Chapter Five
I jolt awake, knocking my skull on the headboard. Ignoring the throbbing pain, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and run blindly towards the sound: a cry of pain, mingled with a strangled sob, the kind that breaks my heart. The wooden floor is cold beneath my feet, shocking coming from the warmth of my bed, but it leads me into my brother's room across the hall, Tobias' temporary living space as my brother had so selflessly offered to sleep on the floor.
Breaking through the door (and maybe damaging a few hinges), I find Toby thrashing in his sleep, deep, petrified screams bounding from his throat. Suddenly, he starts to cough, choking on nothing but air, clawing at his throat and gasping for breath, the very thing that strangles him. He's having a nightmare, I realize as I rush to his side.
Trying to remember how to calm him down, I only think of two things: the gross looking, terribly yellow cheese — not a viable option at the moment — and… me. So I start small and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away, removing one hand from his throat to grab my wrist. His nails dig into the skin there, and I let out a cry of pain.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caleb. He looks as if he is contemplating coming to help me or staying safely in the corner; he doesn't move. It seems his selflessness only reaches so far.
Blood seeps from the place where his nails dig into my skin, and tears stream down my cheeks. "Toby," I whisper loudly. I'm to only one who gets to call him that — he knows it's me now. "Toby, wake up. You're having a nightmare. It's me, Tris. I'm here. Wake up."
Shallow, broken breaths break through his lips, and he stills. I pull my hand out of his grasp, and blood streams down my wrist, dark and oozy, making me dizzy again. Taking deep breaths, I sit on the bed and cup both of his cheeks. I'll never be afraid of him.
Tobias lets out a finals scream, and his eyes shoot open.
"Hey," I soothe, stroking his hair, smiling. The look on his face makes me want to cry, but all I can do is hold him. "Hey, come on, it's okay. Don't cry, Baby." I imagine Mama holding me, saying those very words, and I hold him the same way. His body rakes with sobs.
"I'm not," sniff, "a baby." I laugh — a big, throw-your-head-back kind of one — and he cracks a smile, leaning into the embrace. Tobias closes his eyes again, but only for a second. I frown, wondering what he sees when he closes his eyes that scares him so much.
After he's calm again, I stand up to leave so he can get some rest and heal. "Sleep well, Tobias," I say, but he grabs my wrist to stop me, the non-injured one.
"Stay," he begs, and I can't say no to him. I nod, but not before glancing at Caleb.
He says, "It's okay. Stay. I'll sleep in your room." I smile in thanks, and he leaves.
I move towards Caleb's makeshift bed on the floor — a fluffy pillow and some blankets — but Tobias pulls me under the covers with him, and I sigh, resting my head against his chest. His heartbeat thumps loudly against my ear, faster than it should be. He's scared. He's letting me close to him.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, staring up at him. His blue eyes, glistening like the midnight sea, are light in the darkness, bright with tears. His cheek are wet.
He nods slowly. "It was… Marcus." Thomas told us not to talk to him about his father, yet he's opening up to me. I feel so lucky, as if Mama finally said yes to homeschooling — but now, that doesn't seem like so much fun. Maybe if Tobias does it too. "He… he used the belt." I remember his thrashing, convulsing, and the bloody gashes on his back. "And he tried to choke me." The clawing at his throat, the gasping for breath…
The pain returns between my eyes. "Was it a memory?" He nods sadly.
"He tried to strangle me," he says. "All I remember is thinking that I was going to… that he was going to…" His voice breaks. "I though I was going to die, Tris…"
I hold onto him as he sobs again, stroking his hair, his cheek, holding his hand. I've never been so close to another human before, and yet it feels more natural than looking at my reflection. "You didn't. You are okay, Tobias. I'll never let anyone hurt you, ever."
A small grin plays on his lips. "I'm supposed to say that. I'm the boy." I smack his chest playfully.
"That's gender-ist," I say. "We're both Dauntless, so we both get to be brave, fearless."
"I don't think I'll ever be fearless," he replies. "Four — that's how many fears I have."
"How do you know?"
"I just do," he says. "They're my fears, so I know them. It's that easy."
"Wow, four fears. Maybe I should call you Four from now on."
"Don't," he answers quickly. I cock my head at him, curious, and he blushes so deeply that it's visible in the dark, saying, "I like it when you call me Toby." Pause. "What's your name?"
"You know my name."
"What's your real name?"
"Tris," I reply instantly. It's true — Tris is my real name. "But most people call me Beatrice."
