Chapter 25

I don't own Divergent!

Tris

When I awaken my eyes skim the words FEAR GOD ALONE blearily. The words are neatly painted on a plain white wall next to the bed I lie on. In the hush I notice water is running somewhere- from a faucet opposed to the Chasm. My vision only focuses after seconds of staring, the definite edges of the door and countertops visible.

My muscles ache in protest as I shift my position on the bed and I hold back my whimper of pain. The areas where I was kicked scream with pain- my ribs, cheek, and head. A blue patchwork quilt is situated under my head and I wince quietly as I tilt my head to see where and who the water sound is coming from. Four stands in an arch near the doorway of his bathroom washing the blood off of his hands. The blood makes the water tint pink. There is a cut at the side of his mouth but otherwise he appears unscathed. After further examination he purses his lips and turns off the faucet drying his hands with a towel. Switching on the lights of the bathroom he opens the refrigerator in the corner pulling out an ice pack. When he makes his way over to me I debate on closing my eyes but then his eyes meet mine and I can't.

"Your hands," I say my voice rough, throaty.

"My hands," he gazes at me in a way I can't identify, "are none of your concern."

He rests a knee against the side of the bed his fingers splaying across the sheets. Then he eases the pack under my head and I sigh at the cool feeling that spreads my head numbing it.

I reach out to touch the cut near his lip when my hand falters.

There's nothing left to hide.

So I rest my fingers on his face feeling my cold penetrating his warmth. I only have one memory of coming here and that is the curling of black ink on a neck. The airy thump could only mean he was carrying me. It doesn't warm my cheeks like it usually would.

"Tris," he regards me with a hint of amusement, "I'm fine, don't worry."

I inhale shortly, "Why were you there?"

"I gathered some of my stuff from the control room and I heard a scream," his fingers curl into a fist, "They're sick people."

"What'd you do to them?"

"They aren't particularly in good shape," he gives me a wry grin, "they deserved it all. I deposited Drew infirmary room an hour ago. Peter an Al ran. I think Drew was trying to say it was just a scare they were looking for... At least I think he was."

"Was it bad?"

"He'll live," his lips twist into a grimace, "in what condition I can't say."

"Do you think it'll be ok for me to sit up?"

He doesn't reply instead he holds my head and back helping me while my muscles groan in protests.

I breathe the smell of spices in from Four's intimacy. It feels wrong to wish pain on others but at this moment I feel victory surging through me; I don't regret what happened to them.

"Good," I say, my hand which somehow found his squeezes in assurance of my emotions. Then with a small whimper white-hot rage courses through me. The thought of seeing them sickens me so much that I want to destroy them. A moment after I'm ashamed that I ever thought those thoughts. Tears build up behind my eyes blurring my vision and I fight to hold them back.

"You don't have to, to be strong. It's only me." Four's eyes hold no sympathy. I would be ashamed if they did. He thinks highly of me, I don't want any different.

I divert my eyes still not wanted to see my tears shown to him. When he stands and crouches down I look at him again. He lifts his hands and to my surprise rests his fingers on my cheekbone. Gently, he strokes across my cheek with his thumb. The aroma of rosemary permeates through his skin.

"I could, if you want, report this. Chefs don't have much tolerance for harassment."

"I don't want to look weak to him," I say. I don't. Being called a Stiff hadn't seemed enough for Peter. Spraying painting my bed hadn't seemed enough. Calling me the lowest of things he could wasn't enough for him. Harassing me daily wasn't enough. I don't want to know I am affected by him.

Because I am.

"I thought you would say that." His fingers transfer heat to me while he speaks. "You're going to want to stick around your friends from CC classes."

"I thought I was," I gaze at the vibrancy of his eyes; navy and lighter blue in patches; such a peculiar color. "But Al? We weren't close but I thought he was a friend..."

"I know, Tris. You have to walk into classes on Monday like they didn't affect you."

"I don't think I can."

"You have to," he says.

"I don't think you really get it, Four," my voice wavers, "they touched me."

He doesn't acknowledge the tears running down my face as he draws back from me stiffly standing. "Touched you."

"Not in the way you're thinking, but close. So close." My eyes shift awkwardly to the ground. I didn't think I would be nervous talking of this.

