Day 77 Part 2:
The light lazily diminishes while a few classmates I recognize attempt to dance on the grass, laughing at pitiful moves and semi-tipsily applauding Zeke's attempts at breakdancing. Uriah and Marlene had kicked it off with the most adorable first dance, swirling around and tripping and cracking up and staring at each other like no one else existed.
Edward, who I can only recall with his face mashed up against Myra's, approaches me cautiously. I search for his once-girlfriend in the crowd, and there she is, nodding intently to something Susan tells her, looking happy, for once.
Later, Marlene will tell me how Myra finally feels free now that she isn't spending all her time distracting herself from her father's smoking with Edward's sloppy tongue. She had barely graduated from high school, focusing too last minute on her grades, but she had made it, and was maybe/maybe not dating Susan. "Edward has been drinking himself numb ever since," Uriah will add helpfully.
"So," Edward starts, sounding uncomfortable and uninterested. He cranes his neck after the sound of Susan laughing hits the air, searching for the pair. I feel the urge to tell him to get over it, which might be cold, but he could always find someone else to make out with. Myra was never anything special to him.
I remember sophomore year, hearing Myra exclaim excitedly from Edward's arm that she would follow him to any college he went to, while Edward looked like a fish out of water when he was asked if he would do the same, and I sigh.
"Do you wanna dance?" he asks, gesturing meekly to the people twisting and jumping a few feet away.
I try to smile. I can feel how fake it looks. "Actually," I say, leaning against the food table behind me, "I'm going to sit this one out." I do not feel like being anyone's bitter rebound tonight.
Myra and Susan and Lynn are chatting excitedly in a corner, and I can tell Edward is more interested in that singular conversation than he ever was in me. "Yeah…okay," he answers indifferently. He wanders off with the air of a terrible spy trying to be inconspicuous and move fast at the same time.
I sigh again.
I stand on my desk, trying to reach an old textbook for some extra math problems I might be able to do. I usually am not above average in this class, but the current subject is somehow easy to me, and my teacher had quickly run out of extra material to give to me.
The teacher calls me over to her, the dress she is wearing a standard Erudite Club number, blue and simple. Intelligent.
"Don't bother," she says, all sharp words and clear solutions. "I have a much more challenging task for you than dusty, outdated problems." She is, as most Erudite are, constantly fed up with the lack of efficient material our school's low funding brings us. "You will be tutoring a failing student, that is, if you can manage it."
I purse my lips. Abnegation are supposed to be quiet, I remind myself, they do not lash out when underestimated. I am making two mistakes. The first is that this is a manipulative motive used by my teacher to get me to accept the task. The second is that I am forgetting I am no longer Abnegation.
Trying to decipher the lyrics of a catchy beat with a few notes that cause Zeke to smash a glass and blame it on the singer's high vocal range, I do not even feel Four come up to me. It is a mark of my boredom and dedication to tiny causes that he sneaks up on me, not his cunning stealth, but he will never believe me.
"You're leaning on the macaroons, there. Be careful," his deep voice whispers in my ear, and I jump, surprised, scattering the bowl of M&Ms everywhere.
I observe the mess quickly and groan, aiming a swat at Four's shoulder. "You sca—snuck up on me," I scold, trying to sound angry.
I must not be very believable, because Four cracks a smile, kneeling down to pick up the candies. "I'll help," he offers, and I am grateful for that, at least.
His hand brushes up against mine for a split second, his skin warm and soft, and—oh no. I flush red with embarrassment, ignoring the recollection of a time years ago when we had touched.
My cheeks are red and my palms are sweating. I avoid Four's eyes and try to stand up, bumping my head on the table as I do so.
Four looks very worried about my state of health.
"I'm fine," I say, answering the unspoken inquiry. I'm given an unbelieving look in response in return, but it's better than nothing. If Uriah had seen, he would've stated, "Bullshit," and made sure I had gotten ice. Nice, but overbearing.
Four somehow knows what I need, I guess.
"Hey," he smiles, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Do you maybe want to…dance? With me?"
Did Four just ask me this? What is he playing at, glaring at me one moment and inviting me to dance the next?
The words of my mother resound in my head. Most people deserve a second chance, Tris. Especially you, even if you can't see it.
I open my mouth and Marlene shouts, "I'm throwing the bouquet!"
As Christina, laughing, drags me to the group of single, giggling girls, I wonder what I would've said.
"Forgive me, Ma'am," I say, "But I do believe that I can manage it."
She smiles. "Good. You'll be helping Mr. Eaton. He's sitting in the back." She raises her voice. "Mr. Eaton, please raise your hand."
I do not need Eaton to raise his hand to recognize him. I grit my teeth so hard that my vision goes black for a few seconds. When it returns, my fists clenched by my sides, the teacher appraises me coolly.
"Is there a problem, Ms. Prior? Might I remind you that this school supports your educational funds completely, and that any sign of unwillingness to cooperate will be taken as a plea to be taken out of this establishment?"
"There's no problem, Ma'am," I manage to get out.
Eaton, catching sight of me, looks like he very much disagrees with my previous statement.
"Meet with each other at lunch on Wednesdays for his tutoring sessions, please. Class is dismissed."
