"Bittersweet Sunshine"

Chapter 9 {Tris' POV}

-o-o-o-

We sit atop of the tall dunes of sand, watching the distinct line where the heavens tenderly kiss the earth. My focused eyes witnessing the resounding, glowing collision of colour.

The setting sun spills its brilliance across the sky: hot oranges and reds, caressing the clouds, like an exploded pot of molten lava. Sparks ignite up above me and blood pours, as the infinite glory of paradise descends further behind the seam of the world.

Four watches the ocean, transfixed by the rhythmic percussion of waves against sand. Eyes steady against the horizon, his handsome face aglow with the last glimmers of light today. His tempting lips bear the semblance of a smile, just enough to infer that he is enjoying his thoughts, whatever they may be.

Instinctively, I bat my stormy orbs down to his full lips, heart fluttering inside of my chest at the memory of their gentleness. Their deliberation and heat. It has barely been twenty-four hours since we kissed in the waves at midnight, but every nerve and cell in my body is aching for his intimate and trusting touch.

I drop my head, tilting my face away as my cheeks burn with uncertainty, the same constant questions spinning around in my head - was it a mistake, to kiss somebody that I barely know? Is this too much too fast?

I have been alone for so long, fighting my demons as a one-woman army. Marching into battle with nobody behind me, carrying my bruises like a tonne of bricks. It is in my roots to push people away, to run alone. A fighter, not a lover.

I spent the past few years completely isolated from the rest of the world, becoming a problem as opposed to a human being. Every bruise and bloody nose, every label and missed opportunity, only fuelled my initial response to build up walls to keep people away.

I could never have foreseen that my saviour would be in the form of Newport's resident golden boy. But, like me, it has become perfectly clear that he has layers to his perfect act - Four Eaton, in all of his enchanting glory, is not who I thought he was. Not by a long shot.

He is fire and rain, light and dark. He is a strange combination of the definite and the indefinite. Four is track teams and training programs, but he is also milkshakes and sunsets. An unpredictable tempest of secrets and transparency. A constant paradox.

Looking up once again, I find his gaze already settled upon me. The deep curve of his lips makes the world stop, focusing solely on our small corner of its mortality.

The precious dimple on his cheek warms my icy soul, and I am reminded of why I cannot bring myself to push him away anymore... he has the kind of smile that makes you feel happy to be alive.

Acting on pure adrenaline, I tilt my face upward, and slowly, inexorably, I press my lips to his. Stealing the words that could have been said, sealing my nagging feelings with an intimate gesture; how can I deny this magnetic attraction any longer?

I don't exactly understand what these unavoidable emotions really mean, but they remain hard to budge or eradicate. I am not ready to trust him completely, to lay down my cards, but I want to start somewhere.. I want to begin to let him see the real me. Scars and all.

His full lips move against mine without the innocence I felt last night, more like a tease, fiery, passionate and demanding. I want to pull away before I lose myself but I can't seem to do so; in this minty moment, my senses have been seduced and I cannot think straight.

"Tris." He whispers slowly against my mouth, prolonging each letter as if to savour them. I smile, my heart fluttering at his voice - never before has my name sounded so wonderful.

"Tell me your favourite movie." I request, pulling away far enough to see his inquisitive expression, my fingers twisted into his tee.

"I love that you feel comfortable kissing me like that," he murmurs, thumbing my bottom lip with a faint smile before responding to my enquiry. ".. to answer your question, I'd have to say The Breakfast Club. What can I say? I'm a retro kind of guy."

"Mhm, interesting. Ok - what about your all-time favourite novel? You were in the library yesterday looking for books.. I can only assume you like to read."

"In Cold Blood," Four answers with certainty. "Truman Capote is my literary hero - I've read almost all of his work, though I boycotted Breakfast at Tiffany's. Figured it's not exactly my style. What about you? What's your paperback poison?"

"Anything by Stephen King," I tell him instantly, not having to deliberate my answer in the slightest. "IT, Carrie, Pet Cemetery; you name it. His work may be a little adult-orientated, and slightly disturbing, but he just has such a way with words. I can never seem to put his books down."

