"We need to talk."
"I made dinner."
Our words overlap each other, mine easily drowned out from my sapped state. "Sorry?" The smell of food wafts in the air, a unique distinct hit. It's not something I recognize. Eric holds my gaze, innocent and refreshed. He took my advice and went to bed, waking up far better than I've seen him these past few days.
I bite my lip. Now is not a good time. "Nothing." He raises an eyebrow but doesn't push, opening the door wider.
He's wearing sweatpants and a simple black tee, the fabric molding against every curve of the muscle. His hair is ruffled with no order, vastly different from when it's gelled in place during the day. Staring at him now, he doesn't remind me of his leadership role. He's just Eric, plain, simple, Eric. "You look tired," he comments, extending his arms for the box. I wordlessly pass it to him, immediately busying myself with cleaning the dogs' paws. "Did Johanna give you a hard time?"
"No, no, Johanna was fine. She signed the papers. It's in the box. We can start once the carriers are ready. Took her a while to get the people in agreement, but she managed." Sabre raises his paw elegantly, a princess waiting for her hand to be kissed. I wring out the water and rub the cloth between his toes.
Eric hums, placing the package onto the counter. "That's good. I'll give Erudite the green light. It should take them another week or two." Sabre beelines for the water once I'm done with him, franticly lapping the liquid like there wasn't a free-flow back in the woods. "Herbs?"
Eric lifts a black square pot, the scrawl of Thyme messily written with chalk against clay. His attention isn't focused on the item in hand, remaining at the rest of the contents in the cardboard box. "Yeah. My mom has taken up a new hobby. I guess she's worried food's too bland or something." I leave out the part on why she has taken an interest in this, seeing no point in sharing.
Eric has unloaded all the plants by the time I'm done with Gunner. There are ten of them; rosemary, basil, thyme, mint, chives, oregano, cilantro, parsley, and two pots of basil. The names are written inconsistently. Some are fully capitalized while others are not. The letters are also in varying sizes, despite being on the same pot. It's a sweet gesture, especially with how she made it a point to paint the pots black to match the faction.
"You know how to care for these?" Eric asks over his shoulder. He's examining each plant curiously, going as far as to sniff some.
I pick up the container of water used to clean the dogs' feet, heading to the sink to rinse. "No," I admitted wearily. Just like parents, plants were far from my mind. The only thing I've grown so far were the green beans back in primary school, and it was for a science experiment everyone was forced to partake in. Plants are fragile. Easy to accidentally kill.
"I think she left you instructions." He lifts a small brown envelope. I must've missed it in my rush to leave. "I'll leave it here."
My head nods in acknowledgment. Placing the plastic container down, I move on to preparing the dogs' dinner. My shoulders are tenser than I'm comfortable with. This wasn't what I planned. I figure I would come home, cut ties with Eric, sulk, cry, self-loathe, and move on. Instead, I come home to him having cooked dinner. He's all cheerful and fresh, I can't do this to him.
Warm callous hands land on my hips, involuntarily igniting a shiver up my spine. "Anna." The knife in my grasp stills, his breath at my ear. He smells nice, really nice. It's an interesting mixture of food and his classic cologne, tickling my senses.
A stupid scent.
It takes me a second to regain composure. "Coulter." My actions resume slicing up the cow liver. The last thing I need is to melt into a happy puddle of blissful ignorance. I can't keep living in lies.
He can't keep living in lies.
Eric growls, the vibration felt with my back against his chest. "Eric."
"Eric," I correct. Dinner is almost ready. I break away from him to wash the utensils, and his arms fall away without much resistance. "How was your day?" It's a wretched question, but I don't know what else to say.
Eric leans against the counter, probably watching me cracks eggs and plop fish pills into the dog bowls. A glance over my shoulder shows his expression bordering dejection, brows slightly pulled to the center and lips pursed. It lasts for a second before it's gone. "It was alright. Did some work after I woke."
