A/N- I do not own Divergent, right go to Veronica Roth.
Sorry if I'm updating this at an awkward time, but it's going to be really difficult to update during the next couple of weeks. I'm going to be seriously busy over Christmas and New Year (as I'm sure most of you will be). I didn't want to leave you with nothing, so here's the next chapter now :) You can expect the next chapter either just before or after the new year.
November 23rd
|'m slowly forgetting what it's like to sleep alone. My mother doesn't question it, although in the kitchen one morning she made a pointed remark about "no fooling around while I'm in the house," which caused both mine and Four's cheeks to turn a bright shade of pink. Since that mortifying day, we've kept to our own sides of the bed.
Now, I stand in front of Lynn's front door, anticipation and nervousness flooding my veins. "You look different," she says when she opens the door for me.
"Nice to see you too," I reply, walking past her and rolling my eyes. "You've been out of prison, what, an hour? And the first thing you do is comment on my appearance?"
"Are those highlights?" She picks at a strand of my hair, but I bat her hand away. "Sorry! It's not only the hair…I don't know. You just seem different."
"Well it has been nearly three months. That's a quarter of a year."
"I suppose. Anyway, come inside, I'm just sitting in my room."
"First day out of prison and you're sat in your room, why am I not surprised?"
"Because I'm on house arrest, all I'm allowed to do is sit in my room."
"Not true, you could sit in the living room, or the kitchen, or the-"
"You certainly had your coffee this morning, didn't you?" She snaps, face wild and bedraggled. I purse my lips, silently following her up the staircase and into her bedroom which hasn't changed at all since we last sat in here in the summer. She plonks down onto her bed, hands covering her face. "This is too weird," she sighs.
"I can only imagine," I take a seat next to her at the edge of the bed.
"One minute I'm laying on my bunk, the next I'm back at home. My parents are already acting like normal again. It's a bit of a shock to the system."
"Why did they let you out early?"
"Good behaviour," she shrugs, "It's only a week early though, I think they did it so they didn't have to start off my new paperwork for next month or something. Saves them the hassle."
"And how long have you got to stay in the house for?"
"One whole year."
"Whew," I breath out.
"I know, it's going to break me more than prison did." She looks exhausted, her hair blunt and brittle. She wears grey sweat pants with a matching jumper, and smells like eggs and soap. She shows me the bulky and obtrusive tag which is strapped around her right ankle, which will apparently sound an alarm if she walks onto the street. Her parents bought her a treadmill so that she can do some indoor exercise, but I doubt she'll be using it. "To make it worse, I feel super paranoid, like as though they're watching me still or something."
"Well they're not. You're here at home, your home. Where you've grown up. Yeah, its pretty shitty not being able to go outside, but thank God you're not in prison surrounded by other criminals and living off a diet of weak tea and tasteless food…if you can even call it that."
"You're right," she smiles, holding out her hand for me to hold, "hey, I really have missed you."
"I've missed you too," I say by default, be it the truth or not.
"On the upside, at least I have you to bring me snacks and dvd's and to keep me company," I laugh lightly, twiddling her fingers, "no, seriously. I'm going to have nothing to do, and you don't work at the bakery anymore, so we can spend our days together. Heck, you can even move in if you want."
"I'm looking for another job."
"Sack it for a year, I'll give you some of the money I get because I'm not allowed to work. I'm only going to spend it on snacks anyway."
"I can't do that," I say quietly, knowing that she doesn't understand how much my life has changed. Lynn isn't my priority anymore, and it would kill her if she knew. "You know what my mom's like."
She pouts her bottom lip, but eventually gives in — or in other words, rolls her eyes — and sparks up a conversation about all the funny things she eavesdropped in prison. After only an hour of talking, the hour on my phone indicates that it's time to leave, and I know she's not going to like it. "Why do you have to go?" She says sharply, and I feel constricted by her already, like a snake wrapping around my neck.
"Because I'm seeing Four."
"Four?"
"Four."
"Why?"
"Why do you think?"
"Is he your boyfriend?"
"Well," I haven't really applied a label to him yet. And I haven't had to, since we've been living in our own little world where no one else exists for the past two weeks, "I suppose that's the word for it."
After a sufficient amount of huffing and puffing, she eventually lets me leave, but only with the promise that I'll come back and visit her tomorrow. I reluctantly agreed, warning her that I wasn't promising anything. I now walk though the cold air, on my way to Four's desolate house. He went there to organise some things and do a bit of housework, since he's been neglecting it to stay with me instead. He's even thrown dust sheets over the furniture in the spare bedrooms, since they'll go untouched indefinitely and he doesn't want the hassle of dusting every week. The garden is also looking a little worse for wear, its lawn overgrown and the rose bushes out of shape. The door is open, so I let myself into the silent building. The floorboards squeak underneath my feet, and I have to step over various paint pots and decorating items in order to make my way into the kitchen. Four's stood in there, elbows leaning against the counter, staring out of the back window and into the distance. "Hey," I murmur, standing next to him and rubbing my hand up and down his back. He offers me a small smile, but that's about it. I don't spoil the silence, choosing instead to glance over him. I probably stare at him more than I should, but it can't be helped.
