Okay first off I am /so/ sorry that this took so long. Ran into some bad scheduling and had absolutely no time to work on this before I had to go back to work, so unfortunately I don't have the finished conversation oneshot done, but I will by next Tuesday, on my honor.

So, thank you all for being so patient - enjoy the new chapter!

Drapetomania

(n) an overwhelming urge to run away

The ride home was mostly a blur to me, I'm not even sure that we talked, really. I even dozed off a few times, but Peter didn't seem to mind. He played music on the radio and it was nice - there were no lyrics, just instruments, but I really liked it. I thought of telling him so, but I was comfortable and warm, so I closed my eyes and listened to it instead.

The next time I opened them, I had no idea how much time had passed, but Peter's hand was on my shoulder, giving me a gentle shake, and he was saying my name softly. I blinked a few times and smiled at him - I'm not sure why. If I remembered right, he wasn't very nice, I shouldn't have done that, but he smiled back so that was okay.

"You look like you could use a cup of coffee.." He seemed uncomfortable, maybe even a little nervous, so I sat up straighter and tried to focus. It was difficult to do, I wanted so badly to give in to the light, silly feeling buzzing in my head. I bit my cheek, thinking about what he said - it seemed pretty late for coffee, that was an odd thing to offer me when all I wanted to do was sleep.

He snapped his fingers next to my face suddenly, and I leaned away from the noise; the fuzziness cleared a bit as I forced myself to focus on his face, and then our surroundings. We were parked in the campus lot and, now that I thought about it, I had no idea when we'd even stopped driving. That scared me. "Tris - did you hear me?"

"I..uh, yeah. Coffee. I don't..I'm not really in the mood." He must have turned the air on because it was cold now, even with the suit jacket. I found myself grateful for the chill, it helped to clear my head. The fog from my nap, as well as the alcohol, was still there, but I was able to concentrate a little easier.

"I think maybe I should just go home." He bit down on his lower lip and frowned, looking at me in this weird, pleading way that didn't fit right with his features. He had a face made for gloating and sarcasm, not begging.

"Are you sure? I'd feel better if you were a little more alert before I dropped you off, we could swing by my place for a cup and then I could take you home." Alarm bells started going off in my head, triggering my natural distrust in Peter and all that he stood for. What was he planning, now? Why was he suddenly so concerned about this? Why not when I'd nearly tripped over my own feet on the way to the car earlier?

"If I need coffee, I can just make it at my apartment," I was suddenly sure I didn't want to go home with him, what if "coffee" wasn't actually coffee at all? Did he really think I was that kind of person? Peter gave me one last look of desperation, but I simply shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest, staying defiant.

He set his jaw and I saw a muscle clench from the side, clearly that wasn't what he wanted to hear, which meant I must have been doing something right. My dizziness faded a little when I focused on the ball of anger resting in my gut, on my suspicion and discomfort. He didn't look mad, oddly enough; afraid, maybe, but that didn't seem right. I'd never seen him afraid before.

"Please take me home, Peter.." I muttered quietly, feeling the powerlessness in knowing that he controlled our destination ultimately, especially since I was in no state to go walking by myself. I thought of texting Christina for help, but remembered with a groan that I'd left my cell phone resting on my pillow. I'd been so surprised by Peter knocking on the door that I hadn't gone back to get it! Shit.

He pulled out of the student lot silently, his mouth still set into a hard frown. As I began to recognize street names, and saw that we were actually heading for my apartment, I let out a breath I hadn't even been aware I'd been holding and leaned my head back against the seat. Crisis averted.

The cold air made me wish I had a blanket, but he didn't make any move to turn it off, even when my teeth started to chatter. I stubbornly chose not to ask him to, burrowing deeper into his jacket. The ride from campus to the complex I lived in was short, only ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity with the tense quiet that had built up between us. He must have turned the radio off before trying to wake me, along with turning on the air, because there was no comforting backdrop of a melody to focus on.

I started five or ten different conversations with him in my head, but my mouth stayed firmly shut, not letting any words escape. Eventually I reached forward, intending to turn the air conditioner off myself, when his hand shot out and surprised me by swatting my fingers away.

I sat up straighter and glared at him through the darkness. His face was only dimly illuminated by the lights across the dash, but I'd somehow managed to memorize every rise and fall and lash so that I could fill in the blanks. I hated that.

"Leave it.." He mumbled without looking from the road, I couldn't quite tell what was going on in his head. I wanted to fight with him, to complain about being cold and wanting to turn it off before he made me sick, but I couldn't find it within me to.

Part of me was bothered by the realization that nothing had changed. Tomorrow we would resume business as usual and go right back to butting heads after this. It had been fun, but we couldn't change who we were. It was infuriating to accept that I was genuinely upset by that thought.