Sabre dances on the spot, his forelegs bouncing on the floor like it burns. Completely oblivious to the tension between us as I place the bowls down. Hawk and Gunner do not garner the same reaction as their food-driven counterpart, finding my lack of customary cooing off. Meals times in the apartment always begins with strings of endearments and praises - something I couldn't stop if I wanted to.
Brushing off their concern with a few strokes on their furry heads, I give them the green light to dig into their meals. Sabre dives into the food before the other two turn to theirs, chomping the various meats with a vengeance. Anyone seeing him would assume he'd been starved for days, until they note the other two.
I straighten back up, nudging Sabre's bowl further away as he unintentionally nudges closer to Hawk. "That's good. I'm glad you're feeling better," I reply pathetically, not liking the words from my mouth as much as he does. It no longer seems like I'm speaking to Eric, but one of my classmates back in school.
I was never close to my classmates in school.
Eric doesn't reply, neither do I turn to him. He's attentive, especially when it comes to me. And He must know something is up. I'm keenly aware of my behavior may strike him as odd. He has done nothing to cross me. Our conversation in his office has no relation to how I'm acting now.
Doing this to him is unfair and unwarranted. It tears me apart knowing that there isn't any correct way to address the situation. I wish things were easy, like they were when I was a kid. Simple black or white; right or wrong.
It's not.
Everything is hard, everything hurts.
"I'm going to take a shower."
He doesn't move to stop me. The only indication he heard is the heavy sigh as I reach for the doorknob.
Eric addresses the situation when he has me trapped.
There was an opened beer by the time I was out of the shower, a bottle of apple cider beside it.
Dinner was good, and I feel immense guilt for ruining everything. I hate myself; I truly do. He's been nothing but kind and patient. Perhaps that's the reason I didn't resist when he tugged my wrist to sit down beside him. A silent crave for touch, as if he needed to made sure I was still real.
He had made a wrap of sorts. A concoction of beef, peppers, and onions, bursting with flavor on the first to the last bite. It's not anything I've eaten nor seen. On the outside it's a plain tube of food, with just parts of the unassuming wrap grilled to keep its shape. The shell was crispy but the inside was chewy - healthy and sinful all at once.
I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Seeing his hard work gobbled up too quickly to deem appropriate - mimicking Sabre moments ago - Eric wordlessly passed me another from the plate, barely halfway through his first. I was hoping he'd smirk, or tease me with how good his cooking is. He did neither, completely focused on the television. Nothing interesting was playing, some movie with a lot of pointless talking and little action. My dogs fell asleep in the first five minutes they settled down. It'd hurt.
"You're slipping away." His unforeseen words had startled me, and I flinched.
"You're slipping away and there's nothing I can do." He reaches out for the beer, pressing the lid against his lips. "I've seen it coming, right from the beginning," he speaks distantly, as if I'm not beside him. The glass tilts, and he takes his time with the swing.
I remain silent, throat tight. Even if I tried, no words would form.
"You were always so hesitant, so afraid." The bottle placed back on the table is empty, the hollow tink a reminder of my actions. "I thought things were getting better, we were getting better. I thought it was falling perfectly. But it wasn't."
Goosebumps appear. He's so cold, so different. It chills my bones.
I always knew Eric was smart, but I didn't think my occasional cracks would affect him this much. How long has this been going on?
"I've seen you - the way you used to be. You were happy, truly happy. Every step you made was sure, confident, without regrets. Yet with me, you hesitate. It's faint, but it's there. Most times you hid it well, really well. And you almost had me fooled." There is no hint of malice or disgust. His posture is defeated, resigned, and exhausted. Leaning forward, he presses his palms to his eyes, remaining this way.
A burning sensation ignites from my eyes, tears welling. It hurts. It hurts to see him hurt. Every phrase a punch to my gut. He sucks in a breath, chest tensing. "I'm sorry." His adam apple bobs as he swallows. "I like who I am with you. So much that I pushed away your unease, telling you everything's alright." My hands tremble, and I clench them together tightly. The vice-like grip around my throat doesn't let up, only increasing as the seconds tick on. "I'm selfish, I know. It's just been so long since I felt something; something good, something bright, something to live for... that I didn't want to let you go."
