By the time Four and I shuffled through the door of the apartment at the end of the school day on Monday, we were exhausted. Christina, on the other hand, was as perky as a daisy and met us in the living room just as we were collapsing on the couch.

She gave us each a small stack of papers. "These are the forms I need you to fill out and sign. When you're finished, I need you both to go to the web address I'm about to text you and take the test so I can verify your personality types."

I shifted so my head was in Four's lap. "Do we have to do this now?"

Christina was grinning ear to ear. "Yes. The sooner you do it, the sooner I can explain to you the terms of the study, and we can get started."

I sighed, grabbed my purse from the floor, and pulled out pens for me and Four. I used my leg to balance the paper. It didn't seem like anything intimidating; just the usual release of liability and consent forms.

Our phones beeped with the web address from her text just before we handed her the forms.

For the next forty-five minutes, we hardly moved. The personality test was easy enough to take on a mobile phone, but God it was long. I felt like I was answering the same questions over and over.

I started with my head in Four's lap, then switched so my feet were in his lap. By the time I was done, I was sitting next to him, leaning on his shoulder, and wishing I were dead.

"Finally," I muttered. I hit the 'submit' button and the letters 'ISTP' flashed on the screen. I emailed it to Christina and called out to her. "ISTP – did I get it right? Because there's no way in hell I'm taking that test again!"

The bathroom door opened and she stepped out in a towel, her long black hair hanging loosely and wildly across her shoulders. Damn, she was cute when she took off the geek. I'd do her.

"There's no right answer to a personality test, Tris. Everybody is different." She cocked her head to the side. "But it is nice to have my intuition confirmed."

Four set his phone down. "I got ESTP, Chrissy. Just like you said."

She nodded and, I swear to God, if I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed it: she actually skipped back to her room.

"She's in an awfully good mood," I commented.

"Yeah, she gets excited about this research shit. And she doesn't have a bunch of idiot high schoolers to deal with."

Four extended his arm around me and I leaned into him, my docility magnified by the effort of Christina's ridiculous test. We sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the sound of, well, nothing. No yelling teenagers, no whining, and most of all, no gossip.

"So what's for dinner?" I mumbled.

I felt him shrug. "Ramen?"

Yay. Ramen again.

"So where are you from, Tris?"

"Huh?" My mind felt drowsy and his question took me off guard.

"Where are you from? You found out all about me on Sunday; it's time for pay back. What secrets are you hiding?"

Damn. I'd hoped he'd never get around to asking. "I'm from Trenton, Pennsylvania; not far from here." Now let the questions begin…

"Trenton, really? Is your family still there? You must see them a lot."

I sighed. "My dad ran out on us when I was thirteen and I've never had a good relationship with my mom. She was always more interested in the local male fare than taking care of her only child." I winced. I hadn't meant to reveal that much; I felt a little silly. Four didn't need to know about my emotional issues.

"Shit. So you went through your teen years with basically no parents?"

I nodded. "More or less. I survived, though. Everybody does, right?"

I paused and took a deep breath. I felt like I should return his questions, but did I want to find out about his family too? I mean, I definitely wanted to, but was it a good idea?

You're just friends, Tris. It can't hurt to know more about him – it will help you be a better wingwoman. "How about you? I know you're from Montana, but what's your story with family and siblings and shit?"

My effort to sound casual was pretty obvious. I wasn't used to having any interest in a man I'd slept with before. Or any man, really.

"My mom died when I was nine, but my Dad and I are really close. He'll be at the rodeo with my stepmom. I've got an older brother who's off at school in California and a stepsister who still lives at home."

I didn't respond. Was I supposed to ask him more questions? I'd never really been in this situation with a guy before – what was proper etiquette?

"So you really never go home?" he finally asked.

I shrugged. "Only once a year."

"Oh yeah, for Christmas?"

"No," I snorted. "My mom uses Christmas as an opportunity to play 'Santa' to several different men in the same night." I knew it was hypocritical of me to complain about it, but at least I didn't have kids. And I never would. I could never do to anyone else what my mom did to me, and it was pretty clear I had the same genes.

"Thanksgiving?"

"Four…no." I really didn't want to go into it.

"What? I'm just asking about holidays. What's wrong with that? Do you go back on Halloween to cast spells on your old preschool or something?"

"No, it's just…it's a little personal."

"Do you go back and fuck your high school math teacher over Valentine's Day?" he teased.

"No!" I sat up, my face contorted in disgust.

"Do you go back for Columbus Day and bury the dead bodies of your murder victims under the museum?"

I folded my arms over my chest and glared.

"Come on, Tris, I'm having a hard time coming up with depraved things you'd keep secrets about." He was laughing, but I wasn't seeing the humor. He didn't know when to back off.

He stared at me for a few minutes, then pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me. "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me if it's that big a deal; I was just teasing you."

I snuggled into his embrace, nuzzling my face into his chest. He kissed my hair and rocked me for a moment. He felt so warm and comforting. Like I'd never have to worry about losing him like I did everyone else.

"Memorial Day," I said.

He didn't respond so I looked up at him. He met my gaze with a look of curiosity.

"I go home every Memorial Day. I'm sure you can get why."

His eyes softened. I braced myself for the one question I knew I wouldn't be able to answer – who do you visit? – but it never came. He seemed to know my threshold for discussion on the subject was limited.

Instead, he leaned his forehead on mine. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

He grabbed my hand, pulling it his mouth and brushing it with his lips while he watched me mourn. And then, with quick precision, he angled down to kiss me.