When we finally parked, I stayed unmoving for a moment, trying to clear my head enough to unbuckle my seat belt. I didn't even notice that Peter had gotten out of the car until my door opened, and the slightly warmer air outside rushed in to greet me.

I peered up at him, then, and found that he still looked uneasy as he reached forward, and helped me out of the vehicle. He didn't hover over me like he'd done back at the restaurant, and I wasn't entirely sure whether I felt relieved or disappointed by that. I managed to unbuckle myself after two fumbles, which he didn't laugh at.

I decided, as we stumbled forward, that I was incredibly lucky to have a ground floor apartment - and by that logic, so was Peter - because we wouldn't need to struggle our way up any steps, which would have been an absolute nightmare.

The housing unit I lived in was the type with two buildings that ran side by side with an enclosed hall down the middle so that my neighbor's door was only a few inches to the right across the hall from mine. Normally, the walkway wasn't even something I glanced at twice on my way in from class or studying, but this wasn't a normal situation.

At the moment, that hall was dark and threatening, and I wasn't as bothered as I normally would have been when Peter's hand found my hip, leading me forward. I racked my brain for answers, trying to figure out when exactly I'd begun to associate his presence with safety rather than danger, but came up short, so I let it drop.

I had bigger things to deal with, like how the world was only just slowing down for me, and the warm buzz I'd had was going strong. I was home, I'd be inside and safe in a few minutes, so what if I let him touch me for a change? Who was going to see it?

Even as I began fishing in the small purse Christina lent me for my keys, walking slowly, neither of us had spoken. It wasn't a comfortable silence. The bulbs overhead flicked on almost as soon as we entered the hall, alerted by our movement, and we were washed in a greenish, pale light that did nothing to remove the ominous feeling from the air.

It made Peter's features look far more severe than they had before. My hand grasped the keys tight enough that the sharp edges dug into my skin painfully; I was nervous. Why was I nervous?

He swallowed hard, and started to step away from me as I leaned my back against the front door for support. I didn't know why I said it, but the words tumbled out without my permission. That seemed to be happening more and more frequently.

"Thank you..for tonight," His shoulders tensed, and he slowly turned back to face me again; that look was still there, boring into my soul. Like he was suffering, asking me for something without words, but we weren't on the same frequency at all.

Why was I thanking him? Didn't he bribe me into doing this in the first place? The logical part of me was screaming, telling me to shut up. Unfortunately, whatever idiot side of me decided to talk in the first place continued without my permission.

"I had..fun - I didn't expect to, but I did." The words felt weird..wrong, though I knew I meant them and, while he was certainly no angel, I was finding it hard to think of him as wholly awful now. Maybe that was the alcohol talking, it was a good thing to blame for the unexplainable.

He took a few cautious steps back to my door, and rested a hand on each of my biceps; I was sure I'd heard him grit his teeth, then. He looked like he wanted to talk, to say something important - maybe I should have heard him out, that would have been the logical thing to do.

Without meaning to, I found myself leaning up - that was definitely not hearing Peter out, I realized, but I was beyond the point where logic overcame stupidity, apparently. Somehow this was the best option to me, or to that part of me that always ended up getting me intro trouble.

I told myself sternly that it didn't have to mean anything if I kissed him. I could still hate him come tomorrow, no one was there to see it, I could deny it. Deny him. It seemed that drunk me was easily coerced, as I found myself believing that bit of sound logic. My head was fuzzy, and his lips looked soft, so why shouldn't I have taken that risk?

Who knew, maybe it would have been nice? Maybe I would have enjoyed it.

I'd never kissed anyone before, so wasn't it about time? Peter was looking at me strangely, like he'd swallowed something that tasted bad, but I didn't let myself try to think about that. If I did, I'd convince myself I was being an idiot and I'd stop.

I took a deep breath and rose to my tip toes - he wasn't doing me any favors by leaning down to help gap the distance, but that didn't discourage me - and Peter's fingers were suddenly digging into my arm, far too tight. It hurt.

That should have been a dead giveaway. How could I have been so stupid?

When he still didn't shift or lean down to gap the distance, my hand found the soft material of his tie and I pulled him forward myself, trying to be gentle despite my lack of coordination. He grunted in what I could only assume was surprise, eyes widening.

That must have been the last shove he needed, because without my assistance, he dipped his face closer to mine. I could feel our breaths mingling, but our lips didn't touch yet. My heart decided to take up residency in my throat.

