Chapter Nineteen

I am siting on a slab of rock that makes up the benches, picking at my food, when Tobias walks into the dining room, eyes hard and rancorous, and takes a seat at an empty table as far from mine as possible. There's an anchored pit in my stomach, knowing that he's so close. All those years, we were worlds apart, and here we are just in each other's reach, yet still not touching. I know it's my fault…

Zeke catches my eye across the table, eyes drowning in curiosity and concern, but I just shake my head subtly, pressing my ear against my shoulder, half-drowning out the tirades of my fellow initiates about how hard the first few hours of our training were. It's only after a few minutes of 'sore muscles' and 'nothing could be worse' that I just can't take the incessant buzzing anymore.

"Shut up!" I shout, startling everyone into silence. I catch Christina's wide-eyed gaze, concerned, startled, and lower my voice to a whisper and my eyes to the metal tub sitting on the table. "Just… please. Shut up."

The former Candor's hand comes to rest on my arm. "Tris, what's wrong? You're being snippy, and that's unlike you."

I manoeuvre my face into a stoic expression and return my voice to its normal volume. "It's nothing… I'm sorry for taking it out on you guys. I'm just sick of hearing everyone talk about how hard today was. It just makes it even more glaringly obvious that I'm not going to make it." Stop saying things couldn't be worse, I think. Things have been worse. Chris and Lark and the other initiates at the table ramble some comforting bullshit, but it's Zeke's incredulous stare that makes me sink lower under the table. He knows what I can do, and he knows that excuse was a load of crap.

"I'm sure Four would disagree," he interjects after a long moment, glancing at the slouched man sitting alone at the faraway table; the lunch room is busy as always, and yet no one dares to sit beside him, skirting around the hunk of stone he somehow claimed as his own without uttering a word. I turn a deadly gaze onto Zeke — his risky, illuminating comment is not something I wish to deal with right now. Luckily, no one pays him attention, having moved on to the topic of our afternoon training session.

I lean in close to the older boy and murmur icily, "Maybe you should go ask him." He stares at me for a moment longer before wordlessly gathering his tray and getting up. Marching across the room, he slides into the seat right beside Tobias, setting his food down and a hand across my best friend's broad shoulders. I can see his lips move, and Tobias' in response, but the thundering racket cocoons their tête-à-tête from my prying ears, the kind of noise that, in all the city, can only be heard in a room full of Dauntless.

My throat tightens uncomfortably, and suddenly I feel like crying again. That's when I fully realize how stupid I am being. Not that it makes a difference… Stupidity isn't a crime here, not by a long shot; if it was, we wouldn't have enough soldiers to hold this crumbling city together. Despite everything, however, I still feel like a criminal. Why?

I'm a coward.

That's why I run from Tobias, why I can't forgive him. I'm too afraid to forgive him. Afraid that, if I do, if I let myself see him again as the boy he once was, the one I loved…

Suddenly I can't wait to have a gun in my hand again, desperate for the reminder that Tobias is gone, and he has left Four in his place — no, Four is someone else entirely, for there is no place left for Tobias' absence to cause an emptiness. Not in Abnegation, not in Marcus' home, and… and certainly not in my heart.

I stand from my seat, scraping the backs of my knees against the grainy rock. Christina's head whips up from her plate where she was practically inhaling a piece of chocolate cake; she's eyeing me, concerned. "Lunch just started. Where are you going?" she asks as I turn away. "We still have thirty minutes until training starts up again."

"I'm going to clear my lungs," I shout over my shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear over the noise. Then I whisper to myself, voice locked in my ears only as the crowd carries my confessions away, "Figure I should get rid of this damn guilt closing them up and make some room for gunpowder."

I stare straight into the sun for a moment, inspecting the blob of white, before closing my eyes, watching purple replace the white against the dark background of my eyelids. Then, I do it again, shifting my eyes, drawing patterns with the light trapped beneath the folds of skin. First, it's a box. Then, a circle. Finally, a heart. Maybe there's some deep psychological reasons behind the shapes I choose to burden myself with, or maybe I am just tired. So… very… tired. I sigh, fisting the ropes that make up the net holding me above ground, remembering the excruciating pain they inflicted on me just yesterday.

"Fifteen minutes," a voice calls out suddenly from the shadows. If I'm startled, it doesn't manifest itself in my expression or posture. I merely sigh again, eyes still shut, haunted by the image of the sun.

"Was that cryptic message supposed to register with me, Ezekiel?"

I can hear the frown in his voice as he says, "Not cryptic, or a message. Consider it a warning, and the last one at that."

"And just what exactly are you warning me of?"

"Training begins soon, initiate," he belittles, stirring up my irrational anger. "How exactly did you expect to tell time here? You're lucky I found you."

