Chapter 7

I promise the isn't a Tris/Uriah fic! I thought I'd let you know that for later on in the chapter. They're just really close friends, I swear! If you've read any of my other stories you'd know that Fourtris is my OTP. NOTHING ELSE. And I promise you I'm not some review whore that wants to be praised for my story, I honestly just want to know you guys' thoughts. I don't update when I reach a certain amount of reviews or follows or favorites, or whatever. I could receive 20 reviews or 5 reviews and I'd still be updating the next day on the "schedule." Yes, I have goal for a chapter, but if I don't reach it, then oh well. I'll still be updating.

-9 Weeks Before-

As I fire at the men, I stand back to back with Caleb as he fires with me. I am stuck one on guy, and no matter where I aim, he blocks it. I should have taken down this man from the first shot. He misses every time, peccable aim. Caleb must have taken down the other woman, so he's decided to help me. The man fires his last bullet—I know it's his last one. I counted.

"Bea!" Caleb shouts. He pushes me to the ground.

Caleb slumps to the ground. It's all his lifeless body can do.

"No," I say. "No!" I crawl over to Caleb, my limbs weak. "Caleb!" I cradle his face in my hands. The bullet hit the back of his head.

"No," I cry. The tears drip off of my eyelids, sliding down my cheek. "Caleb, wake up!"

"Beatrice," someone softly says from behind me. Robert. "We need to call an ambulance."

"He's gone," I mumble. "He took a bullet to the head for me. He sacrificed himself so I could live," I sob.

"Beatrice," Robert says. "Come here." He motions for me to come over with wide arms.

I run out of the warehouse with my hand covering my mouth, rain coating me. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. So I run. I just run. I find a nice local park with a giant oak tree to sit under, putting my sweatshirt hood up.

"Hey," a voice says, startling me. "Are you okay?" He is wearing a black hood, since it's considerably cold for late July. I can't see his face.

"Not really."

He sits down beside me with his elbows on his knees. "What's wrong?"

"Why do you care? I don't even know you."

"Would you like me to tell you my name?"

I look at him, and I still can't see his face.

We must look pretty strange sitting here. Two hooded people in black sweatshirts in the rain.

I shrug. "Sure."

"Tobias Eaton," he says. "Does that make you feel any better?"

"Not really, but thanks. I'm Beatrice Prior."

"Beatrice," he repeats, "why are you crying?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You should talk to someone."

I sigh. "I know I should."

"So talk to me."

"But I don't know you, Tobias."

"That's what makes it good. You don't know me, and I don't know you, so we can hardly judge each other."

I sigh once again. "My brother. He just… I'm a detective. I was in a drug bust ambush with him. He and I were shooting back to back. Some asshole shot towards me, and… and my brother jumped in front of me. He saved me. He died for me."

"Beatrice, I'm so sorry."

"Me too, Tobias. Me too."

I'm surrounded by white. The only thing I see—white.

"Bumble Bea." When he says my nickname, his voice echoes into the nothingness.

I look down at myself. I am dressed in a white shirt, white capris, barefoot, and my hair down and loose. Then I look around, seeing if I can spot anything else. Nothing.

"Bumble Bea," he repeats, "why did you let this happen to me? Why?"

I look to see where the voice originated. I swing left and listen.

"I can't believe you'd let this happen to me!" It came from my right this time. I swing around. Nothing.

Behind me it comes, next in front, next… everywhere.

"Caleb!" I shout while the tears run down my face. "I didn't mean to!" I sink to my knees with my feet tucked underneath me, so they are propping my backside up.

"You killed me! How could you kill your own brother?" he shouts, echoes making the words ten times more painful. "It was all your fault! I hate you! It should have been you!" All different voices at different intervals are shouting these cruel words at me. I feel like a schizophrenic psycho. Paranoid that my brother would hate me in heaven—if there is one, which I believe there is. Paranoid that even if he did survive that attack somehow that he'd still hate me.

Scrunching my hands into my hair, I scream. The voices continue coming.

I stand up and yell, "Stop!"

Then one singular voice says calmly, "Maybe we'd all be better off if you were never born."

I wake up in a cold sweat with wet cheeks, presumably from crying.

"Tris! Tris, open the door right now or I'm breaking it down!" a masculine voice shouts. I quickly spring up out of bed, throwing on a pair of pajama pants along with my tank top. My hair is still in a ponytail from last night, so I leave it.

Opening the door, I am confronted with the face of Uriah. "Tris, are you okay?" He hugs me. "I heard you screaming, and I thought maybe someone was in there."

I pull back and shake my head. I open the door wider so he can come inside. He sits on the couch, and I sit next to him.

"Had a dream about Caleb," I whisper. Uriah is one of the two people I can actually talk to about my brother. The other is Christina... And as much as I hate admitting it, sometimes Tobias.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

I close my eyes and throw my head back. "The first part was totally normal. You know, the memory of him dying, the tree, Tobias. All of that actually happened, and I often get that memory when I sleep. The next part though was totally different. Usually I have the same recurring nightmares or memories about him, but this was… horrific. It was terrifying. I mean, that's how it usually is, but this was… it's never been this bad. I've never woken up to wet cheeks before, or screamed in my sleep, that I know of.

"It was Caleb screaming at me that he hated me, and that it was my fault he died… that it'd be easier and more beneficial to others that I'd never been born. I think I dreamed that part because of, you know, what happened last week with my mother and father."

