SUMMARY
An unexpected political move drives Tris back into the arms of who she has been needing for months, causing her to disregard the issue of being a fugitive. Upon hearing the truth about the suicide serum, a sense of urgency is spurred to solve the problem of a certain group's uncontrollable behavior.
But Tris and Tobias must make the decision: is it better to keep everyone under a blanket of deceit, or to reveal the truth that will divide the city and instigate an unavoidable war?
(This takes place after "Chasm", so read that first if you haven't!)
TRIS POV
A crow caws nearby. It drags me out of my frightened haze and back into the real world.
On instinct, I reach out blindly, clawing at the sheets in an attempt to find him, his arm, his shirt, something to cling to. My eyes crack open and stare into the early morning light glaring through the open window when I realize that it is hopeless. I am alone.
The nightmares have become quite common again, even though I am in a retreat where I should only find joy among peaceful nature. I don't really remember this one—just the vivid, heavy feeling of culpability and a gun in my palms—but it was enough to leave me waking up to nausea.
A gust of cool air billows into the room, and that combined with the cold sweat that has broken out across my body makes me shiver fiercely. With a grumble, I push myself off the bed and walk across the creaky wood floor to close the window.
When I glance back at the clock on the nightstand, I sigh. It is time to get up for the day. In fact, my morning chores begin sooner than I thought.
As I dress, I think about how easy it could be to let myself fall accustomed to the routine of Amity life: the fresh breakfasts that await me in the morning, the adventures that every day offers, the nice fatigue I feel after a day of harvesting. But then I remember home. I remember the Dauntless compound, the dimly-lit stone hallways, the liveliness of the members accomplishing daredevil stunts, the few lazy mornings where I woke up in a different way, curled up into Tobias's warm side.
People don't forget though. My face is still remembered as a fugitive's by many, so I don't see myself going home soon, or, since it has been three months already, maybe ever.
The city is currently on shutdown, as it was the day I left for Amity. Factionless meddlers and simply anyone passing in between factions without permission has either been arrested or shot on sight, depending on the scenario. The suicides are continuing, but on a much smaller scale since the culprits are deterred by the factional barriers. Because of the instability and the risk of more suicides, the government called for everyone to turn in any weapons they owned to the authorities—needless to say, it backfired on them. I smile wryly, thinking about how the Dauntless were so adamant against it. My faction may have gone downhill in many ways, but at least on this occasion they weren't stupid, like the time the factionless managed to surround them with their own guns in the Erudite raid.
We are at a standstill that could easily end in something far worse; we are teetering on the edge of warfare.
The Amity seem too caught up in their idyllic world to worry about what is happening inside the fence—or maybe they really don't know. Outside my window, people giggle and skip along to the main Amity compound for breakfast. I watch them in envy, longing to be as happy as they seem. Maybe I could be if I really tried to insert myself.
But I loathe this place. In fact, every day I go out I think about how soothing it will be to collapse in my small room in Dez's house and lock myself away from their strangely toxic peace.
A knock on the door startles me out of my daze. I open it without hesitation, knowing that it is just Dez coming to collect me.
"Ready to go?" she says cheerfully.
"Yeah," I mumble, running a hand through my hair to detangle it. If I had more time, I would have brushed it.
We pass her mom and younger sister on the way out the door. I smile at them respectfully in passing. They were more than willing to not only harbor me but provide me with food, clothes, and a soft bed, and I am very grateful to them.
Dez doesn't chatter unnecessarily as we walk to the dining hall. I shudder a bit when a breeze blows by and cross my arms as leaves crunch under my shoes. I probably should have worn a jacket today; fall is approaching quickly.
Soon enough though we are enveloped by the warmth of the dining hall. We set our food on our trays and carry them to a table in the corner of the room, receiving bubbly grins from passersby.
"You seem quiet today," Dez comments with raised eyebrows. It is probably because she is used to my ranting; I tend to complain about the Amity sometimes, but as a Dauntless, she commiserates on some aspects.
"Just...extra homesick, I guess," I admit.
I try to avoid thinking about it at all costs. When I think of Dauntless, my thoughts trail to Tobias, and that ends with me being even more miserable. Just thinking about him now, how lighthearted he was when we came here once, how he had faint dimples in his cheeks when he smiled deeply enough, causes my eyes to water. I glance up at the massive tree rising above me as I fend off tears.
