TRIS POV
My days now consist of long hours spent in the infirmary, watching as the few doctors we have tend to the wounded Dauntless. At this rate, I must permanently carry the smell of disinfectant, so it does not bother me when the intensive care room reeks of it.
Uriah is motionless when I slide his door open and step inside. He doesn't acknowledge me initially, pretending to be asleep even though I saw his eyelids flutter on the way in. Well, he can't escape my confrontation any longer. It has been days, and he has forbid even Zeke and their mother Hana from entering.
"Uriah," I say. "I know you're awake."
When he opens his eyes, there is no warmth in his gaze. Instead I recognize a hollowness that I felt not too long ago, after Tobias's death. That is a comatose state that people often don't completely recuperate from.
"I told them not to let anyone in," he huffs.
I give him an incredulous look, though he stares past me. "You really think that was going to stop me?"
As I sit on the edge of his bed, like he did for me when I was hospitalized from Justin's attack, he shifts irritably. The movement causes the blanket to rearrange so that his missing leg is imprinted in the fabric. Neither of us talks while I try to gather what I want to say.
"You can't push people away right now," I finally begin. "I know it feels like you want to be alone, but trust me, that makes it worse."
That was how I attempted to survive when Tobias supposedly died. Locking myself in the apartment, dodging my friends, living inside my head with my own torturous thoughts. Loss invites in a void that can only be filled with love, and I failed to realize that for months.
Uriah refuses to give me an answer.
"You know what Christina did when I had ultimately given up? She yelled at me and was brutally honest, of course, but she asked me if I wanted revenge. That is what forced me to string myself together because I knew that I still had purpose, that I was not done yet," I tell him.
I reach for his hand, and he yanks it away with obvious hostility. I sigh.
"You need to find something to fight for, Uriah. Or else you are going to drive yourself insane."
"How can I fight for something?" he chokes back tears. "I can't even stand up. And I can't believe in anything I used to when I'm not myself anymore."
My voice is tense when I reply, "You're still Uriah. Nothing can change that."
"No, now I'm eighty-five percent Uriah."
There it is, that sarcasm that could endlessly entertain all of Dauntless. He may have convinced himself that he is gone, past the point of salvaging, but he is there, just buried underneath the rubble of the war's many catastrophes. All he needs is a hand to pull him out, and a chance to breathe.
"No, you will be yourself and more once you get back on your feet," I press on. "One of the Erudite doctors here is already working on getting you a prosthetic. You—"
"God, don't you get it?" Uriah snaps at me. "My life as I know it is over. I will never be Dauntless again, never be respected, never be treated as an equal."
At some level, I see where he is coming from. This injury isn't just any scar; it is demeaning to him, and any Dauntless finds that being pitied is a sign of disrespect. Maybe another member would take it easier on Uriah during a fight, or would tease him as they once did to Shauna in her wheelchair. These interactions would seem small to any outsider, yet they would ruin his world.
But I refuse to believe that he can be anything but larger than life.
Shaking my head in denial, I fire back, "That's not true. You're going to heal and be able to do everything you used to do. Shauna has—"
"Don't try to compare Shauna and I!" His voice is so vicious that I don't recognize him. It forces me up from the bed and onto my feet. "We aren't the same person; I can't handle this like she could."
"Well, you certainly won't be able to if you push us all away."
Uriah scoffs at me. "Yeah, because I'm going to take advice from you on opening up to people."
The reminder of that period of my life, of how I shied away from him and the others while treating them horribly, stings. At the same time, it doesn't, because he is spouting off these defenses now as I did then. He doesn't mean half of what he is saying in this dispirited state.
"You're not in the right mindset to make that judgment," I tell him.
"Don't pretend like you understand what I'm going through. Losing someone and losing a limb are not the same thing."
No, they are not. Both are devastating in their own way. But the suffocation that grief initiates is similar in all circumstances of loss. Many emotions are blended in depending on the situation, but grief will always overwhelm them all.
"You know what? You're really not helping," he finally decides, crossing his arms and angling his head away from me. "Just get out."
"Uriah—"
"Go!" he spits.
