Bereavement

Chapter 1

Snow falls from the pale sky slowly, blanketing everything in a pure white. It is one of the first days of winter, and the dreary landscape only serves as a harsh reminder of my past, of the one day of the year I'm trying to forget.

On this day three years ago, Tris was taken from me.

I stand on the platform next to the train tracks that I ran beside the day of my Choosing Ceremony, the first time I jumped on a train. It is hard to believe that that happened over five years ago; the memory seems so distant, and insignificant compared to everything else that I've experienced. I was only sixteen, unaware of what I signed up for by joining Dauntless, but relieved that I was getting out of my father's house. If only I knew the pain that awaited me in the years ahead.

My breath is visible in the freezing air, and I shiver as I stare down the foggy tracks for the train. Soon enough, I hear the distinct sound of its wheels traveling on the tracks, and the platform hums from its power. I used to enjoy jumping on and off trains, the rush of energy I felt when I did so. Now all I feel is nostalgia.

The train slows only a little bit as it approaches me, and I begin jogging alongside it, lining myself up with the last car. My combat boots grip the ground, so I know I won't slip on the light sheet of snow that has covered it. Naturally, I grab the handle on the side and pull myself in as quickly as possible, the cold metal burning my hand.

I catch my breath as I watch the city pass by. It reminds me of the time when Tris and I watched it disappear in the distance when we were going outside the fence. I remember exactly how her palm felt in mine—soft and warm, clutching my hand for stability. We were both nervous that night.

Stop, I chastise myself. I can't be recalling memories like that. It hurts too much.

Just as I try to focus on something else, the Ferris wheel comes into view. I force myself to look away, biting my lip—a habit I picked up from her—and trying to ignore the stinging in my eyes. Using pain to get rid of pain; I guess that makes sense. But I can't push the images of that bright, reassuring smile framed by golden blonde hair out of my mind.

I just want to get home. Today has been an exhausting day.

Not too long after, I'm throwing myself off the train. I land on my feet, losing my balance for a moment because of the ice before gaining composure. The walk to my apartment takes about two minutes.

The small living space is dark and cold when I enter. With a sigh, I slide my jacket off my shoulders and hang it up. Luckily, I don't kick my boots off right away; I take a few steps before I hear a crunch. It's broken glass, of course, from a beer bottle that I either dropped or threw at the wall last night and didn't have time to clean up this morning.

I flip on the kitchen light to reveal the barren apartment, containing only a few pieces of furniture and indicating that the Abnegation traits from my upbringing never really left me. My Dauntless habits still stand out too, in my black clothes and my hair that is grown out past Abnegation standards.

It is even more lonely here now that my mother is gone; she found a place to live near the center of the city a couple months ago and moved out. As much as I enjoyed her company for those four months, she didn't like it when I drank. And since drinking is my way of coping, it was difficult living with her at times because I was hesitant to do it around her, worried that I would make her uncomfortable. In that sense, I'm a little glad for the freedom I have now. Plus, I've always been a private person. I prefer to be alone.

Small shards of glass that litter both the carpet and wooden floor shine in the light. Using a dustpan, I get to work, removing the hazardous pieces of glass from the floor. A few minutes later, I'm confident that I've picked up all of it, so I finally settle down onto the couch with a beer bottle in my hand.

The alcohol burns my throat as I swallow it. It doesn't taste as bad as it used to, though I suppose I have developed quite a tolerance for it, considering I drink often. Too often.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the back of the couch, relishing the slight feeling of relaxation that I get from the alcohol. Several bottles and many scattered thoughts later, and I find myself crying silently. Sometimes the pain is too much to bear.

"You shouldn't be drinking that stuff, you know," a familiar voice says to my left. "It's bad for you."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tris sitting on the opposite end of the couch, curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees. The action makes her look small, and innocent. Childlike, although she is anything but. I roll my eyes and reply, "Yeah, whatever." There's no point in arguing with her. I know that what I am doing to myself is bad, but I can't find the will to stop.

She pauses for a moment before she asks, "Why are you sad, Tobias?"

My throat tightens, the familiar warning that I'm about to start crying harder. I gulp, taking another sip of beer, determined to prevent it from happening. Shaking my head, I laugh humorlessly, "You know what today is?"

I glance over at her, but she doesn't respond. I think she knows the answer.

"It's the day you died. It's been three years. Three miserable, pointless, depressing-as-hell years."

We sit in silence as I try to put an end to all the tears pouring from my eyes, but they don't stop. I hate feeling weak; unfortunately, the feeling is common nowadays.

In my peripheral vision, Tris tilts her head. "You think it's your fault," she infers. It scares me a little that she can read me so easily. Then again, Tris had always been deductive like that. It's the Erudite in her, I suppose.

I scoff. "Of course it's my fault. If I hadn't have been so caught up with going to the city, I would've realized what you were going to do. Of course you would go into the Weapons Lab in place of Caleb. You're too selfless for your own good." I think of all the times she sacrificed herself so that nobody else had to get hurt, and I can't believe I was stupid enough to think she wouldn't do the same thing for her brother, even though he didn't deserve it. "I should've known. God, I should've known."

"My death was not your fault," she snaps, causing me to look over at her face, set in a stubborn frown. "I made my decision...but I didn't want to leave you, and you know that."

One of the last things Caleb said to me: "She told me that if she didn't survive, I should tell you that she didn't want to leave you." That didn't make me ache any less then, and it doesn't now.

Tris watches me finish off the bottle in my hand. "It'll get better," she tells me softly.

It is such a lie. So many people have said those words to me over and over again, a cliché I even repeated to myself for a while. But it has been three years already, and if anything it has gotten harder. Every extra day I am alive is another day wasted without her here.

I remember when I found her in my apartment the night before she turned herself in to Erudite, guilt radiating off of her as she buried her face in my blue quilt. I was trying everything I could to convince her to not leave Dauntless, to not leave me, and she told me that if I lost her, I would be able to move on. I said that that was a lie.

I have never been more right about anything in my life.

"That's not true," I say, suddenly angry. "It doesn't get better. It will never get better, don't you understand that? You are not coming back!"

"Tobias..."

I stand up from the couch and shoot a glare at her as I walk away. "I'm tired of being lied to. Just leave me alone."

I was wrong. Some people can be mended. Others of us are damaged beyond repair.