A/N- I do not own Divergent, rights go to Veronica Roth.
October 4th
Infuriated. Verb. Past tense: to be extremely angry and impatient— in my case, also confused— that's how I feel.
As my mother stands in front of me, stirring the meat stew in the pot whilst talking aimlessly off track about something completely unrelated to my question, I don't even bother to listen to her. Of course, I can see her lips moving, her eyebrows quirking, her lazy hand gestures. But I don't hear her words. I don't want to.
"Why were you annoyed at dinner last week? Why didn't you tell me that we used to visit Four's family in my lifetime?" Is the question that I asked her when I came down to the kitchen this afternoon. She was slow cooking some meat, probably to put in the freezer so I had food for the week.
"Whatever are you talking about?" She had replied, acting completely oblivious. Acting. Now she's talking about some charity events she used to attend with them, how nice Four's mother was and how it was such a shame that she died. A shame. It wasn't a shame, it was devastation. A catastrophe. An almost life-ruining event. I know my mother isn't often truly honest with me, but she's never completely avoided a question like this before. Today I just want the truth. I'm tired and fed-up and I don't want any dilly-dallying for once.
"Why did you and dad get a divorce?" I ask, and her wooden spoon drops out of her hand, splashing stew water over both her apron and the tiles. She lifts her head slowly, looking straight ahead at the wall, swallowing thickly. "Mom?" I prompt. She steps back from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron with haste.
"I don't know what to say," she sounds caught off guard and opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to search for the right words.
"The truth would be a good start," I offer. She smiles tightly at me, ridding herself of her apron and turning the heat down on the stove to leave the food to simmer. She walks past me to pull out a chair, sitting down and smoothing down her dress, looking glum and defeated.
"There really isn't anything too complicated about the whole thing," she sighs. "What would you like to know?"
"Just-Just why it had to end. Why I've never seen him or my brother since."
"It was the custody agreement," she scrubs her palm across her cheek, "I got the daughter, he got the son. We thought it would work out better that way, you'd both get what you needed."
"But why can't I see him?"
"Well, I suppose now you technically can, since you're eighteen-"
"No, I mean why did I never see him after you split up? Why did I never see Caleb? Even just for short visits?"
"He wanted to live in Florida, and I wanted to go to New York. I couldn't bear to see him every now and then, and we thought it would be too much for you both, having to go to different schools for a few weeks whilst you visited the other parent. We wanted you to have a stable upbringing, one that was right for you. We argued about money, about everything. The judge suggested that since we had been married for so long, we should just split everything in half. Including you and Caleb."
"But Caleb and I aren't property or money. We're people, we're your children!"
"Of course you are, but it's worked out for the best this way." She admonishes me and attempts to continue with her cooking, but I'm exasperated and she's still ignoring the real question here.
"Why did all of this happen in the first place?" I ask. "Please, just tell me." It can't be anything too terrible, at least nothing that would land one or the other in prison.
"We didn't love each other anymore," she says sharply, "we rushed into marriage, when we didn't even know what love was. He had a promising, stable future and I knew how to cook and clean, so we were the perfect match. Everything looked good on paper, so we ignored what our hearts were really telling us. Of course I have no regrets, since I got two beautiful children out of it. But the lack of affection soon became unbearable. We weren't fulfilling each other like a husband and wife should. We became silent enemies in our own home, always in competition with one another, always looking for more but never being truly satisfied. He didn't satisfy me." The truth floods though my mind like a tsunami, wiping away all reason and coherence. Satisfy. That's the only word that I managed to latch onto.
"You cheated on him, didn't you?" I croak, my voice wavering, along with my thoughts.
"Beatrice," she shakes her head and tries to approach me, but I back away, back away from this person who I do not know.
"How could you?" I expect tears to fall, but my face remains dry. Should I be upset? Should I be angry? Should I blame it on her? I race up to my room, and she lets me. She doesn't bother chasing me up the staircase, doesn't bother excusing herself or helping me to see reason. I respect her more for that. I'm not frantic nor desperately upset, I just lay down on my bed carefully, my mind still processing. I can both hear and see my heart racing, racing as fast as my mind.
It's funny, how I managed to fall asleep straight after that ordeal. Since I hadn't been able to sleep all week. I suppose it was my body's way of coping. It just wanted to shut down. My phone vibrates from where it was still sat in my pocket, and I have to fight the grogginess to bring myself back to reality and answer it. It's stopped ringing by the time I take it out of my pocket, and I see that I have a few missed calls from Four. How long was I asleep? A couple of hours, since it's now the evening. I call him back, clearing my throat and rubbing the sleep from my eyes when he answers.
