I do not own anything, just my ideas.
Chapter 58
TRIS
The sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand. The words stare back at me from a poster hung on the wall to my side. A magnificent sunrise is set in the background. I want to look away, but I can't help but stare.
"I'm glad you changed your mind and came to talk to me," Bob says as he sits down in the chair across from me.
"I didn't think I would. I'm surprised I'm sitting here. And…I'm sorry for the late notice."
It is late afternoon—after school to be exact. I had drifted through the day with nowhere to go, but something bad kept pushing me along. I had flashes of black today, but it felt different. So, in a moment of instantaneous panic, I made my way to Bob's office.
I rub my hands together on my lap. The early autumn heat is still sizzling outside, so the air conditioning is blasting through the vents. The hairs on my arms rise, and I regret not bringing some kind of light jacket.
It's all I can think about to keep my mind focused, instead of floating into dangerous waters. I was doing better;, at least, I thought I was.
"It started... actually, I don't know how or when it started. It just happened," I begin. I stare at Bob's notepad and pen, clicked into position to write. It's unsettling.
"I wanted to talk to my friends about it. I wanted to talk to Tori, but…" I'm afraid to disappoint them. "I don't want to burden them with all of it."
"Why do you think it would burden them?"
"It hasn't exactly been easy- going this past year. I want to be normal." I feel a pinch in my lungs, like I am having trouble breathing. I try not to think about it much, but I wish I could just have a more normal life.
"Then let's start with the first time you noticed a change."
"I was walking down the hall at school and suddenly I just couldn't keep walking. It felt like everything around me was black and I couldn't move. People were bumping into me and I still couldn't move." I start rocking in my seat; each proclamation adding violence to my movements. "And I started having bad dreams again—nothing terrible, but they seem to be escalating. And the other day, I was kissing my boyfriend and I jumped. I've never done that."
For some reason, saying the statements aloud upsets me. Pressure builds and I jump up, but the sudden movement sends me spinning. I feel out of control, and it only worsens.
"Tris, what–"
"You heard what I said! Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I be happy?" I begin to pace, frustrated. How could this have escalated? Wasn't I just sitting there calmly a moment ago? What happened between then and now? My mind seems foggy. "Well, aren't you supposed to say something?"
I stare once again at the pen in his hand. He notices, and puts it and the notebook on the side table next to him. I think he is about to say something, but instead he turns the focus to his lifted hand. I look at it too, and he starts to flip it over and over again, back and forth—slow, deliberate movements. I pause, and I feel myself calm down. After a moment, I begin to mimic the movement.
He drops his hand to his side, and I do the same. I am back sitting on the couch, my heart beating like normal and my thoughts focused again.
He straightens in his chair and leans in.
"Tris, I am going to let you in on a little secret: people have a misconception of happiness. It isn't a destination—it's a process. You want to be happy, that's fine—but you can't just 'be happy'. It is the process of doing something you like and getting closer to your destination that brings you happiness."
There is a knock on the door, and the few minutes Bob said he could spare are over. I collect myself, but his words did a lot of the heavy lifting in that department.
Bob stands to meet me. "I think we should schedule some official time together. I think it would help."
I advert my eyes, almost scared of what he is trying to say. "But… I can't."
"Why?"
I pause and mull it over for a moment. "I know I want to get better and I know that I'm not there yet… but I want to know how to fix it all by myself."
"What do you think the reason for that is?"
"Believe me, I want to put the past behind me—to talk about what has happened without mentioning how much it hurt," I say. I advert my eyes to the windows and see a flock of birds fly by. "There has to be a way to care for the wounds without reopening them—to name the pain without inviting it back into me."
I want to be able to handle it on my own; ride the pain out and hope it goes away on its own and the wound that caused it heals.
"There are no easy answers," Bob says, "and worse, sometimes there aren't any solutions. You just have to take a deep breath and stand your ground and wait for it to subside."
My eyes stay trained on the window, on the birds.
He sighs and continues, "Most of the time, pain can be managed, but sometimes the pain gets you where you least expect it. It hits way below the belt and doesn't let up. You can't just ignore it or run from it—you have to fight it. Because the truth is you can't outrun it and life always makes more."
I press the palms of my hands to my face. It's one of those notions that people preach: you can't give up; you have to be strong.
But I just feel so tired.
I feel stuck, like everyone is ten-paces in front of me and I'm just standing there. And all I can do is watch them walk ahead.
Bob starts to lead me out of the room, sliding a piece of paper into my hands. I look down to see a schedule. "It mostly stays the same each week, but if you need to come back in, at least you have this."
All I can do is mutter, "Okay."
I walk out of his office and down the hall. Before I can turn the corner, he calls out to me. I stop and turn back to him.
"Tris, if you've come this far, maybe you're willing to come a little further."
Tobias sits down on the pavement next to me, sliding a bowl of ice cream into my lap. His hair sticks up from the combination of his helmet and sweat. The signs of exertion are still present on the tips of his cheeks. He's wearing a fresh t-shirt and he smells like linen and perspiration—a contrast that I can't help but love.