I feel a smirk forming on my lips as I open one eye lazily, directing my gaze towards the sky. I inspect it for a moment, letting the string in my head connect pins. Without looking at him, I answer, "Thirteen."

"Excuse me?"

"You said fifteen minutes… it's thirteen."

Rustling follows my words, the sound of a shirt sleeve being pulled up, and then a sound of indignation. "What the hell, Tris?" he simply replies.

"The sun rises in the East," I mutter, "and sets in the West."

"So?"

I ignore him. "Clouds move overhead. Birds sit on power lines and sing. We're so far in the ground that sometimes we forget these things. People told time before skyscrapers clouded the skyline."

Zeke scoffs. "Now who's being cryptic? You sound like a banjo-strumming hippie, Tris."

"I thought we were better than that," I reply, "than faction slurs and ignorance."

"God, you're a hypocrite." The net shifts under me, and I can tell he's tugging at the edge. "Four told me what happened… I'm trying to see your point of view, but it's really hard to side with you when you act like this."

"You aren't my father."

"You're damn right I'm not, seeing as I'm not an abusive asshole," he replies tactlessly, making me flinch. I steel myself quickly, my own face hardening as Zeke's softens. "I'm not going to say I didn't mean that, because I did. You're my friend, but so is… Four, which means I won't let you barge into this faction and tear him down from the inside for something none of us can change, despite how much we wish we could. Do you see why I'm taking his side?"

I scoff. "It's okay. I don't like me very much, either."

He groans loudly and tugs harder, effectively rolling me towards him before hauling me up by the armpits and depositing me on the floor. With a firm, grounding grip on my shoulders, he says, "Stop it. Stop with this self-pity, or this blaming of others, or whatever weak, cowardly thing is possessing you to be someone other than the Tris I know and love. Because this… this is not her."

I am stunned silent for a moment, which is good, because it allows Zeke's words to soak through my skin and into my brain. My eyes widen, watering as it sets in. "God, I'm a bitch, aren't I?"

He sighs, shaking his head. Every muscle in his face relaxes suddenly, and his eyes shine with tears. "I… I loved your mother. She was like a second family to me. And it hurt, what happened to her. It hurt all of us. And maybe I can't understand what you went through, what you're still going through, but what I can understand is that—" he looks around, satisfied that there is no one around, "—Tobias was also hurt, and he is still hurting. You know what happened was a freak accident, and that the risk he took was… was worth it. And maybe if he hadn't missed, if he'd rid the world of that sick son of a bitch he calls his father…"

"It's not that easy," I remind him, voice quiet, all my impudence drained from my body with his heartfelt speech. "It was his hand that pulled that trigger, his gun that fired the bullet, but it was my parent who hit the ground, not his."

"That's not fair, and you know it. Natalie was his mother, too. And I hate to say this, but… I think she would be disappointed in you right now, that you are letting this keep you two apart. She saw something there—" he trails off, and I don't question his train of thought. I don't want to know. "Look, all I'm saying is that you either forgive him, or you don't. It's been two years since you last saw him; you've had enough time to think. Don't lead him on, and don't break his heart any more than you have to."

"Catch-22," I retort.

"Maybe so," he admits. "Maybe no one wins… or maybe everyone does. And Tris, despite everything I just said, you know I love you, right?"

I swallow, force against the knot in my throat, before turning my face back up to the sky. "Eight minutes," I say.

He smiles. "Let's get going, then. It's a long way back to where we started."

Blood beats through the thick skin at my fingertips as they fumble with the puzzle pieces that make up a handgun, and its source races with the speed of a bullet. My intestines feel all twisted up, and the deep breaths of air sliding down my throat are the only way of untangling them. The sick taste of vomit lingers at the back of my mouth, just shy of bursting, and I swallow again.

It didn't feel like this the first time, when I was all alone in the comfort of my and Tobias' cave; I suppose back then, I didn't have Eric's stony glare locked on the back of my head like a sniper's aim, or the other boy in question avoiding my eyes like the plague.

Will cheers triumphantly beside me as he loads the magazine and slides it into place with a satisfying click. I smile at him encouragingly, and he shoots me a pitying look as he eyes the pathetic excuse for a gun I have assembled. Unluckily for me, Will is the first one finished, drawing the attention of Eric (if I didn't already have it for some unidentifiable reason) over to our area.

"Let me see, initiate," the blond-haired leader demands gruffly, snatching the gun from Will's hands. He appraises it, giving it a once-over that seems to give him all the information he needs, and he nods approvingly, almost impressed. "Good. Now take it apart and do it again." Will nods and gets to work, a small hint of a smile on his face at the subtle praise. Then the stony leader turns to me, and the blood in my veins turns to ice.