Dez grins sadly. "I miss it too sometimes."
"We'll have to get over it eventually, I suppose." Because we won't be going back.
"Well, just look at it this way: at least we had the experience."
Ever since we came to Amity, Dez has spouted off numerous sayings that would come straight from the mouth of a member of this happy-go-lucky faction. She isn't like the other Amity, but sometimes she stuns me with just how Amity she is, when I used to see her fight and shoot guns.
It makes me wonder just how Divergent people can be. We may act differently from other faction goers, but as soon as we are in the presence of members of the factions of our aptitude, we conform. In Abnegation, I would act passively. In Dauntless, I would be reckless at times.
As I finish off my meal, a couple of giggly girls wind their way to us, calling out, "Destiny!"
"They'll probably want me to hang out with them," Dez states simply. I nod in agreement, because this is always the drill. I follow her around like a lost puppy until other Amity girls in their yellow dresses find us and whisk her away. She is one of two friends I have here, so I tend to find myself lonely when we separate.
"Do you...?" She trails off.
"I don't mind." I offer a tight-lipped grin.
Dez rises, throws a sympathetic look at me, and begins walking towards her friends. "I'll catch you later."
I take one last bite of an apple before dumping the core in the trash and my tray on a stack. Then I walk out, alone once again.
Making my way out to the orchards, I scan out past the fields, where the fence rises tall in the distance. Ever since martial law was declared, less and less guards have been around to actually guard it, since they were spread out among all five factions and the factionless district—though they are very strict at the gate. A few of the factions with guards, such as Candor and Erudite, still have their own in place, but more were needed. Therefore, Dauntless soldiers are dispersed around the city in small numbers, or so I've heard.
Out here in the crisp air and the greenery, I long for the city again, in a way I never have. I didn't appreciate the crowded areas, or the cracked roads, or the train hustling down the tracks. Now I am isolated, towered over by trees instead of buildings.
An arm swings over my shoulder, and I startle at the contact, shifting into self-defense mode. Luckily, I don't hit the owner.
"Are you okay, Beatrice?" Robert, my former Abnegation neighbor, asks, his hands dropping to his sides. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that you aren't comfortable with contact."
I stiffen, remembering the people who I would allow to touch me. My chest constricts when my real friends' faces come to mind.
"It's fine," I say, wiping my hands on my jeans like they are dirty.
"Where are you headed?" he says, but it is really just a formality because we are walking in the direction of the endless lines of trees.
"Apple-picking." With autumn well underway, we have all been spurred into harvesting. Once everything is plucked from its branch or pulled from the ground, then the city will rely on the greenhouses for fresh food.
"Me too." He stops walking, so I halt as well. "I've been meaning to ask you. Are you all right?" When I go to reply with the traditional I'm fine, he beats me to speaking. "I mean really. You don't seem happy."
Relenting, I shake my head in agreement. I am not happy here, and there is no point in masking it. I want my home, and I want my friends. I want Tobias; I have wanted him for months. But I am trapped here, as Robert is well aware of. And the thought of being condemned here for the rest of my life or even for years has me aching with dread. At least when I was sentenced back to Abnegation last year, I was given the luxury of being able to transfer again. There is no escape from this life.
"I hate to sound offensive," I answer, "but I don't like it here."
He nods, his eyes wide and full of understanding even though he may not get where I am coming from. It is an Amity trait.
"That's kind of humorous." I raise an eyebrow, and he amends his statement. "Not like that. It's just, remember when we talked at the fence during our first initiation? You seemed happier then than you do now, and you were stiff and covered in bruises."
I shrug at his observation, and we start walking again. "I belong there."
He gives me a sidelong glance. "I know."
"How have you been since your last visit, Tris?"
I fiddle with my fingers in my lap and don't look up.
Against my will but coinciding with Tobias's wishes, I sought out a therapist about a month after I arrived at Amity. I figured that I might as well work on myself with nothing else to do out here besides chores. In addition, the nightmares are continuing their attacks on my mind, and once it became enough that I decided I needed help. That is mostly what Doctor Stevenson and I discuss: my dreams.
And I don't mind speaking to him much because of how lonely I get at times. Clearing my throat, I reply, "Okay, I guess. I've been feeling somewhat nostalgic because I miss home."
