Глава 15. Tris, lying bruised and unconscious on my bed, looks a lot more delicate with the same frailness as an injured bird trying to take flight

Tris, lying bruised and unconscious on my bed, looks a lot more delicate with the same frailness as an injured bird trying to take flight. I run my hands nervously up and down her body, checking for injuries and broken bones. To my relief, no serious damage was done, but a bump on the back of her head sends me into a fit of worry. I wrap my blanket around her; the entire bed seems to swallow her whole. I stand by the bedside and watch her for a few minutes, terrified that if I leave, she will disappear – just vanish into thin air. What will I do then?

I turn on the bathroom tap and splash water onto my face hoping it will cool my anger and help even my breathing. Before I leave, I catch sight of my expression in the bathroom mirror. For the first time in my life, I almost don't recognize myself even though I've been seeing the same face staring back at me for eighteen years. With my hair a messy crown on my head and my eyes burning with red hot rage, I have taken on a frightening resemblance to my father. A sick feeling grows in my stomach, a leaden sensation that gets heavier the longer I look at the stranger that has crawled under my skin. I storm out of my room as I forcefully swallow the urge to plant my fist in the mirror.

I find Drew in the exact same spot that I left him: by the railing that overlooks the chasm.

" Up, " I say, hauling him to his feet by his shirt.

" Wha – " he groans, cowering slightly under my grip. " What are you doing? "

" A favour that you don't deserve, " I say through my teeth.

Drew's laboured breathing is the only sound I hear as we wind through the pathways to the infirmary. I stop just outside the door and throw him against the wall.

" If I hear anything about you laying a finger on another initiate, I swear to God, the repercussions will be much, much worse than you can ever imagine, " I hiss. " Trust me when I say cowardice does not sit well us Dauntless. What you did tonight can very well earn you a ticket straight to the factionless sector, so if I were you, I'd be very, very careful."

He nods weakly.

I shove him through the door and hand him to the nurse on duty. He mumbles something about picking a fight with the wrong initiate before collapsing onto a bed.

Even outside in the hallway, the smell of the medicinal scent of the infirmary is still strong and nauseating. So I run. I run far from the stinging smell that filled my nose every time I was hospitalized after an extreme outburst from my father. He tripped down the stairs, he'd say to the nurse, who never questioned his explanation because he is Marcus Eaton. You simply do not question the leader of Abnegation because he is supposed to be the truthful and honourable man that everyone believes him to be.

People can be quite ignorant, I find, when they utterly refuse to accept the truth, even when it's kicking them in the face, simply because they don't want to ruin the image that they already have imprinted in their minds.

Out of pure rage, I slam my fist into the jagged stone wall. Instantly, I feel blood trickling from my knuckles.

Get it together. I will not let my emotions control me; I will not be my father.

I walk back to my room. The dripping sound of blood on the stone floor breaks the silence; a trail of red leads all the way to my room like a morbid version of Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs.

I turn on the bathroom tap and let the water wash away the blood that is still flowing from my knuckles. My blood tints the water a vivid pink, the exact colour of a sunset sky. It's funny how such a soft and delicate thing as a sunset has the same colour as something as striking and violent as blood spilled over vicious crimes.

The coolness of the water soothes the broken skin on my hand. I take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. My eyes no longer possess that maddening glint, once so sharp that I swear one look could cut through glass. There is a shallow cut on the side of my lip where Drew's fingernail dug into my skin in a feeble attempt to defend himself, which seems to be the only mark of the fight on my body.

I turn off the tap, dry my hands, and flip off the bathroom lights as I walk over to the fridge to get an ice pack for Tris. Without the sound of running water, the electric hum of the fridge is the only sound that fills the room. Tris, who is now awake, watches me silently as I approach her.

" Your hands, " she croaks, her voice dry and cracking.

" My hands are none of your concern, " I tell her. I lean over her, gently easing the ice pack under her head. Before I pull away, she extends her hand towards me, her fingers hovering hesitantly between us for a fraction of a second before resting against my face. She gently grazes the cut by my lip. Her touch sends tingling electric shocks through my skin, and I have to focus and refocus my mind again and again to keep myself from the acting on the itching desire to close the distance between our faces and kiss away the bruises on her cheek.

" Tris, " I whisper, my lips brushing her fingers. " I'm alright."

" Why were you there? " she asks, her hand falling to her side.

" I was coming back from the control room." I say. " I heard a scream."

" What did you do to them? " I asks.

" I deposited Drew at the infirmary a half hour ago, " I say. " Peter and Al ran. Drew claimed they were just trying to scare you. At least, I think that's what he was trying to say."

" He's in bad shape? "

" He'll live, " I say regrettably, even though killing was never on my mind. " In what condition, I can't say."

She squeezes my arm which I take as approval for my actions. " Good, " she says.