"I am actually kind of glad you mentioned that," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. His content demeanour shifting to one of palpable anxiety. "They're playing a re-run of The Shining down at the movie theatre later this week. Maybe we could go.. y'know, together."

"Like a date?" I ask, suddenly overcome with an unfamiliar shyness. Cheeks stinging.

"Exactly like a date," he confirms, equally as bashful. "I mean, I don't know about you but I want to do this the right way."

"How do you mean?" I implore, pressing for an extended explanation; eager to hear his perception of the chaotic conflict of the unfamiliar attraction.

"This is all so new to me - and I know that it is to you too - and I don't want to push you into something rushed and hasty. I want to take you out on dates and get to know you, and I want you to know me too. Which is one of the reasons why I invited you out tonight; I figured that we could start from right now. I just want to do this properly, y'know?"

"We have all summer," I agree, overwhelmed with appreciation for his cautious and genuine approach. "There's no rush. I wanna know you - the real you - and I want you to understand me too."

"So you will come to the movies with me?" The blue-eyed boy reiterates with a keen smile. "The popcorn is on me."

"Make it gummy worms and you've got yourself a date." I laugh, nodding along to his request. Attempting to remain outwardly casual, cautious of coming off to eager and overbearing.

"Deal," Four grins, openly running his calloused fingers through my blonde ponytail. "Though I must argue that gummy worms are very much inferior to the classic delights of Sour Patch Kids."

I pull away completely, slipping from his affectionate touch, my expression morphed into exaggerated disdain. "Are you crazy? Do you even have working tastebuds?"

"Hey, hey, it's not your fault you lack the skills to taste pure greatness," he teases, laying back in the sand, face angled up to the lavender sky. "Let me guess, you like pineapple on your pizza too?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact! It is a combination that can only be comprehended by the most intelligent of minds." I declare, playfully, the sand tickling my skin as I lay down, my shoulder pressed against his firm bicep.

"God, I miss pizza," he groans, longingly. "My diet contains only protein shakes, greens and a variety of energising fruits. There's not much I wouldn't do for a 12-inch pizza pie."

I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Greens and fruit? That's rabbit food. What about cake, soda? Sour Patch Kids? C'mon, surely you don't eat plain old salads all the time?"

"Pretty much - training is ruthless. I spent the entire morning in strength cardio, as well as waking up at five to run around the neighbour hood for two hours. My diet depicts my energy, my ability to train to the best of my ability. But I'm a teenage guy, my appetite extends way beyond a fruit smoothie and a protein bar."

"I don't know how you do it," I admit, my tone laced with complete wonder. "Constant training and a monitored diet, whilst keeping a 4.0 GPA, being captain of the track team and keeping up with the demand of your alter ego. I can barely arrive at school before second period most of the time."

"I escape it all after a long day in the best way that I know how," he admits, quietly, as if revealing a deep and dark secret. "I-I like to write. Not articles like you.. but fictional stories."

"Seriously? That's awesome! It takes a lot of talent to approach creative writing, a lot of imagination too. What kind of fiction do you write?"

"Anything," he sighs, happily. "Anything at all. Daring sword fights, magic spells, murderers in disguise. It's like a whole world under my control, a universe that I can manipulate to my hearts content. When I write.. I feel in control of something. I feel powerful."

"I'd love to read your stories one day," I tell him, truthfully. My face still tilted upward towards the darkening heavens. "Seriously - if you would feel comfortable sharing them with me, I would really like to give them a read."

"I've never told anybody that before. It's always been my secret passion, a significant part of my alter ego. Something just for me. I write for myself, not for my mom or my team. Or even my best friends. But that's just the problem.. it has to stay a secret. If my mom ever found out she would smash my laptop to pieces, break every pencil. Anything to eradicate distractions.."

"So it's your escape," I declare, knowingly. "A way to forget the pressure of your own life. The control you have been stripped of, you can access again through a world of pure imagination. You can regain power and authority over the characters you create."

