A/N- I don't own the Divergent characters, they belong to Veronica Roth.
So I managed to finish off this chapter and update it after a break from all the Christmas madness! I hope those of you who celebrate it had a wonderful time. I'm hoping the next update will be just after New Years day, then after all that I should resume my normal updating schedule.
December 7th
The get-together at Four's new apartment is only small, a few close friends, is what he wanted. Of course, Zeke and Shauna tried to gode him into having a colossal early Christmas party, but he told— no, warned— people that he didn't want any strangers coming here. Not to mention the fact that he doesn't want the place to get trashed. "Where's the main man?" Zeke asks me, walking into the high-speck kitchen and popping the top on another beer.
"He's held back at work. Shouldn't be long though, half an hour tops," I say.
"Alright then. Do you know how to work his speakers? Never seen anything so complicated in my life. There's about three different remote controls!"
"Yeah," I laugh, "I'll show you." Four's apartment is filled with the latest boy-gadgets and state of the art technology, who knew he was such a nerd? It's modern, nice-sized, and recently decorated and furnished. The decor is all blacks and greys and browns, with minimalistic furniture. You can tell it's a bachelor pad, with most of the furnishings being leather and glass and bold statement-like. After a lot of humming and ah-ing, Four and Marcus finally figured out the situation with the family house. Four decided he definitely didn't want to live in it anymore, so they put it up for sale. For the meantime, Marcus gave Four the money that the house is worth, so that he could move out and buy his own apartment. Honestly, I'm not a mathematician and it's all a little complicated, but they somehow worked it out.
Zeke finally gets the music going, and things are starting to liven up. We all sit in his main living area, snacks scattered across the black glass coffee table, football playing in the background. After a while though, I get a headache. I don't know whether it's because I'm coming down with something or if it's due to the fact that I'm still not a social butterfly, and being here on my own with Four's friends is a lot of pressure. Eventually, when my head feels as though it's about to implode, I excuse myself to the bathroom, but end up going to his bedroom instead and lying down on the cool clean sheets. It doesn't take long before my eyelids become heavy.
"Where's Tris?" I hear through the haze of sleep.
"I think she went to lie down, she didn't look too good."
My eyes open to form thin slits, met with the sight of Four squeezing through the partially opened door, then shutting it closed behind him. He's wearing a long black wool coat, the reminiscence of snow still on his shoulders, carrying a large brown shopping bag. He jumps onto the bed next to me, the bag now on his lap. My body jolts with the movement of the mattress and I roll towards him. I can't help the small grin that creeps across my face when he kisses my forehead. "What's wrong?" He asks me, brushing hair away from my face.
"Nothing. I had a headache but it's gone now."
"Good," I can hear the smile in his voice.
"What are you beaming at?" I crack an eye open fully to examine him. He sits up and leans forwards, dragging the coat off his shoulders and throwing it onto the floor.
"Santa came early this year," he says nonchalantly, placing the brown bag between us. I raise an eyebrow questioningly, unable to help the way that I excitedly sit up next to him and lean against the pillows. "Have a look," he laughs, edging the department store bag further towards me. I pull it open, and inside, are neatly folded up clothes.
"Really?"
"Just look," he says.
So I do, taking out the items. There are a few pairs of jeans, shirts and one dress. All beautiful and designer and fancy and by far more expensive than anything I've ever owned before. "Four, you shouldn't have," I sigh.
"Why not?"
"I bet they were expensive."
"Not too bad, plus I got that promotion yesterday, remember? And, you told me your clothes were too tight."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean that I should just get new ones. My own membership for the gym would have sufficed."
"Are you serious?" He says, completely and utterly bewildered, "you actually think that it's more logical to change your body than to change your clothes?"
"I was fine with how I looked before," I mutter, staring down at my knotted fingers, the new clothes scattered across my lap.
"No you weren't. You were tired and worn out and not even eating properly." He rolls onto his side, propped up with one arm, "you feel better now. That's the most important thing here."
"Thank you," I whisper, "for the clothes."