And so we do.
"Orderly lines, girls, orderly—oh, who am I kidding," Uriah mutters, trying in vain to make some sense of the timeless, cannibalistic tradition of snatching the symbol for marriage from some other helplessly single girls.
The ironic screeches of excitement from Lynn, the unironic screeches of excitement from Christina, who is already married, and the money being exchanged from hand to hand on the potential catcher of the bouquet is enough to make any sane person want to sit down. I stand in the back of the small group of girls, refraining from elbowing anyone to get to the front.
I was not aiming to catch the bouquet, merely to line up and appease the bride, but I was not idiotic enough to assume that Christina, who had a lot more spare time than she knew what to do with and was a notorious plotter, had forgotten me. I look surreptitiously around me.
Christina, leaning back on a chair with one hand on her baby bump, gives me a little finger wave of elation. She looks as if she will be enjoying something very, very soon.
This doesn't bode well for me. At all.
"Everybody ready?" Mar asks, glee stretching across her face.
The wedding suddenly gets quiet as Marlene throws the bouquet behind her, and it peaks about five feet above her before hurtling down towards the ground.
I'm too far behind the bouquet to catch it, except suddenly Alé is pushing me forward and the girls in front of me are parting like the Red Sea and I'm thrusting my hands in front of me to break my fall and the flowers, almost like someone is controlling them, fall neatly onto my outstretched palms.
When I get up, brushing the dirt off my dress and glaring at Christina, there is silence. Four's mouth is open, Zeke looks impressed, and Will shoots a
"really" look to his wife.
Who, I might add, looks like Christmas has come early.
Alé, the evil little brat, tugs on my ruined dress and hands me the bouquet, smiling all the while.
That is when the guests burst into applause. I collapse in a chair, exhausted, and disgruntledly accept the bubbly orange juice Christina hands me.
"Clever."
"I know, right? You know how hard it is to convince ten desperately unmarried women to give up a symbolic bundle of flowers?" she responds, looking satisfied with her efforts. "The things I do for you, Prior. Be grateful."
"Genius," I tell her, shaking my head dumbfoundedly. I should have seen it coming.
"Now you have to get married," Chris declares slyly, grabbing the drink she handed me and downing it in three gulps. "You weren't going to drink it anyway," she says to my gaping expression.
Across the yard, Will throws his hands up in exasperation.
"You know I'm right," Chris calls to him.
She hasn't changed a bit.
Eaton does nothing but observe Nita's…proactive stance the whole lunch period, and I feel as if reading aloud from Fifty Shades Of Grey would still not sway him to listen to me. I would not care if it was any other unit, but I am strangely proud of my progress in this one, and almost take it as a personal insult when Eaton does not even deign to acknowledge my enthusiasm.
It still would have been fine, if it weren't for Eaton's last comment.
"Whatever, Prior. Just relish the one moment you'll ever be good at something somewhere else, okay?"
I see red, and suddenly I'm standing up, sending the pencils on my lap bouncing to the floor.
"So."
Uriah looks at me. "Yes, Beatrice?"
"Don't call me that. Anyway, how am I getting home?" I say, having realized that I live nowhere near here about an hour ago and also that driving would probably not be a good idea. I had lost track of the number of glasses of champagne I had swallowed. My chest felt buzzy.
"You're leaving so soon?" Uriah says, disappointed, his betrayed puppy dog directed at me. "The party's just starting!"
I glance around. Half the guests are gone, the music has stopped, and most of the people who are still here are asleep, the bride included.
Uriah observes the yard as well. "Okay. I see your point." He leads me over to where Mar is resting on a chair. He rubs her head, tousling her hair. She smiles in her sleep.
"Marlene?" he asks gently, saying her name like a wish.
"Mmm?" she responds, still not opening her eyes.
Uriah looks almost sickeningly besotted. "Do you know anyone who could give Tris a ride home?"
"Four could," is the response. I tense. They don't notice.
When I ask Four for the ride, wringing out my hands with my head high, he says yes.
I run, run, run to the hallway, barely hearing the shouts of the hallway. I am a storm of hatred, knocking into everything, cursing the world; my mother would be ashamed.
There is a corner with no one nearby, and I fall onto the wall, feeling like punching it.
I am leaning with my back against the stone, breathing quick and heavy, when Eaton catches up to me, leaning beside me. We are both panting. I am glaring.
"Leave," I spit out. It is all I want at that moment, but somehow the word feels rotten in my mouth, as if I will regret it later.
"Let me catch my breath first," Four says. For a supposed jock, he seemed to have trouble catching up to me.
He looks into my eyes. His are a dark, inviting sapphire with topaz highlights that seem to twist and turn like the ocean's currents. I could stand and stare at his shiny forehead and caramel skin and listen to his ragged breathing for however long I could, but I suddenly realized what I'm doing and pointedly look away.
Eaton steps forward, voice deep, hands suddenly on my hips. I stop breathing. He sets his forehead on mine and whispers, "Can I kiss you?"
"Nice car," I say, impressed. The right corner of Four's mouth twitches upward; I see the beginnings of a dimple on his cheek.