I instinctively recoiled and we stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. He'd taken me by surprise, but his affection was not unwanted. In fact, it was exactly what I needed. My eyebrows crinkled and I moved my face just infinitesimally closer to his, testing the waters. He took the bait and his lips chased mine.

It wasn't the eager, lustful kiss I'd experienced the first night we were together. Instead, it was soft and nurturing; almost emotional like he was trying to kiss away my sadness. I melted into it. His lips moved in a slowly, deliberately, gently prodding my mouth open just a little bid wider with each touch.

As I was about to invite him in to explore me fully, he pulled back ever so slightly, as if asking me to prove my desire. The move almost pained me, like he was denying me breath. I reached for him, wrapping my arms around his neck and inviting him in recklessly. He pulled me in tighter and I relished his touch.

It had been months since I'd thought about Memorial Day, the grave, and that awful year in high school. And with the holiday almost upon us, my emotions basked in the opportunity for expression. Tears dusted my cheeks and Four's hand held me firmly, but not possessively while his other hand ran through my hair. Our tongues tickled delicately, as if searching for a subtle doorway to the soul. I ran my fingers over his stubble, a quiet moan escaping my throat as his lips left mine and he stitched small kisses down my face to my neck.

"I'll go with you," he whispered.

I could barely find the voice to respond. "Go where?"

He pulled back to look me in the eye. His demeanor was as drunk with the hypnotic aura of our kiss as was mine. "To Trenton. So you don't have to visit the cemetery alone." He kissed me again, and then brushed his lips against my forehead and cheek.

He moved to my lips again, but my chest tightened. Something about his words awoke a pain within me. I was reminded of another warm and loving embrace; a presence I hadn't felt in years. A presence that ended in heartbreaking loss.

I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe; like Four was suffocating me.

I pulled away. "I can't…I can't…" The room started to spin.

"Tris? What's wrong? You need to breathe."

I moved next to him on the couch as the walls closed in. "I have to go to my room." I turned to him, my eyes wide with fear. "I can't – " but I couldn't finish the sentence. I couldn't look at him anymore.

I ran for my room and locked the door. He wasn't far behind me. He banged on the door as I searched for a paper bag. I hadn't had a panic attack in years. Not since my sophomore year of college, at least.

"Tris, what's wrong? Open the door, please!"

I didn't answer. I finally found a plastic bag from my trip to the drug store the day before. I sat on the bed and breathed into it like I'd seen in TV shows. It didn't help much.

"Tris, what did I do? I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," my voice choked on the words as my chest heaved and I started feel as if I were floating. "I just…"

"Will you let me in?"

I hated leaving him out there like that, but I couldn't fathom what I'd do if he tried to kiss me again. My panic worsened at the thought.

I heard some shuffling and murmuring and then Christina's voice. "Tris, can I come in? Will you talk to me?"

I really did need help; just not from Four. Even the faint connection Christina and I had shared was better than suffering alone.

I nodded to myself. "Yes."

She cracked the door and walked in.

I didn't look up; I was too embarrassed. My rasping breath was audible.

"Four, you need to wait out here," I heard her say. It sounded like he was arguing with her. "Just trust me, Four, I know what I'm doing."

I felt a hint of relief when she shut the door on him.

She sat beside me and spoke softly. "I think you're having a panic attack, Tris."

No shit. I nodded my head.

"You need to adjust your breathing. Instead of taking deep breaths in, I want you to exhale for ten seconds until you have no breath left. Can you do that?"

It shocked me how soothing her voice was. I did as she instructed.

It was torturous. My panicked body wanted to do nothing but suck in air as quickly and erratically as possible. It took all my self-control to span it out over ten seconds.

"Good," she said as my breath hitched and my body heaved for more. "Now do it again, only this time, instead of inhaling deeply after the ten seconds, just release your lungs so your air can flow back in naturally. Sort of like letting go of the bulb on a turkey baster. Then start the process over again."

She was so calm. I'd never met anyone who didn't freak out like Four over my panic attacks. It was strange juxtaposed with the urgent storm that threatened to destroy my entire mental state.

I followed her directions again. It was just as torturous the second time, especially when I couldn't gasp for air after I exhaled, but as I continued the pattern, my body started to calm. I couldn't believe it; it worked. I had never been able to talk myself down from a panic attack before. I usually just kept losing my shit until I threw up.

"Better?" Christina asked.

I nodded as exhaustion and despair replaced the fear.

"When you breath like that, you're alerting your body that it needs to jump in survival mode – either fight or flee. You have take control to inform your body that there is nothing to fear. Your head is so tied up in it that you can't really get any messages across. The only way to fix it is by changing something physically."

She walked out the door and returned a few minutes later with a small pill and a glass of water. "I'm not really supposed to do this, but after what you just went through, you'll need this more than me." She placed it in my palm. "It's a sleeping pill, nothing too strong. Just take half of it, if you want. It will have you feeling yourself again tomorrow morning."

I looked at the clock: it was only seven. But sleeping sounded way better then sitting around wondering if the panic attack would return. I swallowed it gratefully and gave the glass back to Christina.

"Thank you," I muttered, still too groggy from the whole experience to fully grasp what she'd done for me.

She shrugged and for a moment I thought she might hug me. But she reconsidered and headed for the door. "I'll tell Four to leave you alone tonight. Tomorrow we can sit down and see if we can figure out what triggered the attack."

She left and I fell on my back on the bed. I didn't want to talk about what triggered it; I already knew. And talking about it might trigger it yet again. But I didn't have much time to muse over that fact. Without changing into pajamas, I slipped under my covers and was asleep before I could give my worries another thought.