"That's pretty," he says. "Can I call you Bea sometimes? I'll call you Tris, too, but when we get to Dauntless, everyone will call you that. I want to have something that only I can call you." I nod. Maybe I didn't like Bea before, but now it sounds pretty, at least when he says it. Only he gets to call me that.
"Okay, Toby with four fears." I think for a second. "I don't know how many fears I have."
"Maybe you don't have any?" That's not true at all — right now, I can think of at least three fears that are about the boy in front of me. Marcus coming back, Tobias' wounds not healing, Papa finding out who he is…
"Maybe," I say, because if Tobias thinks I have no fears, then I will let him think that. In his mind, if I am fearless, then I can be fearless in real life. I will prove him right. I put my hand on his chest and feel his heart beat under my palm, quickening.
Suddenly, he freezes. "Tris," he says, quiet, scared. "Did I do that?" He's pointing to my wrist I realize, the bloody one.
My lips part. "Oh, Toby, it's okay."
"No," he trembles, "it's not okay! I hurt you! All you've done is help me, fix me, and I hurt you…"
"You were asleep. Please, Toby, don't beat yourself up about this."
He goes silent, and he runs his fingers along the cuts; I flinch, and he pulls away like my wrist was made of hot coals. Then, using his words, I whisper, "Sorry. Come back," and he does, just like I did a few hours ago when we found him in the factionless sector. Why was he there, though? Who is Thomas? There are so many questions, but I know that they must wait until morning.
I hear heavy, pained breaths escape him, and I realize that he is laying on his injured back — that's not good. Carefully, I sit up, and he mumbles something in a cracked voice. He thinks I'm leaving him.
"No, Toby, I'm just turning you on your stomach," I say as he whimpers. "I won't leave, ever."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He nods, and I pull him up and turn him so he's laying flat on his stomach and lie down on my back. His head falls to the side facing me, and his arm comes up and rests over my stomach so he's half-hugging me.
"Thanks, Bea," he whispers, poking me in the side. I giggle and close my eyes, hoping that now, both of us can fall asleep. His breathing slows, and I can tell he's already gone. My fingers trace his cheeks, plump and pale, and a small snore bubbles from his nose. He's a fast sleeper, unlike me; it usually takes me hours.
Within three minutes of Tobias' soft snores, I'm fast asleep. Not once during the night does he have another nightmare.
We'll help each other, as long as we are wrapped in each other's arms.
"And then you add the two numbers together to get the sum," Caleb finishes passionately, stabbing the tip of the pencil into the page. By now, he's almost out of breath; the way he talks is fast and intense, eager, like he's desperate to share his knowledge. I don't know how I missed it before, but he's definitely Erudite.
Tobias groans and claws at his hair. "I still don't get it, Caleb." I take his hand so he won't hurt himself and massage it calmly. His breaths slow, and he smiles gratefully at me. He whispers, "Thanks Bea." I smile, glad that he's calling me that — for some reason, I don't want Caleb to know my real name.
I would try to help him understand the math, but I honestly wasn't even listening. Hey, I still have two years before I have to do this stuff; the only reason Caleb understands is because he's a freaky genius in an eight year old's body.
Caleb sighs. "What part don't you get? Find the common denominator…" I zone out again, playing with Toby's fingers.
"Bea!" he whines softly, tugging his fingers away but not hard enough to escape my grip. I squeeze tighter, stubborn. "You're distracting me from Mr. Prior's fabulous teaching." Without looking up, I stick my tongue out and make a fart sound with my lips. Caleb's monotonous droning stops, and he glares at me.
"Beatrice," he scolds, "stop hindering Tobias' studying just because you want attention. That's selfish."
Tobias frowns. "Hey, Caleb. That was uncalled for. Everything can be taken as selfish, but pointing it out does no one any good. Besides, we're just playing. I asked you to teach me, and I intend to learn, and I'm very grateful, but Bea deserves better than to be scolded for playing." Tobias' scolding is not unkind, not like Caleb's, and I find myself moving closer to him. He's so wise, and so broken, and so… old inside. I think it's called mature.
"Sorry," Caleb mutters under his breath. Then he looks up, and I can see tears swimming in his eyes. "Papa told me to make sure you didn't embarrass him. He said to scold you. I didn't want to, Beatrice, really, but Papa is so scary, and when I saw you with the makeup on… I just didn't want him to hit me. That was selfish of me. I'm sorry for hitting you."
He's apologized for it before — half-heartedly, probably because Mama made him — but this time, I can tell he means it. And, with the way Papa's been acting lately, I believed every word of it.