I was left staring into his eyes, and up close there was no denying that they were stunning - that he was stunning. There was electricity in my veins and I was having a very hard time breathing, all of a sudden. I should have stopped then. Instead, I closed my eyes and tipped my chin up, not quite able to brush our lips, but hopefully he'd be merciful and meet me in the middle.

Except that he didn't. I waited - one heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

My heart was in my throat. What was he waiting for? I was about to open my eyes, or pull him into me, I'm not entirely sure which, when I heard laughter, and saw a bright flash from beneath my eyelids. It felt like something cold and sharp had slithered down my throat and made my stomach its home, slicing me open on its journey. My skin prickled with unease.

I knew that laugh. It squeaked too loudly, bouncing off the bricks in the walkway and assaulting me on all sides. My eyes shot open as my stomach twisted into knots, suddenly I wanted nothing more than to run away, to hide and never come out again.

I'd played right into their hands.

Peter chuckled, then, and it may have been my imagination, but it sounded a little forced. Or..maybe that was what I wanted to hear. I took a cautious step back, only to feel my back pressed firm against the cold metal of my door, and looked at him. Really looked at him, as my blood turned to ice.

His shoulders were slumped, and it looked like he still had that bad taste in his mouth. Good - I hope this tasted like poison to him. Panic was bubbling in my chest as the gravity of the situation hit me - I forgot myself just long enough to fall into a trap.

Molly rounded one corner of the hall, and I spotted Drew out of the corner of my eye. He was standing behind Peter with a camera in hand - when our eyes met he let out a low whistle that made my blood boil. How had I let them sneak up on me like that?

"This is one for the scrapbook, Peter!" Drew cackled in that same, irritatingly high pitched way he always did, while Molly was dangerously silent, she was looking at me like I'd done something wrong. Like I'd been the one to hurt them. I wished I had been, then there wouldn't be a gaping hole growing in my chest, making me feel sick.

I didn't think, didn't give myself time to consider my options, or experience the emotions threatening to spill over inside of me. On one hand, at least I was slightly more sober now, I could be thankful for that.

In one fell swoop I released Peter's tie and shoved my hands hard into his chest - he let my arms go without any struggle what so ever, stumbling a few steps back and colliding with Drew. The pair of them made varying noises of surprise and Molly bristled.

The smell of his cologne was swimming in my head, but it was no longer pleasant, he was no longer safe. He never was. I glared at him, my face hot, and felt my fingers tingling - with rage or panic I had no way of knowing. I almost kissed him. I almost kissed Peter of all people

He was smiling, but it wasn't quite right - part of me wanted to believe he felt bad, that he didn't want to do this to me. I thought back to his offer of coffee, and how desperate he was not to take me home. Was he trying to back out of this plan?

No. It was more likely that he was trying to stall so his friends could set up before we got back..or worse, maybe he'd planned something more embarrassing if I'd actually gone home with him. I had never hated Peter more than I had in that moment.

I shook my head, trying to push away those kinds of thoughts, and scowled even harder. I yanked his suit jacket from my shoulders and threw it to the ground without hesitation - he didn't even flinch, just stared at me. I wouldn't make excuses for this sorry prick, I wouldn't. I knew what kind of person he was from the beginning and I still let him soften me up with false kindness and wine.

I should have known better. Peter wasn't to blame - I was. My eyes were burning and I felt like I might have started crying, but I refused to, not in front of those people. All I could think was that I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt them all, to make them feel as bad as I did. So I did, or tried to, at least.

I drew my fist back, this time I didn't hesitate to punch him directly in the face as hard as I could; his nose made a satisfying crunch as a jolt of white hot pain shot through my bones, but I welcomed it. The pain was a distraction from the growing void, from the shame that was slowly burning me alive. Peter yelled as his hands flew to his face and blood poured through the gaps between his fingers. Good.

He didn't defend himself like the last time we fought as I lunged for another strike, this time landing a hard punch to the hands that covered his nose. The cry of pain that escaped him made me feel at least a little bit better.

I didn't have a lot of time to enjoy it before the left side of my head began to ring and I felt a twinge of agony in my ear. Between the throbbing in my ear and the fact that I was falling, I had no idea what was up and what was down. The world went sideways and a fresh wave of pain shot up my temple as the momentum of the punch left my head bouncing against my front door.

I saw stars, and collapsed against it, turning slowly, too slowly. I wanted to raise my hands, to block my face, but I was pretty sure I was going to be sick, and the ground wouldn't stop spinning long enough for me to get my footing.

I heard Molly let out a violet yell and thought in a fuzzy part of my mind that she'd been the one to hit me. Drew wouldn't have, he was a coward. My world was slanted - I couldn't defend myself, there was no way. I could barely stand. Her fist collided with my stomach and knocked the breath from me.

