TRIS POV
As the Candor guards haul me to my feet, and the Dauntless watch the scene unfold, I am strangely calm; I comply and stand with my hands behind my back.
But expectedly, Tobias isn't.
Only because he is outnumbered, he resorts to rounding on Tori, his expression livid. "I used to respect you," he deadpans. "And I may have given you the benefit of the doubt with your actions within the last year. But I will never forgive you for this."
"This is bullshit," Uriah chimes in.
Tori crosses her arms challengingly. "Actually, this wasn't my doing," she snarks. "I was made aware of this by a faction member who expressed her concern about a fugitive living within the compound."
He sets his jaw. I can't help but feel partly responsible for the antagonism between them. Tori gave Tobias his tattoos and some incentive to fit in, and I am not aware of any problems between them before I came along.
Those rather trivial thoughts are wiped from my mind a second later. Handcuffs click around my wrists as my gun is taken, and a lump settles in my throat when it dawns on me that this is really happening.
My hands shake, but when I see Tobias ready to do something we will both regret, I have to be brave.
"Tobias," I say, not bothering to use his public name. His panicked eyes flick to mine. "It's okay. Just get the hard drive."
The meaning behind my words is received. He nods stiffly. If there is any chance that the Candor will let me go, then it lies on the hard drive where we have proof of the crimes that the several factions have committed by producing and using the suicide serum.
"It's okay," I repeat as I am led away. I don't know if I am trying to convince him or myself.
Finally, I am aware of why this is so jarring to us. It is not because I am being arrested; the worst the Candor could do is imprison me with an actual sentence, and I don't trust their justice system to stay under complete control within the next while with the city is pulled taut with tension.
It is because this is reminiscent of Erudite.
At that realization, my stomach turns. Thankfully a distraction comes swiftly, when Dauntless members begin dissenting my arrest.
Some mutter, some talk loudly, some stay silent because they don't know me well. But I do hear someone shout, "Why are we arresting our own people when the factionless are running rampant?!"
The Dauntless yell their agreement. In the chaos, I twist my head and thrash, trying to get another glimpse at Tobias. I need him to stabilize me, to reassure me, because I am going to need it for however long it takes him to get me back.
He watches me like his own nightmare has come to life before his eyes. Helplessly, he stands as I am dragged away, similar to how I abandoned him to turn myself into Jeanine.
It only makes me want to vomit.
"Let's go," a guard barks at me, hauling me more forcefully.
I shake my head and clench my fingers. "You have no idea what you're arresting me for," I snap back. At least with experience I finally have a backbone. "When this is over, you'll be thanking me."
They don't reply. We follow a pair of Dauntless soldiers into an elevator that takes us up to ground level. Then, I am escorted to a car that will take me to Candor.
In the backseat, I clutch at the door handle. The road is bumpy and slippery with the snow, so I close my eyes to ward off the sick feeling that still inhabits my stomach. Some part of me—the part that is still a seventeen-year-old girl—wants to cry, but I don't want to give them that satisfaction.
How could we be so naive? How could we believe that this would all disappear?
Sometime later, when the sky is pitch black, I am awoken to a guard barking, "Get up."
Shivering from the gust of wind that enters the car, I step out onto the icy pavement, determined to get inside where it is warm. My hands are restrained before three guards walk me up the front steps and inside the Merciless Mart.
It always surprises me how famous, or notorious, the war made me. Sometimes I feel like wherever I go there are people who know me; I sense their gazes by the burning sensation on the back of my neck. In Dauntless it is less uncomfortable because the people around me are familiar, my faction.
But walking into Candor is anything but comfortable.
These people know about my actions during the war, except they know even more than that. Many of them stood on the top floor of the faction and watched as I spilled my secrets out onto the black and white, interrogation room tiles before them. They know about my parents; they know about Will; they know about my boyfriend and his life. They even know me to the depth of why I left Abnegation, and that I am Divergent.
It shows in their faces when I am led toward the elevator bank. Whispers start up, and at first I think they are displeased to see me because I am here for breaking into their faction, into their personal information. But if anything, they seem awed.
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, the guards guide me inside.
"What's going to happen?" I ask, watching the number above the doors climb.
None of them answer.
I sigh. "Isn't it my right to know what you plan to do with me?"
They look at each other, contemplating. Finally, one of them answers, "Court hours are over, so you will stay here overnight and be put on trial tomorrow. Jack Kang will oversee the interrogation in the morning."
Great. While that does give Tobias time to get here with the evidence I need to back me up, it is more hours spent in a cell.
We stop at the second highest floor, right beneath the room where I will likely be subject to the truth serum again tomorrow. For a moment I foolishly hope that the room will be similar to the one I stayed in before: a clean holding area with a bathroom and chairs. That is not the case.
I have been downgraded to a cell, made of an ironic combination of gray cement and black and white tiles, and metal bars in a monotonous hallway of them. There is no toilet, only a solid cot. The cramped size of the room alone makes my body start trembling.
It is too similar to my Erudite cell.