I concede, walking towards the exit with my jaw clenched from frustration. With my fingers grasping the door handle, I turn back to say, "I'm not going to give up on you."
Uriah never surrendered when I was struggling. He returned to my side, day by day, encouraging me to stand back up when I strayed further from the light. The friendship he has shown me in the last few months demands that I step in now. I have an obligation to help him survive just as he helped me survive.
If that is the way I can repay him, then it is an insignificant debt. Because Uriah saved my life.
This parenting thing is no easy task.
For the last two days, I have spent my free time in the infirmary, learning how to care for a child. I have watched the nurses feed the baby, change her diaper, bathe her, and so on. They have let me gain some practice with her, and yet I am still very unprepared.
Because it isn't solely about falling into new routines and meeting her physical needs. It is also about the mental battles, the bonding that I am not sure how to accomplish. She needs to be able to trust me, not view me as some stranger who will leave her at a moment's notice.
Especially now since I will be on my own.
The doctor told me that she could come home with me as soon as tomorrow, since her condition grew better by the hour. In fact, they told me it was miraculous that she hadn't lost any extremities from the frostbite, and therefore they were not surprised when she kept fighting to heal. Soon, with the correct eating schedule, she will be up to the normal weight a baby her age should be.
And I am responsible for that. Or whatever happens to her.
My presence has been enough for her to recognize me, I think; when she sees me approach her small, elevated cradle today, she kicks her feet and stares up at me with wide, hazel eyes.
"Hi," I say softly, reaching to pick her up. "Guess what? You're coming home with me tomorrow."
Apparently, talking to babies is crucial to their development, or so I was told. So I have made it a habit to tell her little details about my day or about her health, and she seems to drink it right up, even if it is unintelligible to her.
"I still don't have everything ready for you. Sorry," I admit. "But I'll get the rest of the supplies when I leave here."
She lets out a whine that suggests that she doesn't care. Instead, her face turns to my chest, and I know what is coming before she begins to cry.
A nurse walks over just in time with a bottle of formula that is supposed to help her put on weight. I thank her, tipping it to the baby's mouth to avoid an inbound fit. She sucks greedily.
"Maybe you'll get to see Tobias again tomorrow. He has been too busy the last couple of days to visit," I say with a weak grin. "I guess that's what trying to fix a war-torn city does to you: takes away all of your time."
The truth is, I have barely gotten to see him myself. Sure, I participate in some of the many discussions with the other Dauntless advisors and leaders, but sitting across the table from him and speaking diplomatically is not the same. And when he comes home at night and collapses into bed, we are too weary to do anything but pull each other close and cling as if we will be split apart again.
Right now, neither of us wants to be romantic, despite being newlyweds. All we want to do is survive. So when we hug instead of kiss when he leaves in the morning, I feel no disconnection. We have evolved to the point where we don't even need words to communicate our emotional toils.
Still, when we do use words, I try to avoid talking to him about the baby.
I murmur, "It will take some getting used to for him. Just like you, he hasn't had great experiences with his parents. But I know that he will like you when he gets to know you. Who couldn't?"
Her fingers grasp at the bottle uncoordinatedly, her eyes curious as she listens to my voice. I may not have had many interactions with babies in my life, but she seems to be particularly sweet. Maybe that will change when the nurses aren't there to balance the workload, although I doubt anything could change the bright smile I was able to drag out of her yesterday.
Nothing has dimmed her spirit. The only environments she has ever known are the depraved factionless sector and the Dauntless infirmary, and after being tossed aside like garbage, she still beams.
Well, I will make sure she never stops smiling.
As soon as she has finished the bottle, I burp her against my shoulder. Then I hold her until she drifts off, her face gentle in an awful world, before I set her back in the cradle and leave the infirmary.
Christina runs into me as I am on my way to find the rest of the baby supplies I will need.
"How's your head?" I ask, wincing when I see her bruised temple. The sound made from the factionless man's blow echoes in my ears.
"Not the best," she groans dramatically. "Do you know if Jessica was arrested yet?"