There is a red tint to his eyes and if I didn't know better I would say hours ago he was crying. Yet, Four is Four. He's doesn't cry.

Our gazes lock and he tilts my chin up roughly with his hand cupped. "Do me a favor, Tris?"

"What?"

"Ruin them," his tone is somber.

"How would I do that?" I smile slightly through the tears dripping off my chin.

There is a dangerous glint in his eyes that make color rush to my cheeks by glancing at him. "You're a chef, Tris. What else? Nothing damages the ego more than out shining with talent."

I almost grin but am stopped by the pain to shift my cheeks.

"You're scary, Four."

He smiles gazing at me as if I finally caught on to the lesson he's taught. "Don't call me that."

"What should I call you?"

"Nothing," his fingers touch my face once lightly, "yet."

In the dark I find myself gazing into the void and I almost smile. Going back to the dorms in which my attackers sleep doesn't seem any braver than burning my hand on a stove to prove that a chef isn't always careful enough. Four insisted I sleep on his bed while he took the floor. I didn't protest. The floor would be the death of me.

Four's steady breathes calm me as the echo through the enclosed room. His bed smells of detergent and spices; his pillow permeating a strong sweet aroma distinctly male. Sometimes the sight of him stirs something in my gut and my stomach and ache of longing. Other times he is just a person: my instructor, a highly talented chef for his age.

Whoever he is, I like him. It's easier to admit it to myself in the dark after being attacked and saved. Four treats me as if my skill matter and even after being attacked he thinks no lower of me.

He sleeps on his back an arm resting beneath his head as a pillow the other slung across his stomach. His shirt rides up revealing his ribs which does make heat rush to my face after I realize I'm in his room.

I don't fall asleep until he flips himself over on his stomach bringing his shirt up higher so in a quick movement I could slip it over his head easily. Listening to his steady breaths I fall asleep.

I wake to the ache of my body and a slight groan emitted when my vision focuses. I bring myself to my feet shakily advancing towards the mirror opposite of the wall I'm near. I'm too short so I bring myself on my toes to gaze at myself. A dark bruise stains my cheek and I narrow my eyes at the idea of slumping down in front of Peter. Shakily I tie my hair into a bun.

Then Four walks through the door a towel in hand. Small rivulets of water spot his hair and when he reaches up to run the towel over his head his shirt rides up slightly. The skin that is shone makes me warm.

"Morning."

"Hi," I say. I wish my voice wouldn't sound so tight.

"How are you feeling?"

"Did somebody poison my food?" I ask joking.

He chuckles, "That's why you cook your own, Tris." His fingertips skim over my cheek. "Not bad."

I will myself not to wince.

"How's your head?" He asks.

"Fine," I wish it wasn't a lie. The skin prickles with pain traveling back and forth. It curves into a bump that makes me recoil in pain on contact.

Four's hand travels to my side and I inhale sharply. "And here?" He asks.

"Only hurts when I breathe," I say.

"Not much you can do about that," he replies.

"Peter would probably throw a CC party if I stopped breathing," I say eyebrows raised.

He slings the towel around his neck cocking his head. "I would only go if there was cake."

"You have to! You're sous-chef!" I laugh.

"Yeah, yeah I know," he smiles at me. Then his smile falls and I'm suddenly reminded of his red eyes yesterday.

Why would Four cry?

He seems to feel my sudden inquisitiveness because he throws the towel on his bed and sits gazing at me. "I don't suppose you want to face them until Monday?"

"I don't think I can."

He looks at me as if I've lied. Then an abrupt knock bangs on the door. I jump and instantly regret any movement. I watch the door carefully. It makes me think of Peter only a barrier of superiors in his way.

"Eaton! Open the damn door!" The voice yells.

"Zeke, why now?" Four calls back.

"Because this is about Shauna and me!" He says. His tone is excited.

Four glances at me in apology and clicks open the door. Zeke barges in stopping short when he sees me.

"Fraternizing with initiates, Four? I thought- Oh, God softie what happened." He examines me as if I'm broken, which in a way, I suppose I am.

"Peter, you jerk-off. I was close when it happened," Four says shoving Zeke off of his bed patting the spot next to him for me to sit.

I sit because Zeke's grin as he turns from Four to me frightens me.

"Zeke, stop scaring her she might die from that ridiculous look on your face," Four barks his cheeks a shade of light pink.

