"I hate being confined like this!" Marco whines loudly. We were just laying around, calmly talking, discussing when and if we are ever going to be let out of here. I must admit it was a bad choice of topic.
He apparently did not appreciate the fact that the Erudite have cut us off from everything except running water-and meals delivered to us twice a day.
He starts throwing things around the room. His aim is not in my direction but I still dare not make a move. He isn't throwing inanimate objects at me now but that could easily change.
He throws the cherry-wood chair into the West wall.
It breaks into sharp, fragmented pieces.
Some of the smaller. sharper pieces come flying in my direction. I use my arms to block my face, but in this position–the delecate, soft-skinned, underside of my arms are showing and bare. They're cut up by the wood shards, not deep but bloody. Not bad but painful. Painful in the way a paper-cut in just the right spot on your hand can hurt worse that your hand being cut off entirely.
Tantrums like these are short-lived, so instead of attempting to stop him or calm him down, I sit quietly and pick the fruity-fragments out of my arm. With his back facing me, he looks at the desk with a numb kind of sadness. I was expecting the numbness—the achingly slow way his movements form actions that create cause and effect for everything in the room. But sadness is a new emotion in him. It's new to me anyhow.
He must have really loved that chair. I wonder if he regrets throwing it, breaking it, shattering every fiber of it.
It's all too easy to hurt the people you love. All too easy to hurt them because you're the one they trust most. And, in the same way, it's all to easy for them to hurt you.
I'm still picking bits and pieces out of my arm when Marco turns suddenly and walks over to me. He kneels down in front of the bed and takes my arm from me. Palm up, he starts taking the specks I couldn't reach out of my arm and flicking them across the room.
"I wasn't aiming for you," he mutters.
"Aim isn't everything you know. If you forget to measure your strength you'll still miss." He nods but I'm not sure he heard me. The whole point of our earlier conversation was to lure him into helping me escape. I don't want to bring the topic up again–it might set him off–but I have no clue how to ease the idea onto him any other way.
He's not the easy sort, so this might be a great deal harder than I thought.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Hmm, I was going to slip in a little piece in Marco's POV. But I don't know.. Do you guys want it? Or is that just a tad too far on the spoilery side?
YOU ARE READING
Insurgent: Traitor
FanficMarco's after Tris. Peter failed trying to save her. Tobias is holding on by a thread... a blonde thread. His fate rests with Tris but does he know?
