Chapter 11 — Black is the Colour

Tobias POV

A week after we return to London, Tris asks to meet me in a park. There's an anxious look in her eyes and her movements are sporadic and panicky. "We need to talk." She says, pulling me under a grove of trees. Her eyes dart around the clearing, and she shakes her head, and pulls me further away from the busy street. I'm dragged behind her as we duck between two buildings. Stupidly, I wonder if she's going to kiss me.

Her breath is coming in short gasps. "I have something to say." She pauses. "I know you will hate me, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Her face is turning red.

"I don't understand. What are you sorry for?" My words sound clipped. There's a loud crack and Tris's head swings around. She yanks me into a smaller alleyway. Our faces are only a few inches apart.

She smiles apologetically. "Sorry, nerves."

I shake my head. "Please, explain. I'm confused."

"I really do like you, Tobias. I truly do—"

"Are you seeing someone else?" I interrupt.

Tris stares, and she throws back her head and laughs. "I wish it was that easy."

I stare at her. Her eyes drop to the ground. "Tris," I say softly. "What is it?"

She gulps. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Everything spiraled out of my control. Tori warned me that I couldn't trust—" The loud crack of a gunshot echoes through the air. I instinctively turn my head in its direction.

"That was close." I look back at Tris. "Why would someone shoot a gun in the middle of London?" My voice trails off. There's an almost clinical fascination in her eyes as she examines the red spreading across her shoulder.

"T-tobias, I don't think I can stand." Her words are hisses of pain, her eyes glassy with agony. I catch her as she crumples. Tris weighs nothing at all.

I trip over my own feet. Where can we go? How can I explain a bullet wound? My thoughts blur until they make me dizzy, and without thinking, I hurry towards the townhouse where we met the night we were attacked. It feels like so long ago. Tris moans into my shoulder. "Stay with me." I mumble. I take back alleys and shortcuts Even in my panicked state I know it wouldn't be wise to take Tris out in the open. It was a precise shot.

Halfway there I realize my home is closer, but it's too late to turn back now. The door of her respectable townhouse looms, and I slam the knocker against the wood with my free hand. A narrow-faced butler answers the door.

"Good day, sir. How can I—has that child been shot?" He exclaims.

"Yes," I say tightly. "It would be wise to call a doctor that you trust for your lady."

He peers at Tris's twisted face. I want to scream at him for taking so long, but when he raises his troubled brown eyes to meet mine, I feel a jolt of panic run through me. "My lady, sir? I have never seen this girl in my life."

The butler, Ferdinand, finally agrees to call a doctor. "My lord can't know of this." He says, spreading a clean sheet on the table. "Nor can the rest of the staff."

"Who is your employer?"

"Lord Mikhail." Ferdinand helps me lower Tris onto the table. "He and his wife are out. They give their staff Thursday evenings off. It was only chance that I remained here tonight."

"And you're sure that you've never seen Tris before?" I touch her warm cheek and her eyelids flutter.

He shakes his head, "never." And he walks out of the kitchen. I hope it's to fetch the doctor.

Tris has lied again, and I can't be angry when I'm too worried.

"Tobias?"

"Tris! I sit in one of the chairs and clutch the hand on her uninjured side. "The butler has gone to fetch the doctor."

"I don't deserve this." Her eyes search my face. "You're so kind. Why are you so good to me when you know I lied?"

"Because I like you." I say. Boldness is easy, when she's this fragile. I lean down and brush my lips against hers. She sighs into my mouth, and my hands cup her cheek as her one hand knots itself in my hair. Tris's lip is ragged from where she bit it to keep herself from screaming. The metal tang of blood fills my mouth, and I pull back.

Her eyes are glazed and she half-smiles. "That's the best way to kill the pain." Just as I lean down for another kiss, Ferdinand reappears with man in a dark coat.

As the doctor begins to clean her wound, Tris grasps my hand. "Don't leave me." She whispers.

"I never will. That's a promise." I say.

My eyes snap open. The room is dark, and I vaguely remember Ferdinand shutting off the lights with a promise to wake me early the next morning. I am confused—last night was a blur of blood and pain and worry.

I unfold myself from the small armchair in the spare room. I feel my way towards the bed and my hands search for Tris and only find cold sheets. I look under the bed and snort at my idiocy. She isn't anywhere else, but I do run into Ferdinand on my way out.

"Have you seen, Tris?" I ask.

He frowns, "no. I was just coming to wake you."

"She's not here. She's not anywhere." I can hear my panic creep into my voice."

"I imagine she's fine, sir. Girls like her are resourceful." I frown at the implication, as I pull my coat from the coatrack.

"The payment for the doctor." I drop money into his hands. "Thank you for helping us."

Ferdinand hesitates for a second, before pulling a letter from his jacket. "She left this on the table. It's addressed to you"

"Thank you." I say and close the door quietly behind me. Once I'm down the street, I open the letter and begin to read:

Dear Tobias,

I've started this letter over and over, and I'm running out of time. So I'm going to say it and I apologize if it's horribly blunt, but I can't say it any other way. I'm sorry that I had to leave, but it isn't safe anymore. Although, I think you have mostly likely come to that conclusion by yourself. Don't worry about me. I have dealt with worse than a bullet wound. I can't see you again. It's for your own safety. I thought that I could share my secrets, but a sniper has made me realize that they aren't my secrets to share. Goodbye, Tobias. I won't see you again.

The letter slips from my hands and I stare blankly as water soaks it, blurring the ink. She's gone. This stilted, unhappy mess of a letter proves it. There is no eloquence in her goodbye—it was, most likely, a split-second decision.

I thought we had a future. I thought that parts of me could be remade with her. I was wrong, and that realization slaps me across the face. She owes me more than a letter hurriedly scribbled in the early morning hours. I will find her. That is a promise.

Finding Tris is more difficult than I originally thought. But as I come back from Tori's I find a blond head in the midday crowd of Millennium Park.

"Susan!" I call, recognizing her when she turns.

Her eyes are wary. "Four."

I blink, unsure of her cold behavior. "Have you seen Tris?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me where to find her?"

"No. It's safer for both of you if you stay away from Tris." Her eyes are intense and I realize it's partly from anger and fear and partly from her black clothes . . .

"Susan! Are you coming?" We both turn towards the familiar voice. Susan's arm closes around my wrist.

"Go." She says. "Go now before she sees you." But it's too late, and Tris pushes past people. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders and she's wearing black trousers and a black tunic. I've seen her in these clothes many times before, but the facts have never connected in my brain, not until now.

She's the urchin that followed me. And when I see two large boys in black clothing follow Tris, I realize what a crowd of black clothing means.

Tris freezes when she sees me. She looks well—the only evidence of her injury is the bulk of bandages on her shoulder. My jaw clenches, and I turn and stalk away.

I have always hated the colour black.

AN: Sorry for the delay in updating! This is the chapter I was most looking forward to writing. I hope it was worth the wait. If you think it was, please review! Thanks to everyone who reviewed/followed/favourited!

Have a nice day/evening!

Over and out,

Wren