AN: I appreciate the interest in this story, thank you for the follows, favorites and reviews.
After that chance encounter in the hallway, I saw him everywhere. In the cafeteria, his eyes followed my every movement. If I went down to watch TV or read in the common room, or participate in the bullshit arts and crafts activities he was there, half-ass paying attention to the task at hand while he studied me the way a former Erudite is apt to do. I tried to keep my distance, but I was wildly curious about this man, and it seemed as if he was just as much as a loner as I am. He managed to get closer to me physically every once in a while, where he'd have to pass me the paint if we were in an art class, or perhaps sitting close to me when we were in the TV room, but as soon as he would catch me looking at him he would disappear.
It was frustrating.
I kept writing in my journal like Myron had asked me to do, but all I could do was think of Eric Coulter, and my journal entries started to reflect that. There's no way this man they had called Paul isn't Eric, you can remove as many piercings and tattoos as you want, but the smoldering glare of his silver eyes was still there. They could shave all his hair off, and it was still him, and all I wanted to know is if he was just here playing a part, or if he was truly as aloof and lost as he seemed to be.
I danced around the subject during my one-on-one sessions with Myron, but he always pivoted, and when he did I usually shut down and got violent. I don't know why that is my go-to reaction now, and each time I'm coming down from whatever serum they've given me I feel like pure hell afterwards.
After my latest outburst with Myron, I spent a day and a half in my room, drugged out of my mind. During those days, I had some of my worst nightmares, about the war, about when Jeanine had me in captivity, the people I'd lost and the worst were the ones reliving Al attacking me at the chasm.
I can't think about that last one right now.
In my normal post-serum haze, I found myself in the bathroom alone, taking a shower in one of the stalls. I'd somehow been allowed to shave, and I stood there in front of one of the techs running the dull blade over my legs. I hate people seeing my body, but in here I can't care anymore. I've been subject to strip searches; body cavity searches and I'm always observed in the shower. The only place we don't have cameras are in our quarters and in the actual bathroom. They do allow us that much privacy, even if we mostly always have eyes on us.
"You need more time?" The tech asks me.
I like her, she's been one of the few people in this place who is completely okay giving me time and space. Her name is Caterina, but she goes by Cat, and she's petite just like Christina is. When I accidentally called her Chris one day, she didn't mind, and she even asked me who Chris was. It was one of the first times I've been able to hear her name without panicking. I missed my best friend, but I understood why she hates me.
"Maybe a little. I kind of spaced out."
"Are you okay?" She asks me.
"I've been noticing someone who seems to just watch me, and he seems familiar." I reply and she quirks an eyebrow at me.
"A tech?" She frowns.
"No, another patient."
"Oh, I've noticed that too. You mean Paul, right? The guy they've moved out of solitary? Tall, kind of built, shaved head?" She prompts.
"Yeah, him. Do you know anything about him?"
"He's pretty quiet," She shrugs, "I know they had him in lockdown for a while, he's had some anger issues that I've heard about. Is he making you uncomfortable?"
"I don't think that he is." I shake my head, "I saw him like a week or more ago when they were escorting him, he was definitely angry and fighting, but when he saw me he calmed down. I was thinking maybe he knew me."
"Doubtful. From what I've heard, he's got some heavy memory shit going on. Something must have happened to him because he seriously doesn't seem to remember anything before he was brought here." She replies.
"Isn't that unusual?"
She shakes her head, "No. I may not be one of those fancy docs, but I've been here long enough to know that trauma reactions manifest in different ways."
"I suppose that they do."
I have time between lunch and dinner, so I decide to go to the common room and grab one of the books they keep there for us to read. The three orderly techs are there as usual, along with a few other patients, and I quickly check my hiding place for the book I've been reading since coming here. I find it and curl up on one of the oversized beanbags and pick up the story where I left off.
Reading has always comforted me.
Maybe it was from my own Erudite traits, but I have been a voracious reader for as long as I can remember. Caleb and I both were obsessed with books, and we'd check them out at the school library and sneak them into our homes so we could each give in to our own selfish indulgence once our parents had gone to bed. Even right now, reading reminds me of him.
I turn the page of the latest series I am reading, just getting started on book two, and get lost in the pages, reading about sorcery and wizards. I'm so engrossed in my own book that I never noticed someone lounging on the beanbag that is next to mine, and when I turn over I see his large frame sprawled out, and the first book in the series I am reading in his hands. It's the closest I have been to Eric and I'm suddenly nervous.
His silver eyes meet mine and he smiles briefly when he tips his book towards me, "That one any good?"