"An escape," he echoes, despondently. "Yeah.. yeah, that sounds about right."

"I have a way to escape too," I whisper. "I have my own place - a treehouse. It has always been my safe place, the one place where I am safe from harm. Nobody can touch me. It's an escape from my reality. Deep in the woods, isolated from everything that tries to hurt me."

"We're both fucked up in one way or another, huh," he observes, chuckling darkly. "Maybe.. maybe the beach can be our safe place. Our escape. We always end up here, on the sand or in the waves. And each time we convene here - night or day - I feel less and less alone. Perhaps this can be an escape we can share."

"I think I'd like that." I murmur, rolling onto my stomach and propping my head up in my hand, my other splayed out across his clothed chest.

Four wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, gently rubbing the exposed skin of my arm. Despite the heaviness of my heart, it flutters immensely at the feeling of his body against mine.

I sink into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch makes the night warmer somehow, my future within its shadows seeming a little less bleak.

The avoidance of touch - hugs especially - roots directly back to the affection from my mother. The care that slowly slipped through our fingers, shattering like glass.

In my mother's arms I was safe, and any worry I may have had disappeared like rain on summer earth. In that embrace, I was cocooned better than a butterfly-to-be. I would bathe in her warmth and her scent - not of cheap liquor and cigars - but lavender and baking.

Any memories of my mom have been replaced with the scent of wind and metal, ash and wood. The natural and safe perfume of the boy that has reinterpreted my take on a simple embrace.

I cannot eradicate my own distaste for physical contact for anybody else, way too pointless and uncomfortable, but with Four, I cannot get enough; he is the embodied equivalent to my treehouse. A safe place.

"Hey, Tris," he eventually whispers into the newly stabilised twilight. "Are you hungry?"

-o-o-o-

"Favourite character from any piece of literature?"

"Atticus Finch - To Kill a Mocking Bird. Er, who's your favourite famous fictional detective?"

"Easy! Nancy Drew, for sure. Inspiring strong women since the thirties. Ok, what's your guilty pleasure?"

"Drinking juice straight from the carton; the most enjoyable way to drink juice. Name one of your most-listened to songs."

"Cough Syrup by Young the Giant.. or Losing My Religion by R.E.M." I respond, pondering the best answer out loud, taking a long sip of my rich vanilla milkshake.

We have claimed a leather booth in the old bean cafe - having retreated from the beach as twilight settled - sitting opposite to one another, indulging in our respective beverage choices and entertaining a quick-fire questions game.

It is fairly quiet tonight: only a small family of three, a straggly, meek-looking elderly man pouring himself into the pages of a newspaper, and a juvenile quartet of freshman, clearly out way past their curfew.

"All-time favourite line from a movie?" I ask, curiously. Happy to go along with his idea of a game, genuinely eager to learn more about the complex track star before me.

"Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club," Four tells me, a smirk adorning his lips. "Or maybe, I feel the need for speed - Top Gun."

"Figures," I laugh, shaking my head in amusement. "You are quite the movie dork, huh? I swear, you're just full of surprises. Will I ever be able to work you out?"

"A little mystery never did anyone any harm," he shrugs, playfully. "Besides, I'm sure you'll figure me out eventually. I think it's me who has the challenge - how can I decipher a one-woman armada with no help whatsoever?"

"A little mystery never did anyone any harm." I mock, resting my chin upon a closed fist, smiling widely.

"Very clever," he mutters, but the amused grin gives away his faux annoyance. "Just drink your milkshake and stop verbally attacking me."

"Don't you tell me what to do, wonder boy. It's me who calls the shots, remember?" I fire back, haughtily, amping up our teasing to another level. Challenging his competitive nature.

"Not a chance," Four responds, his electric blue eyes gazing into mine. Sending a shiver down my spine, every part of my body magnetising towards him. "Then again..."

"Then again?" I echo, biting down onto the surface of my lower lip.

"I would be more than willing to let you lead me anywhere, boss me around to your hearts content. So long as you stayed right where you are - across from me in a booth, looking at me like that, with those big, beautiful eyes."