I press my lips together, tempted to display a sinister smile but not feeling smug enough to do it. "I saw her being led through the Pit yesterday in handcuffs."
Christina snorts. "Good riddance. So where are you headed to?"
Opening my mouth, my words die on my lips. These last few days have been so hectic, so fragile, that I realize I did not get the chance to tell her about the baby the last time we spoke.
It isn't that a massive eruption has broken out across the city; fortunately, that hasn't happened yet. Everyone on all sides of the battlefield has been recovering from their wounds and grieving their soldiers. There was so much bloodshed that some of the factionless bodies have not yet been accounted for, and 298 Dauntless were killed in action, with countless injured.
The factionless are corralled in their sector, away from their headquarters until we can gather all of their intel. The Dauntless are licking their wounds back here. At some point, that tension is going to snap. The deep breath will be over, and the explosions will begin.
Judging by the restlessness of the compound, my guess is that it will happen shortly.
"Christina..." We stop walking, and I finally say, "I found a baby in the factionless sector. Nobody will take her in, so I decided to take care of her for now. That's where I'm going, to get the rest of what I need."
She blinks at me, astounded. "Wait, like, actually?" she asks.
"Yes."
Her lips turn upward in an excited grin. "Can I see her? Is she cute?"
"She's very cute," I answer, shaking my head as we continue walking. "You can come visit tomorrow when I bring her home."
"What does Four think about it?"
Biting my lip hesitantly, I mull over my answer. To be honest, I don't know how Tobias is coping with my decision. He probably doesn't care—especially with his hands already full—so long as this isn't permanent.
"He's too busy to think about it," I say slowly.
Christina raises her eyebrows but doesn't respond.
She helps me pick out onesies and squeals with adoration at all the blankets and toys I decide on. I am glad she is here to assist because she must have some experience that I am lacking, and when we leave, I feel slightly more prepared. And happily distracted.
I spend the rest of the afternoon with her. By the time evening arrives, an orange glow shining through the glass panes above the Pit, we head to the dining hall, where I plan to pick up dinner for Tobias and I.
I am not participating the announcement.
Tobias, Mike, and Zeke stand at the front of the crowd in the dining hall. The atmosphere is one of anger, and it registers to me as soon as I step inside the usually warm and tightly-knit room. It is a far cry from picking out baby items; it only took a few seconds to be reminded of what transpired mere days ago.
"They killed hundreds of us!" someone shouts above the furious chatter. "We want justice!"
Locating Shauna at a nearby table, I slide over to her, asking, "What just happened?"
Shauna looks worried as she says, "They announced that they were looking into the possibility of making the factionless their own faction."
My eyes widen as I glance back at the platform at the front of the room. This was discussed at the latest meetings, but I never anticipated that the leaders would publicize it this early.
Something so radical needs to be eased into. The Dauntless are a proud faction, and broadcasting that their brutal opponent has been given a higher status in society is like begging for backlash. Transparency comes at a cost.
I can tell, even from across the dining hall, that Tobias was opposed to this announcement.
"Shut up!" he finally shouts. His frustration must turn a few heads because soon enough, the Dauntless quiet to a low rumble. "This doesn't mean there won't be justice. Working with the other four factions, we will be putting everyone in the factionless authority as well as anyone involved in the mass production of the suicide serum on trial."
"What about your mommy, Four?" someone demands loudly. A chorus of hostile agreement follows from the crowd. Tobias clenches his jaw and tries not to let them get under his skin.
"Evelyn Eaton will be punished as every faction sees fit," Zeke defends.
"We're not asking you to forget the dead," Tobias adds. "We're trying to make sure nothing like this happens again."
Because the factionless will never settle. They made their point known over the course of the last year. There will be uprising after uprising until they are treated as equal members of society.
"By caving to the factionless!" a wrathful voice yells.
I shake my head. Dauntless stupidity shines through whenever peace is on the table. Not too long ago, I was in their shoes, desperate for vengeance. Even then, I can safely say that I didn't want all of the factionless to die.
And that is what they want; they will never be satisfied until the factionless have paid the price they see fit. Do they not realize that we killed more of them than they did of us?
