, if he's able to control his temper, why did he never bother to with me? Or with my poor mother?
"Those are most certainly wise words," Noah says as he takes a seat beside me. "We as a people know that the allegations against our faction are false. We need not try to prove ourselves. Vindication is for the proud."
I try to pay attention to Marcus and Noah as they exchange thoughts on the matter, and furtively I flip through the pages of the paper, trying to figure out exactly what rumours the Erudite are propagating this time. But all of a sudden, just as I'm about to start reading the article, I begin to perceive an itch in an area I'd dare not scratch.
Methodically, I begin to slide slowly against the seat, back and forth, hoping that the friction would be enough to dull the itch. But it's futile, and the itching only becomes worse. It quickly spreads to my thighs and under my arms and between my legs, and just about everywhere my clothes are touching my skin.
What in the world?!
"Tobias, is everything ok?" Noah asks me. "You're practically shaking in your seat." Marcus just looks at me and I'm unable to read his eyes, until they glare quickly at my legs and then back up.
I realize I'm rubbing my arms and my legs are pressed together. "It's a bit chilly," I say without thinking. It's the stupidest thing I could have said. It's the middle of summer.
"Is it?" Noah asks, looking concerned. "Your coat might be too thin. Hopefully the Erudite won't restrict our linens this month. I'll be sure to save you some when they're being distributed."
"Thank you," I say as I nod and let out a sigh, relieved that Noah, unlike me, is one hundred percent Abnegation and he doesn't press the issue further. And not before long, he and Marcus are discussing faction politics again, leaving me to my thoughts.
I'm taken back to yesterday, trying to figure out exactly what I did differently to my laundry that would make it unbearably itchy. But then I remember, I didn't do my laundry yesterday. Beatrice did. But even so, I had everything already prepared in the laundry room and I didn't see her use anything other than the standard issue detergent and softener.
As much as I'd hate to blame her, she's the only new factor introduced into the equation. How could she possibly be bad at doing laundry?! You put the clothes in with the soap and then you rinse them out! And I'm sure that this isn't her first time doing laundry. Abnegation are taught from a tender age how to tend a home. But then again, most learn to cook by age thirteen, and Beatrice appears to have never cooked a day in her life. Breakfast was beyond horrible and I'd bet my life that the lunch she made is just as horrid.
None of it makes sense. Natalie is a good woman and mother. I know for certain that she would never take lightly the customs of our faction, allowing her children to grow up without so much as a clue. Either incident alone is unbecoming of an Abnegation member, but simultaneously being unable to handle food and laundry is near impossible.
Unless… Unless she's doing it on purpose!
I gasp and my face twists in fury at the realization that all this time Beatrice has been taking me for a fool; being nice to me one minute, shouting at me the next, and then pretending to be nice again as a means of sabotaging me in my ignorance. And I was stupid enough to believe that she offered to help with the laundry and make breakfast because she wanted to at least try and live in peace.
How could she be so selfish?! I scream to myself, my fists clenching at my side. She is nothing like her sweet mother. Perhaps that explains why Beatrice's mood shifted when it did. I think back to where this all began and I now see that she waited until she was certain that her parents were long gone before acting out. I have every confidence that they'd never encourage this sort of behaviour.
And to think that even after all was said and done, I had put her needs above my own like I had promised her on our wedding day, like the good Abnegation man that I tried to be for her. Even after my own choice was taken away, I considered her at every opportunity. And this is how she chooses to behave? Like a spoiled, selfish child?!
I imagine her sitting at home feeling satisfied with herself and my blood boils.
"What do you think, Tobias?" Noah suddenly asks, startling me.
I quickly untwist my face, hiding the rage there. I smile and nod, hoping that this is an appropriate response for the question I'm being asked.
"Excellent. Today's meeting begins at 1:00pm. It would truly be an honour to hear your opinion on these matters." Noah looks at me with sincere eyes as he speaks. I suddenly realize that he's asking me to participate in the council meetings. I usually attend as an observer along with a few other faction members and some of the councillors' wives, but I've never been allowed to speak. Truth is, I've never wanted to speak. I find many of the decisions made by our council to be… unproductive, and it would be grossly unwise to say so.
"You are quite the young man, Tobias. I'm sure you would make a fine leader for this faction," Noah adds. "I never did get a chance to congratulate you on your wedding day, by the way. I've met Andrew's daughter before. She seemed like such a lovely girl."
Oh did she?! Well the persistent itching of my arms and legs and my blessed crotch makes me think that she's the devil himself. I feel like I could scream at the top of my lungs at the very mention of Beatrice.
"I guarantee you, Mr. Taylor. There is no one like her," is all I can say. I speak through my teeth and I try extra hard to hide the bitterness in my tone.
"It would be an honour to have you over for dinner one of these days, after you've both settled in, of course," Noah says. "My wife and the girls would all be happy to have you."
I don't hesitate to accept the offer. If it were anyone else, I would question the nature of it. Since it's almost guaranteed that I will be the next leader of this faction, many might try to get in my good graces. But Noah has always been kind to me, and God knows I cannot stomach another one of Beatrice's meals today. Quite honestly, I don't even want to see her face, but if I must, better it be in the presence of company where I can't throw anything at her.
All I did was move out of one hell and into the other. The only difference is that now, after a long day at work, instead of returning home to a violent father, I'm returning to an abhorrent wife. And in a moment, the tiny bit of control that only hours ago I thought I had seized, is ripped from my fingers. But I'm taking it back. I will not be tormented in my own home.
A/N: Beatrice! Oh my god, right? Lol Thanks so much for your reviews on the last chapter guys, and I can't wait to read what you think about the latest developments :) Also, if you're looking for something to read, thanks to my lovely Beta, Bamberlee, I've recently been hooked on 'The Training" by ClubLulu333. If you're into Eric stories, it is a must read ;)