Author's Note: Even though I've previously stated on my profile page that I no longer write multi-chapter stories (unless they are already complete, that is), due to popular demand I decided to write two companion pieces to this story (this chapter being one of the two). The next chapter will be the last piece.
I hope you enjoy reading it.
Disclaimer: I Don't Own Divergent.
(Tris's POV)
She couldn't help it.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about it.
She couldn't understand it.
Nothing made any sense.
One minute he hated her.
The next, he actually acted as if he wanted to be around her.
Like his constant harassing and taunting was really some sick, desperate way of getting her attention.
And he didn't seem to care whether it was positive attention or not.
Just about any attention would suffice.
Whether it was a flinch, a gulp, or something as irritating and simple as getting her breath to hitch in her throat, he definitely seemed to gain pleasure in making her uncomfortable.
And just that alone was enough to disturb her.
Then things got worse.
It started out with little things.
Meaningless things.
Things like; singling her out during training, and "randomly" picking her out of all the other Dauntless trainees in the group to help him 'demonstrate' new fighting techniques, to stalking her on her way to her room (which she later found out was directly across from his, although the fact didn't make him following her any less creepy).
Then things got weird.
Instead of singling her out to humiliate her in front of the entire face of Dauntless, he started singling her out to help her work on her techniques.
Instead of glaring at her and reprimanding her for being clumsy enough to lose her balance and fall during sparring, he'd give her an almost sympathetic look and tell her to be more 'careful'.
And if that wasn't confusing enough, it certainly didn't help whenever he'd steal a glance her way either.
Scanning her features, and observing her looking his way.
It was almost like he was gauging her reaction to his presence.
Wondering if she saw something he didn't want to admit, or something that perhaps was never there in the first place.
Many nights she kept herself up thinking about it...
Wondering...
Could it be possible?
Was there a crack in his 'bad guy' facade?
Did something else lie behind the front he put on?
She didn't know.
But if she were going to stay up all night pondering those thoughts, then she figured she may as well get a good work-out out of it.
So she ran.
Through the Dauntless halls, past the dorms and rooms.
Around the building.
Past the training room.
And she wouldn't stop until her legs hurt.
Until her heart pounded like a thousand drums, and she nearly suffocated herself from the lack of air.
Not until her limbs felt numb, and her body became weightless, and her feet almost seemed to lift off the ground, and her mind became more clear, her thoughts less muddled.
Every time she'd run past the empty training room, she'd spot him.
Either pounding a work-out bag, tossing knives, or doing more sit ups than she could keep count.
As long as she ran past, she saw him.
But he never saw her.
Or, if he did, he never acknowledged her.
He seemed too focused.
Too lost in his own thoughts to pay much attention to anything aside from the bag he was beating, the knives he was tossing, or the excruciating pain he must have felt in his abs after how many sit ups he'd force his body to endure.
From time to time she'd wonder...
She'd stop thinking about her own troubling thoughts and start focusing on what she thought could be troubling his.
Why was he always staying up so late?
Did he have trouble sleeping too?
Were there too many thoughts swimming around in his head as well?
Did he think of her?
Did he ever wonder what she thought of him?
Did it bug him whenever she brushed him off?
Did he ever expect her to seek him out like he'd purposefully sought out her?
Did he have - dare she say it - 'feelings' for her?
Could it be that everything he did, he did for her, and it was all in vain?
Maybe, she thought.
But what if she was wrong?
What if she was misreading everything?
What if he really was taunting her just for the sake of taunting her?
What if every glance, every word, every time he seemingly followed her meant nothing?
She couldn't confront him about it.
No, she wasn't quite brave enough for that.
But what if...
No.
The best thing she could possibly do, she decided, was just brush him off, and walk away.
That's what he expected of her right?
Why would she do any different?
It wasn't like she felt anything for him...
Did she?
She didn't feel anything when his hand accidentally brushed against hers when he passed by.
Or when he looked at her with those beautiful, piercing blue eyes.
She didn't feel anything when her name rolled off his tongue in one perfect, crisp line, and he emphasized the 's' in her name...
But if that were true, then why did her heart skip a beat when he brushed past her?
Why did she feel so light-headed whenever he caught her eye?
Why couldn't she get a single word out whenever he talked to her?
And, worst of all, why did she even feel the need to question herself on this matter?
No, she told herself.
Just stop.
And those thoughts left just as quickly as they came.
Why would he, of all people, like her?
She was nothing pretty.
Nothing special.
Yet still...
She seemed to be good enough to catch his eye.
And he, good enough to catch hers.
Though they were so different from each other... and perhaps that's why they both found the other intriguing.
Opposites attract, they say.
Or in this case; attack...
Either way, at this point she didn't even think she could stop herself from thinking about him.
And maybe, just maybe, it was for the best...