We are in the McDonald's parking lot, and Tobias is still smiling from the sneak-by win earlier tonight. I use my spoon to play with my frozen treat. It's a little chilly outside with the sun down and the cool autumn winds trying to break through. I loosen the grip on my treat, noticing my pale, almost yellow skin.
I want to comment on the game, or even make fun of him for the fumble in the third quarter, but I just sit and play with my ice cream.
Tobias is smiling as he turns to look at me. Something flashes across his face, and he takes a breath.
"You're not going to make fun of me?"
"Huh?"
"I know you want to, and usually you do."
"Maybe I'm trying to be nice."
"I know that you're nice. But I also know that you're the only one to keep me on my toes—pushing me to be better."
I half smile. "Fine. You did a great job fumbling the ball."
"I knew it!"
I finally take a bite of the ice cream. I have a bad feeling he can see how the black is slowly consuming me. How it's happening again… I am starting to get lost in my own head and trying to find a way out on my own. I know I am not alone, but for some reason I want the satisfaction of knowing I can do it by myself.
He grabs my arm. "Tris, please look at me." I glance up. "You haven't been acting like yourself."
"Yes I have…"
"So, why were you in a rush the other day?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, earlier this week, I was heading over to see you after school and you bolted out the door. You didn't talk to me until the next day."
"We don't have to talk all the time."
"I know that." He sighs. "If there's anything I can do—or if it has to do with me, I want to know. I'm not trying to fix you, because you are not something to be fixed. Because me holding you here," he has my free hand in his, "is like holding a butterfly, or a heartbeat—l. Like holding something complete and completely alive. I want you to have that life in you again."
I want to say something. Tell him about the demons trying to sneak back into my life and tell him how I don't know why they are here.
But I hold back. Because here in the McDonald's parking lot with post- football ice cream, it doesn't feel right to ruin this moment or to take away from this memory. I am afraid that if I talk about it, I will release the demons out into the open air, and it will plague someone else.
As if he understands my thoughts, he leans in and kisses my forehead. It's simple and feels like a feather brushing my hairline, but it's enough.
And besides, he's not really the type for public displays of affection. In fact, he can't stand the couples that make out in the hallways between classes. The ones who feel the need to shove their relationship in the faces of others disgust him.
But I know he cares about me—he just conveys it more subtly, as precise as he is with everything else. It's in the way he puts his hand on the small of my back or how he smiles at me when I say something that surprises him or rubs a small circle on the outside of my hand.
Others would want more, but he's shown me this way of expression in the time we've been together. What we have is not for the satisfaction of others, but treasured between each other. I have grown to realize it is exactly what I want, but could never ask for. And we're together all the time, so he doesn't have to prove how he feels about me. Like so much else, I just know.
And later, when we are on the roof, we start slow, the way we tend to do. Because the run, the game, could go on for a while; maybe even forever. That's the thing, we just don't know. Forever can be so many different things.
"I love you," I say softly. It isn't a secret, but it feels like one. I want to yell it from the top of the highest building, but instead I whisper it into his ear.
Whatever is going on with me… it isn't great. But for now, it's fine. And at the moment, I can live with that.
It is not until hours later, when I am awake in my bed while the moon is still in the sky, that I toss and turn. I try different things to lull me to sleep, but deep down, I have a feeling I am not completely committed to them. I realize later in the night I am afraid to go to sleep, afraid that the nightmares are waiting for me.
As if giving up, I pull out a box from my closet. I rummage through it until I find what I am looking for. Open When You are Scared. I hold the letter in a tight grip before breaking the seal.
Beatrice,
I know you're scared since you are reading this, but I can promise you that everything will be okay. You're afraid because you are human, and humans are vulnerable because they are capable of getting hurt. And it will hurt; there are no ifs, ands or buts about it.
You may feel like the darkness is overwhelming, but if you take one second to look around and open up, you will find immense freedom. Here is a secret: you are not the only one afraid. There are people who understand and they are the real ones who can help, because there are so many scary things out there.
When you're little, night time is scary because there are monsters hiding under your bed. As you get older, the monsters are different. They shift into dark demons: full of doubt, fear, and pain. And, let's be honest, though you may be older and wiser, you still find yourself scared of the dark—of the blackness.
And as you get older, new demons will come as you grow out of old ones. But I guess the irony in all this is how you can gain new courage with each passing fear as time goes on.
Love, Mother
Author's Note
Much thanks to the fabulous Eunice339 for helping me in a writers block and being a BA Beta. Hopefully this chapter cleared up a bit of confusion from the last chapter... some people were asking, but if want more info, PM me!
In about 2 chapters I have a BIG thing planned, so stay tuned! Please review (it motivates me to write more)!
Be brave, everyone.
QUOTES
1). It isn't our choices that distinguish who we are. It's our commitment to them.—Revenge, television show
2). The way you think about a person is not the way they actually are. –To Kill a Mockingbird, book
Congratulations to: ItsHardIKnow and Sawyerrr
There are 4 (movie poster, television show, book, television show) quotes in this chapter.