"Grow some balls, Four!"
"My brother is dead because of them!"
"Traitors!"
"Fuck you guys!"
My eyes dart around the uncontrollable assembly. This is quickly getting out of hand. My heart pounds in my ears above the shouting, and I watch as the leaders struggle to subdue the crowd.
"This is not safe," Shauna says, voicing my own thoughts. "They need to get out of there."
The Dauntless are vicious and unforgiving as they snarl insults at their three leaders. I see it escalating to a drastic peak before it even happens.
Someone fires a gun.
Tobias goes down.
Screams pierce my ears as the people at the front of the room tackle the shooter. I want to join them. I think I join them; I'm not sure, but I am frozen as I see my husband knocked backward onto the floor by a bullet. As soon as it registers, I say his name under my breath in disbelief, and hearing it on my tongue spurs me into action.
There is a collective panic as I run straight into the mass of black. I shove and hit and kick my way through to the leaders, two of which have their guns drawn. An elbow catches my cheek, but I push on. From the space between shoulders, I see Zeke take quick glances back at his best friend.
"Move!" I scream. "Get out of my way!"
The crowd has already parted around the flattened gunman, so I am able to slide through the rest of the way. Pulling myself up onto the platform, I scramble over to Tobias, not caring that it may paint a target on my back as well.
He stares up at me, his eyes panicked as he grapples for a breath.
"Hey, I'm here," I reassure him, tears falling. "I'm here."
My eyes drift down to where his hand lies over his abdomen. And to my confusion, there is no blood seeping through his jacket. When I unzip it, there is a bullet-proof vest, similar to the one I was forced to wear a few times as a leader.
Covering my mouth with relief, I reach for his hand, though he seems too paralyzed to grasp mine. He's alive. He's okay.
The crowd is still there, bickering and clambering over each other to get a look at who shot one of the three leaders—and if he is even alive.
"Stop!" I beg with a sob. "Just stop!"
I am sixteen again, pleading for the gunfire and the chaos to cease after my mother has been shot. I am fatigued of living this life, of the senseless violence that plagues this city.
A hundred years of cooperation was for nothing. All it accomplished was raising tensions, building the rivalries up to the point where faction members are now turning on each other rather than other factions. Turning on their own leaders.
Through my veil of tears, the Dauntless seem to feel some remorse for letting this surge of outrage turn into an attempted murder. I don't recognize the shooter as someone escorts him out of the dining hall in handcuffs, and with the threat no longer a concern, the quieted mob focuses on the platform.
Where Tobias is gasping for whatever air he can have with the wind knocked out of him.
"Tobias," I say. "Breathe. You're all right."
"Go," he wheezes. Of course he would be stressed about my safety when he has just been shot.
I shake my head stubbornly and wipe my tears away with my sleeve. "I'm not going anywhere."
I think of when I was shot in the shoulder and I told him to run. I think of how insistent his eyes were when he defied me. No, I wouldn't leave if the entire mob was firing.
Sliding my fingers between his, I encourage, "Keep breathing." And for my peace of mind, I rest my hand on his chest so that I can feel his distressed inhales and exhales.
As his rapid breaths continue, I look back at Zeke. He is stunned, puzzled on how to handle the mob as a brand new leader. Eventually he decides not to take any chances with them at all.
"Get out! You've done enough damage tonight!" Zeke shouts accusingly. When the Dauntless mumble in response, he threatens, "Get out or I'll start shooting."
Begrudgingly, they begin to retreat, slowly migrating out of the dining hall while angling their heads back at Tobias. As they disperse, Christina and Shauna are able to make it to the front of the dining hall.
"You three are beyond stupid," Shauna spits.
Mike mentions something about finding a medic before he excuses himself.
"Not now, Shauna," Zeke sighs, watching Tobias to ensure that he really is fine. He already has one brother who isn't all right.
"Yes, right now!" she barks angrily. "Four almost just died, and if they had all been upset enough to see past reason, all of them would have shot you guys!"
While I agree with her, clashing with them cannot be my priority in this moment.