Not once looking at me, he rises from the couch. "When I found out that you transferred, to Dauntless of all places. Everything felt right. And I couldn't… couldn't let you go. It's was like a puzzle piece, fitting perfectly." His voice wavers ever so slightly at the admission, threatening to crack again.
He composes himself quickly, gathering the plates and heading for the sink. "But my feelings weren't mutual. There were moments where you'd slip and reveal the pain you're going through." Water starts running, reflecting the tears rolling down my face. "And I'm no fool to believe it isn't me." He has me pinned with his words. Vaguely, I know he's getting everything wrong, but nothing is cooperating. My mind is blank, my heart is cold, and my limbs refuse to move.
His next words are said with difficulty, raw with regret. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being selfish, for restricting your freedom, for bringing you pain, for making you wary of me. I wished you told me sooner, but I understand why you didn't."
"So I'll let you go, I'll leave." My chest constricts and I can no longer breathe properly. The statement a knife through my heart.
This is what I wanted. This is what I've seen coming.
I should be prepared, but I'm not.
"Just promise me you'll find someone better, someone who makes you happy, someone you don't second guess, someone..." he's in front of me, a new bottle of beer in his hand, as well as the non-official knife he gave me.
His expression is lifeless, just as it was since he spoke. "Please don't cry."
I do the exact opposite, the three words opening the dam I've been fighting to hold back. Choking back a sob, my hands fly to my face. I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this.
Warm hands gently slide underneath mine, and they fall to rest on his wrists. Before me Eric kneels both knees, frowning. From my peripherals, the dogs stir awake. Thumbs trace below my eyes, catching falling tears. "I'm sorry."
Air rushes out of his lungs the second I crash into him. My arms curl around his neck tightly and I squeeze my eyes shut. "Don't go." I can't; not now, not ever. "Please don't leave," my voice is nasally and different from normal. I sniff unceremoniously, snot building up to the extent I can no longer breathe. Something soft nudges my forearm. Hawk holds a tissue between his little teeth. I muster a small smile in gratitude.
Eric's arms loosely circle my waist noncommittally. "Look, we can't." His tone is still inanimate, like a worn-out teacher's. "It's all just a vicious cycle. It doesn't change anything in the long run." I blow my nose, grimacing as I realize I did it by his ear. A small portion of the tissue is damp from Hawk's spit, and I don't care.
Something snaps in me. And immediately, I feel strangely better. Maybe it was Hawk's small gesture, or the fact that I admitted I wanted Eric to stay out loud. Either way, the fogginess in my head cleared.
The man holding me is oblivious to my shift in mood, continuing with his speech. "It's a wild goose chase. We're not compatible. It won't-"
I'm not sure what gave me the courage, but I said it. I'm sick and tired of everything coming between us.
Every reservation I have flies out the window.
"It's Jeanine."
When he freezes, I repeat, clearer this time. "It's Jeanine."
Eric's entire body tenses, muscles going hard as rock. His spine straightens and his arms tighten. "What?" The tone is completely different, no longer forlorn and faraway. Apprehension coats his words.
Emotion.
"She's the reason why I'm like this," I say simply. It suddenly dawned upon me that Eric is being played. The fog in my head lifts, everything clear as glass. His sister's death is Jeanine's fuel to keep him going. Revenge and anger doesn't control him, especially not in the long-term. I've seen the way he reacts to situations. Mark, for example, Eric didn't mention him again after knocking off his points. This man is simple. He fixes the problem there and then, and moves on. "She's using you."
It's an extremely bold statement - one that will get me in deep trouble if I'm wrong.
I'm not.
"I know," he replies, tense and confused. "How does Jeanine got to do with anything?"
I pull away and stand, my strength returning. Snatching a few more tissues to dry my face and fully clear my nose, I turn to my anxious boys. "I'm trying to take her down." My dogs stare worriedly and I comfort them, assuring them everything is fine.
Now he's baffled. "You are?" He plops onto the couch, thrown off.
