Chapter 25: Glass

Days move by in a slow trudge like a wounded army retreating from a war it has lost. Little by little my mind returns to me. One by one I make each second mean something again.

It's not easy.

I stare at the glass of the window above me and plan ways to break it and slit my wrists. I look for something sturdy, high enough from the ground that I can hang these bed sheets from and wrap the other end around my neck. I'm constantly watched. Zeke has made this room his new home. Christina visits every other hour. Even Eddie and Janine stop by from time to time to talk to me.

I think it's been a week. I'm not sure. I just know that when I open my eyes today, I'm glad I'm still alive.

I owe Tris that much. She gave up her life so I could remember and so I could keep living.

"Breakfast time," Zeke says, dropping a bowl of oatmeal on the tray next to my bed.

I grimace but sit up. "Back to plain oatmeal, huh?"

Zeke shrugs. "It's not so bad. And with…what happened the other day it's best we not go up top any time soon."

He doesn't use so many words but I know what he means. I put every single life in the compound at risk by letting myself get bit.

I haven't been interested in talking much. I'm not that committed to it right now, but I do want to know. "What happened? Did he…did he save me from it?"

Dimitri didn't appear to have any wounds and we both returned to the Pit. That had to mean he killed it.

Zeke goes still, real still. He has a mouth full of oatmeal and all the sudden his jaw has stopped like he's just sitting here breathing.

"Zeke?"

He sighs, stabbing the contents of his bowl with his spoon as he swallows. "Do you really think he's told us anything?"

I read the set of his jaw and the anger in his eyes. Zeke is every bit as frustrated as I am.

"I'm sorry." I'm not really. I am sorry he's suffered at all, but I'm not sorry I was bit.

Zeke snorts. "No you're not, but thanks for the nice lie."

We both laugh.

The door to the infirmary swings open and until she's standing beside the bed I don't realize it's Christina who walks in. I recall days not long ago when her footsteps echoed off the walls. She always stomped in her approach, driving her feet into the ground like the loud announcement of honesty from her lips.

She walks softly now.

She sits on the end of my bed, careful not to touch my bare feet where they sit above my blanket. I don't remember the last time I wore socks.

"You're sitting up today," she says. A smile graces her lips but I see worry in her eyes.

My eyes seek shelter in the ceiling. I've come to consider the roof one of my friends. I've seen the top of the room so much these past few days. I've told it my secrets and it's neither judged me nor abandoned me. It just remains a support above me. I wish I wasn't so afraid of heights. I would climb up and give the ceiling a hug if I wasn't so afraid of leaving the ground.

"He ate some too," Zeke says.

"I'm not a toddler," I say, scowling at the ceiling. I hope it understands I'm mad at my friends for acting like I'm not in the room and not at it.

"That's true," Zeke agrees. "You're potty trained."

They share a laugh at my expense and I roll on to my side. That little bit of hope that flared when I awoke is already dwindling. I just want to close my eyes and forget anything exists.

"I'm sorry," Christina says. I stiffen as a hand touches my leg. "It'll get better."

I know it's the truth, she wouldn't say it if it weren't the truth, but I've come to the decision that time doesn't make anything better. Time just makes us complacent. It's like running. When a body first begins training it hurts every single second. Muscles burn and twinge and ache. Over time the body can be conditioned to accept the pain. The muscles don't stop burning, we just get used to the heat.

I wonder if a soul in Hell ever gets used to the flames.

There will never be enough time to heal my wounds. I didn't get shot, or cut, or break a bone. This injury is to the center of my soul, and that can't ever be repaired, even with the stitching of time.

I look at her then, offer her hope that I will get better. I know eventually I'll return to the man I was before that night on the pier. I'll be bitter and hollow and strong. I'll be cruel and determined and go back to fighting.

Go back to running in circles.

I offer a weak smile and few of the worries in her eyes fall away. I look down to the hand on my leg, noticing she has some new mark on the back of her hand.

"What's this?" I ask, pointing to the white and black circle. It's familiar, something I remember from a dream, I think.

At first she pulls her hand away, shielding it, but when Zeke inquires too she sighs. She returns her hand to the bed, spreading her fingers wide to display the symbol. I definitely recognize it, but I can't place where. It's a circle, half in white and half black. A dot of white sits in the center of the black and a dot of black stands out in the center of the white.

"Is that a Candor symbol?" I ask. Maybe I remember it from the days of factions. Maybe it's something I saw when we lived in the Candor compound six years ago.

She shakes her head. "No." Her voice is so small, timid like a spring breeze that doesn't rustle leaves. "It's…uh…It's something Adrian drew."

I've never seen Christina blush. I've seen her flushed from exertion. I've seen her cheeks aflame with rage. But this image in front of me is foreign. Her lips can't decide if she is happy or sad. Her eyes can't meet mine or Zeke's for more than a second. She tucks her hair behind her ear, pulling her hand away.

"He drew it with what?" Zeke asks, as if that's the most important aspect of this confession that we should explore.

"Paint. He found paint in Tori's old supplies and he made this for me."

I don't know why I say what I say next. It's just the first thought that pops into my head. "It will rub off before tomorrow."

Maybe it's because to me ink on my skin should be permanent. More like it's a result of the ink that is on my skin that I am so blunt with my words. Still, it seems like such an empty gesture.

Christina isn't fazed by my thoughts. She shrugs, touching a finger to the insignificant symbol. "I don't mind." She smiles, a big goofy looking grin that shows all of her teeth. "Maybe he'll draw me another one tomorrow."

I wonder how long I've been in this bed. More time must have passed than I thought. I know that look that's in her eyes. I know the giddy excitement that I can practically see dancing under her skin as she says his name. I surely was asleep for a hundred years since that Strigoi attack.

That's the only thing that would explain Christina falling in love.

I feel something simmer under my pain, something that makes me want to put my fist through the wall, makes me want to shake sense into her, but all other emotions are too far depressed within me. It's her life. If she wants to waste it on a monster, let her.

"Well," Zeke says, eyeing me like he's surprised I haven't flown off the bed in rage. "Just…be safe."

Her eyes roll and Zeke laughs. "Safety isn't really the Dauntless way," she points out.

Zeke moves around the bed, slinging his arm over her shoulders. "Yeah, well, it's our way. You tell that moron we'll find him if he hurts you."

"He's a Moroi," she says, enunciating the word slowly as if Zeke is hard of hearing.

He shots me a look. "Huh, all this time I've been calling him a moron."

A strange tingle infuses my chest and I laugh out of a genuine sensation of humor. "I haven't but I will now."

"Ha, ha," Christina says, shoving both us. She stands, glancing toward the door on the other end of the infirmary.

I recall a moment the other night when I heard her and Adrian behind that door. "Is that where they're keeping him?"

"What?" she asks.

I can tell my question is ridiculous to her, so I clarify. "Is that where Adrian is staying?"

Zeke looks to the door and back to me. His eyebrows are scrunched with concern. "That's the broom closet, man."

Understanding dawns as I look back to Christina. She keeps her face clear of any worry, but I see questions burning in her eyes. And I now know that she had forced him into a private place to beg him to drink from her. She didn't want anyone finding them. Why? On the one hand she seems devoted to him, and on the other she seems ashamed. I'm confused.

She shakes her head so minutely that I think I imagine it. I say nothing else about the closet, nothing else about Adrian. I roll on to my side as they continue to talk.

I had hoped this would be a good day.