Their arguing carries on as I shift my focus back to Tobias, who has begun to notice the pain if the way he groans is any indication. I work to get him out of his jacket and then the vest, fighting the straps until they release.
My eyes are wet despite my attempt to combat it. If he wasn't as intelligent as he is, if he wasn't talented at reading a room, if he hadn't known to wear that armor, he would be dead right now.
"Tris, I'm all right," he breathes.
Nodding until I can convince myself of it, I help him sit up. Despite the low, forceful grunt he emits, he seems to be telling the truth.
I press his face into my shoulder and close my eyes until the medics arrive. I try not to think about how right I was:
The war isn't over.
"I should step down."
The purple ring is centered around where the bullet impacted, expanding outward. My fingers graze the bruising, and after a hiss leaves him, I stand.
"No, you shouldn't," I state.
"My own faction wants me dead." Tobias licks his lips and lowers his shirt. "How am I supposed to lead when I can't trust them not to kill me?"
Shaking my head, I try to convince him otherwise. "They made their point tonight. They're not going to shoot you again."
At least, I hope not. But even in the panicked haze of it all, I could see the regret in their faces. Four is the most Dauntless of them all, and they don't want him dead. From what I heard, nearly the whole faction attended his funeral.
Tobias presses his lips together before standing up from the bed—carefully, and with a wince—and walking across the apartment, away from me.
"You can't step down, Tobias."
"Why not?" he retorts, opening the refrigerator. "You did."
I sigh. "I never should have been leading in the first place. You were meant for this."
But I can see it in his eyes. He is tired. It doesn't matter if he is a natural-born leader; if it isn't what he wants then nothing can change that.
I think of what he said when he was almost trampled to death. I don't want to do this anymore.
Still, I remember what my father used to tell me, about giving power to the people who want it least. People like Tobias, who aren't vain and want for nothing. I may have passed my position on to him, but the Dauntless elected him by nominating me in the first place, by following him into the gas that could have easily been their demise.
"How can I lead people who don't believe in me?" he asks with defeat. "How do I get them to see reason when all they want is violence? How do I get them to take me seriously at all?"
Immediately, a similar circumstance comes to mind. During the last war, Evelyn suggested that he become important to the Dauntless in order to have a pawn inside. It may have been for her own control, but Tobias still became a leader without her.
Even after they laughed at him, teasing him for days on end after he was forced to tell the truth about his abusive childhood.
"How did you do it last time?" I say.
He lifts his shirt to press an ice pack to his skin. Inhaling sharply, he replies, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"In Candor, you proved yourself to them by beating Marcus in front of an audience."
I watch him raise an eyebrow. I reach for his free arm.
"The Dauntless want violence because all they have ever understood is violence," I explain. "You need to use their language. You need to show them that you will fight back, that you are their leader and they don't just get to shoot you."
He closes his eyes and huffs. "So what am I supposed to do? Pick a fight?" he asks. "Kill the person who tried to kill me? How is that going to help Dauntless return to its traditional values?"
I bite my lip. Maybe it wouldn't help, though at this rate they have strayed far from honorability and past the boundaries of brutality. Hopefully not past the point of fixing.
What Dauntless needs is to be both respectful of Tobias and somewhat fearful of him. That way, he can count on their loyalty as he patches the city together, like the factions are worn patches on a tattered quilt.
"All I'm suggesting is that you find a way to remind them that you're Four," I remark. "You can't give up on leadership yet because you are the only person who can restrain them. Without you, they will spiral out of anyone's control."
He seems to understand as his eyes flick down to no place in particular, still not entirely convinced.
"I was right, you know. About being seen as a traitor," he says.
I frown. "Only a few people are stupid enough to believe that." As if he can help Evelyn's actions.
"A few is enough. That idea is circulating."
A wry smile tugs on my lips. "Do me a favor," I say.
His eyebrows draw in as he stares down at me. To anyone else it would be intimidating. "What?"
"When you see an opportunity..." I stand on my toes and brush my lips against his. "Ruin them."
Underneath my palm, his heart races. He kisses me before I can pull away. My hand slides down to rest over his, which is beginning to cool from the ice pack underneath it.