It doesn't feel dangerous to talk about things involving the life I left behind. The Amity are willing to keep me and my secrets safe so long as it means I'm happy—or out of harm's way, at least.
"You share that with me often," he says, nodding. "Any particular reason it has bothered you lately? Have you been having nightmares?"
"There's no reason that I know of." I hesitate, because sharing this morning's dream means sharing a dark part of myself that I know he wouldn't approve of. Avoiding his gaze, I stare out the window at the fluttering leaves on a nearby tree. "I, um...I had a nightmare this morning. I don't really remember it, but it had to do with shooting someone."
I hear him adjust in his seat. "This may be a typical question to ask a Dauntless, but have you ever killed someone?" he pries.
My eyes close as I think about the soldiers I have shot to get past, about how strangely Will crumpled to the ground when my bullet hit his forehead. When I open them, my heart is heavy and my vision is a smattering of green.
"Yes," I eek out.
He ponders his next words. "I can't imagine that is a good feeling," he comments vaguely.
I bark out a laugh, wiping my eyes so I can look over at him, at his whitening hair and his spectacles. "Why does it matter how I feel about it?" I demand. "People are dead because of me. Shouldn't they matter more? Shouldn't their families?"
"I'm not saying that all doesn't matter. But I know a thing or two about you, Tris. From articles alone, and from my own experiences, I can gather that you were in tough situations during the war, like most people."
"Yeah, so?" I sniffle, and wipe my face off with the collar of my red shirt.
"You shouldn't be too hard on yourself because of self-defense."
I scoff at his flippant attitude. "Do you even hear yourself? I've taken lives—"
"And from the sound of it, it was to stop the entire Abnegation faction from getting shot by mind-controlled Dauntless, among other things," he clarifies, and I can't argue with it. "People did many things during that time that they regret, you know. It's not just you."
I think about the mindless Dauntless drones that awoke to dead bodies in front of them. How did they cope, knowing that they murdered people? Would it be better to wake up and realize what you have done, or to do it fully conscious, like me?
"You mentioned holding a gun in your dream," Doctor Stevenson restates. "Do you have a problem with holding guns?"
Stiffening, I realize just how insightful he is, like he can read my mind inside and out. I gulp and answer, "Yes."
He pauses for a moment, watching me with thoughtful eyes. Then he leans forward. "Tris, have you ever heard of the term PTSD?"
I nod. "I think so." The acronym caught my eye while I skimmed textbooks in school a few months ago. It was used to define people with mental issues stemming from a traumatic event. I never learned it before, when the city was peaceful, because people didn't have terrible experiences back then. But now...
"It stands for post-traumatic stress disorder," my therapist explains. "I think you may just have it."
I frown. I always thought I was somewhat sane, even in my suicidal states. Now he is telling me that I have a deep psychological problem. Is that better to be diagnosed rather than ignorant about my condition? Could I possibly be treated?
"Have you experienced any panic attacks? Shortness of breath, fainting?"
I think of the time during training when I turned my gun on Tobias because I was so disoriented and upset. I think of a few nights after I arrived at Amity, when I woke up alone in my bed and couldn't breathe because he wasn't there. I am familiar with the feeling of helplessness while my head prickles and my vision fades.
"A few times," I admit.
He hums. "And I'm assuming you associate the war with guns? So when you pick one up, you flash back to your experiences that you aren't so fond of?"
Spot on. "Something like that."
He stops talking completely for a minute or so, leveling a calculating look at me. It sets me on edge, and I find myself bouncing my knee to fill the absence of movement and dialogue.
Eventually it is too much. I blurt out, "So? Is there any way I can fix this?" I would hope to see results from me pouring my heart out in this room. I only came for Tobias, and for the sake of spending the limitless time I have, but it would be nice to achieve something from it.
"When are you the most relaxed?" the doctor asks.
Easy. "When I—"
I slam my mouth shut before the words pop out. When I'm with him. That isn't a reasonable suggestion of an option for treatment. Tobias isn't here, and it is foolish for me to still cling to him when we are miles apart. He can't help me any longer.
"Go ahead. Say what you were going to say."
I shake my head, chastising myself before I even tell him. "When I'm with my boyfriend." Then I amend, "Well, ex-boyfriend. We can't exactly be together right now. I assume we won't ever meet again."