I straighten up in my seat, narrowing my stormy orbs to glare in his direction. Attempting to regain any slithers of my infamous hard exterior. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm not looking at you in any way that would be considered positive."

"Mmhm," he hums to himself in satisfaction, taking a sip of his wild berry smoothie. "Whatever you say."

"Back to our original topic of conversation," I divert away from irritating territory, forcing an icy chill into my tone of voice. "What's your favourite superhero-"

"Four? Tris?" A male voice exclaims from across the cafe, and we simultaneously twist our necks to spot a certain caramel-skinned boy with a wide grin. And to my surprise, accompanying the powerhouse of confidence that strode into my life without a single falter. "Is that you guys?"

"Zeke, hey man," Four greets as his best friend ambles over to our booth, Christina in tow. "Are you two here.. er, together?"

"Not like that - simply platonic," Christina scoffs, sliding into the booth beside me, uninvited. "Zeke took me home last night - as I was in too much of a drunken stupor to find my own way back - and I promised him a burger to make up for it."

"She held a great bargain; how could I possibly turn down a burger? You know me and my appetite." Zeke shrugs, taking a seat next to Four, slouching against the leather.

"We aren't crashing a.. date, or anything, right?" Christina suddenly asks, glancing between the two of us with curious eyes. A perfect eyebrow arched in inquisition.

I exchange a questionable look with the blue-eyed boy across the booth, undecided on how to answer; does he care if we are honest and fess up to our attraction? Or should I cover up the date-orientated scenario with a fabrication of the truth? Before I get the chance to quickly resolve the internal conflict inside of my head, Four beats me to it.

"Yes, actually," he confesses, casually, as if it was not a big thing at all. I don't know whether to be relieved or stung by his disregard. "But I suppose more the merrier, right?"

"Right, no worries. We were just about to order some food." I agree, fighting to keep the disappointment away. Sparing a glance at Four who watches me in turn, apologetically.

"Okay, great," Zeke brushes it off, grabbing at a menu that sits behind the usual tabletop condiments. "Should I get a bacon cheese burger, or just a double cheese.."

I stop listening to his struggle to decide an order, as soon as a hand grasp mine beneath the table. Fingers twisting into and caressing my own. A silent, physical apology for the interruption. Pushing aside my frustration, I squeeze his hand back, mutely signalling my understanding.

"You guys had the right idea, heading off last night when you did." Zeke commends us, and it is then that I notice a deep scratch across his right cheek. Deep and sore.

"What happened?" Four asks, curiously. "I hate to think of the aftermath that came with that stupid game."

"Absolute anarchy," Christina tells us, stealing a small sip from my milkshake. "Everybody was shouting and yelling. Peter was fuming mad that you punched him - he was breaking things and screaming at anyone who told him to calm down. And there was one heck of a cat fight."

"I've never seen girls fight like that," Zeke chimes in, shaking his head, seemingly still in disbelief. "Hair extensions were flying everywhere, press-on nails became air-born. I mean, Shauna was wild-"

"Shauna?" I exclaim, cutting his story off, astounded. "You can't possibly mean that Shauna was in this fight? She wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"She was pretty pissed that Nita exposed her cheating tactics to presidency. Mix that with the half a bottle of liquor that she drank, and you've got one hell of a problem on your hands. I mean, look at what she did to Zeke when he tried to get in the middle of them."

"Hurts like a bitch," the dark-skinned boy grimaces, cautiously dabbing at the scratch with the pad of his finger. "I'm still waiting for an apology, in fact. After I managed to prise her from Nita, she left in a storm, pushing through people and crying."

"I called her mom this morning to check she got home okay, and she's apparently safe in her bed. But she doesn't want to see any of us right now." Christina adds, sadly; they are best friends after all, and although she lied, her wellbeing is still important to the eccentric brunette.

"She'll come around," I assure Christina, gently. Attempting to console her. "Just give her a little time."

"I just can't believe she lied to us about it! We're supposed to be friends, aren't we? And friends tell each other the truth. I didn't figure I'd have to find out how she really became president through a manipulative game, created by Nita and her minions."