"This is more stressful than I thought," he eventually sighs. I look around the kitchen, papers and bills spread out across the table, laundry piled high in front of the washing machine.
"I told you I'd show you how to wash your clothes properly: separate the whites and the colours, take your suits to the dry cleaners. It's not as if you have any delicates or anything-"
"I'm not talking about fucking laundry Tris," he bellows harshly. I step back out of instinct, startled by his tone, eyes wide but not with fear. "I'm sorry," he mutters quickly, attempting to circle his arms around me.
"Piss off," I press my hands against his chest and push him away, angered and baffled by he temper yet again. I shuffle away from him to the other end of the counter, crossing my arms defiantly and staring determinedly at the wall. "I'm sick of your stupid attitude."
Whenever 'Intimidating Four' makes an appearance, I've learned to put him in his place. So we stand in silence, noticing in my peripheral vision how he refuses to look away from me. There's bad air between us, and it's going to take one hell of an electric saw to cut through it. That, or just my complete and utter adoration for him. Timidly, he edges closer to me, until there's about six inches between us. I continue to stare at the wall. I can hear his breaths, deep and calming and oh so appealing. You know you've fallen hard when even the way the person breathes becomes attractive to you. He precariously begins to run the back of his index finger up and down along the skin of my arm. When I don't object to the contact, he moves his hand so that it rests on my stomach, his thumb moving in circles. He then slides his hand further along, until it sits on my ribs below my breast and his thumb is moving firmer along the spot where he knows I'm ticklish. My face is contorted with held-in laughter, prompting him to smile widely and me to allow a small breathy laugh slip though. He takes this as his cue to press even closer against me, cupping one side of my face with his hand and turning me to look at him.
"I am sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to take it out on you. It's not fair."
"You're right, it's not fair. I'm only trying to help you."
"I know you are. But looking after this big house and sorting everything out is stressful, I don't know if I can handle it yet."
"You don't have to stay with me at night, you know," I say quietly, "if there are other things that you need to be doing here."
"I know I don't have to," I want to, I fill in the blanks for him since I know he's not good with words. He pulls me closer against his chest, and this time, instead of stiffening up against his touch, I sink into it.
"I don't like knocking around in this big house on my own."
"Most people get a pet dog or a cat when they're lonely."
I look up at him to see him bite back a remark, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Eventually, he whispers, "I guess we're not like most people then."
"Do you have to live here?" I question, "I mean, it's a pretty big house, wouldn't you be better off in an apartment or something?"
"That's just the problem though, isn't it. Of course I don't want to live here. I really do feel like I have to."
"Why?"
"Because," he sighs, "remember what my father said about it being my mother's 'dream house'. If I sold it, I'd feel like I was selling the last memory I have of her. But at the same time, being here, I feel like I need to get away from the memory. Like it's just a reminder of the fact that I lost her and how unfair it is. Being here without a family is depressing and isolating."
"What if you wanted a family one day? Wouldn't you use it then?"
"I don't even think I would want to raise my own family here. I'd want a fresh start."
"Well then, I think you already know what you need to do."
At this, Four seems to get upset, because it's the hard truth. He's going to have to let go of his family home because it's tying him down and it just isn't convenient. I wish I could sit with him, murmuring reassuring things to him like: "it's what you mother would want," and, "she would only want to see you happy," but it's no use. Those kinds of things don't help Four, they don't make him feel better. Because he knows the facts. His mother isn't here, and we don't know if it's what she would want, and we don't know whether she can even see him to know whether he's happy or not. He grumbles something about going to get a shower, and swiftly jogs up the stairs.