"Don't jump to conclusions," he advises. "It only adds on stress."
Rolling my eyes, I huff. All I do in my spare time is worry. What else am I supposed to do? Bask in false tranquility?
"If he is what makes you happy, then you need to lean on him. Use him as your support. I suggest that when you have a nightmare or remember something that happened to you during wartime, think of him. See if you get any different results from it."
I nod along as he leans forward, a frown forming underneath his white facial hair.
"Tris, this will take time. But if you really want to get better...eventually, you will have to forgive yourself."
"Goodnight, Tris!" Dez bids me cheerfully before heading down the hallway to her own bedroom.
"Goodnight," I reply softly. I shut the door behind me and slump against it. Finally, some quiet time for myself, where I don't have to plaster a fake smile on my face.
With a worn sigh, I step over to the closet, the moon lighting my path. While rummaging through it for something to sleep in—particularly something warm—I catch a black sleeve that I select from the pile of clothes on the ground. I ditch my clothes in the laundry basket and pull Tobias's hoodie over my head.
I stole it from the hospital bag that I packed for him back when he was shot. It is the only thing I have left of him, aside from the gun he gave me on my last night in Dauntless. By now, I have worn it enough that it has lost his scent, and that makes me feel even further from home; as time passes, he fades from my life.
Sitting down on the two-person bed in the center of the room, I find myself succumbing to my scattered, desperate thoughts of him. I wonder how he is, how he looks. I wonder if his leg is better now. I wonder if he thinks of me as I often think of him, alone in this faction where nobody gives me a second glance.
It is strange—I don't tend to like people in general, or enjoy being in their company. But now I know how it feels to have a reputation among others, to be propped up by them, and going back to this life is utter misery. I am not a vain person, but being brushed past like I am mere air is enough to make me feel empty.
And it is so stupid and so selfish of me to sometimes wish that our positions were traded, that Tobias was the one to have his mask ripped off in Erudite so I could stay among the community I know. More than that though, I wish we could both just be factionless together.
I never thought I would be open to that idea; after growing up and watching isolated, stray factionless beg for food, I had always loathed their lifestyle, even vowing to myself during initiation that I would rather die than become one of them. But Tobias has changed my perspective on a lot of things, and this is one of them. I would rather be factionless than put faction before love. I don't even value my own life before love.
Maybe that is why this whole situation angers me the most: I would go home. I would gamble my life with Dauntless guards to get back to him, but it would only put him in prison with me.
It's so hard, having to let him go. I spent all of last year despising him and reflecting back on myself instead of staying occupied with nostalgic thoughts of him. Now, all I can do is focus on him.
I think of him when I see the Amity discuss uniform decisions, how he admired their determination to resolve conflict and form an agreeable mind. I think of him when I see flocks of birds flying south, like if I close my eyes and open them again he will be there, running my simulation. I think of him especially when I lie in this spacious bed because that is when I feel most like an outlier.
Tears well in my eyes as hard as I try to quell them. The ache becomes impossible to ignore when I pretend to feel the ghost of his hand cradling my cheek. To make matters worse, I picture his naturally stern facade, with his eyebrows pulled taut and his jawline set, and recall how he would only truly smile around me on rare occasions.
A sob escapes my chest, and I quickly muffle it with my oversized sleeve so that Dez and her family won't hear. I get it all out now because I have been holding it in for months, despite the pathetic amount of weak moments I have had. My shoulders shake under the grief as I think of all things Tobias. Tobias, Tobias, Tobias. The most virtuous, most beautiful person I know.
Exhaling in a groan, I wipe my cheeks and curl up on my side. Letting it out only seems to welcome in more agony, but at least I am embracing these thoughts instead of tossing them aside per usual. Maybe if I think of him, it will help fend off the nightmares, as my therapist suggested.
So I wrap my arms around myself, pretending they are his, though they are much more slender. I remember his kisses, both featherlight and demanding. If he can't be here to fight off the bad dreams, then he can at least be here with me in my mind. It is the only relief I have.
But some pains don't dull anyway.
Heyyy! Who's as excited for this story as I am? Lots of twists and turns coming your way so be prepared!
WARNING: This story contains discussion of suicide, swearing, and suggestive themes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent or any of the characters.