"Thanks," he responds, voice low. I wait patiently as he digs his key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, then I slide into the passenger seat.
"You live at what, again? Delancey and 6th?" Four has only been to my apartment once, and the mess with Peter had created, I had doubted he would remember.
I nod. "Yeah."
The seats are firm but give a little bit, allowing me to relax. I do not see how anyone could get used to the luxury of this car, but Four looks utterly unfazed.
After a few blocks of closed Laundromats and fluorescently lit 7/11s and the lamppost shadows brushing past my lap, Four says, "I saw you caught the bouquet."
I flush unnecessarily. "Christina's doing, which you might have guessed."
"They even got Alé into it," Four observes.
"Funny, "I tell him, "Since he normally only listens to what you tell him what to do."
"Very funny," Four repeats, no clue in his voice as to whether or not he was in on the plan as well.
But why would he be? Why would Four care if I caught a bouquet?
Keeping his gaze on the road, Four continues. "Well, you caught the bouquet either way, right?" It feels like the term should be capitalized, the way people at weddings sometimes talk about the bouquet. Like it was Armageddon or something.
"Yeah," I say, sounding more than a bit apathetic. I attempt to cover it up with a joking, "I guess I'm getting married next!"
The car is silent. My words hang in the air, a jest that could have been meaningless or fun if it were any other two people in the world.
Four hits the gas as soon as we have the light, and I stare out the car window.
I inhale sharply, which Eaton either takes as a yes or refuses to wait for an answer, because he brushes my cheekbone with his thumb, and suddenly I'm on fire.
I instantly melt into his lips, breathing in sync with him, kissing him like it will rid me of all of my problems. Eaton has one hand on my hip and the other on the wall above my head.
He tastes of orange tic-tacs and sweat and pencil shavings, and it is at that moment that I realize I will be comparing all other kisses I receive to this one for the rest of my life.
Is that not the greatest curse, to prove yourself wrong, to love one's enemy?
When Eaton's warm, soft mouth leaves my own, my eyes snap open, only to see his retreating figure.
"Music?" Four asks, already reaching for the dial on the radio. He seems to interpret my lack of response as a "Sure, go ahead."
Remember when you thought you were in love? I do. I cried for you, the radio sings softly until Four flips the dial again, and a quiet violin piece comes on, not unlike something I would've been able to play had I stayed in Abnegation.
I have not seen my family in so long.
Remember when you thought you were in love?
The words echo in my head.
I was infatuated with Robert Black, until I wasn't, like listening over and over again to that one song, the one that's so refreshing and gorgeous and new, until one day it isn't.
Four pulls up at my apartment building. "I'll walk you to the door."
"I can manage on my own, thanks," I tell him, about to remind him of the classes I took in physical defense, but he shakes his head.
"I know you can, but it's dark, and you're wearing a dress, and I'd rather not have Zeke introducing me at parties as 'the guy who let Tris Prior get raped, mugged, and murdered' for the next eight years," he replies, half of his face in shadow. His eyes are almost black in this light, but they still manage to swirl.
"Okay," I accept with sigh letting Four walk me to my apartment. Our fancy shoes echo on the pavement like we are walking towards a fate from which we will never return.
Maybe we won't.
My back slides down the wall, the warm feeling in my chest I hadn't noticed moments before dissipating.
I don't see Eaton for the next month.
The kiss, which I pretend never happened, leaves me with bruised lips, a hammering heart, and a resounding what if? running through my head.
I slip out of my tight dress and nearly sigh with relief, throwing my shoes onto the bed. I draw a bath and clean myself up, replaying the day's events in my head.
After which, of course, I cannot get to sleep, so I put on some slippers and listen to a little music while I sketch out a tattoo idea I've had for a long time now.
C'mon now, make it easy. Say I never mattered.
The ravens slowly appear as I scribble furiously, thinking of my family as I do so. My mother's graceful fingers, my father's soft determination, my brother's unique curiosity; all of these show, in little ways, on the ravens I have created.
This is your heart. Can you feel it? Can you feel it?
I have always loved drawing for this reason. I am the reason this now exists. I am a part of this masterpiece.
I am no artist, but Tori, my tattoo artist, always knows what I am conveying. She knows me.
And I soon drift off to the sound of my heartbeat and my pencil.
-if it wasn't clear, the italics are a flashback to high school
-A thousand apologies for being a pansycake and not updating
-Actually FantabulousDivergentGal and I have a fan page on instagram called pansycake_initiates
-Check that out!
-fluff was fun to write unfortunately (haha) we are not even close to done
-the girls' dresses are up on my profile
-thank you to my spectacular reviews! Shoutout to the lovely bahrfamily for being an amazing one
-if you watch agent carter it is crucial that you talk to me about it pronto
-I will never stop making every character I encounter bi
-the lyrics are from young volcanoes (fob) and laura palmer (bastille)
-I just want myra to be haPPY OKAY S HE DESERVES BETTER *sobs*
-If you review (hint hint) you get to know the name of the next chapter (guests excluded, sorry!), which should be very…enlightening.
-Can we get to 90 reviews? 95?
-If you read this whole thing add #andshefinallyupdates to your review