"Aww Four are you embarrassed?" He taunts.

I divert my gaze warmth coming to my cheeks, "Zeke stop."

He plops down in a stool and smirks at Four as if there is some kind of joke going on. "Only," he makes a pointed look at Four, "because the lady requested."

"Get to the damn point, Zeke. What happened with Shauna?"

He grin widens. Animatedly he begins describing how Shauna and him were zip-lining (they snuck out). Four kicks his shin demanding for the climax in the story and Zeke rolls his eyes.

"I kissed her. She kissed me back. I won't tell you the hot details since you were so mean," Zeke say smirking.

"God, please don't tell me, I mean it's not like my opinion is very high anyways but..." Four trails off grinning.

Zeke ignores Four sitting down next to me. He slings an arm across my shoulder gently and looks at me concerned. "Want me to beat the hell out of that Peter kid?"

I smile scooting away- which coincidentally is closer to Four- and say, "I'm living, there's no need for killing anybody."

I glance at Four and he raises his eyebrows a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Miss top-notch Tris is going to kill them herself." Four smirks after he says his words.

I blush splaying my fingers down across the mattress only to find my hand on Four's. I quickly draw away.

I've learned several things from the Dauntless. They can be violent, loud, and a plethora of atrocities, yet I have learned others:

This is home.

Sunday leaves no time for me to stage my entrance to class. I've thought of various ways to approach the subject when I tell my friends but nothing seemed right. As soon as I know it I am curled up in a ball breathing in a scent of rosemary and perfume. Four insisted that I stay until class started but Lauren, his friend, told me I could spend the night in her room. I knew it would be awkward if I stayed with Four so after a deal of not being killed in my sleep I agreed to only stay the night in her room. Four cocked a crooked smile at me and nodded. He promised me he would kill Lauren if I was attacked again.

The next morning I sneak back to the dorms. I grab a set of clothe from the storage cubbies beneath my bed. In the comfort of my sweatpants and long sleeve tee-shirt I organize my books. The scrap of red fabric my mother gave to me when I began to cook comforts me as I rub it against my forefinger and thumb.

Slowly entering the CC room I spot my friends near the back. I advance towards them hands shaking.

"Oh my God, Tris, what happened?" Uriah exclaims when I sit down next to Christina.

"Peter, Drew, and Al… Saturday night they attacked me," I breathe until the heat behind my eyes disappears, "Somebody helped me. I can't be sure who it was."

I decided Four will remain anonymous. I don't need unwarranted rumors spread about my staying in a room with my instructor, even though I was unconscious and he helped me. I grimace.

"I've been in the infirmary," I say. It's another lie but it seems more plausible than Four suddenly coming to my rescue.

"Al? That son of bi-" Uriah is cut off when Christina hits him.

"Three against one? That's hardly fair at all," Will says disgust written across his face.

"It's Peter, Will; do you think he cares about fair?" I whisper.

"We should report him, Tris!" Christina exclaims.

"No!" I interject. "I mean… I don't want to seem weak to him."

Then, Drew enters the room. He is limping his face an array of dark blues and purples similar to my own. He holds his ribs carefully as if they are aching. "Oh my God."

"Did whoever saved you do that?" Uriah asks in awe.

I nod. Four must've been furious.

There is a tap on my shoulder and Al is behind me a sad look on his face.

"Tris… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I just… please forgive me," he begs me. His grasp tightens on my shoulder and I recoil in disgust.

"No, Al," I say turning around but he catches my shoulder again.

"Please Tris I don't know got to me! Please forgive me… Please."

"Shut up!" I exclaim. "I swear to God if you ever come near me again," I scowl in disgust, "I will kill you. I swear to God I will."

He walks away his body shaking in what in what I assume are tears. I feel no sympathy when I say my last words:

"You coward."

A/N: Anybody listening to the first song on the DVG soundtrack? It's Zedd- Find You. It's pretty awesome.

I'm kind of disappointed that there's still our whole "Divergent High school" fad going on. There's some pretty awesome fics with that theme but it's getting overdone.

Thanks for favs, reviews, follows, and etc…!

Read & Review!

P.S. - I presume LostInThePost is gone, but if you have any ideas of her whereabouts feel free to PM me.

-TFW