Bereavement

Chapter 10

I can't sleep.

Well, I suppose I could, if I had somewhere to slumber.

Last night, after my run-in with Caleb, I had the same problem. I went to my old apartment to ice my aching knuckles and hopefully get some sleep. I tossed and turned in the memory-filled bed, my tired brain producing shadows of Tris standing in different places in the room until I couldn't handle it anymore and left. I don't even remember if I cried; I was just exhausted.

So I headed to Zeke and Shauna's apartment, asking if I could sleep on their couch. They agreed, of course, and invited me inside, able to tell that I was having a bad night.

The couch was too small for my body, and everything was sore when I awoke, only obtaining three hours of sleep. Alcohol would have put me right to sleep, and I partially regret not drinking the soporific; I might as well have woken up with a hangover. It was nice of them to let me have a place to stay last night, but I need at least one more decent rest before the attack tomorrow night.

Now, I have nowhere else to go.

I rack my brain for any other idea of a place I could stay the night. I come up short—I didn't exactly have a lot of friends during my time here.

I am on the verge of seriously considering sleeping upright in a chair in the control room when I walk past the dimly lit pathway that leads to the net. Backtracking, I decide that it is just about the only choice I have.

After walking down the dark hallway and up to the platform, I haul myself up into the net, rolling into the middle. The mesh material molds around me, surprisingly fitting around my body comfortably.

I stare up at the night sky and wonder about several things, chief among them how the hell I mustered the courage to leap off that enormous building that looms over me. Of course, I had been the last jumper, petrified out of my mind but desperate to get as far away from Marcus as possible.

This is just one of the many examples of how Tris was braver than I was, than I'll ever be. She willingly volunteered to fall into the unknown. The same can be figuratively said for when she gave her life for her brother.

For some reason, I don't enjoy the silence that envelopes me in the net. It is lonely. But so is my life, I suppose. I am used to being alone, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

A chill runs through me when the frigid night air rushes into the cavernous hole that resides above the net. It probably isn't a good idea to be sleeping—sort of—outside, but at least I get to appreciate the view of the stars dotting the sky.

There is a theory I have heard of that when people die, they become stars. Like I have said before, I am uncertain about where we go or what we become after this life. Although I may not believe the star idea, I can see why it comforts some grievers. It is consolatory to think that Tris is up there somewhere, watching me, shining down on me like I am her legacy. Like it is my job to continue living because she made sacrifices so that all of Chicago, including me, could rebuild and move on.

At least my life isn't a complete waste; at least I am helping a little by working for Johanna, and overthrowing the corrupt Bureau government. But sometimes I partially regret not taking the memory serum when I had the chance—I could have done the same things I am doing now without so much baggage and the pain that comes with it.

However, I would have forgotten Tris, and I shouldn't take my privilege of knowing her for granted.

As I doze off, I watch the thousands of bright stars through heavy-lidded eyes, pretending that one of them is Tris and I am living in the light of her. The thought lulls me to sleep.