Knowing I couldn't do anything about that strike, let alone the next that I knew she'd be throwing my way, I collapsed against the door behind me and waited with closed eyes, wheezing for breath. It hurt too much to try and open them. The impending connection of her fist on my flesh never came, and her next cry of anger was cut short.

Curious, I forced myself to squint my eyes open - despite the starburst of pain that flared up when I did - to see that Peter was holding Molly's wrist tight, staring her down with an expression that terrified me.

His mouth and chin were covered in blood, and a bruise was already forming across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. I found myself hoping it hurt, hoping his nose didn't heal right if I managed to break it. Hoping I broke it.

His blood was smeared over her arm and his hand, painting them both, and I chose to look at that instead of their faces. When he spoke his voice was sharp, and cold. I thought I'd heard the coldest he could be the first time I punched him and refused to apologize, but I was so wrong.

"That's enough, Molly. We're even." There was pain in her eyes and I wasn't sure if it was from the way he said the words, or the grip he had on her arm, but I didn't care. He could break her wrist for all I cared, and her heart, too.

I considered attacking them, then, of flinging myself at the pair like a furious, wounded animal, but I knew I didn't stand a chance. I didn't want to risk Peter deciding to hurt me. Deciding we were no longer even.

"Get away from my house." I was surprised by how calm I sounded, but my voice still slurred, trembling slightly with emotion, and I hated hearing it. Before I spoke the pair of them had been staring one another down, but both of their heads snapped in my direction then; Molly, with rage in her eyes, and Peter with..I couldn't tell you, I didn't meet his gaze.

Instead, I stared at the blood oozing down his chin and painting his mouth red - his lips didn't look soft anymore. Maybe they never really did. I spoke again, my voice shaking with rage. "Get away from me."

"Tris I-"

"Don't you dare talk to me, Peter. Don't. You keep my name out of your mouth and go." I wanted to feel satisfaction at the way his face dropped, but I just felt sick. Used. He did all that to make a spectacle out of me, and it worked. I wouldn't let him trick me into thinking he cared, this was just another joke he was playing. I wouldn't be the punchline.

I didn't pause to see if they were still standing there, I could hear Molly's heavy footsteps -stomps, really- receding, and I could only assume everyone else followed suit. I dropped my keys, and cursed loudly, ducking down to get them. My head was pounding by now. It took three tries before I managed to get my key in the lock, but when I did, I jerked the door open and immediately slammed it shut behind me.

With the wall as a barrier between myself and the outside world I allowed myself to crumble - I was almost positive Christina wouldn't be home until the next day, so there was nothing to worry about as far as being heard. With the freedom of solitude, the dam broke, and tears rolled down my face in a flood, choking me. I wasn't crying for Peter - for his betrayal - I was crying for my own stupidity.

For my weakness.

I was crying out of rage. Out of pain. For letting myself believe that this could have been anything but an opportunity to get revenge. I was crying because, rather than showing him that I was strong, unbreakable, I showed him that I was just a silly girl who could easily be manipulated. I showed him he could hurt me.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, sobbing, with my head on my knees, but at some point I fell asleep.

I was climbing rusted rungs of the dilapidated ferris wheel's maintenance ladder, near the abandoned sector of the city, when I became aware of myself. The sun was nowhere to be seen, and I felt harsh wind whipping at me, yanking on my hair and clothes. There was someone below me, I thought, but I couldn't be sure. It didn't matter - the climb did.

I just kept moving higher. I didn't have time to think about why I was doing this, about how I got there, my mouth was set into a firm line and I was breathing heavily out of my nose. This was important - not reckless. I could hear a whisper of logic telling me I needed to get to a vantage point.

I have to find their flag.

The thought surfaced, surprising me with its familiarity, at the exact moment a metal rung broke beneath my boot. My suspicions of there being another person below were confirmed when I felt someone steady me, and my heart was in my throat. Their hand was warm on my hip. I moved again and ignored my racing heart - it had little to do with fear and much to do with my adrenaline.

I was buzzing with excitement, I knew I should have been terrified, but I felt alive as the cold filtered into my fingers and numbed them one by one. The climb continued for longer than I could keep time with - I was struck with the realization that the majority of this dream wasn't clouded with fog - I could see out across the barren part of the city, to the drained lake and its puddles. It took my breath away and I felt a chill up my spine.

Finally, after what felt like ages, I'd finally climbed high enough and spotted a bright square of color off in the distance. I pointed it out to my blurry companion, who seemed fairly proud of me. That sent a tingle of excitement up my spine. With the knowledge of the enemy flag at our disposal, we began our slow descent back down.