"You're welcome. I didn't pick out this stuff on my own by the way; I'm not a secret fashionista," he chuckles, "I had a personal shopper who told me what girls your age wear and she guessed what size you'd be. So, you can take them back if they don't fit or if you don't like them-"
"No," I cut him off with a light kiss to his lips, "I absolutely love them."
"Try them on for me," he mumbles against my neck, lips touching and caressing every bit of skin they can find.
"Now?"
"Please," he nuzzles me, peppering slow kisses along my collarbone. I stiffen up, chewing my lip bloody. "Take off your clothes," he says.
"No."
"Why won't you let me see you naked anymore?" He pulls away, his voice with a hint of a whine to it. Until now, he hasn't complained about the way I've started to go into the bathroom to get changed, about the way I pull the sheets up around us and ask him to turn the lights off when we have sex. He didn't even complain the other night when we slept together and I refused to take his T-shirt off, even when he desperately wanted to be skin against skin with me.
"Because I've changed and I told you: I don't like it."
"Don't be silly Tris," he huffs frustratedly. "I like the way you look. Perhaps I should say it more often than I do."
"Even if my ass is getting fat?"
"Especially because your ass is getting fat," he grins, "and these," he squeezes a hand over my chest, causing me to squirm and push him away. "I'm joking, I'm joking. You're still tiny. You just don't see it."
"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it then."
"I suppose you will," he smiles. "Try this on, it's the only thing I picked out myself." He hands me the dress, and I heave myself off the bed, scurrying off to get dressed in the closet without his prying eyes looking over me. I strip off my jeans and shirt, carefully pulling the dress over my body. It's without a doubt the most stunning thing I've ever worn, and fits me like a glove. It's tight but not too tight, ending mid-thigh length and the top resting just underneath my collar bone. It's a lovely deep purple colour, but covered with intricate gold beading. Because of this, it feels heavy and glamorous and something I would a movie star to wear on the red carpet. I step out of the closet slowly, Four still lying on the bed waiting for me.
"Well shit," he says in awe, eyebrows raising upwards. "I didn't think this through. Now I'm going to have to fight dozens more guys off you whenever I take you out."
"You like it?" I say shyly, turning around so he can see the way the back swoops down a little bit, exposing the top half of my back.
"I have no words," he opens his arms, hands gesturing for me to walk over to him. I sit on the edge of the bed, but he hooks an arm under my legs and lifts me over his body so that I lay down adjacent to him. I let out a small laugh, cupping his face with my hands and moulding my lips with his. All the while, we're being mindful about the fact that we're not the only people in his apartment. I remind myself that we're actually supposed to be entertaining his friends who are sat in the other room down the hall. But when he trails a hand up my thigh and kisses me like he never wants to stop, that fact is soon forgotten. At first, when he moves his fingers in small circles over my clothing, it's easy to stay silent. My breathes are only barely noticeable. He's on his side, facing me, one of his arms below my pillow and under my neck. We shouldn't be doing this right now. Not when someone could so easily interrupt. But that doesn't stop us. When my breaths quicken up, he tugs my dress up so that it's bunched around my waist and pulls my underwear down. I kick them off fully, allowing them to get lost under the covers somewhere.
"I don't want to ruin the dress," I murmur. He nods, lifting me up away from the bed so that he can pull it up over my head. Instead of throwing it on the floor like we normally do with our clothes, he leans over and drapes it across the chair that sits near the bed. He rolls back over, his fingertips gently running up the length of my legs, eventually going further. I turn my head into his chest, the fact that I can't be loud making the tease even more intense. He's slow, and it still makes me wriggle and write. One of my legs bend up, foot resting flat on the mattress, my hips moving on their own accord. I moan quietly, my face scrunching up.
"Shh," he whispers, covering his mouth with mine in attempts of muffling the noise. I pant, face contorted, fingers gripping onto anything they can. It's only ever this good when he does it, his strong hand and the warmth of his body next to mine just another sensation that tips me over the edge. When I get impossibly closer and closer, my mouth starts to go wide and we both know what's coming. "Tris, be quiet," he quickly reminds me, just as I'm about to lose all sense and reason. I move my hand up to my mouth, biting on my skin and sliding down on the bed as I contract and release. I lie there, sheets tangled around me, loose limbed and sated. He pulls his hand away, kissing me on my forehead and down my cheek.