As the guards are signing me in at the door, I gulp down shallow breaths that barely do anything to keep me conscious. The front gate opens before we step forward to the cell. They unlock the handcuffs from my wrists, expecting me to walk in.
I can't.
"Go," a guard urges me.
My head swims with dread. How do I tell these people that I might faint if I go inside the cell?
I dig my fingernails into my palms, and my stomach twists on itself.
"Ma'am, you need to go inside, or we're going to have to force you in."
I squeeze my eyes shut and think about how I can coerce my legs into the small cell, for starters—I don't know how I will survive in here tonight. The panic attack evolves in the moment that I freeze there. It is when my throat starts closing up that I know I have to get control.
What did Doctor Stevenson say? That I need to think of Tobias whenever I am in my vulnerable states. I try to summon his image, of his handsome, brooding face. If I concentrate enough, I can try to pretend like his hand is on my lower back, guiding me inside.
But the opposite effect happens. Instead of positive thoughts, all I can see is Tobias beaten and exhausted, covered in lacerations and bruises. I can see him at the end of the hall, being dragged toward me as I wait eagerly for a chance to touch his hand. I can see him in what we thought were my last moments, when I pressed my palm to the glass window of his cell to line it up with his, and he rested his forehead there, the life draining from him.
And that's it: I make it one pathetic step into my cell before I vomit.
"What the fuck did you do to her?!"
The fog in my mind settles. Across the hall, people dressed in black and white are cleaning up a mess in a jail cell. My eyes droop when I shift them to where the startling voice came from, and I see Tobias on the other side of the front gate, threatening a guard with his hands around his collar.
Another guard pulls him off, which must take a lot of force. "All we were doing was putting her in a cell, like we were supposed to," he defends.
My vision is still hazy and my mind, groggy. I rub my eyes and flinch away from a doctor who is tightening some kind of device around my arm.
"Do you know why she would have this kind of reaction? We still don't know what happened."
Tobias scoffs. "That's Tris Prior. You know, the one Jeanine tortured? You take a guess."
My head throbs in time with his loud voice, and suddenly I recall what happened.
The guard holds up his hands. "Sir, we weren't aware of the situation, and we offer our apologies. We want nothing but the best accommodations for our prisoners; we believe in innocent until proven guilty in Candor."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tobias sighs. "Why couldn't she be placed in a holding room, then?" he asks with an accusatory tone. "This place certainly looks like she has already been convicted to me."
The device around my arm loosens. An annoying light is shined in my eyes, causing them to water.
"Unfortunately," the man explains, "we are running low on detaining space lately, with the amount of factionless being arrested for their offenses. I can't offer anything else."
The doctor gathers his supplies and stands from his crouched position in front of me. He turns to the two of them and says, "She should be fine now. It seems that she suffered from a panic attack."
Tobias shakes his head decisively. "She can't stay here tonight."
I want to tell him that this isn't worth the hassle to bicker about what is inevitable, but when my airway tightens just from a simple glance at the cell, I am inclined to agree with him.
"Let me talk to her?" he pleads.
The guard nods at the other one on gate duty. With a buzz, the gate door unlocks, and Tobias passes the doctor and the janitors and rushes toward me.
"Hey," he murmurs. I press a hand to my forehead when he pulls me to my feet because the world is swaying. As soon as he traps me in a hug, though, the distress vanishes. "You okay?"
A heavy breath squeezes out of my lungs. "I think so," I croak.
My eyes slip shut as the ordeal is momentarily forgotten. If I stand here and breathe in the smell of his jacket—the masculine smell with a touch of the training room—maybe I can pretend that I'm not in Candor anymore.
"I got the hard drive," he tells me. "I'll be here to give it to them at the trial."
But I'm not concerned about my possible freedom tomorrow. I dig my fingers into his shoulders desperately and sag against him. "Please don't go," I whisper, tears building in my eyes.
Tobias quietly promises, "I won't." Then he addresses the guards. "Is there any way I could stay with her tonight?"
They seem to be understanding, and agree on the terms that Tobias hands over his gun for now. That is how we end up alone in the now dark hallway, I in my cell and he on the outside. We sit with our backs pressed against the wall so that the metal bars keep an agonizing space in between us, but we link our hands anyway.
"Did you have trouble getting here?" I ask to fill the silence.
"No," he answers. "Most of the Dauntless guards were sent home after the factionless attacked us, so I only slipped past a few on my way here."
Now that I think about it, there were no Dauntless guards to be seen out front of Candor or in the lobby. I suppose he is right.
He stretches his leg out so that it touches the opposite wall. "Do you know who could have ratted you out to Tori?"
"No..." Then I remember that Tori said it was a woman that gave me away. Once I make that connection, my mind darts to the person I saw leering at me from across the Pit a few days ago. "It was Jessica," I confirm. Who else could have such a vendetta against me?
"That makes sense."
It turns noiseless again. I briefly wonder if anybody is in these rows of cells, or if I just can't hear them because I am the closest to the front.
"What happened, Tris?" Tobias says softly.