"There are a lot of things that need explaining." Zeke agrees, casting Four a sideways glance that tells me everything I need to know.

"I'm thirsty," I announce, deciding to take the hint and leave the two friends to discuss what needs to be. "C'mon, Chris. I am in the mood for a frozen lemonade right about now."

I usher a confused Christina out of the booth, catching the grateful smile given to me by both of the guys. Appreciative for the privacy. Besides, I have my own agenda for the night; there was another truth revealed in Nita's twisted game, one that I am keen to know more about: a certain summer romance.

"We have a lot to talk about," she declares with a giggle, before I get the chance. Looping her arm around mine. "Starting with your newfound friendship with Newport's finest bachelor and resident golden boy! Spill!"

"No way. I vote that we start with you. I mean - not to overstep, and let me know if you want me to back off - what was Nita talking about exactly.. y'know, your summer relationship?"

"I guessed you would bring that up," Christina sighs as we approach the register. "It was just a summer fling. A one time thing - an experiment, if you will. It was exciting! Sneaking around like we did, trying not to get caught. I think we both wanted more.. but it could never have been. Besides, I'm more into guys, anyhow."

"Was that who you meant when I asked if you had ever loved somebody?" I enquire, softly, not wanting to upset or offend her.

"Yeah. And like I said to you then, it only hurt me in the end. I was left with a mouthful of rejection and painful memories. She didn't want a real relationship, she just wanted to mess around. I suppose that's what hurt more - over all that time, I was the one who fell head over heels for her. While she felt nothing at all."

After ordering a frozen lemonade and a rose-infused sparkling water, we decide to give the guys a little more time, and to have our own privacy to continue a much-needed discussion. Sitting at a small rounded table close to the door, hunched over our respective drinks.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," I tell her, honestly. "I guess it provides a little more reasoning to your take-no-prisoners of love attitude. Y'know - never wear your heart on your sleeve. To play rather than to be played."

"Love is a losers game," she shrugs, bitterly, pain flashing in her chocolate brown eyes. Giving me a glimpse into the heartbreak-filled coming of fall. "I don't want to put myself out on the line again, if I'm only going to get played for a fool. Treated as if I don't matter."

"You do matter. And one day, I know that you are going to find a handsome, amazing guy that is going to sweep you off your feet and change your puppeteer ways."

"Easy for you to say," she teases, lightening the mood considerably. "We don't all have our own knight in shining track uniform. I must admit, it is an unexpected match, but I actually kind of dig it."

My cheeks set on fire, burning and tingling my skin as I bat my eyes away from hers. "It's not like that.. ok, well maybe it is. I don't know what it is about him, but I can't stay away. Trust me, I've tried to pull and push my way out, but every time we end up right back where we started - together."

"If it isn't obvious in the way you are blushing, or the way he looks at you, I would take a guess and say it's a sure thing."

"I thought we were too different," I admit. "We are from two different planets. And it's all happened so quickly; discovering him and his life, feeling so compelled to find out more. But he's not as perfect as he is perceived to be, we have a lot more in common than I first thought. Am I crazy?"

"Tris!" She laughs, happily. "Of course you aren't crazy - you're young, it's summer. Sometimes people find each other in unexpected ways, at unexpected times. Enjoy it! You're beginning to find yourself, to come out of your cynical and isolated shell. It's okay to feel overwhelmed and like it's moving too fast, but don't let it get in the way of something that could really make you happy."

"I'm just.. well, I'm not experienced with any of this stuff. I don't want to let anyone down, or make a mess of everything. I have a bad habit of destroying everything that I touch."

"Just look at how far you have come - it's been two weeks into summer and you have already accomplished a lot," Christina reminds me. "I mean, you befriended me - which is vey challenging in itself. Just don't overthink it; this time goes by so quickly, don't make the mistake of letting something go that could really change you for the better. One summer can change everything."