I look away from him nervously, focusing on getting the slide of my gun locked in. Slick with sweat, a concoction of nerves, relentless physical training and the blazing sun beating down on us where we stand on the roof, my hands slip, hitting sharp metal, and blood comes pouring from my palms. I curse under my breath, from inconvenience rather than pain (and maybe a little embarrassment), fumbling for a cloth. Then, a sound fills the spacious rooftop from one corner to the other.

Eric's loud, trenchant laughter may very well be worse than his quiet, conspiring glare.

"Dock the Stiff a handful of points, Four," Eric chuckles obnoxiously, picking up the bloodied gun. "Say, does this qualify as vandalism of Dauntless property?"

"It'll come off," Tobias replies, seemly disinterested, without making a move to dock me any points. His eyes meet mine, a marble of concern and bitterness, the latter of which may be the only one I deserve.

Eric's smile fades. "Are you defending her?"

"Of course not," he replies, face hardening. Then, after a barely-visible moment of hesitation, he pulls out his tablet and swipes across the screen. Meeting his colleague's satisfied smirk with a glare of his own, he adds, "You don't call the shots here, Eric. I do. I docked her points because she deserved it." His smirk drops, and Tobias kindly asks him to check the gun storage for extra ammunition, a veiled command that reasserts his authority.

I try not to dwell on the fact that Tobias' words hurt me more than the stinging in my palm.

After the attention-attracting spectacle that is Eric disappears down the stairs, Tobias slowly makes his way over to me, stopping at each station on the way to assess the initiates' work in his firm but not unkind manner. He praises Will, but not without gently advising him not to get overconfident in his abilities, and suddenly he is in front of me, watching me grapple for purchase along the slide of the gun, palms slippery with sweat and blood, cursing ardently under my breath.

"Stop," he commands quietly enough that only I hear him, as well as Will and Christina on either side of me. "You'll never get anywhere — not like that." My efforts still, gun cold against broken skin, and Tobias cocks his head towards the corner, asking me silently to come with him. I nod, depositing the gun on the table and following his lead after a quick, reassuring smile to Christina, whose eyes seemed to be asking a million and one questions.

In the corner, mostly hidden from sight by the rising platform that houses the stairs, Tobias pulls out a first-aid bag and takes my hand gently, tenderly, but with a distanced coldness in his eyes. "You really do need to be more careful," he whispers, steel connecting his words to my ear. It's not hard to tell that he's speaking of Eric, and not the red liquid oozing from my skin.

"He's got some weird obsession with me," I remind him as he pulls out a roll of bandages. I try not to cringe away; I've seen enough bandages already. "Do you think he saw us yesterday, in the dining hall?"

"I think he saw something," Tobias replies, a biting tone to his voice, as he drags a rag across my palm. I hiss at the sting, and he apologizes emptily. We stand as far apart as possible for the chosen activity, and the air between us is different, Tobias resigned to an eternity of this, myself desperately clinging to the past. Zeke's words ring in my mind: all I'm saying is that you either forgive him, or you don't. It's been two years since you last saw him; you've had enough time to think.

Suddenly, it's clear to me in this palpable tension, this unspoken ultimatum forcing our bodies apart; he's right. I either forgive Tobias, or I don't. It will be the same weeks from now, months, years. It's time, now, that I make my decision, whether or not I hold on to the blue-eyed boy who has been my reality since the day we locked eyes in the factionless sector. Whether I stay in the past that has always been so good to me, or I make my own future.

If I'm being honest, the second option can't help but sound better. I want a new future, a future away from Marcus and Andrew, from my dead mother and brother, from hurt and blood and tears, from funerals and from Abnegation. From… Tobias, who was responsible for many of those things.

Maybe it's time to let go.

Tobias lets go of my hand, bandaged to perfection, and steps away from me like he's been burned, like he's somehow heard my inner conflict and the decision I have made. Perhaps he's known it all along, since the moment he pulled that trigger, or maybe since the moment his blood hit sizzling coals, or even since the moment before lunch today when I yelled those terrible words in his face.

It's time to let go.

Time to let go.

"Get back to work, initiate," he hisses, pain bursting from his eyes, his face, his body… and then, as suddenly as it appeared, it's gone, all but disappeared from everywhere but that little ember of sorrow in those oceans of blue. "Just go."

I do.

And I'm never coming back.

A/N: Okay... I know. You hate me. You ask yourself if this is ever going to end. I tell you... probably not. JK! But seriously, keep holding on. Maybe it'll be worth it in the end.

Thanks for reading! Follows, favs, and reviews much appreciated! I'd love to know: what do you want to see next? I have a plan, but I'd love to incorporate some of your ideas. Let me know!

Lots of love as always, theartlessrose