"It's okay." I can see his eyes fall to my hands that are playing with Tobias' fingers, and for a second I think he is about to say something, but he snaps his mouth shut and opens another textbook. Tobias doesn't ask about the hitting incident.
Caleb says, "Okay, so math is a bust. Let's try English."
"I speak it," Tobias replies. "What else could I possibly need to know?" Caleb groans loudly, and I stifle a giggle with mine and Tobias' joined hands. My breath is warm against our skin, and the sound that comes out is muffled.
"For the love of—" Caleb is cut off by Mama, who walks through the door holding a small square bag with a white plus sign on it. I saw the same sign in Tobias' math textbook.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Caleb," she grins, and a rose blush spreads across his cheeks. He mutters an apology, and I see him kick his box of hidden books under the bed. Mama sees it too, and her eyes soften.
"Beatrice, can you take Tobias wait in your room? I need to talk to Caleb for a second, but I'll be right there to redo your bandages." In the morning, Mama found me curled up with Tobias, but all she did was take out a bottle of stinging liquid and a roll of stretchy beige fabric and clean up my wrist. I think she knew how I got the marks; Tobias' face said it all, but she didn't scold him. She didn't scold me either, for staying in his room and breaking the rules.
We nod, and Toby and I go to leave the room. Suddenly, I think of something. "Mama, can I try to do the bandages? I want to be able to help Toby like you do. I remember exactly how you did it."
She looked surprised, but nods. "If Tobias is okay with it, then sure. I trust you, and if he does too…"
"I do," Toby confirms, taking my hand.
"Okay then. Be careful, Beatrice, and do it exactly like I showed you." She gives me the bag and shoos us out. Just before Mama closes the door, I see Caleb's face: terrified, dreadful, guilty, not knowing what Mama will do. I can tell that he's scared, because she saw the books he hides. He doesn't know yet, but he has no reason to feel like that. Mama is not Papa.
As we pass the stairway, I look down and see that Papa's shoes are missing from the rack by the front door. He is not home. Relief floods through me, and I remember Thomas' words: Andrew is a bad man. Keep Tobias away from him.
I think I should start calling Papa by his name, Andrew, instead. Mama does that now, and Mama is always right.
We go into my room and sit on the bed, his back facing me.
"Are you sure you're okay with this? We can wait for Mama."
"If I trust anyone, Bea, it's you. You can do this," he replies, pulling his shirt over his head. It's easier this time — the bandages prevent the skin from sticking.
"This might hurt," I say as feel around the binding. He nods and holds his breath. Remembering how Mama did it yesterday, I start to unravel the bandages, and they fall to the floor in a bloody heap. The skin beneath is coloured a deep pink, little flecks of dark red dried-up blood sticking to the edges of the wounds. Some of them, Mama had to stitch up — where did she learn to do it? Her voice echoes in my head: I've fixed my fair share of battle wounds.
Tobias winces as the cold air hits his bare back. "Talk to me," he says as I grab the antiseptic bottle and dab some of it onto a cotton pad. "Distract me. That way, it'll hurt less."
"Okay," I say. His back arches as I touch the cotton to his skin, and a hiss escapes his lips. Now is the perfect time to ask him questions, I realize. "Tell me about Thomas."
He smiles through the pain, and I work across his back. "We met when I was your age, seven, but not in the best way. It was the night that Marcus tried to strangle me." Fingers light as a feather, I trace an old scar, a single wisp of silver-white dancing along his shoulder blade like a snowflake in the crisp air of the colder months, like a strand of hair from Thomas' head, like the handle of a knife honed to perfection so that the edge is as sharp and thin as the tip of a knitting needle. I grab fresh bandages to cover it up.
"He went on about how easy it would be to kill me as he held me by my throat," Tobias continues with a tiny voice, the voice of a small child being reprimanded by their father, and I understand without him saying how hard it is for him to tell me this. "The look in his eyes was pure evil. It hurt so, so bad… I was gasping for breath, and black spots were covering my eyes, and I thought my heart was going to burst. I thought I was going to… die but… he let me go, and I crumpled onto the floor. He said that for sparing my life, I would owe him. I would stay with him. His face was so close to me that I could smell the alcohol on his breath—"
"Alcohol?" I interrupt, wrapping the white stretchy fabric around his stomach and back one more time. "What's that?"
"It's like magic juice," he answers, "that makes you act crazy sometimes. He keeps it in the cabinet just out of my reach. As if I would actually try to steal it. I'm not the idiot." He winces. "Ow."
"Sorry. Too tight?"