There is something different about his lips on mine that I can't quite place. It could be because he almost died tonight, or the baby I haven't mentioned much, or the weight on his shoulders in general, already wedging its way between us. But the kiss is heavy and awakens a despairing anxiety at the bottom of my stomach.
I want to question him about it, until I let him go and his troubled eyes remain shut. He is exhausted. Maybe we will talk about it later, or maybe that's all it is. Either way, it can wait.
"Get some sleep," I tell him. "You need it."
Tobias doesn't argue as he nods stiffly and walks back over to the bed. I stand there, unsure, before shaking my head and joining him.
TOBIAS POV
My body screams in pain when I shift out of sleep. A weak groan hums in my throat when I drag my eyes open and recall the events of last night.
Tris is gone, and it makes irrational panic flare in my chest. Leftover adrenaline, maybe. My dreams consisted of gunshots and trouble breathing that carried over into real life. I tell myself to get over it.
With my jaw clenched, I find a way to shove myself out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. Each step sends a burst of agony through my abdomen, similar to the internal damage I suffered from recently. Except this pain is focused.
Showering seems to help me fully awaken, allowing me to feel other sensations that aren't related to the dark bruising. Still, I have to pause once or twice to lean my head into the wall to ground myself.
I get dressed and prepared to face another unpredictable day. But when I step out of the bathroom, I feel anything but prepared.
There is a baby on the floor. Her hands are uncoordinated as they grasp a toy on the blanket she is lying on, stomach-down. She doesn't seem to understand how to crawl yet, so she lies there, squirming without purpose.
I stare.
Across the room, Tris says, "Hey. Are you feeling any better?"
When I look back down at the baby, her wide eyes are fixed on me. A cooing sound leaves her drooling mouth, and I don't know how to respond.
Maybe if I grew up differently, I would know how to interact with her. Maybe if I wasn't caught so off guard, I would try my best to satisfy the curiosity of the baby who clearly wants my attention.
But I'm an asshole.
Instead of picking her up or doing whatever a normal person would do with a child, I step past her, as if she is nothing more than a coffee table in the middle of the apartment.
Clearing my throat, I answer, "A little." Except that is a lie. But pain is something familiar, something I can work with.
Tris smiles slightly, though there is something in her eyes that looks like disappointment. "That's good."
She hands me a syringe that contains a yellowish serum—the healing serum, which I was given after a brief trip to the infirmary last night. I don't hesitate before tilting my neck to the side and sliding the needle in.
Noticing that I am dressed, she frowns. "You can take a day off, you know."
I rub the ache out of the injection site. "I can't have them thinking I'm weak," I tell her.
"You're not weak," she counters. "You were shot."
The truth is, I could stay if I wanted to. But I feel like if I keep moving, keep working, I can push all of my problems out of my head.
"Dauntless doesn't stop needing a leader, even when someone gets shot," I say.
Tris sighs, knowing that she can't convince me to stay. Her eyes drift across the room, to the baby who is struggling to accomplish something that only makes sense to her with the blanket underneath her. I watch Tris's eyes brighten in a way I rarely see; the last time I saw her this happy was when we got married. Impossible to believe that was a little over a week ago.
I wonder if she notices the guilt radiating off of me. She likes this child that I don't understand, and it makes me feel guilty that I can't do better to get along for her.
And I can't help but ask, "Are you sure about this?"
Just like she rises up to any challenge, she straightens and nods. "Yes," she answers. After a pause, she assures me, "It's just for a little while. Until the war dies down and I can figure something out for her."
But there is a reluctant jump in her voice that I try to ignore.
"All right." I swallow. "Good luck."
She looks distracted as I press my lips to her forehead. Then, as I am stepping away, she catches my arm and pulls me back to kiss me.
I'm finding that I can't lose myself in it, no matter how hard I attempt to let go. There are too many important duties and stressors preying on my mind. For once, she is not enough to completely obliterate it all.
"I love you," she whispers. "You can do this."