"You next," I say breathlessly, rolling over and pushing his shirt up to expose his abdomen.
"Are you sure you've recovered enough after that?" He smirks.
"Your ego just skyrocketed even more, and I didn't think that was possible."
He's about to say something, but it turns into a groan when press my palm against him. There's something oddly powerful about this, having complete control over someones senses. I fumble at his belt, pulling his jeans and grey boxers down only half way. This isn't unexplored territory for me, even before I knew Four, but practice makes it perfect, and I'm getting to know what he likes every time we do it. It helps that we communicate, since like they say: it takes two to tango. After a while of alternating between different techniques, his hips are writhing like mine were earlier, and a small smug smile etches onto my face at that. At one point, we think we hear someone come up the stairs, and have to pause momentarily. Me completely under the covers, him listening out until we think it's safe to go again. After I continue, It doesn't take long before he whispers his warning.
Later, we make our way over to the bathroom, cleaning up before we head into the other room again. He holds me for a short while as we stand in front of the sink, telling me his thanks and how much he cares for me. I quickly get dressed, and he gets changed into something more comfortable.
"Yeah, I see that smile, Four!" Zeke taunts when we walk out into the living area, "we all know what you two were doing in there."
"Grow up," Tobias mutters, his hand splayed across my back, prompting me into the kitchen. I laugh slightly, poking his cheek which has more colour than usual. "So, I buy an apartment thinking I'll have all the privacy I need to be with you, and this is what happens," he says once we're alone in the kitchen.
"Hey, you can't blame them for wanting to hang out here. It's a pretty cool place."
"You think so?" He raises one eyebrow.
"Yes…but we talked about this. I'm just not ready yet."
"I know you're not, and I understand that," he runs his hand through my hair, pulling it away from my face. "I understand that because you're younger than me, there's going to be certain things that I want sooner than you're ready for. But I'm okay with waiting. You're worth it," he kisses my lips gently, pressing our bodies against each other.
"Thank you," I say. Since he's moved to the apartment, he hasn't been staying with me at night anymore. Instead, I come here to have dinner with him and never seem to manage to get myself home afterwards. I guess you could say I already practically live here, especially if you take note of the few clothes that I have hung up in his closet from 'forgetting' to take them home. But the idea of engaging in some kind of permanent commitment is a little terrifying at eighteen. The safety net of having my room at my mother's house is still needed. So now, like he did with me over the past month, I go home in the mornings and return here at nights. Then, my phone bleeps, causing us to separate. "I forgot, I'm supposed to go and see Lynn."
"Do you have to go?" he moans, pulling me closer against him, his hands running up and down my arms.
"Yes," I sigh, "she's alone tonight and needs someone to take her food."
"Give her the number for the Chinese we use, they deliver," he says with a mischievous grin because he knows he's doing wrong.
"Four," I scold. "I can't do that. She needs company."
"Fine," he smiles. "You're a good person, you know that, right?"
"Only because of you."
"No. Because of you," he points to my heart, then places his hand over it.
The walk up Lynn's pathway is familiar, and difficult since it's a little icy out tonight after the light snowfall. She takes a while to open the door, and gives me a calculating look when she does. "You look very…sophisticated," she says. I roll my eyes, shoving past her to get into the house. However, when I do, she scrunches her nose up in slight disgust.
"What's your problem?" I ask.
"You smell like Four," she says.
"I didn't realise that was a bad thing."
"It's not, if you like the way men smell."
I dismiss her comment, following her upstairs to her bedroom. If she thought I smelt bad, then I can't for the life of me figure out how she manages to live in here. There are plates filled with half-eaten and semi-rotton food scattered everywhere, teamed with drinking glasses filled with things that I don't even want to look at. The laundry basket is filled to the brim, dirty clothes spilling over and pooling around it on the floor. "When was the last time you cleaned up in here?"