I attempt to picture it in my head - a summer filled with adventure and friendship; milkshakes and midnight trips to the beach; slumber parties and music beside the river; warm evenings spent crowded into a booth at the old bean and early morning escapades to the library with Four. A time of freedom and independence - the opportunity to find myself, the girl I could have been. The girl I can still be.

I look over to the booth that Four and Zeke occupy, laughing and smiling through their deep and truthful conversation. Accidentally catching a pair of electric blue eyes, ones that bore so intently into mine that an enchanted shiver vibrates against my spine.

A set of beautiful eyes that hold the key to a better life - the opportunity for me to heal the part of myself that is holding me back from happiness. The chance to find out what it really means to be me.

"Tris," a deep voice calls out, breaking my thought-filed stupor. "Tris, I need you to come with me."

Beanie - the rounded and loveable owner of the old bean - stands visibly frustrated by the entrance to the cafe. His warm brown eyes conveying an unsettling combination of pity and annoyance.

"What?" I ask, puzzled, slowly standing as requested. Christina following suit. "Why? What's happened, Beanie?"

"It's your mom. I need you to take her home - she's driving away customers and frightening some of the tourists. If you don't take her away I have to call the police as an obligation to my customers." He tells me, solemnly, through gritted teeth. Sloppily containing his anger.

"My mom?" I echo, dread bursting open in my chest. My mouth suddenly bone dry.

"Is everything okay over here?" Zeke asks in a concerned manner, trailing behind his worried best friend.

Ignoring them, I elbow my way out into the street, where a group of tourists and locals alike gape at a dishevelled woman staggering around outside the cafe, a half-empty vodka bottle clasped tightly in her hand. She shouts and slurs obscenities at those watching in horror, stricken by her drunk and irrational state.

Noticing my presence, she stumbles over to me, flinging her arms around my neck. Her breath is sour and stale, and her lips are chapped as she placed a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

"Tris," she slurs, hysterically. "My baby! I have missed you, I'm all alone without you. Baby-my baby girl, will you come home? Come home! Come home!"

"I'm so sorry," I tell Beanie, overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment. Avoiding the wide eyes of my friends. "I'll take her home. God, I'm so sorry."

"Do you need a cab? A ride home? Anything you need, dear. Never hesitate to let me know." He offers, and I internally scream at the sympathy radiating from his kind eyes.

"I can take it from here." I tell him, firmly, wrapping a reluctant arm around my drunk and incoherent mother. She doesn't deserve my help, but as much as I would love to see her rot in hell, she is still my mother. I cannot bring myself to leave her like this.

"Tris," Four pleads, visibly astounded by the scene before him. "Please let us help you. There's no way you can take her home all by yourself-"

"No!" I snap, coldly; determined to keep him as far away from my fucked up family as possible. "I can handle her."

"I'm so sorry," my mom wails, bursting into tears and clinging to me desperately. "I never meant to hurt you, Max just gets so mad. He never means to give you the bruises- you're my baby girl!"

"Tris." Christina begs with watery eyes, hiding behind Zeke slightly; frightened of the woman who raised me.

I turn away, supporting the weight of my mom who staggers after me, babbling loud apologies and pleas to come home. The eyes of onlookers follow us all the way down the town street, and my cheeks burn with complete mortification. Cursing my compulsive nature to take care of this broken woman.

I prepare myself for what is to come, for what is to follow my arrival at the gates of hell. Satan lurking in the shadows, sharpening his pitchfork, intoxicated and filled with unadulterated rage.

I am returning to the four walls that contain my childhood memories - what was once my home.

And I am certain of the violent demon that await me.

-o-o-o-

AN:

Sorry for the late chapter, but I took a long time to write this chapter. Taking extra care with the dialogue and attempting to put Tris' feelings into perspective.

The next chapter will be triggering for some readers, but there will also be some beautiful FourTris fluff to even out the dark content. The chapter will be fairly long and angsty, I'll try to have it up within the next week!

Also, THANK YOU for the support on this story. 8 chapters in and you guys are already making my heart swell from all of your lovely reviews and private messages. Love every single one of you amazing readers! :)

- GuiltyMind