I KNOW, I KNOW, IT'S BEEN ALMOST TWO YEARS.

But I feel like continuing this story. I am so, so incredibly sorry to suddenly just disappear off of the face of the Earth like that. It was bad of me. I'm sorry guys. But, if anyone would even want to read this anymore, I will be finishing this story. Hopefully. Also, as an important side note: I deeply apologize for my incredibly awful sixth/seventh grade writing that came before this chapter. Well, and the writing that starts now. I try.

Anyway, happy Fourth of July to all of you Americans out there.

Endless love for you all!

Tris POV

Warmth like honey runs slowly along my skin, sparked by the closeness of Tobias. He makes a soft sound deep in his throat, a pitiful and longing one, and warning alarms go off like bells in my mind. I gasp and push him away from me. Tobias rocks back on his heels, his eyes darkened. I press my fingers to my lips. Lips he used to cheat on Shauna with. Lips he cheated on.

"Tris...?" His voice is soft and laced with nervousness.

I shake my head. Confusion makes my vision blur, or maybe it's just tears. "What? What is this? What are we doing? Is this just until you...get bored, or find a new Shauna?" My fingers itch to curl into his soft hair, my lips yearn to press against his again. But I can't.

His blue eyes widen with shock. "Until I get bored, Tris? Do you understand how much this...how important this is to me?"

"But you don't get it," I tell him, twisting my hands together in my lap. "For you, this can be anything. It doesn't matter. But I'm not like you! I'm just a normal person, Tobias. Who are we kidding?"

He reaches his hands forwards, grabbing my knees. "No, Tris. You're not just a normal person, not to me. And I know, I screwed everything up, but we can make it work, I know that we can-"

"Someone broke into my apartment, Tobias! They trashed my place and wrote a message on my wall! I just can't risk my safety, and Christina's, for something that won't last."

My breathing is heavy, causing my chest to heave up and down. My pulse feels like a frantic butterfly trapped beneath the skin of my wrist. Tobias' mouth is open, as if he is about to speak. His eyes are black with some dark, stewing emotion. "Broke in," he says, his voice scarily quiet.

Something about the hard set to his mouth and the way his fingers begin to dig into my knees scares me. "Tobias, it's fine," I hastily amend.

"No, it isn't." I wince as his hands continue to tighten on my legs, so hard that I feel as if they are leaving bruises on my skin. "Did the police catch who did it?"

I shake my head. "No," I admit softly. "They brushed it off as a cold case."

He removes his hands and I let out a small breath of relief. Tobias begins to pace in front of me, back and forth, back and forth. He keeps his eyelids closed, but opens his eyes to lock gazes with me as he pauses. "When?"

"The night of the premiere," I whisper.

Tobias stands still for a moment, like he's assessing the knowledge. "Fuck!" he yells, slamming his fist into the wall. I gasp as the drywall cracks, and his knuckles bloom with bright blood. He stares at his hand for a moment, with a look of near fascination on his face, before shaking his head and pulling back his fist again.

I jump to my feet and catch his arm before he can punch the wall again. "Tobias, stop it!"

"I can't!" he roars. His eyes are bright with disturbing clarity. "Don't you see? It can't be because of me that you're in danger. And it is. And I can't bear it if you are. And either way, I lose, because all I want is you but I can't do this to you!"

My breath catches in my throat. I feel something warm on my face and lift my fingers to feel my cheeks. They're wet. "Don't blame yourself," I tell him.

He looks down at me, his gaze flinty. "But it's my fault," he says, his voice cracking. He looks away from me.

"Wait here," I tell him, and hurry away to the bathroom. I grab a washcloth and soak it in water before coming back to him. He sits with his back bent on the edge of the bed. I kneel on the floor in front of him and grab his injured hand, running the small towel over his knuckles, wiping away the blood.

Tobias lets out a long breath. "I'm sorry, Tris," he says. He pulls his hand away from the rag and stands. I set the towel on the edge of the bed.

"Please don't be." He stares down at me, his eyes pained. I reach out and take his hand, looking over the angry red wounds on his knuckles. I run a finger over them. The splits are not deep - they will heal quickly.

He lets out a low groan. "Tris, don't touch me," he says in a tight voice. He stands, turning his shoulders away from me.

I freeze, my blood turning to ice. "Why not?"

"Because it's hard to control myself around you," he growls.

My cheeks flame. "Then don't," I say, my heart hammering in my chest.

He sucks in a breath and gives me a conflicting look before leaning in and pressing his lips to mine. His hands brush lightly across my shoulder blades, like he's afraid of breaking me. But I am not so fragile. I tighten my hands into the front of his shirt, twisting the material in my fists. He makes a low noise of surprise, but presses his hand against my waist, spinning me around so my back presses to the wall.