One minute I was fine, moving easily downwards, and the next I was dangling from a bar, who even knew how many feet off the ground. I felt the first twinges of panic in my gut and twisted around, searching for help. That only served to make me feel sick - any time I tried to focus on the person behind me, the world flipped upside down or turned on its side so that I couldn't focus.

Time didn't make sense, nor did the buzzing noise I thought might have been wind coming from below, ready to pluck me from the ferris wheel and deliver me to the ground. I could almost hear a voice telling me to hold on, but that was likely my imagination.

If my fingers weren't aching, and my life weren't in danger, I might have enjoyed the clarity of the view in front of me, made even more impressive without the bars of the wheel in the way, but instead, I was met with the realization that I would probably die right then and there.

That made me more sad than it did afraid, for some reason. I sucked in a breath and tightened my grip, determined to fight for my last minutes, to stretch them out until I couldn't hold on any longer. My elbows were locked and screaming in agony.

I looked down, feeling my fingers starting to slip, but, to my surprise the ground was getting closer. The wheel had begun to move with me still swinging from it, and suddenly the ground was rushing toward me all at once.

I allowed myself to feel hope, and counted to three before preparing to jump. I knew that I had to time it just right, so that I didn't break anything, or get crushed by one of the cars on the outdated ride. I gritted my teeth when the time was right and launched forward, my pulse pounding in my ears.

I awoke in a panic, imagining the giant wheel was still bearing down on me, but when my eyes opened, I was resting with my back against my front door. There was a weak light filtering in through our kitchen window; I was nowhere near the abandoned sector of the city. I was safe.

At first I wasn't sure what woke me, other than maybe my own fear, but I was grateful for it all the same. My back and legs were tingling and sore from sitting in the same position all night on the hard tile. It took me longer than I'd care to admit to understand what I was doing sitting in the doorway - why I'd fallen asleep there, of all places, in a dress - but when the fog of sleep wore off I was smacked full in the chest with memories of my humiliation.

Before I could come to terms with the painful realization, I felt the door shake behind me and heard a grunt of frustration. Christina. I was still blocking the entrance to our apartment - oops. At least I had a good idea of what woke me up. I managed to push myself to my feet, yelping softly at the wave of pain that surged through my limbs, at the sharp bolts of agony that pulsed along my scalp.

I wasn't given any time to collect myself before the door flew opened and smacked against the wall, narrowly missing me in the process. I was greeted by the sight of Christina in one of Will's overlarge sweaters, weighted down with groceries and looking triumphant against her battle with the door.

She was practically glowing with a wide grin on her face, but the moment her eyes drifted from the door to me, her smile vanished and she dropped the bags hanging from her arms to the floor unceremoniously. Without hesitation, leaving the door wide open, she rushed towards me with a horrified expression on her face.

It struck me then that I must have looked really bad, bad enough to warrant the way she was staring. I didn't like the look she was giving me, it made my stomach twist in a painful way, and my cheeks burn with shame. It made me feel small, and pathetic; I could almost hear Drew's laugh again in that moment, too high of a pitch and bouncing off the bricks, assaulting me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I was able to notice - primarily by choosing to stare at the floor rather than meet my friend's gaze - that my overnight bag was nestled among the scattered groceries she'd abandoned. It felt like I'd been sucker punched, like it was insulting me just by being there.

"Holy shit, Tris!" She cried out softly, and I had to agree with her when fresh pain jolted through my temple and down my jaw. Holy shit was appropriate. I felt slightly dizzy, but I'd managed to stay on my feet that long, so it couldn't have been that bad, right? "What the hell happened to you?"

She gently cupped my face in her hands, turning it from one side to the other - I never thought such a small motion could hurt so much, but my hands instinctively scrunched into fists as I tried not to cry out. Pain shot up my right hand almost as soon as I balled it up, so I unformed that fist as quickly as possible. I'd have to check that out later.

I felt like crying again, but swallowed the urge and closed my eyes instead, focusing on anything pleasant I could grasp. Her hands were cold against my face - soothing the burn of shame and injury alike - it was a small beacon of comfort in a sea of agony.

She was naturally perceptive, as usual, and released my face to grab my dominant hand, hissing through her teeth. That caught my attention, enough to make me open my eyes again, and I glanced in the direction of my aching hand with knitted brows. Well. At least I had a good explanation for the throbbing in my knuckles.

They were an angry red, and deep bruises were already blooming. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, looking at the damage. There was dried blood smeared on my skin, and I wasn't sure whether it was mine or Peter's. I had the sincere hope that his nose was broken.

Peter.

My chest felt like it might have caved in. Not because I cared about him, which I didn't, but because he had gained all of the leverage he'd ever need to break me down into pieces until there was nothing left. He'd gotten everything I didn't want him to have. The memories of laughter - of Molly's fist, of Peter's little game - were still fresh and raw, yet I kept picking at them.