I shake my head, still muddled by today's events. "I was going to comply, but all I could think of was Erudite," I tell him, full of shame. "I couldn't stop panicking."
He sighs angrily. "You shouldn't have to keep living like this. You need to see a doctor."
"I did," I contradict him.
His head tilts towards me. "What? When?"
I press my face against the cool bars that separate us, resting my chin on one of them. "In Amity, I talked to a doctor. He diagnosed me with PTSD," I admit.
His eyes soften in the dim light. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Guilt claims my throat, making me have to swallow hard before I continue. "I was...embarrassed." I bite my lip and turn my gaze away. "Why would I want to admit to you that something is wrong with me?"
"Nothing is wrong with you, Tris. You've had to endure ten times worse than most people will in their lifetime. Naturally, you can't handle it all the time."
Pressing my face into my hand, I curl up tighter. "I can handle things better when I'm with you, though," I explain. "I thought that when I got home, the panic attacks and the nightmares would go away. But...I guess I'm stuck this way forever."
"Not forever," he insists, lifting my hand up to his lips. It sends a warm pulse down my arm. "Now that we know what is going on, we can get you help."
I highly doubt that, but I don't mention it to him. I'm too weary to argue.
My eyes flit around my cell nervously, and suddenly I need a distraction before I panic over resurfaced Erudite memories again. Gripping his hand tightly, I try to keep my shaking to a minimum and pretend like I have more room in this cell than I actually do.
"Hey," Tobias murmurs. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing, I—" A pathetic laugh bursts from my chest. I am fed up with lying through my teeth when I am not okay. "God, I can't stop thinking of that place."
His eyebrows tighten together. "Sometimes, I can't either," he commiserates.
Finding that his voice soothes my nerves, I urge him to keep talking. "What did they do to you, when we were there?" I ask carefully. I'm actually not so sure that this will do anything to help, but it is too late to take the words back.
He shuts his troubled eyes. "I'm assuming it was similar to what they did to you. Lots of simulations. Although I didn't cooperate often, so I received a lot of beatings."
A shudder rolls through me when I remember one of my own simulations, where he broke me out of my cell. The vivid image of the dark blood running down his neck, originating from the top of his ear that was missing, makes me want to gag. It was so real at the time, when I couldn't distinguish sims from reality.
"None of it was nearly as bad as when I thought they killed you," he whispers. Clenching his jaw, he adds, "I'm sorry, by the way."
"For what?" My lower lip wobbles.
"I was so damn weak all the time from getting beaten that I couldn't fight back. There were so many times when I should have..." His voice catches with emotion, and he struggles to get the words out. "When Jeanine injected you with the fear serum...the look in your eyes, the sound of your screams, it felt like someone was dragging a knife through my chest."
I wince at his poor choice of words.
"What did you see?" he inquires. Then he seems to want to retract his words. "No, you don't have to answer that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."
For a minute, I want to let this conversation slide by until it is swept away. But Tobias of all people deserves to know what lucid horrors caused me to guilt him into giving up the factionless safe houses.
"There were birds everywhere..." I begin. "And branches were twisting above me; it was all so sinister that I couldn't resist the serum's effects. My heart was pounding. I turned to look at you, and you had a knife."
His thumb moves in slow circles against the back of my hand in encouragement. A hot tear rolls down my cheek when I think about what hallucinations the serum produced. How do I even explain it? Words can't do the gruesome details justice.
"You turned the blade toward yourself, and I yelled at you to stop. You told me that you were doing this for me..." A pain stabs at my gut when I picture scene. "I watched you slide the knife in, and your facial expressions, and all the blood—" I flinch at my own description. "It was the worst thing in the world."
Tobias is awestruck and unable to respond. Eventually he reaches through the bars to cradle my cheek. "Tris..."
"The thing is, Dauntless initiation was supposed to prepare us for those kinds of situations. It may not have prepared us for the war, but it did prepare us for facing our fears that weren't reality. This serum...it was unlike anything I've experienced."
And that must be part of the reason why I couldn't enter the cell. That whole time, whether literally or in my mind, I had to constantly face my worst fear: losing him. Deep down, I associate that with Erudite, among the other traumatizing factors that made up my time there.
I could beat simulations. Suddenly, it wasn't a game anymore.
When I notice that he is struggling to find words, I drop the subject completely. "I don't want to talk about it anymore," I mumble.
I lean into his palm and close my eyes. "All right," he agrees.
Settling into a cramped sleeping position between tile and metal, it dawns on me that our plan for my trial may not work. The information we present may not be enough to outweigh my crimes in Candor's eyes. I try to sleep off the doubts, but they creep back in every minute I am unable to successfully fall asleep.
"Tobias?" I whisper.
"Hmm."
"What if they won't let me go?"
He cracks his eyes open, and they gleam in the dark. "Do you really think I would let that happen?"
I guess not. He would go ballistic.
After his eyes slip shut, he rests his head against the cell bars. Debating whether or not I would like to be uncomfortably pressed against metal, I decide to line up with him. It isn't ideal, but then again, nothing for us is.
Hopefully, things will go right for once tomorrow.