Anger burns in her eyes. Tears of frustration spill over and run down her face, trailing little rivers down her cheeks and dotting her shirt with damp spots. I crouch by her side, eyes level with hers, watching her carefully. Her tears aren't to draw sympathy from me, nor will I offer it to her. To show her sympathy would be to belittle her, and I would never insult her in that manner. It is for this very reason that I have buried my identity – out of fear that those who hold me with respect will be replaced with people who drown me with shaming looks of sympathy because I'm the poor, helpless child with the mean father. Sometimes, these fears keep me up at night because beneath my hard exterior lies the horrible, gnawing truth that is tearing my conscience apart and threatening to rip me from the faction that I now call home – the truth that my running away is the single most cowardly action I have ever taken, and cowardice does not, in any way, shape, or form, belong in Dauntless. I choose not to show my vulnerable side for this very reason – because I don't want people to look at me like I'm a kicked puppy. For Tris to allow tears to spill over, after all that she's been through, shows courage more than anything. It shows that she isn't afraid to show her vulnerability because those who are capable to dealing with pain at their weakest are stronger than those who shut out their feelings altogether to keep the pain away. I have a lot to learn from her.

I reach out and rest my hand on her face, gently fingering her bruises as if one swipe of my finger can erase all lingering signs of the attack. But it doesn't work like that. Life doesn't work like that. Our bodies don't work like that.

" I could report this, " I say, even though I know she has way too much pride to resort to tattling. A fight amongst initiates must be settle by initiates.

" No, " she says. " I don't want them to think I'm scared."

I nod. " I figured you would say that."

" You think it would be a bad idea if I sat up? "

" I'll help you."

I wrap one hand around her shoulder, slide the other behind her head, and gently ease her body into a sitting position. Her face twists into an expression of pain, but no noise of complaint comes from her lips. I hand her the ice pack.

" You can let yourself be in pain, it's just me here, " I tell her. " I suggest you rely on your transfer friends to protect you from now on."

" I thought I was, but Al…" she lets out a horrible, shuddering sob. A friendship gone sour, I think. The worst kind of betrayal, after all, is betrayal by someone you thought you could rely on.

" He wanted you to be the small, quiet girl from Abnegation, " I offer, even though no explanation can truly erase the bitter blood between the two. " He hurt you because your strength made him feel weak. No other reason."

She nods slowly.

" The others won't be as jealous if you show some vulnerability. Even if it isn't real." I say.

" You think I have to pretend to be vulnerable? " she raises an eyebrow at me.

" Yes, I do." I say. I take the ice pack from her hands and hold it against her head myself. I've never realized it before, but we're more alike than I thought. In the public eye, we both wear hard shells that tuck our vulnerability away in a secure pocket, never really letting our fragile side show, but the difference between us is she lets that shell down when she's with me, while I still wear it out of fear that she will not like the other me – the one that wakes up in a panic in the middle of the night because I am haunted by my past. Tris trusts me enough to let me see this side of her because she knows it wouldn't change my judgement of her, so why am I so unwilling to let myself go as well?

What do I have to lose?

I stand up and pace the room. " You're going to want to march into breakfast tomorrow and show your attackers they had no effect on you, " I say, " but you should let that bruise on your cheek show, and keep your head down."

" I don't think I can do that, " she says hollowly.

" You have to." I shoot back.

" I don't think you get it." She presses. Anger rises to her face, turning her cheeks pink. " They touched me."

I freeze. My body tightens instinctively; my limbs are as rigid and cold as the ice pack that is being crushed in my hand. It takes everything in me to keep from running to the initiates' dormitory and giving the boys the punishment they deserve. " Touched you, " I repeat coldly.

" Not…in the way you're thinking." She clears her throat. " But…almost."

Almost.

Almost means nothing.

Almost could easily have escalated to the real thing seeing as their intentions were headed in that direction.

What if I hadn't been there to stop them?

I'm not a big believer in karma, but just this once, I whisper for God to be despicable. What goes around comes around, right? I hope what comes around for them is so horrible that their screams can be heard in the fiery pits of Hell.

I remain silent for a long time. Tris gets restless. She explores my room with her eyes, dragging them across every surface carefully as if each artifact holds a story about me. The life of Four, as told by the alarm clock resting on the desk, the sock on the floor, and the half empty soda can. Eventually, she breaks the silence. " What is it? "

" I don't want to say this, but I feel like I have to. It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand? But please, when you see an opportunity…" I tuck my hand under her chin and tilt her head up so I can look directly into her eyes because I want to see the confirmation in her eyes that she will take it upon herself to right this wrong. " Ruin them."

She laughs nervously. " You're a little scary, Four."

" Do me a favor, " I say, " and don't call me that."

" What should I call you, then? "

" Nothing." I smile a little. " Yet."