Tori and Tris - Chapter Ten - From the jaws of death
Even before checking on Tris, I seek out the small blue card and place it in the corner of the window, it's a signal I haven't used for a long time and fervently hope that that doesn't mean that it won't be looked for. Then I remember that news of the assault on Tris will be all over the faction, and beyond, by breakfast and many such signals will be flying before lunch. I hear Tris shifting around, she is crying and appears distressed, I move quickly to her side " Hi Tris, it's me, Tori, wake up, you're dreaming, you're safe now,"
My heart goes out to her, her eyes are still swollen shut, she must be in agony and now she is dependent on someone she despises for her basic human needs. "Do you need the bathroom?" "Yes, please," she croaks reluctantly, if she was blushing, her bruises concealed it well. I grabbed a towel and as I pulled the blankets down, I covered her with the towel. It is easier for both to simply lift her and carry her to the bathroom, I set her down carefully and encourage her to call me for anything and left her to it, trying to preserve her modesty.
I put the kettle on, find some comfortable clothes for her and strip the bed, putting on fresh sheets. Just when I think Tris has been in the bathroom long enough to warrant enquiry, she comes limping blindly through the door, holding on to her towel. I lift her again and place her on the bed, she accepts my help which is a sure sign of her desperate situation. "Do you need a shower?" I ask. "I can't," she says simply and I believe her. "I'm in my underwear," she says as I arrange her pillows and blankets around her, "You were pretty banged up," I say smiling and then I remember she can't see me. How a girl who was just nearly murdered could be concerned about nudity is beyond my comprehension, but I keep my opinion to myself.
I prepare tea for us both and set a dining chair by her bedside, we sit together and sip, Tris now able to hold her cup, even if she can't see it. Again I notice her broken and bloody fingernails. Images of Tris fighting for her life, clawing, scratching and holding on, a moment from death. It hits me hard, the grotesque violence of it all, the sheer terror that must have been coursing through every cell of her body. "How did I get here?" she asked. "Do you remember what happened?" "I was attacked?" she asked rather than stated, "They tried to push me over - ," A deep sob wrenched itself from her chest, I am sure it hurt like a bitch. I take her tea and climb onto the bed and pull her to me, holding her close, not caring one whit if she is concerned about catching lesbian germs. She should be so lucky!
I hold her until the properties of her tea take effect, then I lay her gently back against the pillows, I tuck the blankets up under her armpits. When I take the cups back to the kitchen, I return with two tea towels and a little jar of cream. I lay each hand on a tea towel and taking one at a time, I gently dip her fingers into the jar, one at a time, leaving them generously coated. I fold the top half of tea towels over her hands, leaving them to time and healing herbs to repair while she sleeps. I watch her for a while, willing myself to remember her as she was; her cheeky smile, her perseverance, her clever mind and as these memories fill my mind, I remember all the reasons I love her.
Later, the friendly knock sounds at the front door, it shocks me back to reality. As I approach, I am suddenly afraid, can I still trust the friendly? Can we? I tiptoe to my nightstand, inches from Tris' sleeping body, I grab my 9mm and the magazine. I slide the magazine into the handgun and pull the safety. My visitor finally accepts my standoff and calls softly, "Tori? Tori? It's me, Luka," aahh Luka! We are safe. I breathe again, lock my weapon and shove the handgun into the waistband at the back of my pants. He is responding to my blue card communication in the window, from this morning.
I place my finger to my lips and he nods, sliding unobtrusively into the room and locks the door, he remains there like a sentry. This is not a social call after all, we are all business. "You know?" I ask quietly, he nods, "At breakfast," He glances in the direction of the bed and is visibly shocked at the sight of Tris' face and arms, even at this distance, his eyes snap to his feet and remain there. "She is an Abnegation transfer" I say, he understands my allusion to her modesty, he will not divulge that he has seen her, to anyone. "I'm going to need supplies," I say, he nods again. I press several lists into his hand, one for medical supplies, one for linen and clothes, and one for food. He looks them over, "Tori," he says with determination, "anything you need, will be found," I squeeze his hand. He fingers the makeshift door lock, "Use that," and pulls the door closed behind him.
I comprehend his code and I am touched. For myself I don't care, but this, this is Dauntless, reaching out to care for, to love and to protect their little sister, Tris. It warms my heart. It feels like home and I realise that I have long been homesick. I wonder why we didn't react like this when Georgie was killed, but I know the answer. Leadership deemed it a suicide. I know better. Luka's communication conveys not only his own, but others' absolute rejection of a system that permits, nay, perpetuates acts of such savage violence. I lock the door, remove the blue card and check on Tris. She is still sleeping and I resist the urge to touch her face, push back her hair.
When I take her to the bathroom, she loops her arm around my waist and slightly dislodges the 9mm I forgot I had stashed there, she doesn't notice and I am glad, I want her to feel safe. I mentally rebuke myself - its fucking insane to expect a woman who was just nearly murdered to feel safe. I immediately remove the magazine from its chamber and put both pieces at the back of the drawer, and help her back into bed. She has so far refused all nourishment except the tea, which sends her right back to sleep. I have to keep a close eye on that; it's potent stuff she is ingesting and she will have to go without soon enough, for her own sake. But it has been the only escape she has had from the pain and terror, or am I talking shit again?
In the morning, it is raining heavily, I love rainy days. I make soup, I am sure the smell will encourage her to eat and the goodness of the herbs and veggies will benefit her recovery. Every time I walk with her now she runs her palm along the small of my back and I realise she is looking for it, the gun. I put a dining chair in the shower and gave her fresh clothes. I tell her to call me for anything but I know she won't. Later, I tap on the door, "Triss?" She is sitting on the toilet, lid down, in her knickers and the towel pressed to her chest. "Troubles?" I ask gently. "I cant get my bra on," she sighs, looking in my general direction still unable to open her eyes, she's holding up a bra that fastens in the back. Shit, that's on me!
"Don't wear one," I suggest and she gasps as though I have said something quite shocking. "Either I help you put it on, or you go without, up to you?" She cannot fail to hear the kindness in my voice, despite my choice of words and decides to go without, which is better for her ribs anyway. She is exhausted after her shower, but she takes some broth. While she slowly drinks the liquid from her spoon, I ask her if she needs to get a message to anyone? I don't need to explain that it is not safe to have visitors at this time but I assure her that we can make sure a message is passed on. She has been thinking of her friend Christina, and knows that she will be extremely worried. I pat her hand as I take her bowl and she lays back and is sleep as she hits the pillows.
Four comes by after dark and we whisper by the window. The two fuckers that ran off when Four showed up have absconded, they are now Factionless. The two that Four can identify have been arrested and now reside in the lock up. The final two that Four recognised by injury pattern have denied any involvement, their story is that they were drunk, fighting each other over a girl and unsurprisingly don't remember much. Leadership is split. Half believe there is enough evidence to implicate them, the other half - no guessing which, argues that there is not. Four nods when I tell him about Christina, it's tricky, he cannot reveal his own connection to Tris, nor anyone else's. He will figure it out, it's what we do.