After a short while of just standing here, I still haven't heard the shower turn on. So, I decide to follow him. He's not in the shower, he's still fully clothed, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. I lean my shoulder against the door frame, examining him. The bones at the back of his neck form ripples on his tanned skin, travelling downwards and disappearing under the black cotton of his t-shirt. The brown hair at the nape of his neck curls round and under, sticking out a little, and more grown out than he's ever let it get. The muscles in his arm ripple when he drags one of his palms over the back of his neck and then his cheek, as if he's manually wiping away the tension. When his arms are slumped in his lap, he looks up at me, wonder and thoughtfulness in his eyes. I reciprocate the look he's giving me, not moving an inch. He leans back, supported by the heels of his hands on the mattress, continuing to stare me, his eyes slowly skimming up and down. I break away from where I'm leant against the doorway, and cautiously walk up to him. I stand in between his parted legs, my hands resting on his shoulders to stop them from trembling. Like always, he grounds me. He sits up straighter, planting his hands on my hips and sliding them under the hem of my blouse. I straddle him, sitting on his lap with my legs bent either side, my knees causing a bigger dip in the mattress. I see him swallow thickly, hands squeezing the flesh of my hips tighter. Starting at where the first couple of my buttons are undone, he lightly runs his bottom lip along the smooth bare skin under my collar bone, dragging it upwards along my throat and under my chin. The dampness and heat of his breath causes my heart rate to quicken and a sigh to escape my lips. I tilt my head down in order to press my open mouth to his, instantly forming a deep and needy kiss. We continue to do so, slow and deep and satisfying. Our touches explore rather than grab. It's patient and honest and I feel as though this is the most intimate we have ever been. Although we've seen, felt and caressed every inch of each other, there's nothing quite like exposing your emotions and deepest and darkest thoughts. We're still learning how our bodies fit together, learning what feels good and what the other person likes.
He wastes no time in smoothing his hands up my body, undoing the buttons of my blouse and, with my help, dragging it off down my shoulders. I reach back to unhook my bra, pulling it down impatiently. He grips the hem of his shirt, and together, we pull it up over his head. His hand resumes its position splayed across my back, pressing me closer so that our now-naked chests touch. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his love bites sending shivers down my spine, my hands warming up against his flesh. I move them around to the front of his chest, running them up and down slowly before pressing him down on the bed. I lean over him on all fours with my arms and legs bookending him, and my smile is mischievous when he glances over my body again. His feet are still firmly on the floor as his legs hang off the bed, and he kicks off his shoes whilst I unbuckle his belt. He drags his jeans down, kicking them off onto the floor before bringing his feet up onto the mattress. He grips a hand onto my behind and shuffles backwards, pushing us further up the bed so that he can lie down properly. I roll onto my back next to him, lifting my hips in order to rid myself of my own jeans and toss them onto the floor with the rest of our discarded clothing. He shifts over so that now he's above me, held up by one bent arm, his other free to roam me. I cup his face with my hand, my fingers reaching to the back of his neck and my thumb moving soothingly along his cheekbone. We continue the embrace of our lips, our tongues gliding along each other, our deep breaths mixing. His knee separates my legs so that he can rest between them, and I feel him hard and wanting. It does nothing to ease the dull wet ache that's forming there. He groans, guttural, when I lift my hips to meet his and move one leg to wrap around his thigh. When he reaches over to open his bedside drawer, I stop him, clasping his hand and placing it on my chest instead.
"I'm on the pill," I murmur, "so if it's okay with you…"
"That's fine," he says, continuing his assault on my neck with his lips and teeth, moving across my collar bone and chest to the point where I know I'll have bruises tomorrow but right now it feels good and that's all that matters. I can feel his heart beating in his chest, thrumming at the same heightened speed as my own
"Hey," I whisper, prompting him to look at me, "we can be a family now."
A smile grows on his face, small and honest in a way that only he can be, "you and me. We don't need anyone else," he whispers back, bumping his nose against mine. He closes his eyes, continuing to run his nose against the outer side of my cheek lightly, his lips barely touching my skin. "You and me. We're gonna' be alright," he reiterates, voice deep and husky. Yes we are. As long as we have each other. He removes the last scraps of clothing that separate us, and pulls the sheet up to cover us halfway. We don't bother to tease each other first because that's not what we want right now. We need each other, need to be one, need to be whole. And we are. My head tips back, mouth open, a low moan escaping my lips. The creak of the mattress is minimal compared to the sound of our heavy breaths and murmured sweet nothings. And that's exactly what they are: nothing. Sweet and sensual and seductive without actually mounting to any purpose or point. Our cries are only quiet, but we can hear them, and that's all that matters. We sound quite desperate in a way, but that's only because life has tried to damage us, and now we're fighting back. When he leans up higher and moves faster, my hand grips onto the top of the headboard behind me. My eyes scrunch shut and no sound escapes my mouth when I feel myself getting there, but I let it all out upon release. After that, nothing is really coherent until I hear my name rush past his lips a few times, him collapsing half-on half-off me after he comes.
I cradle his head against my bare chest, carding my fingers through his damp hair. His breaths are rapid against my skin, and his eyelashes tickle me as he blinks.
"That was," he pants, unable to speak.
"Yeah," I breathe, nodding my head and feeling his lips turn up in a smile.
I hope you all have an absolutely wonderful Christmas and New Year :)
Thanks for all your support and leaving reviews, please continue!