Silence. "Tris," Uriah says, "it's not your fault that Caleb died. He made his own decision to protect you."

"I know that, Uriah!" I exclaim. "I've heard it a thousand times from everybody, but it doesn't change the fact that he died for me!"

He doesn't say anything.

"God, Uriah, I'm sorry." I put my face in my hands. "I'm just stressed, dealing with my mom and stuff… seriously, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I know you're stressed. I just wanted to swing by to see if you wanted to come with me to buy party stuff since it's New Year's Eve," he explains. "But you don't seem like you're up for it, so you don't have to come."

"No, I'd love to come. Just let me get ready real quick and put on something decent." I forcibly smile, then walk into my room.

I throw on a baby blue tank top and brown jacket with a pair of jeans—the ones Four said I looked good in. I find myself wearing these a lot more often now.

Going into the bathroom, I grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth, then put my hair into a quick french braid. I quickly put on minimal makeup, then walk out of the bathroom.

Then, in a low, husky voice, he says, "Dang, Tris, looking foxy as ever."

I raise an eyebrow. "Is that your impression of Four?"

He nods. "Pretty good, right?"

I shake my head and mumble, "Men."

Completely oblivious to what I just said under breath, he asks, "Aren't girls supposed to take forever in the bathroom?"

"Not me." I shrug. "Let's get out of here."

"Tris, Tris, we have to get these!" Uriah lifts a bag of confetti poppers.

I laugh. "It's your money, man."

He throws four bags of them into the cart. We've picked up soda, chips, nachos, cheeses, various dips, hundreds of red Solo cups, mini plastic shot glasses, banners, diverse alcohol, much to my pleasure since I'll be making drinks for everybody half that night (Shauna is taking the other half of the night), glasses with the number 2015 on them, and top hats for the main seven of us.

"Alright, do we need anything else, or are we good?" I ask.

He nods. "I think we're good."

We check out all of our stuff and get on our way. Luckily Uriah has a car, unlike me, so we can put all of the grocery bags in the trunk.

"Want to grab some lunch from Christina's?" he asks.

I nod. "I'm starving."

We hop into the car and he drives.

Once we arrive, we get out of the car and are immediately hit with the fresh smell of a bakery.

We walk inside Christina's. She must immediately spot us, because she comes running over and hugs me.

"You're coming tonight, right?" she asks.

I nod. "I have a really cute dress and heels that I think you'll like. And yes, I know, you're thinking, 'Is this Tris Prior?'"

She chuckles, and I hear Uriah too.

"But I really love this outfit. And when I love and outfit, I love it. Almost as much as I love trusty rusty right here." I pat my brown jacket.

Chris laughs. "Well I'm excited to see it. I think you're finally turning into a girl. Anyway, what do you guys want?"

"Just a blueberry muffin for me," I say.

"Chocolate chip," Uriah says.

"Okay. They're on the house. Go sit down, I'll bring them out to you guys," Chris says.

"Wow, Chris, you really know how to treat a lady," I tell her.

Uriah and I find a high table to share.

"So," a familiar voice says, "are cheating on me?"

Four.

"Am I not a good enough partner for you?" he jokes.

I shrug. "You're okay."

He puts a hand over his heart. "I'm truly offended."

"I'm going to go talk to Christina for a minute, alright?" Uriah says, then darts off.

I smile. "I love Uriah though. I'd trade you for him."

"Bet you would." He chuckles.

"So, I see you're not wearing your orange sweatshirt today. What's up with that?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I kinda like this thing." He looks down at the black leather jacket he's wearing. Under it lies a moderately tight grey sweatshirt with the hood peaking out. "I see why you wear yours so much."

"Yeah, you work it, man," I say with a silly smile.

He slyly grins. "So, what are you up to for New Year's Eve?"

"Oh, I'm going over to Zeke and Uriah's for a party. He and I were just buying some party stuff. You can come if you want to?" I ask, as if it were in question form.

"As long as you're there, then sure. What's their address?"

"865 Fair Street. Think you can remember that?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "I've got it."

"Alright. Come by at nine-ish. You can find me at the little mini-bar section we'll be making. I'm bartending for half the night, so that ought to be fun."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I bet. Having to deal with drunk guys hitting on you doesn't sound like it."

"Well I have you around so it's practically the same thing." I smirk.

"Hey, I only do that sometimes now," he points out.

I shrug. "That's kind of true. But I assume you'll be getting drunk this Eve?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm not one to usually get drunk unless someone else I know is doing it with me, like a friend."

"Wait," I say, "you have friends?"

He smiles. "In high school, believe it or not, I was a popular asshole."

Raising an eyebrow, I say, "The asshole part I believe, but the popular one?—Not so much."

He shrugs. "I was an asshole, but apparently since I'm handsome I supposedly belonged there."

"Ah, now it makes sense." I wink.

"So you're not denying that I'm handsome, huh?" He smugly smiles.

"We've been over this." I chuckle. "You're an asshole, but you're cute."

"Cute? Really? That is no word to describe a man."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Just be there at nine, alright?"

"Will do." He winks and walks away. He really does look cute in that particular leather jacket. I must still be staring at him as he walks out, because Uriah snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Huh?"

He smirks and sets my muffin in front of me. "So Chris and I have decided that you and Four's babies would be extremely cute."