I nod and head for the sink. No doubt my eyes are bloodshot and puffy. My nose must be red too, an unavoidable result of crying. "I was struggling because you were in the middle of it all."
Splashing cold water to my face, I try my best to appear more presentable. Though I have no shame for bawling my eyes out in front of him, I have no intention of continuing to look like an idiot. "I'm sorry I look like shit," I say.
Admitting the source of possibly all our problems made me feel incredibly... stupid.
I should've just told him from the start.
Eric shakes his head, speechless. He extends an opened bottle of apple cider and I accept it.
Planting myself next to him, I take a swing and welcome the gassiness for once. The cold liquid swishes in my mouth, rehydrating me after my mini-meltdown. Eric has his beer popped open too, but he's yet to take a sip.
"I learned Jeanine was up to something back in Amity," I begin, guessing he'd like an explanation. "I wasn't sure what exactly, but I knew staying in Amity would render me useless. There's only so much you can do when your faction is so detached from the city."
I knew Eric isn't stupid; he isn't just some brute who mindlessly follows orders. And I regret is not realizing the implications sooner.
"I had always wanted to transferred to Dauntless, so I figured that I could head over here and figure things out."
I pause, thinking. Four is in the middle of this too. I couldn't expose him to Eric. I've yet to see Eric's stand in all this, acknowledging being used does not equate being against her cause. Still, explaining my actions feels good - a weight lifted off me. It feels right, much like me staying with him. "Which I did, but you were heavily involved, and I didn't know what to do."
Eric's blinking slowly. Rarely does anything catch him off guard. His expression mirrors someone who had raw egg thrown on their face - completely in shock. It's quite the sight to see if I wasn't dead serious on setting things straight. I grasp his hand and pull his arm to my lap, feeling the need to touch him. My fingers trace the maze of tattoos idly, starting from bottom up. "I cared for you, for months. Couldn't explain why, but I did. I didn't want you to be involved, but I didn't know how to convince you otherwise."
I swallow. "I guess I was afraid, afraid of losing you."
I expected him to burst into flames, accuse me of using him to enter leadership. After all, it is essentially what I did. I agreed to Eric training me because of his schedule. I knew eventually I'll meet Jeanine. I knew eventually I'll collect the information I need. Instead, he simply asks, "Why?"
It's hard to explain. "We're two peas in a pod."
In the rare times I'd pictured the man for me, I figured he would be the yin to my yang. Easy where I was serious. Carefree where I was intense. Kind where I am heartless. Someone who would show me a different world, a world I had shut off so many years ago. Someone who would force me to lighten up, to bring sunshine with every step he makes.
Eric is none of these things. If anything, he is the male version of me multiplied. Maybe that's why we're so aligned with each other.
I always thought you would've gone with a polar opposite. John spoke. It was towards the end of our conversation. I had told him everything, right from the start with the first day of initiation. How Eric suggested lame nicknames; how he managed to figure me out within our second interaction; how he freaked out when I had a panic attack; how he snapped at an initiate for taking advantage of me; how invested he was in War Games; how he was there when I sent to the infirmary; how he didn't retaliate when I physically lashed out, twice; how he whisked me away when I was drinking, making sure I didn't do anything stupid, and never told me off for it; how his advice got me through my first fear landscape; how he always manages to figure out what's wrong; how he always makes things better; how he volunteered to train me; how he listens to my opinions; how he makes time to teach me the ropes of my new job; how he's protective of the dogs; how he's protective of me.
John was rendered speechless when I finished. His deep frown long gone, replaced by acute disbelief. It was very much like when I shared my relationship with Skylar, but the vast difference was, John didn't jump ahead. He didn't squeal or yell or shout, only nodded in understanding – even if he didn't fully believe me.
Keep him, he said. Whatever that's going on, it's nothing compared to what you both share.
And he's right. Jeanine's plans are not worth losing the perfect man before me. Recounting every moment we shared made me realize that. Perhaps not in the moment when I was sharing, but definitely now.