My lips part automatically beneath his, and his head leans to the side to deepen the kiss. He tastes like mint, and faintly of alcohol. I wonder, briefly, if he has been drinking, but hope he has not.

The door to our room slams open and we jump apart. Christina stands in the doorway, her mouth pressed into a small 'o'.

"Clearly, things are working out," she says gleefully. "You both up for some ice cream?"

Tobias POV

If there's one thing I can say about Christina, it's that she loves both talking and ice cream toppings. She piles on a ridiculous amount of brownie pieces, sprinkles, and God knows what else on top of her mountain of soft serve. She dragged me and Tris to a small creamery operated by a pair of retired surgeons. "No one is there this late at night, and they wouldn't recognize you," Christina had said.

So far she's right. The woman behind the counter didn't give me so much as a second glance. We're the only ones in the shop, and it feels strange to be somewhere in the public and not be swarmed by people wanting autographs, pictures, or worse.

We settle into a booth - Christina spilling bits of topping off onto the table as she settles, Tris nervously sliding onto the bench next to her, and me awkwardly sitting across from the both of them. Tris got plain vanilla soft serve with a few strawberry pieces stuck in the top. Christina had to beg her to get even that. "I like simplicity," she'd said.

I respect that.

"So," drawls Christina, twirling her spoon in front of her face. She grins. There's a small piece of cookie stuck in her teeth. "How's it going?" She quirks her eyebrows at me.

I feel my hands begin to sweat. This is going to be awkward at best. Even paired with her innocent, child-like smile, something about Christina's intelligent gaze makes me feel as if she is analyzing all of my movements and reading my thoughts. "What do you mean?" I ask.

She takes another bite of her ice cream before responding. "You know. Trying not to be a two-timing douchebag?"

"Christina!" Tris gasps, her mouth flying up to cover her mouth. Her blue eyes are wide with shock.

I feel my words get clumped in my throat and wish I was anywhere else but here, in this moment. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt Tris," I tell her. I catch her blue eyes from across the table. Her cheeks are flushed brightly with embarrassment and she is anxiously pulling at the high neck of her gray sweater.

"Again," Christina amends. "You won't do anything to hurt her again. Because as far as I'm concerned, you've already got strike one."

Tris smacks her shoulder. "Christina, stop it!"

"No, she's right," I say tiredly. My fingers curl in on themselves under the table, wishing there was a glass to close around, a drink to pour away my sins with. But I am not so lucky. "It wasn't fair to do that. I regret it."

Christina smiles and takes a large bite of her ice cream, scattering sprinkles across the table. "Good! Now that we're friends, tell me about your new movie. I haven't seen it yet."

"Um," I say. I hate talking about my career in everyday conversation. It never feels genuine. "It's alright, I suppose."

Tris smiles a little bit, her bright eyes flashing. "I thought it was good," she says, and I feel my pulse quicken in my wrists. "You'd like it, Chris."

Christina smirks. "Well you're a little biased, aren't you?" She catches Tris' eye and laughs. "Relax, I'm joking. Are you going to write a piece on it?"

Tris opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it. "A piece?" It occurs to me that I do not know what Tris does for a living.

"Yeah. You know, a piece," Christina repeats as if I'm daft. Maybe I am. Tris looks slightly sick.

"A piece for what?" I ask, suddenly feeling a bit ill myself. Ever since fake stories of me began floating around years ago, I've seen the media as my enemy, of sorts. Something I need, but also something that could ruin me. But how could it be all bad, if Tris is one of the faces behind it?

Tris looks down into her untouched soft serve. "Yeah, I work at Dauntless magazine and report occasionally for Channel 12," she says quietly.

She's a journalist? A reporter? One of the many faces in the crowds I have to fight through to do anything, to go anywhere? Now I really feel sick. My Tris? "Oh," is all I can think to say. Tris must read my expression because her face falls considerably, a dark shadow sweeping over her blue eyes.

"Awkward subject, okay," Christina says, clearly trying to diffuse some of the tension. "Well, I'm going to get going," she picks up her empty bowl - when did she have time to finish her ice cream? - and quickly sweeps from the store.

Leaving me and Tris, sitting alone in the deserted shop.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a journalist?" I ask her.

"It never came up," she mumbles in response. There's something else in her voice, a worried twinge, but I will not press her to talk about things she is clearly trying to avoid.

I reach across the table and pull her small, cold hand into mine. Her eyes flick up to meet mine. "I don't mind," I tell her.

It's only half a lie.