After we calmed down and stopped throwing paint at each other, Peter and I decided to take a bath. The colors on my body dried and began to crack around where my limbs bend. I cringe as I step into the tub after stripping naked. Peter is already there. The water turned pale red when he put his foot in it, but I mixed in my darker colors by lying down on his bare chest. His hands slide up my hips, keeping me in place.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, trailing his fingers across my bellybutton.
"What for?" My voice is slurred from the humidity in the room. A slight nausea comes over me.
"Y'know," he clears his throat, "Tipping the bucket over your head. Black is a tricky color to wash off." Even in his most sincere apologies, I hear his smirk.
"Whatever," I roll my eyes, resting my head back against his chest. The water is scorching, but our bodies handle it as if the paint acts like a barrier against the heat. I glance down at the water and see that it has turned black.
I feel Peter's hand parting the dry parts of my hair. When it tugs my head back, he stops and pours some water over me to add moisture, making the whole process easier.
I smirk when I hear the sound of a bottle opening with a 'pop'. Then I feel him rubbing shampoo into my hair. I could really get used to this. Steam warms my nostrils as I breathe in, taking into account how Peter's fingers graze my scalp. When I feel like my hair is light with shampoo bubbles, I cup my hands under the water and bring them up to my hair, washing away the chemicals.
"Let me," he says.
I press my back into his chest as shampoo begins to flow down my shoulders and into the water. As I open my eyes, I realize that all the paint has been washed away. The black liquid we lay in, coats our bodies. From the corner of my eye, I see Peter putting down the shower head and turning it off. He must have been washing everything away. I didn't even feel it.
Suddenly, the nausea from before rises in my throat and I groan softly, closing my eyes. Peter takes my hands in his, filling the gaps between my fingers.
"It's too hot in here," I say, hoping he will understand that I feel sick.
"Why do you think that is?" he purrs against my ear.
Oh, boy.
"No, seriously," I whisper, swallowing the feeling. I feel him sit up behind me and freeze for a moment before speaking up.
"You okay?"
"No, it's too hot," I repeat. How long does this usually take him?
"I'll open the door," he says. Our bathroom is small. Literally, all Peter has to do is lean forward a bit, reach the door handle and open it. I close my eyes at the pleasure of fresh air. The breeze from the bedroom hits my exposed knees and face, sucking away the nausea.
I stay quiet, taking deep breaths.
"Tris, you feeling better?" he mumbles. I nod slowly and smile to myself.
"Yeah," I reply, "Thanks."
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
I watch my movements in the mirror as I wipe at my moist skin with a towel. I decide that there is no rush, and brush the fluffy material along my arms slowly. I started to feel drowsy after the bath so Peter told me he would let me sleep if I wanted to. Not that he is somehow stopping me from sleeping anyway. It's just that I think he wanted to do something more... active.
"You have to stop teasing me like this," I hear his voice behind me. I look up and see him in the mirror, fully clothed and smirking.
"I'm not," I reply, "I just haven't picked anything out." I gesture to the wardrobe. He nods and opens it up, pulling out my recently bought items.
"Wear this," I turn around and see him holding up a see through nightgown. He looks serious. I can't help but take it as a joke.
"I'm never wearing that," I confirm.
"Then why did you buy it?"
"Christina made me," I say, holding my towel up to my chest.
"Christina has a good taste." Peter tosses me the red silk and I have no choice but to catch it. It does look sexy, but I doubt it will on me. I drop my towel and slide the material onto my body, feeling it stick to my still soaking hips. Peter licks his lips as I straighten it out.
"Well? Happy now?" I ask, doing a slight twirl. My body is completely exposed. The thin silk dances across my skin as I shake my hips.
"Very happy," he replies, making no attempt to come closer to me.
"Good," I say.
After a quick glance in the mirror, I stumble onto the bed, no longer caring about my appearance. My hair is wet. My nightgown is see-through. And yet I sprawl out across the bed like sloth, being pretty confident that I look horrifying. Peter chuckles from across the room and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. Somehow he positions himself so that we are both laying down but I am on his chest. I head is too fuzzy to comprehend the new stimuli. I keep my eyes open for the sake of feeling like a good girlfriend.
"Are you feeling better?" he asks.
