AN: Hi! I appreciate the follows and reviews. I've decided to update twice a week, I was able to get a lot more done with the edits of this story, so I wanted to try a different update schedule of Wednesday's and Saturday's. I hope you enjoy.
The next morning I'm armed with two large cups of coffee, several bottles of water, my digital recorder, notebooks and pens, and some change for the many vending machines that line the hallways leading to the visitor room I'm now currently waiting in. I'm nervous, something that I haven't felt when visiting with my other clients in rooms just like this one.
I purposely dressed casual when I came to visit inmates, being well versed in what can and cannot come in through their vigorous inspection policies. Always a sports bra, because underwire is contraband, never any jewelry to set off the metal detectors or be confiscated, sensible shoes since walking over the prison campus can be a cardio workout on its own, and always comfortable clothes because who knows how long they'll keep you waiting. Today I'm in leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, slip on sneakers and my long light brown hair is pulled back in a loose french braid. I'm wearing my usual light makeup, and I'm nervously chewing on a pen as I wait.
I can hear yelling coming from the hall, and as it gets closer I recognize Eric's voice. He's once again telling his guards to take him back to his cell, and the guards are telling him to shut up.
This is going to be pointless.
The door opens and the guards lead Eric inside. He looks so much different than what I remember. His hair is definitely a mess of waves and curls, and it reaches past his shoulders now. His beard is past his chin, but surprisingly cleaned and shaped. He's bulkier now, probably from the starchy prison diet, but still muscular, which is typical for former Dauntless who use their prison time to exercise in their cells.
When his eyes meet mine, he stops struggling. He quickly looks away.
"She's quite pretty Coulter, you sure you want to keep hollering for us to take you back to your cell?" A guard asks sarcastically.
"He doesn't need any chains." I say, and Eric's eyes hold mine for the first time since they brought him into the room. He holds his arms out, catching the guards by surprise.
The guards nod, removing Eric's shackles and pushing him roughly down into a chair across from me.
"We're right outside the door." A guard says and I thank him.
Eric stretches his arms and cracks his neck, then twists in the chair to crack his back. He runs a hand through his unruly hair and then pulls it back from his face, trying to twist it into some sort of bun. I slide one of the black elastics off of my wrist and offer it to him, and he raises an eyebrow at me.
"Contraband." He murmurs.
"You can give it back before I leave." I reply. He takes the black elastic and pulls his hair into a messy bun, much like the one I wear when I'm not working as well.
"So you're a shrink now?" He asks sarcastically.
"I'm from the parole committee, I was sent here to work on your case. I'm Tris Prior…"
"Eaton." Eric says evenly.
"Prior." I counter.
"Kept your maiden name? I'm sure number boy loved that." Eric smirks. "You look good, Tris. It's been a long time."
I can feel my cheeks heating up, but I press on, "As I was saying, my name is Tris Prior, but you already know that. I am a board certified psychologist, specializing in working with the rehabilitation of prisoners for their re-entry into society. We will be working together to prepare you for your upcoming parole hearing…"
"I don't want a hearing." Eric replies.
"You get one anyway, it is part of your sentence. You can always refuse to talk, like you have before, however we feel it would be in your best interest to cooperate…"
"We? Who exactly is we? You and number boy?"
"Johanna Reyes and me." I correct.
"So your husband is ok with you working with me, Mrs. Eaton?" Eric asks.
"You seem very focused on my marital status," I sigh, "I answer to Johanna. How did you know I had married?" I mentally chastise myself for losing my cool.
"Sources." Eric shrugs.
"You need better sources. We divorced after being married for less than three months, and the only Mrs. Eaton there is now is Christina Eaton, who married Four less than a month after we split up." I reply icily.
Eric's eyes widen, "Fuck…" he draws the word out, "Your best friend married your husband."
"Ex on both accounts, but we're here not here to talk about me, we're here to discuss you." I correct.
"Why are you taking this case?" Eric asks.
"I told you, we believe you can be rehabilitated."
"That's what you're forced to tell us, the same old bullshit spiel I hear every time. Why did you take my case?" Eric presses.
"I believe that you followed the orders of your leader, and that you did so because you were an eighteen year old who was also trying to make his estranged mother proud." I reply. "I also owe you my life, so perhaps I feel that this is one way I can pay it back. An atonement of sort."
"They teach you that in shrink school?" He asks. His grey eyes are narrowed at me, and his body rigid. I've definitely hit a nerve.
"Something like that." I shrug. I slide the other cup of coffee across to him, "Lots of sugar and creamer, just like you like it."
"If you want this atonement, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, why didn't you come the first time I was up for parole?" He asks.
"I didn't have my certifications at that time, I was still in school." I reply.
"So why come now? I get it, the Stiff part of you feels like you have to atone for your sins or some shit, but why you, why now?" He presses.
"If you don't want me on your case, you have that choice, just like I have a choice when it comes to taking your case."