"Eh, who knows, it's not as if I have anyone to impress."
"What about your parole officer?" I say, as I pick up a pair of underwear from the bed with my thumb and index finger, holding them out away from my body as I walk over to the hamper and deposit them on the pile of worn clothes.
"He cares if I'm doing drugs, not whether I've neglected my cleaning schedule or not."
"Whatever," I mutter. "But since you're spending so much time in here, it might be wise if you keep it clean and nice and organised, that way this whole thing won't be so unpleasant."
She rolls her eyes at me, completely ignoring my suggestion as she flops down on the bed and picks up the TV remote. "Did you bring me food?" She asks.
"Just this bag," I hold out the plastic carrier bag filled with snacks and junk food and soda.
"That's all?"
"You didn't give me any money, so yeah, this is all I'm getting for you."
"Thanks," she grumbles, snatching the bag from me and delving into the sugar and sweets. "Sit down."
For the next couple of hours, Lynn drones on about some soap opera that she's been watching every day, and how I should totally watch it too. I dismiss that idea, telling her I simply don't have the time to come here everyday and watch soap operas with her. Obviously, she doesn't take this very well. "I'm just going to use the bathroom," I say, getting up from the bed and brushing the crumbs away from my lap. When I return, Lynn is sprawled across the bed, lying on her stomach with her mobile phone in front of her face. But when I walk closer, I realise, it's not her phone…it's mine. "What are you doing on my phone?" I ask quietly. This startles her, causing the phone to drop out of her hand and onto the carpeted floor. I pick it up cautiously, and see that it's open on the page of all my text messages with Four. "Were you reading my messages?" I ask her. Her eyes shift to the left, avoiding the question. "Does my privacy mean nothing to you?" I ask again. When I look back at the messages, I see that he sent me one whilst I was using the bathroom:
Do you want me to come and pick you up now? The guys have gone home, there's a movie on TV starting in half an hour. Let me know x
But that's not all. Next to the message is the little red exclamation mark, signifying that Lynn attempted to delete it. "Relax," she says, sounding cool and collected. "I actually found your kinky sex texts quite amusing."
"Did you try to delete that message he just sent?"
"No, I didn't. I must have pressed it by accident," she says.
"It wasn't an accident. You tried to delete it so that I wouldn't see it, and therefore stay here with you instead, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't. I was just looking through your pictures and texts because I'm a nosey pervert, that's all."
"That's all?" I shake my head in disbelief. "So you think that you have some kind of God-given right to invade people's privacy?"
"I wasn't trying to cause any harm," she holds her hands in the air defensively.
"Just…just…. stop lying to me."
"Huh?"
"All you ever do is lie to me. You always think you're helping me or doing me a favour, or pointing me in the right direction, but you're wrong. You're always wrong. Instead, you make me miserable."
"Tris, where is all of this coming from? What are you trying to say? I… I don't understand what I've done or what you mean."
"What I mean is… stop trying to control my life."
"I think you should leave. Cool down, and go hang out with Four for a while instead. I know this must be hard for you, seeing me again after all this time, and I understand that. So…go…." She stands up from the bed abruptly, picking my bag up from the floor and pressing it into my hands. She grips her thin hands on my shoulders, and pushes me out the door, down the stairs, and out of her house. The door shuts behind me, without a single goodbye exchanged between the two of us. So I stand here, in the cold without a coat, gobsmacked to say the least. I replay the conversation over again in my head. Lynn telling me that she 'understands' and for me to leave was just her way of excusing her behaviour and avoiding an argument. And I fell for it.
Heaving a sigh, I call Four and ask him to come and pick me up. As I wait for him, I turn around, and look up to Lynn's bedroom window which is still lit up, a warm yellow colour against the blackness of the night. A storm is brewing; things have changed. Both for the better and for the worse. And I'm afraid I'm going to have to do whatever it takes to keep the better part of that change.
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I hope you all have fun if you're celebrating new year's eve...stay safe!