"Yeah, I'm okay," I answer, receiving a kiss on the forehead.
"That's what Goldie always says, but she keeps coming back to the safe house with bullet holes in her leg," he mumbles. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion and look up at him. His eyes meet mine.
"Who's Goldie?" I ask, putting on my expectant look.
"I didn't tell you?" I feel my head ache as I try to remember the name, but my mind goes blank.
"No," I say, "What? Why? Who is she?" I sit up, feeling my face starting to burn.
"She just works for Al. She's one of the soldiers."
"I didn't know there were women there," I say. A pang of jealousy suddenly hits me. Surely, it's nothing.
"She's the only one," he replies. There is a hidden smile behind his face. I remember how he didn't tell me about Fiona. How we had a massive argument because he was cheating on her. My heart skips a beat as I look down at his chest.
"Her name sucks." Wow. Way to go Tris.
Peter releases a halfhearted laugh. It makes my blood boil. "Well, it's the only one she has." I feel his hand run up and down my back as I tense up. All of a sudden, I am thirsty for more information.
"So she works for Al... that means she is one of the soldiers..." I hope he continues to explain.
"I've already told you that," he says, staring at me for a moment, "She's one of the soldiers... her name is Goldie...- Oh! She is related to Nick! He's her brother." He pipes up, as if to make me feel better. She is related to Nick? That would mean that she is attractive, if their genes are almost identical.
"Why didn't I ever see her?"
"She spends most of the time out on missions. Hunting the rebels," Peter stops, giving me a smirk. "Why are you interrogating me?"
"I'm not," I shake my head. "I just wanna know why you've never told me about her." He squeezes one of my hands, not tearing his eyes off me.
"Please don't tell me that you're jealous," he smirks. Why the hell would I not be jealous? She's obviously pretty. He has never told me about her, so that means he must be hiding something. And from what I know, he is very good at keeping secrets. Or am I just being paranoid?
"I'm not jealous." I conclude, resting my head back on his chest. He becomes tense under me and I anticipate that the conversation is not over.
"You trust me, right?" his voice is quiet. I bite down on my lip and sigh, forcing myself to relax.
"Yeah, I do," I say.
"You don't act like it," he says. The air becomes thick with tension. I hold my breath, not knowing what to say. "Goldie is just a work colleague. She is like one of the guys. Except that she has a vagina."
I don't know what I expected from him. He won't be serious. I might as well forget about this conversation before I dig myself a hole.
"Just shut up for a second," I spit out. He stays quiet for longer than I expected.
"I love you, Tris," he murmurs, "You might not trust me, but I trust you. And it's okay if you feel that way. I'm not going to give up on you." A small smile reaches my lips. Instead of a heated face, I feel butterflies rise in my stomach. "I love you so much." There is honesty is his voice. I look up at him and smile as I answer.
"I love you too." I kiss him once, pulling away to look at his face. He looks innocent, sincere and loyal at the same time. I trust him. I know I do. I have to trust him.
"What?" he asks. I realize that I was about to say something before I closed the gap between my lips.
"We should just leave Chicago," I trace a finger along his jawline. He stiffens.
"What are you talking about?" He almost sounds hurt.
"I mean we should leave. We could leave." His eyes change dramatically. I have to look down in order to continue talking. "We could get a better place outside the city. Nobody would find us. We could get a house and-" he cuts me off.
"Tris, don't," he shakes his head.
"What? Why?"
"We can't leave right now," he says.
"I know but we could-"
"No, we can't, how can you say that?" I look up into his eyes and see that they are darker. There is a crease between his eyebrows, showing his distressed mood. "There are thousands of people fighting a war for you. You can't abandon them." I am taken aback. He is right. That is a rarity.
What was I thinking? Of course we can't leave. We have to stay and fight. Am I a coward for even considering this? I press my face against his chest and conceal my emotions. Peter's hand rests on the side of my face, making me look at him.
"You have to be brave, okay?" he whispers. I nod quickly and look back down. "I promise you. When this is all over we can leave. We will go wherever you want to go. We'll get a house and a new car and a dog and whatever you want. I'll get a new job and then we can have kids, like normal people."
My heart skips a beat. I stare up at him.
"You just have to be brave for now, okay?" I swallow my pride before answering.
"Okay."
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