I didn't mean to sob, but the noise escaped me all the same. Christina threw her arms around me, and I buried my face in her shoulder; the tears came without my permission. We stood like that for a while, until my tears were gone and I had nothing in me but weak hiccups and heavy breathing. She didn't make me talk, in fact, she just gently guided me down the hall and sat me on the edge of the bathtub.

She couldn't have known that her hand on my back was cold, and small. That it was the exact opposite of Peter's. That I was grateful for those things. She knelt in front of me, grabbing for a little container full of damp sheets of cloth that smelled vaguely like perfume, or soap.

The whole time she worked, lightly dabbing at my face, I was a sniffling mess, but she kept murmuring soft, comforting words. Part of me hated it - I was stronger than all of this - but it was nice to remember there were people with hearts as big as Christina's was.

She helped me clean my face, scrubbing away the mask she'd given me, the one I'd ruined with my tears. When I finally looked in the mirror I was myself again - although I couldn't remember a time I had ever been that sickly looking. My eyes were puffy and bloodshot, my nose bright red, but all of those things paled in comparison to the souvenirs that Molly had left me.

On the side she'd punched me, I had a large, purple bruise roughly the size of a fist. It ran along the side of my cheekbone and right up to the middle of my ear, staining me. When I touched it, the area was electrified with pain, and I immediately jerked away to inspect the other side. This one wasn't as bad as far as coloration, but was far more painful.

There was a knot the size of a golf ball on the side of my head, presumably from how hard I'd hit it on the door. It was peppered with bright red, and soft purple markings, letting me know the damage was far from healed.

I tore my eyes away from the mirror when Christina brought me a pair of fluffy black pants, and a baggy long sleeved sweater. She was watching me with concerned eyes as I took the clothes from her and folded them, leaving them sitting on the edge of the sink. I hated this. I hated feeling weak and defenseless and broken. I'd get Peter back for that..somehow.

"He didn't.." She couldn't say it, but she motioned to all of me, and I got the general idea of what she was hinting at. I felt my lower lip wobble and the world swam around me in an instant. I hated that I still had tears left, but shook my head firmly all the same. I couldn't have her thinking that - she'd blame herself somehow.

I hated that she thought I was weak enough to let that happen to me, but then, I'd been weak enough to let myself be trapped so why not that, too? I didn't want her to even consider that I wouldn't have killed him on the spot if he even dreamed of touching me like that, without my permission, forcibly. I didn't say that, though.

"Oh God no, Chris. No." My voice was cracked and sounded nothing like me. I hated it. Peter had stripped away my strength, made me hate myself, and I couldn't forgive that. I felt bare. "I'll..I'll tell you about it..after a shower," I offered, bending over the tub to turn on the water, my ribs protested at the tight material that was stretched across my torso and I hissed through my teeth. I'd have to be careful not to ruin her dress.

She didn't respond, but I could hear her behind me, walking back to the door of the bathroom. I bit my lip, speaking quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the rushing water, "Thank you.." I knew I shouldn't have been as shaken up as I was. Thinking on it, I should have been angry, livid, he'd only embarrassed me, after all. He hadn't hurt me, not really. He couldn't hurt me, that would have meant that I cared. Which I didn't. So why did it sting like that? I hated it.

"I'm so sorry, Tris.." Christina's voice was full of pity, and I hated that, too. One look in the mirror when the dress fell let me know that my ribs on the left side were painted with a light bruise, nothing like my face had been, but still enough to hurt.

It didn't go without notice that I had round bruises on each of my biceps in the shape of Peter's fingers, too. They'd used me as a canvas for their cruelty, and I'd be looking at the marks for days, if not a week or more.

Hot water was going to do wonders for me.

"That little scumbag!"

A little over an hour since I'd woken up had left me curled up on our sofa in clean clothes, feeling a slightly more human. Between the warm shower and Christina's presence the pain was a little more of an irritation. Everything was easier when she was involved, after all.

She'd given me some medicine for my bruises, and gotten us a makeshift breakfast from the coffee shop across the street. During my shower she'd put the groceries away, and my overnight bag was sitting on the couch, now, mocking me. I hadn't touched it.

"I can't believe we let him take you home without following-" I held my hand up and scowled at her - it still surprised me to see bruises peppered over the rough skin of my knuckles - I refused to let her accept guilt for Peter's crimes.

"No. Don't do that. I'm..fine, it's over with," I needed to distract her, to push the topic somewhere else. We'd been talking about what happened for the last fifteen minutes or so, I didn't want to keep saying his name, that only made it worse. "All he did was embarrass me, and it shook me up. That's not your fault."