My nose slides along hers as I retreat. I want to agree, I want to be the person that can attack this pressure head-on. But while I have always been able to absorb pain, I have never been able to avoid it for my own sake.
Her eyes are a confident steel when I glance back at her on my way out. Confidence that I lack in myself.
The day is an infinite battle of its own.
As the other leaders and I negotiate the details that will satisfy both the ungrateful Dauntless and factionless, I try to forget the hiccup of agony that burns through my abdomen with every breath. I bury everything underneath the work, my emotions and my hunger, so that by the time the evening sun is threatening to sink below the horizon, I still haven't paused.
With little energy left, I decide to shut myself away in my office. On the way, the few people I pass shoot me similar looks of impression. Like just because I was shot yesterday and am still standing somehow makes me impenetrable.
Groaning deeply, I lower myself into my chair and hide my face behind my hands.
It takes me a moment to open my eyes. When I do, I see the blue glass statue from none other than Evelyn staring back at me on the desk.
Shit.
I forgot about the letter. But now that I am locked in this office, I can't deny its presence in my desk drawer.
For a minute, I debate myself. Part of me wants to burn it, because what could she possibly have to say that would help me accept her outcome? Another part of me, the masochistic part, wants to read it to punish myself for letting yet another aspect of my life spiral out of control.
The rational part of me knows that I cannot ignore the letter forever. I have to face whatever is in it, or I will be stuck in a loop of wondering and regret for the rest of my life.
Carefully, I open the drawer and take out the letter. Uriah's blood is stamped on the outside of the paper in my fingerprint, on the edges of my name. With a deep breath, I read the last words of the real Evelyn Eaton.
Tobias, my son,
If you are reading this, then the Dauntless have succeeded in suppressing the unfortunate once again. In light of this, I have decided that it would be preferable to take the memory serum rather than suffer the inevitable fate of execution.
I know that you must consider me a coward for this. I know that you have felt disdain for me for a while. I could blame that Prior girl of yours for poisoning you against me, but I don't believe that you are incapable of forming your own opinion. I think that you must not have had a full understanding of me, of the factionless plight, and I don't hold that against you.
You may believe that all of what I did was for myself and my people, to break the wheel of suffering that the faction system created. However, I had you in mind the entire time. You may believe that my methods to get someone, anyone to listen were unorthodox. But you and I both lived in the same household for many years, and we both know that not even cries of pain will attract attention or sympathy from anyone in this city.
We both know that the only way to get rid of the oppressor is to fight back.
I wanted a better world for you, Tobias. To make up for the world you grew up in. If you think I used you to accomplish this, then so be it. Just know that all I wanted was a place where you were free to be whatever person you wanted, not restricted by oppressive factions, and where you and I could start over.
My hope moving forward is that you can find a way to forgive me for my mistakes, just as I have forgiven you for yours. I am your mother, and you are my son, and I will love you even without remembering the privilege of getting to raise you.
Please, remember me as the mother who sat on the front step with you and played imaginative games so I could help you forget the previous night. The one who tucked you in, sang you songs, and tickled you until you laughed so hard your bright blue eyes filled with tears. Remember me as her, not the woman whose hand was forced.
I am sorry for how our relationship progressed. But I hope that you still love me enough to try to fix it. I would try for you.
- Mom
I am seething.
Here I was, searching desperately for closure that I thought I would find in her last words to me. Instead, my blood is pulsing hot and angry beneath my skin.
Is that how she is going to justify everything? By turning it back on me, by suggesting that I would make the same choices in her shoes? That I was ignorant about how the factionless lived, and if I had lived factionless, I would have committed her war crimes?
Did she forget that I lived factionless for months, arguably more so than she has? Because I did. And I know that society is not responsible for your actions; only you are.
And when she couldn't weasel out of her own consequences, her response was to write down sentimental bullshit so she could live with herself, die as a martyr. Her attempt to manipulate me into forgiveness for her atrocities forces me to stand and grip the edge of the desk.
I thought I was done letting my parents chart my life out for me. I thought I was past their influences shaping my choices.
Now her plea will weigh on my conscience, whether I decide to exonerate this new her or not. This is her final blow, and rather than lying down and taking it, I am fuming to fight back.