"Where've you been?" He asks, sounding stressed and I can hear a crying noise in the background.
"Um," my voice is quiet and sleepy, "sorry, fell asleep. What's going on?"
"Can you come to mine? I need your help with something."
I yawn and stretch out, blinking my eyes rapidly to try and wake. "Sure, sure. I'll be there in a few." We hang up, and I head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face to try and bring some life back into myself. The house is quiet, so I presume that my mom left for her shift at the hospital. My eyes still look quite puffy and my hair needs flattening down again. I quickly change my now crumpled clothes, putting on a long blouse and leggings.
There's a slight breeze in the air as I walk over to Four's, the October weather shooing away any leftover signs of the summer that has now sadly escaped us. The leaves are looking worse for wear on the trees, and it won't be long before they turn a much duller shade of brown and fall off in the wind. When I arrive, and he finally opens his front door, I'm shocked to see him carrying a baby in his arms. His t-shirt is covered in a white powder, and like me, he looks a little worse for wear. "Thank God you're here," he breathes a sigh of relief.
"Who's this?" I say, whilst smiling at the pouting baby dressed in blue dungarees.
"This is Olivia," she reaches out a little hand to grab at me when I walk past them and into the house, the sound of children's television playing in the background, toys littering the carpeted floor. "She's Sarah's niece," he continues, leading us into the kitchen, "they've all gone to some important wedding so I got stuck with the job of looking after her." He tries to sit her in the high chair, but that only makes her scream out in protest.
She cries, babbling something that resembles the word "no", incredibly angrily for such a tiny human being. I go to plug my ears when her shrieking and screaming increases in pitch. He lifts her out again and pulls her against his chest.
"If you think that's bad, then you should have seen what happened when I tried to feed her cereal," he rolls his eyes and starts rocking her gently to try and ease her temper.
"How old is she?" I question, laughing when her demeanour quickly changes as she starts to slap Four on the face, giggling when she runs her hands through his stubble.
"Eleven months, she's a nightmare."
"It looks like you're having a nightmare," I gesture to his messy shirt, "What happened?"
"I was making up her formula, but obviously wasn't very successful."
"How? All you have to do is follow the instructions on the tub, I'm sure?"
"See, this is why we need women," he grabs the open can of milk formula that's sitting on the counter and hands it to me. I've never been around children before so I have no idea what to do with a baby. Let alone how to feed it. I start to read the instructions on the tub.
"Did you boil the kettle and let it cool?" I ask.
"Yep, I got as far as pouring it out. It was very difficult with one hand," he says whilst Olivia continues to wriggle in his grip, flapping her legs and trying to bob up and down. I walk over to the sink to wash my hands, after setting the tub on the counter in front of the bottle steriliser. I continue to follow the instructions, using the right amount of water and the right amount of powder. When the bottle is successfully filled, I screw on the top and shake it until it's all mixed up. There, this isn't too difficult. When it's mixed, I run cold water from the tap over the bottle to cool it down, and test the temperature of the milk on the inside of my arm.
"Done," I smile. Four looks at me with awe written across his face, taking the bottle from my hand.
"Why couldn't I do that," he sulks.
"Because you didn't even read the instructions, I bet!" I watch as he cradles Olivia in one arm, whilst holding the bottle in front of her mouth
with the other. She sucks on it happily, putting her tiny hands over his in attempts of holding it herself. "Have you looked after her before?"
"A few times, never on my own though," he starts walking out of the kitchen, "come on, I need to sit down." I follow him into the living room, where he collapses sideways on the sofa, stretching his legs out.
"I'm surprised that you're so easily tired out by such a little human," I taunt, sitting down on the armchair next to him.
"She may be little, but she's hard work," he grabs a magazine from the side and passes it to me, "very much like yourself."
"I'm not hard work!" I take the magazine, rolling it up and slapping his arm with it, which nearly upsets the already annoyed baby.
"Hm, but you are little," he grins. I shake my head, distracting myself by flicking through the magazine. He tells me how the family had to attend a boring yet very important politicians wedding, where children were apparently not allowed to attend. What kind of wedding is that? It should be a family occasion, enjoyed by everyone, no matter what their age. He's had her since early this morning, and her parents will come tomorrow afternoon to pick her up, since they're all staying in a hotel afterwards. We stay sat down for a while, trying to entertain her, until she becomes fussy and irritated.
"Any idea how to dress a baby?" He asks me.
"Really?" I shake my head at his uselessness. "Baby's are more foreign to myself than they are to you. But if you change her, then I'll put the baby grow on, deal?"
"Why do I get the shit end of the deal?"