"So how was your date?" And those were the magic words, apparently, because her eyes lit up and she sat a little straighter. I was pretty sure that at least part of her eagerness was for my benefit, if she really knew me, she knew that I didn't like to talk about my problems, and Peter was definitely a problem.

I knew I'd just opened the floodgates, but I didn't really mind. A happy story for a change would probably do me some good. I hadn't realized it until Christina showed up earlier, but I'd been sorely deprived of contact with people who weren't sour, and rotten, and full of hate like I'd become. I needed desperately to cling to her goodness, it made the hole in my chest a tiny bit more bearable.

"It was amazing, Tris. I mean, that place was so gorgeous - I know you know that, sorry - I just..wow. It was.." She was struggling for words, and I had to laugh as she broke into giggles amid chopped sentences about how romantic the whole thing was and how no one had ever treated her the way Will had.

Apparently, even after four years, they still had a lot to talk about, new subjects to approach. I guess it would be easier to talk about things you had in common when you weren't butting heads and arguing about everything. She was just about to go into detail about dessert, and how grossly cute the both of them were, when her phone started ringing.

I felt bad for the relief that flooded through me at not having to hear about the rest of their date - I was happy for them, but it was going to take a while to erase the image of them giving one another gushy looks from across the table, and talking about their feelings.

A knot tied itself tightly in my stomach, making me feel sick. Absentmindedly I grabbed for the ice pack Christina had given me earlier, and pressed it against the lump on my head. The sensation and pressure made my scalp tingle with fresh pain, but it was duller than before. More bearable.

I tried not to listen to her conversation, but I knew it was Will -she had a special smile, reserved for him, I wasn't sure she knew that, though - so I gave up on being polite and watched her closely.

After their initial greeting her eyes widened and the smile he'd put on her face dipped back into a worried frown as she glanced at me; my stomach did an uncomfortable flip as I imagined Peter strutting in and bragging to Will about what he'd done to me. Surely he had, wasn't that the point of embarrassing me like that, to make sure everyone knew?

Come to think of it, how had he not shoved all of that in Christina's face? They had to have crossed paths for him to give my bag to her, right? He wouldn't have just left it out for the taking, he wasn't the kind of person to give anyone an inch of peace. He was too cruel for that.

Had he sent out copies of the picture Drew took by now, just to make me look bad? That seemed childish, but what he and his friends had done to me last night had been childish, too. While I'd been busy in my head, I nearly missed the entire conversation between Will and Christina, coming in as she lowered her voice and worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"I had a lot of fun, too. Look, uh, I know we're supposed to meet up for lunch today but..is there any way I can give you a rainche- Tris!" I grabbed the phone from her hands, and she looked at me like I'd slapped her across the face, grabbing for it almost immediately.

I held my hand out to her, pushing away any attempts to retrieve the device while I leaned my head away. I'd dropped my ice pack and my head was throbbing, but that wasn't important. I wouldn't be the reason she didn't spend time with Will, I didn't need to be babysat. Truthfully I was happy at the idea of getting some time to myself anyway.

"Ignore Christina - she's going, she's just being stupid."

"Tris? What's going on?" Will seemed surprised to hear my voice.

"Nothing, seriously - she thought we made plans but it turns out," I looked at her pointedly, she just rolled her eyes in response, "that I have my own plans, so she's all yours."

"Oh..are you sure?"

"One hundred percent positive." I handed the phone back without waiting for a response, and stuck my tongue out at Christina. She was pouting at me with her arms crossed over her chest, begrudgingly moving so that she could take the phone back and apologize for confusing him.

Regardless of her irritation, she quickly confirmed their plans, sighing heavily when the call ended. I was grateful that she'd given in to me, I didn't want to ruin their date just because I'd made a poor judgement call.

I didn't need her hanging around feeling sorry for me all day, anyway, what I needed was to find a proper distraction, I wasn't ready to sit down and sort through everything that had happened on my own. She stared at me silently, raising her brows, and I knew I was about to get an earful. I didn't give her time to start up the lecture I knew she was itching to throw at me.

"Seriously, Chris, just because I had a shitty night doesn't mean you're cancelling your plans." I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring her, and shot her a stern look. If I was the reason they couldn't spend time together and be happy, Peter would win. Again. I refused to let him poison anything else in my life.

I'd sat back and watched Christina and Will's slow, irritating journey towards a relationship for a long time, and if I came between that with my problems, I'd never forgive myself. For that reason I smiled at her, even though I still felt brittle, and cold, and empty. I wasn't ready to smile yet, but I did anyway, because she needed it more than I needed to sulk.