"I'd like to think that we have something special." It comes as cheesy as it sounds. There's no other way to put it. "You know me. In a way very few people have. You know the way I think, the way I act, the way I speak; and you accept it. I've never seen it before." Sure, John and my parents understand me too, but compared to him, they amount nothing. He's just so damn receptive that it should be a crime. "I'd like to think I know you too, but I may be wrong-"
"You're not," he reaffirms distantly. It's a different kind of emotion. This time, it doesn't sound like he's trying to emotionally detach himself.
"And the feeling, it's just so…so…"
"Liberating?"
"Yeah. To have someone who understands, to not need to fit in a mold, explain, or put up a front." I suck in a breath. "It's nice, I guess." My mind is beginning to slack with such an intense conversation. It's a whiplash of feelings, a one-eighty flip in the course of an hour. My head spins at the thought of it, I'm sure it's no better for Eric either.
I'm exhausted but happy with everything out in the open. No longer am I afraid anything will happen. The lingering dread haunting the back of my mind is gone, having evaporated into nothing. We can smoothen out the edges. I'll do everything in my power to make it work.
"You okay?" Eric's silence is understandable. He has yet to react to everything thrown at him. It worries me slightly, though not to the point of fear.
"Yeah, yeah," he replies. I crane up to him. He's staring at the still undrunk beer bottle, lips parted by a hair. "Just… surprised."
My apple cider, on the other hand, is half empty. "I'm sorry this is so sudden," I say earnestly. Seeing him all spaced out now, postponing my speech would've been a good idea.
"It's fine. I'm glad you told me," he assures lightly. Breathing in deeply, he mutters, "I think I need a drink."
I readily agree, anything that will knock him out of his trance. We both drink from our respective bottles. I finish way quicker than him, for talking and crying has made me thirstier than I'd like.
"Hey, you have another?" I wave my empty bottle, unsatisfied with one. I'll need a few more for this situation to dissipate. We both need time to digest everything that's unfolded.
He glances and nods, pulling his one from his lips. "There's a few in my apartment."
I'm on my feet before he can offer to bring it for me. "I'll get it. Your code?" Leaving him alone would hopefully bring him back. It would be amusingly sad if we were to continue to spend the night drinking; not that I'll complain. His presence is nice, even if he remains muted.
"Your birthday," he replies without hesitation. I freeze, almost dropping the empty bottle.
That's my code.
The only difference between Eric's apartment before and Eric's apartment now, is the temperature. It's not freezing like mid-winter, the air conditioning turned off as he's spending the night with me. A warm fuzziness settles at the fact. It never crossed his mind to return here for the night.
I hope it stays this way.
Eric has no reason to have a big ass side-by-side fridge, but he does. I swear the last time I was here it was a simpler, different one. Then again, I don't go around scrutinizing fridges, especially when I can ogle the man living here instead.
The first door I open is the freezer. There isn't much in it, a few bottles of expensive-looking liquor and an entire shelf dedicated to meat. It's mostly empty. Little to no ice form around the sides, an indication of his inordinate cleanliness.
The second door though… the second door makes me regret volunteering to fetch the apple cider.
I immediately recoil when it opens.
Eric's fridge has more variety than I would've guessed. Everything is immaculately organized in categories: vegetables, fruits, dairy, condiments, and alcohol. There's way too much food for a single man, even if he cooked every meal – which he doesn't. It's almost like he's prepared for an apocalypse, or a spouse. Blood rushes to my cheeks. If I were to move in, I'm convinced we'll need two fridges, just because I'll be too afraid to touch anything in his. And also because my dogs will mess up the whole system in an attempt to be useful by bringing me ingredients.
The bottom shelf is what I came for.
There are only two types of bottles, both in equal quantities. Apple cider and beer.
"Why are your cheeks red?" Eric stares at me curiously, no longer in a trance. His head is cocked to the side. In his hand is a battered Pinky, long overdue for a wash. Sabre has a paw on Eric's knee, his expression excited. My boy must've been in the middle of introducing his favorite toy.
"No reason," I say a little too quickly and patently too high pitched. "I think it's just the effects of alcohol."