He shakes his head. "No."
"Keep talking," I say as I wrap it around again.
He starts, "He left me there, and I waited until he was asleep before pulling myself over to the window. I climbed out and down the tree, and then I just waited at the bottom until I caught my breath. It was a starry night as far as I remember, the first in a while, when I met Thomas. I didn't know where I was going, and I just ended up dragging myself along the brick walls until I reached the factionless sector.
"Thomas was there, as if he were waiting for me, as if he knew I would be coming. Miracle, that's the word. He found me and gave me everything I needed. He got that scar on his face while getting me bread, and he washed my back with his drinking water, even though he would go thirsty. He gave all this to a boy he'd only just met, a boy he didn't know, out of the goodness of his heart… but I knew if Marcus found me with him, then Thomas would be in danger. So, I left. But I came back every time the beatings were too bad, and each time I brought him bread and water to make up for the first night, and he gave me a square of cheese and patched up my back. I went 'home' in the mornings."
"But yesterday…" I say, trailing off.
"Yesterday," he says, "You and Mama changed my life, Bea-Tris. You woke me up from my nightmare." Me and Mama. Me — Bea-Tris. Abnegation Me, Dauntless Me… just Me.
"If we hadn't… if we'd waited until morning…"
"I might be dead." He says it matter-of-factly, as one would say that they have had an okay day, a fine one, nothing special. The weight of his fingers presses against mine, and he helps me finish the bandaging.
"You're not," I blurt out. He looks surprised. "Dead, I mean. I've never seen someone more alive."
White teeth shine against upturned lips, and a small dimple appears in one of his cheeks to match the one in his chin, a perfect pair. I put my thumb in the chin-one, and it fits. I giggle, and he takes the gauze-roll away from me.
"Your turn," he says, taking my hand and undoing the wrapping. He dampens the cotton with liquid and runs it along the cuts. A deep, stinging pain rushes through me like lightning from my wrist, running up through my veins into my brain and my heart.
"Ow," I whisper, laughing humourlessly. "Sorry."
"Why are you apologizing?" he says, grabbing the gauze.
"I'm pathetic. Your pain is so much worse than mine."
He stops. "Don't ever do that."
"What?"
"Think that your pain is somehow less valid just because mine is worse," he answers. I'm quiet for a second, and all I can do is nod. Stunned is the word.
I say, "You didn't have to go to school to be the smartest boy I've ever met."
He smiles, and making him smile is the best thing I've ever done.
Mama comes in then, just as he's finished wrapping up my wrist. Her eyes beam with pride, and I know it's not just me she's proud of. It's me, and it's Toby, and it's Caleb.
"Did you speak to him?" I ask, standing up. Toby gets up too. "Caleb, I mean."
She nods. "Yes. I think you should go talk to him, Tris." I look at Tobias, and he smiles, letting me know that he'll be okay without me.
"Okay," I say before squeezing Toby's hand and making my way across the hall. Caleb is sitting on the floor cross-legged, and his shoulders are hanging loose like he's let go of years of fear.
He looks up and beams at me. "Beatrice! Come sit with me." I join him on the floor.
"What did Mama want?" I ask, even though I already know.
He says, "She told me that it's okay that I like to read. She said that she's proud of my intelligence, not ashamed of it, and that if I want, she'll take me to the Erudite compound to get more of them. I can't believe it! It's like a dream!"
I smile at my brother. "I'm happy for you, Caleb. Really."
"Hey, Beatrice?"
"Yes?"
He pauses, guilt flooding his features. "I'm really sorry about everything."
"I know," I say. "It's okay. I love you, Caleb. You did what you had to, what Papa made you do."
Then his eyes light up, like he's just remembered something important. "Beatrice, you'll never guess what else Mama told me."
"What?" I ask, suddenly curious. It seems curiosity is infectious around here.
"Papa," he says quietly, leaning in close like he's a spy from his mystery books, divulging secret information, "was born in Erudite."
I gasp loudly, and he shushes me, putting a finger to his lips. Papa, Erudite-born? Maybe that was what she meant when she called Papa a hypocrite. Then I remember that Mama wasn't born here either. But was Mama an Erudite too? Or was she from somewhere else? How did she and Papa meet, and why did they choose Abnegation of all places, the enemy faction?
Thoughts swirl around in my head like when I twirl around the straw in my water drink, but I am snapped out of it by the loud, harsh slam of the front door. The sound can only mean two things, one more likely than the other: first, either Mama or Tobias have left, or second…
Papa is home, and by the sound of the slam, he's angry.