"That was a terrible joke!" I cover my face in my hands, secretly enjoying the relief of the much happier atmosphere, compared to the earlier events of today. Even though Four and baby Olivia are serving as a great distraction, the revelations still plague my mind, my stomach brewing a storm because of it. I sit there aimlessly, as he pulls out diapers and wipes from the bag, laying out her changing mat on the coffee table, which I do reprimand him for, since he should save that stink of a job for the bathroom near the open window, but men will be men after all. I pull my shirt over my nose whilst he completes the task, revolted by the stench. When she's cleaned up and he's finally finished, he throws away the rubbish and walks back over to me, sitting her on me knee and crouching down on the floor in front of me. He pulls a white baby grow out of the bag, giving it to me to put on. He steadies her as I figure out what goes where, and how to close it with the weird snappy things.
Now, she seems content as he lays back on the sofa with her tummy against his chest, spread out on him and fisting her tiny hands in his shirt. He's going to put her to bed in half an hour, but says that it's easier to get her to sleep first before taking her upstairs on her own. However I sense it's just because he likes her, and wants her cuddled up to his chest. I place a blanket over them, and they stay that way for a while as I sit in silence, mulling over my scatter-brain.
"What are you thinking about?" he mumbles, I failed to notice he was looking at me as I was buried beneath my thoughts.
"Nothing in particular."
He nods, knowing there's something more, "have you eaten dinner?" I think about the stew my mother was making, and feel a punch to my stomach. How is it possible to love someone so much— with your entire being, in fact— but resent them at the same time? It's torturous and borderline unbearable. I would love nothing more than to sit at the dinner table tonight with her, eating her home-cooked food and discussing our days. But it hasn't been that way between us in a long time, and I know that it will be a difficult road to get back to that place.
"No," I mutter, finally remembering to answer the question. "Shall we order in? Pizza or something?"
"Mmm, what are you trying to do to me," he rubs his stomach, which just so happens to be rock hard, "I'm going to get a belly soon if you keep tempting me to eat delicious crap."
"Shut up," I laugh tiredly, "I'm pretty sure you still have abs of steel."
"Abs of steel, huh?" He raises his eyebrows and gives me a cocky grin.
"You know you do," I get up and walk into his kitchen, searching through the drawers where I know the menus are kept. When I walk back into the living room, he's swaddling Olivia up in a blanket carefully, trying not to disturb her too much.
"Will you hold her while I set up her cot? I forgot to do it."
"Sure," I sit next to him on the couch, taking her in my arms as he picks up the stuff for the travel cot and heads upstairs with it. I gently rock this sleeping child in my arms, feigning over her innocence. As I wish I could say I was jealous, but I'm not. She may be innocent now, but sooner or later that thing called life will affect her just as it has affected me. Maybe not in a similar way, but as it does with all of us, it will still get to her. She'll still experience loss and loneliness and heartbreak, just as she will also experience happiness and the rare greatness of the world. I wonder what kind of person she will grow into, whether she'll be cynical like I am or positive with great things to come in her future. I hadn't even noticed Four standing in the doorway, watching over us with a contented grin on his face. Right about now I wish I could read his thoughts. It's a look in his eyes that I've never seen before. "Is it done?" I ask. He nods his head and I get up slowly, carefully following him up the stairs and into the guest bedroom which is next door to his own, trying not to wake her. He pulls back her tiny quilt and I slowly lower her into the cot, us both tucking her in afterwards. I pull back, our hands still resting on the edge of the cot, watching over her as she continues to sleep, her tiny quiet breaths the only noise that can be heard in the room. I glance over at Four, who is still looking at her, warmness spreading throughout my entire being. I don't know what this feeling is, but when he turns to look at me also, I know he's feeling it too.
We ended up shutting off all the lights and locking up downstairs once the pizza arrived, and vacated to Four's room so that we can keep and ear out for Olivia incase she wakes up and starts crying due to being in a strange house. Four usually does end-of-week reports for work on a Friday night or Saturday, and since he didn't get chance today he's trying to get it finished now. He sits at his laptop at his desk while I lay on his bed, messing around on his tablet playing some stupid game that I'm clearly not very good at. Time ticks by, and neither of us have mentioned me going home, for whatever reason. It's getting late at night, and if I wanted to leave, now would be the time. But I don't want to go home to my empty house, my empty bed. Not after today, not so that I can be alone with my thoughts. Four continues to type furiously, trying to get it all done before midnight. I go downstairs to make us both a hot drink, and since I've been here a few times now I know where everything is. That, and because it's super organised. When I take it up to him, he thanks me and squeezes my hand, taking the mug off me.
"Can I borrow something to sleep in?" I ask, obviously also implying that I plan on staying here tonight.