His voice is heavily slurred and I immediately realize he's extremely medicated.
"Yeah. The one you're reading is great too."
"It seems to be," He says softly, "Well, enjoy."
"You too."
We both return to our books, but every so often I catch him looking at me.
I must have fallen asleep, because when the final call for dinner announcement comes over the loudspeaker I jump. I've got a blanket draped over me, but my book is missing, and so is Eric.
Frustrated when I can't find it, I finally leave the room and decide to grab a quick dinner. I scan the room for Eric and can't find him anywhere, so I grab my tray and make my way through the line, eventually settling at a table alone so I can eat without being noticed. I finish my meal quickly, then head back to the common room to search for my book but end up disappointed when I can't find it anywhere. I shuffle back to my room, and when I'm inside I see a folded-up piece of paper on the floor.
I hid your book with mine, people were eyeing it when you fell asleep. Meet me there same time tomorrow and I will show you where I keep the series.
I smile briefly and smooth the paper out, placing it on my empty desk, before settling in for the evening.
Group therapy with Kristen is awful as always. We have several new people, and the usual disruptions that come with them. She tries her best to handle each of us, but it's always a shit-show, and I hope that with the additions that maybe I will be left alone.
I'm not that lucky.
"Tris, you shared with the group that you're feeling to blame for losing people who are dear to you, could you give us some more insight as to why you feel that way?" Kristen asks.
"No." I reply simply.
"I know these things can be hard to talk about, but we are here for you, and we all want to help you to heal. Why don't you want to share?" She presses.
"No is a complete sentence. Take my answer and move on." I reply and her bright blue eyes narrow slightly before she resumes her cheery façade and moves on to the next person.
I'm sure Myron will hear about that one.
It doesn't take long for me to be proven right when I am taken for an appointment with him as soon as group therapy is dismissed. He's dressed more casually than usual, with a large hoody and jogger pants on, but his face is still buried in a file when he nods towards the sitting area in his office.
"Hello Tris, how are things today?"
"The same as they were yesterday. Is it really necessary for us to meet every day?" I ask angrily.
"Yes. Until we can develop some sort of comfortable rapport it's important that we spend time together. Kristen says you were a bit tense in group-"
"I didn't want to share with them, for fucks sake does she send you a running tally while we're in there?"
"Something like that." He smiles at me.
"Unreal." I sigh as I try to pull my long hair back, "Can't I at least have a ponytail holder? Just something to get my hair out of my way occasionally?"
"That's a privilege-"
"That has to be earned." I finish for him, "I'm not going to kill myself with an elastic!"
"We've yet to establish what caused you to try before, Tris. Until then we must be cautious."
"I don't want to talk about this." I reply.
"Tris-"
"You know what, I'm done, I'm tired, I don't want this right now. Can you just let me decide what I want to talk about?" I yell at him.
"What do you want to talk about then?" He asks, sitting back in his chair.
"Why is Eric Coulter here?" I ask bluntly.
Myron doesn't even flinch, "Who?"
"A patient named Eric Coulter." I press.
"You already know I cannot discuss other patients with you, Tris. However, if you've made a friend, I would love to hear about it." He replies.
I scoff at him, "I don't have friends here, they all hate me."
"Why do you believe that?"
"Because they tell me. I've been made out to be some sort of hero and that's bullshit." I reply firmly.
"Tell me about your friends before the war." He says calmly.
"No."
He flips through his files, "Yes, right here, I have a Christina Dillon-"
"Stop-"
"A Marlene Stone, Shauna Mendez, Lynn Mendez-"
"Fucking STOP Myron!" I yell at him and he eyes me over his glasses.
"Uriah Pedrad-"
I jump up from the table and yank the folder out of his hands, tearing it to shreds while I scream at him, and I reach for the stapler on his desk. He quickly restrains me, and I bite and kick at him until the slide of the needle in my neck slowly puts me to sleep.
I don't know how long I'm out this time, but when I finally wake there's light coming through the small window of my room. I cough several times, wishing I had something to drink, and I scrub at my eyes to wipe the sleep away. I drowsily rise from my bed, and as I shuffle towards my door I see several folded up pieces of paper. I unfold each one, and I notice that they've been numbered.
I missed you in the common room. I will keep your book safe. I'll go back once an hour as I can.
I hope you're okay. I will continue to hide your book.
I heard it was a bad day for you. Come find me when it gets better, if you want.
I smooth each one before putting them on my desk with his other note. I don't know what his motives are, but maybe I can try to get to know whoever he is. I smile briefly and nod my head, then head to the shower.