"Did you peek into my laundry basket?" he asks flatly - unimpressed - but I detect a hint of amusement. "And your face wasn't red the other day. You had drank two."
"Of course not!" It doesn't help that my cheeks heat further. "I don't even know where it is."
He doesn't believe me, an eyebrow lifts in question. I wouldn't have believed myself either with the way I'm acting. "It's in the bathroom, beside the sink. Same place where yours is," he announces too casually.
"You saw mine?!" I shriek, horrified.
He enjoys my reaction. The corners of his lips twitch and his nostrils flare. "Maybe."
I stare at him, frozen. For how long, I'm not sure, as time had froze along with me. It came to a point that he stood, gratefully passed Pinky back to Sabre, picked up the pocket knife, walked to me, swiped my bottle of cider, popped it open, nudged it against my palm, curled my fingers around it until he was sure it wouldn't fall, and kissed my lips. He did all this with a shit-eating grin. "It would've been better if your pajamas was in there too."
"Eric!"
He shows me his palms in defense. "Just saying. I'm not saying you have to."
"You're so… Gah!" I nudge him away with my forearm. He moves just enough for me to squeeze past without tripping over the shoe rack, which means I rubbed against him as I passed. Plopping back onto the couch, I press the new bottle of cider to my lips. The liquid is much colder than the first, unpleasantly stinging my teeth.
He plops back onto the couch beside me, playful as ever. "Amazing?"
I sigh, letting go of the bottle as his fingers curl around it. "A bit," I admit grumpily.
"Just a bit?" he asks impishly, taking a swig from my bottle. His own beer is only half gone. I snatch it from the coffee table.
"A bit," I firmly, holding up my thumb and index finger with little to no space in between. He pouts, but it quickly morphs into a cocky smirk as I grimace at the taste of Eric's preferred drink. I return the bottle back to the table, scraping my tongue between my teeth to rid of the bitter taste.
"How about hot? How hot am I?" I narrow my eyes. Surely he would know the answer to that. He takes in my expression and grins, white, straight teeth flashing. "Fine, rank the top five hottest males you know. Start from the fifth."
I scratch my head. Ogling men is not a pastime of mine – other when it comes to Eric – but I shall try. "Zeke, Four, Liam-"
He cuts me off. "Wrong."
My nostrils flare in bewilderment. "What wrong?"
He clears his throat and looks at me pointedly. "The answer is…" I wait for him to continue, but when it's clear he isn't, I turn to find him waiting expectantly.
I stare back skeptically, unsure of what he wants. "…is?" I press.
He rolls his eyes and sighs. Lifting up his open hand, he begins counting. "Eric, Eric, Eric, Eric, and... Eric."
I'm not sure what reaction he anticipated, but judging by the irritated glare, he did not anticipate me to burst out laughing. It started from my shoulders, the meaning of words sinking in and processing. Then it spreads to my face and abdomen, the vibrations intensifying ten-fold. "I'm serious." I clutch my stomach as tears begin to leak from my eyes. My entire body shakes, the movement transferring to him through the couch. He bobs along stoically, all the way until I sober up. "Are you done?" he asks monotonously.
I manage to muster a nod, grabbing an extended tissue from Gunner to dab my eyes. "Sorry," I say in attempted sincerity.
"I'm not going to make food anymore." Immediately I straighten up at the threat, sobered. He's smug with his finality, arm folded, daring me to oppose.
I rack my brain for something quick. Once I do, I mirror his cocky expression. "Then I won't make any more cookies."
His smile falters. "You wouldn't."
I stick out my tongue defiantly. "I would if you would."
We enter a staring contest, both of us too egoistic to back down.
He blinks first. I smirk.
"Fine," he rolls his eyes, "fine."
"Fine."
A/N
The writer's block has yet to ease up. Therefore, I'll be taking a break for two weeks :P
I had originally wanted the characters to blow up, but ultimately decided against it. Anna is shooketh. All the tension built up from the start of initiation blown over so simply. It reminds me about life, how things don't turn out as bad as you thought they would.