Divergent?

Chapter Eighteen (Beatrice)

I hear footsteps walking towards me, seemingly in time with the throbbing in my head. The steps get closer and closer; louder and louder as the pain increases, until they stop, with the pounding, just outside of the grey curtain surrounding my little grey bed.

'Go on!' I hear someone say in an aggravated tone. It sounds like the Nurse, who just treated me. A low, gruff grunt is given in response, and a pair of footsteps recedes in the direction of the Hospital Office as a hand grabs a bunch of curtain then yanks it to the left. I stare at the figure next to my bed, with the door a couple of metres behind him, and the office to his left. It's Four. I don't know what to do or say, so just stare at him for what feels like an hour. It musn't be, however, as he says hello like we just saw each other for the first time in hours a second or two ago.

'Hello', I try to say back, but my voice comes out all croaky and thick, and I look down embarassed. Four passes me a glass of water, which was on a bedside-table to my left, before walking round my bed and sitting on an oak chair, his back to about eight other hospital beds. I gulp down the water, thankful for the cold, refreshing liquid. I notice Four looking at me, his eyebrows raised, and I feel my face turn red. It's only know that I look down at myself and truly register what I look like. I'm wearing a thin cotton night dress, with pictures of pink stufffed bears on it, and my small bare feet stick out of the end of the bed. My hair must look a mess, and as I experimentally run a hand through it, it gets stuck halfway, and bits of twig and grass fall out. I quickly brush the twigs from of my lap. If I couldn't be looking bad enough, my eyes are probably shadowed by black bags. I feel terrible, but seeing Four is making me feel slightly better. Why is it though? Why do I even care what I look like around him? I shouldn't ever care about my appearance.

'So, how are you feeling?', he asks timidly- staring down at his hands, which are placed in his lap. As if at the mention of my wellbeing a switch was flipped, and the pain turns back on. My bandaged temple resumes the throbbing in time with my heartbeat, my jaw starts aching- the skin stinging- and my right hand pulses angrily. It's wrapped in a white bandage- the nurse told me I'd fractued it. And on top af all that, a raging headache makes it hard to focus or think straight.

'Great', I mutter sarcastically. Four chuckles nervously. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realise again how un-Abnegation like I'm being. But a stronger voice is moaning I don't care anymore...

'No, really, though. How are you?' I look up at Four, and his eyes are wide with concern. Looking closer, I notice how tired he looks. Bags weigh down his eyelids, his forehead is wrinkled in concern, and his mouth's streched in a slight grimace. Doing initiation instruction must really be taking its toll on him. He should be more concerned about himself than me.

'I'm fine.' His eyebrows raise disbelievingly. 'Really. I feel... good', I say, tring to sound covincing. However it's hard- I'm really not feeling good.

'You don't look good', Four says brazenly, and I feel my insides turn hot as a flush creeps onto my cheeks. I shift around in my bedding and cough as an uncomfortable silence descends on us. I can feel Four's eyes on me, and they look around guiltily, almost searching for something to say. As if the answer is going to appear in mid-air. An apology would serve you well, I think as I shrink lower into my bed, clearly offended.

'I, er, I didn't mean it like... like that. You don't don't look good. I mean... you do look good. Not good!... Well, yes, I suppose... you look good.' Four stammers as he searches for the right words, and I hear him mutter 'Gosh! ' under his breath once he's finished. Again, I feel myself flush. But not with embarassment. Well, yes, with slight embarassment, but mostly with happiness. I shyly look up at Four, and he's looking back at me with a smile on his face. His lips are pulled lightly across his strong jaw, and he looks better than he did before. Not tired. Alive.

Four moves his chair closer to the bed, until it feels like there's no space between us. Not enough space. He leans slowly forward, and I stare into his deep brown eyes. Chocolate. They look like smooth, rich, melted chocolate. Like comfort. Something I should never want- should never have. Confusion and guilt and fear envelop me, and I can feel tears prickling at my eyes. Four must notice, as he stops moving closer. It feels like we're breathing the same air now, his features magnified infront of my watery eyes. I stare at him, frozen, and he stares back. Frozen. He looks perfect. Frozen in time... Then, he lifts his arms and stops indecisively, before suddenly wraaping them around me. His arms feel strong, his body warm. I feel frail and weak in his grip, and I flop my head against his shoulder. The muscle clenches against my cheek as his arms hug tighter. The tears come now.

We must be wrapped up like that for minutes. Finally, I move my hand to wipe my eyes, and Four lets go quickly, as if he's been electrocuted. He jumps up, and pulls up the thin duvet on my bed to cover my waist, then smooths it down.

'Goodnight, Beatrice. Sleep well.' Four pulls back the curtain as he leaves, then lets it fall back. I can still see him walk to the door through a slit in the curtain, and as he reaches it, he stops and turns around. Our eyes meet, and I see embarassment and sadness in his. He looks away, grabs the door handle, then leaves. Leaves me alone in bed with all sorts of thoughts running through my mind, and with no way to sort them out.