"Want has never been an issue for me when it comes to you." He retorts.
"Except when it's a friendly visit instead of a state mandated one." I bite back.
"Where was the friendly visit when I was brought back to Candor? When I was barely recovered from losing most of the blood in my body, and my neck had to be sewed back together from fighting the factionless to save your life, Tris? You couldn't tear yourself away from your new husband to see me then, could you?" He spits, "That's when I needed to see you, you were the only other person who would understand what I was feeling then!"
I suck a breath in and hold it, breathing out heavily before answering, "I wanted to see you, Eric, but I couldn't. Since we were both testifying against Jeanine, I wasn't allowed to see you before the trial. I thought we would have been able to speak afterward, I never expected you to be sent to prison."
"Bullshit." Eric replies. He regards me warily before taking a long sip of the coffee, and his eyes close. I take a moment to observe him. The scars from his dermal piercings are barely visible, you would have had to know they were there before to really even notice. His hair is definitely unruly, but it works for him, somehow I think this rugged look seems more natural than his slicked back, controlled hair when we were in Dauntless.
I can still remember how stiff his gelled hair felt in between my fingers that day… I shake my head and focus.
The more prominent scar starts at the right side of his face, right below his ear, wrapping around his neck about three quarters of the way to his other ear. I shiver at the memory of him being ripped away from my side when we were on an abandoned train after escaping Erudite. The factionless were going to kill him on the spot, and all he could do was scream for me to run. I stood, frozen, while two men held him down, and truth be told they probably needed more than two with the way Eric was fighting them. Eric continued to scream at me, to do anything to get me to move, but he never asked for me to help. I watched as one of the men put the knife to his throat, the last words that Eric spoke to me were a wet "run Tris, go!" as the knife was being dragged across his neck, all the while he used every bit of his energy to fight his attackers. He kept their attention and screamed for me to run.
I finally did.
I heard them yelling for me, their heavy tread always close behind, but no match for my speed and agility. Eric had always told me during my own initiation that my quick movements would one day save my life.
He ended up being right.
I was sure he was dead, and I carried the immense guilt of leaving him behind, but as soon as I made it to Amity I told Johanna what had happened. Her search party found him, right in the train car he was left in, surrounded by a pool of blood and almost dead. They rushed him to the main hospital of the city, where he was given blood transfusions, and surgically pieced back together before being shipped to Candor for a trial.
"It healed pretty decently, all things considered." Eric says, drawing me back into the present.
"What happened that day?" I ask.
"Isn't that in your file somewhere?" He retorts.
"What's in this file isn't as important to me as what you actually say. You are the first person I know of, besides myself, who could resist the truth serum. You held a lot back, things that could have prevented you from being sent here. Why?"
"I followed your lead." He says stoically.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"I heard about your testimony. You didn't bring anything up that could have hurt precious little number boy. I just followed your lead."
"At the time, he didn't need to know how we got out of there. However, you were asked a lot of other questions that pertained to only you and any involvement you had in your mother's war, which we both know was practically none. Why wouldn't you have answered those to exonerate yourself? Why would you have tried to protect a man you hated?" I argue.
"Maybe I was protecting you, have you ever fucking thought of that, princess?" He spits.
"That makes no sense. Why would you risk putting yourself in here for me?" I bark.
"I was going to die anyway, it didn't fucking matter." He says quickly, and I can tell he never meant to say it.
"What do you mean?" I ask. As expected, he changes the subject.
"Have you ever told him?" He asks.
"He knows." I reply simply.
He chuckles darkly, "I bet that went over well, he still married you though."
"He divorced me because of it." I reply quietly.
"What? He divorced you because of that? Why did you even tell him then?" Eric asks, his eyebrows furrowed into a scowl.
"It doesn't matter. There was no way to hide it. He left, filed for divorce, and I didn't fight it."
"That makes no fucking sense. It was well hidden. We both blocked the details during our testimony, the cameras were off, so how the fuck would it have ever came out unless you were too fucking selfless to keep a secret? We had to do what we had to do to get you out of there." He argues angrily.
"I didn't have a fucking choice. If you hadn't have refused every visit from me for the entirety of your incarceration here you would have known that." I hiss. His eyebrows shoot up again.
The door opens and the guards come in, "Times up, let's go Coulter." They pull Eric into a standing position, he throws the elastic down to me before the guards begin cuffing him again. This time, I can feel that his grey eyes never leave me, even though I refuse to look at him.
"I want to know more." Eric says. "Why did you tell him? Why did you keep coming here after they locked me up, Tris. What aren't you telling me?"
Shut up, Coulter." The guard yells.
"When will you be back?" Eric asks me, ignoring the guard completely.
"I won't be back. Johanna will send someone else, you'll see them tomorrow." I reply. I grab everything and push my way past them out the door and into the hallway.
"Tris, I won't see anyone else but you!" He yells down the hall.
I keep running away from him, just like I did ten years ago.