"Sure," he pulls away from his work to root through his drawers and pull out one of his smaller pyjama tops, handing it to me with a smile. Thankfully, he didn't really think anything of my self-invite. I sit back down on his bed and he goes back to his work again, brow furrowed, biting his lip.
"So, are you just going to sit there…"
"What?"
"Turn around so I can change," I say awkwardly.
"Are you serious?" He swivels his chair around to look at me incredulously, a smile threatening to grow on his face.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because I'm not even looking at you, I'm on my laptop."
"I know, but you're still…there."
"So? I already know what you look like naked."
My jaw drops slightly when I realise he's being serious, and he raises an eyebrow, smirking at me. "Stop," I whine, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, especially considering I'm not the most confident about how I look. "I don't want you picturing me naked."
"I'm not perverted, I don't do it all the time," he suppresses a laugh. "I'm just saying, there's no point in hiding when I've already seen it all."
"So you're saying you have a permanent mental picture of me in your head?" He shrugs. "That's gross!" I exclaim.
"No it's not, I'm sure you have one of me."
"But I don't think about it," I start to blush deep red.
"You are now," he winks.
"I'm going to go change in the bathroom, pervert," I huff, walking away before he has a chance to wind me up about blushing a deep tomato colour. I shut the door behind me, stripping off my blouse and bra in order to pull on his top. I leave my leggings on, after being embarrassed by that conversation, and shove my things in my bag. There's a knock on the bathroom door, and I open it to see Four there, holding a new toothbrush with an apologetic look on his face. I smile and take it off him, closing the door again. I continue to get myself cleaned up and ready for bed, fighting back sadness when I see that my mom texted me to inform me that she left a plate of food out. I don't tell her I'm staying out, I just ignore her.
I walk back into the bedroom quietly, where Four is still working, and lay back on his bed on top of the sheets. I don't know whether I should suggest sleeping on the couch, but I decide to watch a film for a while and wait for him to finish. I'll admit, I'm not even concentrating on watching it, my thoughts sending me crazy. I nod off a couple of times, but quickly wake up with the fear of having a bad dream or the sensation that I'm falling. I hope he doesn't notice.
I don't know what time it is, when I hear him get up from the desk and stretch out, the weight of his body on the mattress causing me to roll over slightly. My eyes are closed, but I can hear him throw his jeans on the floor and turn the bedside lamp off. Once he's under the quilt, he pulls the remote away that's still clutched in my hands, and turns the volume down. "I'm still watching," I murmur sleepily.
"Your eyes are closed," he sighs, "and I have a headache."
"Hm," I turn onto my back, my hands clasped behind my head, "what time is it?"
"One," he yawns, as I pull the quilt over myself also. "Are you mad at me?"
"If I was mad at you, do you think I'd be lying here in your bed?" I turn my attention to him, to see him gazing back at me in a perceptive manner. Why am I in his bed. I honestly don't know. Whether it's because he's my friend or confidant, or just another human being, is hard to tell. I'm a lonely person, I'll admit that. It's not often that I seek comfort from someone else, but with him, I can't help it. He offers comfort without even saying so. He doesn't judge or pry, and certainly doesn't make me feel uneasy, even when he is being a tease.
Is that why I am here right now?
Or is it for some other reason?
'How I really feel about him' is a difficult topic. One of which I'm not entirely equipped to answer. And when he leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, the lines are blurred for another time. Once again, I am completely at his mercy, putty in his hands. I shift closer to him, our bodies pressing together. His hand moves to cup my face, and my leg fits between his. His lips leave mine a couple of times, to make contact with the skin on my neck and jaw. We continue to kiss gently, our soft heated lips moulding together, steady and sure and familiar. But when his hand creeps up my shirt to rest on the bare skin of my waist, and his tongue slides along my bottom lip, I pull back with a slight frown and puckered lips, unsure of where this is heading.
"Sorry," he murmurs, laying back down on his side of the bed.
"It's okay," I barely whisper, so quiet I'm not even sure he heard me. I turn around, my back facing him, eyes still wide. Why did he do that? I don't know whether he has feelings for me, or whether he just enjoys having me in his bed. I think back to Lynn's warning about not letting someone take advantage of you before you've settled your emotions for one another. I force my eyes shut, listening to the quiet voices from the movie that still plays in the background. I pull the quilt over me more securely, but I know that it's going to take me a lifetime to fall asleep after that, surrounded and suffocated by his scent and his body heat. I try to hold back the tears of confusion, but fail miserably.
Four + baby = me feeling broody
Thanks for the lovely reviews! It's nice to hear your comments and to know that people are enjoying Jaded. :)
I plan for the next update to be on Thursday