DIVERGENT: Tobias (Watty Award Winner 2013)

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

My eyes open slowly, blinking away the sleep. I look around, disoriented. Why am I on the floor? My eye search the room for an answer when they fall onto Tris's sleeping form. And everything comes rushing back into my mind.

The scream. The fight. Peter running away. Tris hanging on the railing. Her voice calling my name. The way she felt in my arms, lifeless and cold. Her battered body on my bed.

Several emotions threaten to take over my mind at once. There's anxiety, anger, rage, frustration, and annoyance. But there's also hurt, helplessness, longing, and caring. I decide to relax and sort out my emotions. It probably wouldn't be a good idea for me to hunt down Peter and beat the life out of him for what he did to Tris. Drew should be his warning not to mess with her.

I walk over to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water, wincing when the water hits the corner of my mouth. That's strange. I don't remember getting a cut there. Whatever. I continue with washing my blood-stained knuckles, effectively turning the water pink. I must've hit him harder than I thought. Good. He deserves everything he got and more.

After finishing up with my hands, I turn the water off and grab a towel to dry my hands. Tris should be waking up soon anyway. I turn the bathroom light off and walk over to my refrigerator and grab an ice pack that might soothe some of her injuries. As I start to walk over to her, I realize that she's been awake. Our eyes meet.

"Your hands," She says with a cracked voice.

"My hands are none of your concern." I tell her. She really shouldn't be worried about me. She's in much worse condition than I am. With the ice pack still in my hand, I kneel down on the bed and slip the ice pack behind her head.

Just as I'm about to move from my current position, my body leaning over hers, she reaches out her arm. Her hand hesitates in mid-air for a few seconds before her fingertips lightly make contact with the cut on my mouth. It's obvious she's worried more about my injuries than her own. But there's a differnce between our injuries: mine are minor and hers are, well not exactly major, but pretty bad nonetheless.

"Tris, I'm all right." I say against her fingers, trying to sound a little reassuring.

"Why were you there?" She asks me as she drops her hand. Her voice still hasn't recovered and I want to tell her that she shouldn't be talking, but I want to hear her voice. No, I need to hear her voice. To make sure that she really is safe.

I give her my most honest answer, without letting any of my feelings seep through. "I was coming back from the control room. I heard a scream."

"What did you do to them?" She asks me. She's not specific, she doesn't have to be. I know exactly who she's talking about. I respond in an emotionless tone, I almost sound uninterested, which is a pretty accurate conclusion of how I feel towards them.

"I deposited Drew at the infirmary a half hour ago. Peter and Al ran." I feel like I should say something more. I remember Drew muttering some words and suddenly some of them make sense. "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 reply and then my tone hardens. "In what condition, I can't say." Her expression changes when I say this and she gives my arm a squeeze.

"Good," She says fiercely and her anger and rage is present on her face for a few seconds. But instead of doing anything violent, tears well up in her eyes and she starts crying. I move to crouch by the side of the bed and watch her face closely. I take my hand away from hers and then I do something that I've been waiting to do for a while. I place my hand on the side of her face and allow my thumb to skim her cheekbone carefully.