"Tris, promise me you'll be okay, I don't mind rescheduling if you need me. I wasn't there before when those thugs were giving you such a hard time I just..don't want you to deal with all of this alone again.."

I rolled my eyes and shrugged, "I'm okay, really. I'm making this bigger than it is - I mean, seriously, all they did was laugh at me - and okay, yeah, Molly messed me up, but if I get down I'll just remember exactly what it sounded like when I punched Peter in his stupid face, okay?" That made her laugh, so I joined in, but it didn't sound very convincing.

Convinced that I wouldn't fall to pieces without her, she got up and hugged me before heading down the hall to get cleaned up and ready for her lunch. I rubbed the center of my chest and took deep breaths, telling myself that I wasn't jealous of her happiness. That wasn't fair to her. I was happy for her, happy because she was happy. It was too bad about that whole being a terrible liar thing at times like these.

What was I even jealous of, anyway? It wasn't like the idea of being in a relationship was something I'd pined over the way she had. It rarely even crossed my mind. I glanced over at my bag and almost laughed at the realization that fear raced through me - that I was scared of a sack of dirty clothes.

Oh. And my journal.

My eyes widened as I remembered why I even went on that stupid date in the first place. The dream journal! I scrambled up towards the bag, and nearly recoiled when I caught the scent of Peter - his taint had seeped into my things, and I hated it.

I could imagine he even sprayed it down with his cologne, just for a last laugh. For a moment I considered moving out of the openness of the den, but quickly remembered that my phone was in my room and decided to stay right where I was.

Cautiously I sifted through the re-purposed gym bag, ready for whatever traps or nastiness Peter had left behind as a secondary attack. It would have been just like him to do something like that - I could already imagine it would be filled with copies of Drew's picture from last night. Maybe he even kept my journal, threw my clothes out. It would serve me right for being so stupid.

Other than the soap and shampoo Christina grabbed out of the side pocket earlier, nothing seemed to be missing, in fact there was an additional item in there. I scowled at the sight of a large manila envelope addressed to me in a messy scrawl.

If he wanted to torture me with the picture, I doubted that he'd have gone through the effort of packing it in an envelope that I could easily throw away without seeing it. I could feel paper inside and decided it must have been some sort of letter. It felt thick. Two thoughts occurred to me simultaneously.

I should read it.

I should burn it.

I did neither, choosing to shove it deeper into the bag and grab my notebook instead. I would open the envelope when my wounds were less fresh. Staring down at the notebook, I felt trepidation - I didn't want to read it. I didn't want to go into my own head. Too real was the memory of Peter's fists, of sweat and blood and a sparring mat. My stomach churned just holding it, and I huffed.

Instead of reading it, I shoved the thing back in my bag and fished out my clothes. I needed a distraction - laundry was as good as any reason to not read whatever I'd jotted down in those pages. I pictured, even as I got up from the couch and headed for the front door, Peter's fingers all over its pages, his eyes hungrily drinking in my private world.

I stopped to toe on a pair of shoes and grabbed the small container of washing powder we kept in the kitchen, before heading out into the hall. My stomach did an uncomfortable sort of flip, and I wanted to go back inside almost immediately.

It was an entirely different world in the daylight - there was no eerie green lighting, no Peter standing tall and pretending to protect me - but I could see drops of dried blood just in front of our door, and a trail leaving towards the parking lot.

I'd need to clean that up.

I headed towards the small glass door down near the end of my apartment that led to a tiny room with the communal washer and dryer. It only occurred to me as I was loading the clothes in and twisting the settings to a light load, that I had no idea what I was going to do after that. I didn't want to stay in the apartment, I didn't want to go out. I didn't want to spend time with anyone and I didn't want to be alone.

Chris and Will were going to be occupied, I considered calling Al up, maybe we would catch a late lunch or watch movies in the apartment. I'd been neglecting him lately. As I walked back to the front door and pointedly looked up to avoid seeing the blood on the floor, I was reminded of a conversation I'd had with Peter the night before.

I was beyond believing him, I didn't much want to go over anything that had to do with him, but there was a burning frustration at the thought that I had no way of knowing whether Peter or Al had been honest..and what that meant if it had been Peter telling the truth.

Al and I had some talking to do. That was all the motivation I'd needed to grab up my phone and dial his number - even if I didn't need him crooning over my wounds like I knew he would, I needed to start drawing lines, this seemed as good of a time as any.

Ahah. I'm so sorry, I promise that..eventually there will be some happiness for our poor babies, but for now enjoy more agony and suffering and just..bad shit. Phew.

So, as always, your reviews and kudos are appreciated! Let me know what you think, what you'd like to see happen or even what you think might happen! I'd love to hear from all of you.