Tori and Tris - Chapter Eight - Both sides of the closet
I was satisfied and relieved when Tris finished phase one above the red line. We continued to train most evenings both for the enjoyment of sparring together as well as necessity, we have by this time become close friends and we each value our time together. I have long come to accept that I love her, this beautiful, clever, kind, spirited character. She has grown strong and continues to flourish in the sunshine that was unavailable to her whilst she remained under the shadow of the dreaded red line. But I will never act upon my feelings - for, as I remind myself frequently, a great many important reasons.
I have begun schooling Tris in all things Divergent. It's impossible for me to discuss Divergence without mentioning faction politics or the government of Chicago, and ever the keen student, she never fails to make important connections. I explain that while the Factionless are said to not fit into any faction, that Divergents fit into too many and that this very notion undermines the faction system. When I explain how general distrust and discrimination of Divergents is furtively becoming a policy concern, Tris nods fiercely.
Which brings us to the pressing concern of Tris to making her way, undetected, through phases two and three. I carefully prepare Tris for the training process, she detects I am holding back and calls me on it. Damn it. I walk over to my large window and place my hands at either end of the sill, weighing my options. To tell or not to tell. Tris should be used to pauses by now, but she can't seem to control a sudden panic, "You don't trust me?" she accuses me in a tiny, wounded voice. "Oh, Tris," I turn to her, "It is not an issue of trust." She appears relieved if not entirely convinced. I know that she will get it out of me, "Cigarette?" she suggests with a sly grin, this has become a running joke between us, whenever she thinks it will improve her chances of getting what she wants. I give in not because I love cigarettes - which I do, but because I love her.
Tris understands our predicament easily; if she fails to navigate the simulation training she will be Factionless. If her divergence is detected she will be killed. Any intervention is an acknowledgement of her divergence. She understands my dilemma, she has come to appreciate my long reach - not that she has ever taken advantage of the fact. It is true, I am not without the power to intervene. She places her hands on my arms, "No", she says simply. When I don't respond, she shakes me slightly, "Tori, no?" She is waiting for me acquiescence. It's her choice so I nod and confirm "No." She is also correct.
I didn't see Tris for several days but I didn't think anything of it. I kept busy at the parlour. When she didn't stop by over the weekend I wondered if she was injured or ill. I didn't want to hit Four up again for information about Tris so I decided to get out in the world a little and see what I could learn indirectly. I caught up for beers with a few of the Leadership Group, I ate dinner in the mess several times and I began reaching out to a few old cronies. There was definitely something going on, but what? Nobody openly named the issue, indeed acknowledged that there was any issue at all. But I could smell it in the air. I could only wait now until someone or something made it known to me.
When I got home from work on Thursday evening, I was glad, for a moment, to see Tris leaning, as she had seen me do many times, on my window sill, looking out into the night. "Hey," I said softly, dropping my bag by the door. "Hey," she replied without turning. "I've missed you," I said, No reply. Ah, the quiet before the storm, me suspects. I think I am going to need alcohol, I open the fridge to see what I have on hand and shrug at a half empty bottle of white wine. "Wine?" "Yes please," she turns and I can see she has been crying.
I hand her a glass and take up my spot on the floor at the foot of the bed, leaning my back against the wrought iron frame. Tris, however, turns the recliner toward me and sits in that. She is quite some distance from me, it's going to make conversation awkward, I note, but Tris is not given to random choices. She takes several gulps of the contents of her glass, takes a deep breath and begins, "Last week, when I left here, I got to the bottom of the stairs to find Eric waiting for me." "Waiting for you?" I ask. "Waiting. For me," she repeats and there can be no mistaking either her meaning or her tone.
"He made it clear he knew that I had been in your apartment. That I had been here before. He implied that it was somehow inappropriate, that I had broken some unspoken rule." She glugged at her wine again, "He walked with me back to the Compound, talking the whole time about now he knew how I had risen above the red line. That he knew I could not have beaten Peter fairly and had been watching me, following me since then" She drained her glass and I got up to give her mine, she clearly needed it far more than I did. I put my hand on her back but she shrugged me off rather roughly so I gave her her space.
I grabbed a beer and brought my bag back to my spot on the floor, I rifle through it for my ciggies and light up. I feel as though there is more to her story, but she seems reluctant to continue. "Has he been hard on you this week?" She didn't reply, which is confirmation. "I denied that I knew you, but I think that made it worse, he just laughed at me. When I wasn't scared and didn't start crying he began abusing me, intimidating and insulting me. He called you an old dyke." I drew in my breath sharply, a new realisation dawning upon me. Tris burst into tears and I felt paralysed. Not about being called a dyke, but the old was a bit rich!
I wanted to comfort her but I didn't dare. At first I thought Tris was going to say that she had decided to stay away because she didn't want to draw attention to our connection. That was until she said the word dyke. Now she knows that it wasn't simply a random insult, that I am indeed a lesbian, and she was reviewing our relationship with a new lens. The kicker is of course that I am indeed in love with her. When she asks me, regardless of my response, my feelings will be revealed - she has always been able to read me. I will lose her friendship.
"So it's true?" I realise she has been watching me for some minutes. She doesn't need to ask, she already knows, but I confirm regardless, "I am a lesbian, yes," I say, eyeballing her. I know she sees the fire in my eyes, my defiance, my pride. Her eyes well up and she looks away, she gives an awful sort of laugh, "I didn't even know what a dyke was, I had to ask someone in my cohort," she says accusingly. She sips, I smoke, both thinking hard. "Why didn't you tell me?" she finally asks. "Are you a lesbian?" I ask, her eyes widen, "No, I am not" she says, taken aback. "Why have you never told me?" I ask, pressing home my point.
She doesn't stay long and we are both relieved. Of course, I am genuinely sorry that Tris has been hurt, but she was always going to be hurt by learning of my sexual preference. I don't regret my silence. Of interest to me is that she never asked me the question. The one they always ask. How do I feel about them? Yet of greater concern is Eric. He must really have it in for her, to be following her around and waiting for her well into the night. I have no trouble believing Tris' version of his predatory, threatening behaviour. I have some concern for myself, but I have a great many resources. My main worry, as always, is for Tris. And I am at a loss as to how to proceed.