But how do I, when she doesn't even remember what she has done to me?
The blue statue mocks me as it sits silently on the desk. A reminder of when she acted as a mother, when she told me that it doesn't make a difference in the world but it could in my heart. She gave me this advice, and yet she didn't have anything in her heart, not even me.
Because if she loved me, if she loved anyone other than herself, she wouldn't have tried to murder Tris. She wouldn't have massacred people in this city, and she would have had no thirst for authority.
If she loved me, she never would have left me all those years ago.
In a sudden fit of rage, I pick up the glass and hurl it violently at the wall. It shatters in a million pieces, unfixable, a disaster I will have to clean up later. I press my hand to my wound to hold myself together as the sound of raining crystals echoes in my ears.
Evelyn was wrong. I don't need her to create a better society.
I can do that myself.
The sounds of a lively crowd bounce between the massive walls of the Pit. After last night, I would rather avoid any and all large groups of people, but I don't have a choice if I want to get home fast. I don't have the patience to drag myself the long way through the apartment wing.
Sending threatening glares in response to the gaping, I make my way along the side of the Pit. There seems to be less belligerence among the Dauntless tonight, more curiosity as their eyes cling to me, wondering how exactly I walked away after they watched someone shoot me.
"Someone is looking stiff!" one person shouts.
A chorus of laughter follows. Original. I don't stop walking, even though the traitorous insinuation bothers me.
"That's why he is sucking up to the factionless!" another cracks up. "He spent so much time as an Abnegation! Hey, Four, is that what Daddy taught you?"
With my nails biting into my palms, I keep walking. I tell myself that they are likely drunk and that it doesn't matter. I tell myself that my anger has carried over from the letter and that I have no other reason to lash out.
"Shut the hell up, will you?" an opposing Dauntless shouts. The rest of the crowd seems to be irritated by the insults too.
The two comedians begin following me, except now their tones are accusing. "I bet he wouldn't be kissing any factionless asses if Tris was hurt!" one of them taunts. "Hypocrite."
I stop dead in my tracks, my muscles bunched up like coiled wire. An onlooker whistles lowly as others murmur. He can try to pass that off as suggesting that nobody I care about suffered from this war, but there was an underlying threat and everyone is aware of it.
"Yeah, you heard me!" he spits as I turn to face him.
There is no regret in his face, even as I tower over him. Well, he will certainly regret threatening Tris now.
Without warning, my fist connects with his face, and he collapses like dead weight onto the Pit floor. The crowd around us erupts in loud and rowdy cheers.
"Mess him up, Four!"
"Kick his ass!"
His friend drunkenly swings a beer bottle at me, and I block him without effort. Slamming my knee into his stomach, I toss him aside carelessly. And even though it hurts me almost as much as him, I am rewarded with more shouts of encouragement.
I think of what Tris said. Find a way to remind them that you're Four.
I guess I have stumbled upon that solution on accident. But I want them to remember this; I want them to know that this isn't just about me fighting back physically.
"I am a Dauntless leader," I snap at the two slumped men on the floor. "You'll obey me whether you like it or not."
The Dauntless surrounding us whoop and roar, impressed by the demonstration. I turn to face them, leveling a glare at several people as they quiet down. "And if anyone so much as touches my wife, I'll tear their fucking head off their shoulders."
And that's a promise. They can make an attempt on my life, but not hers. Anything that hurts her is inexcusable.
There a few nervous bursts of laughter before it evolves into cheering and whistling. Chants break out, a repetition of "Four!" that becomes unintelligible the longer it continues. I stalk away from the crowd, having gained their reverence once again.
Maybe I can repeat it to myself until I believe it too. Because I can't be Tobias anymore.
Poor Tobias is not doing too well. And we all know that he never tells anyone. So.
Fun fact: I didn't even mean for him to get shot this chapter, and then as I was in the process of writing it, it escalated to the point where I felt like it was a likely outcome. I guess that just shows how disorganized I am to be able to insert that when it wasn't even planned lmao.
Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the next chapter!