All for You.

Chapter 15 - Tomorrow

Chapter 15 - Tomorrow

—Tris

My initiation class has always been unique. When you think of it, it kind of makes sense as to why we're all a little insane. The night we passed initiation was the night we were sent off to fight.

We never got a chance to be Dauntless members despite our passing, for the simulation was formulated early the next morning, the attack happening just after dawn.

But that's a whole other story.

The dorms for the transfers into Dauntless was always filled with tension. Makes sense, I mean we all were fighting to get a place in Dauntless and be the better person in the group.

Edward, the only reason I give his name is because he is a man who no longer is with us, was first in the rankings. A former Erudite, he was logical and smart to work his way through the first phase of fighting and rose to the top. He was a genuine guy, he was good yo his girlfriend, and was never a boast about his ranking.

It was the night after the first phase rankings, and we planned to get a few days off before the next phase would begin.

The whole dorm went to bed normal time despite not needing to be up early the next day for there had been duels and fighting for the top rank all day.

Edward was first.

He did nothing about it. I mean, of course he was happy, but he didn't go running around with himself on the top shelf. He acted like the rest of us above the line: relieved.

It was a normal night when the dorm fell asleep.

Despite being exhausted, it did not change the fact that I am an extremely light sleeper.

Someone was scheming.

I had assumed the person moving about the dorm was going to the bathroom, or maybe leaving the dorm. It was three weeks into the initiation process, and I knew by then that the Dauntless population does not sleep. Maybe whoever was walking around was trying to find clothes to go out and find their peers.

Again, exhausted, I brushed off the thoughts and closed my eyes again.

People periodically would get up during the night. They're normal. It made sense.

It was a normal night after all.

I didn't process the scream.

Ever since walking, I was taught to rush to the scene, help people, do whatever I can.

I found myself on my knees on the floor on the side of the tall blond haired boy.

He was screaming as people yelled around, saying to move him to the infirmary, get a medic, all sorts of things.

I took his trembling hand in mine as everyone panicked.

The worst thing you can do is panic to a person in distress.

Don't get me wrong, I was panicking. I tried to say calming things, but not much can help when someone is in distress. There's no loss in trying.

I knew who the attacker was, the person who couldn't choose how to attack for he paced for an hour before actually striking and I was wide awake.

He stood in the back of the crowd, and he was the only one not showing signs panic besides me. Well, that and the guilt on his face.

Some things you simply cannot unsee in your life.

What sticks with me was the mass amount of blood

It was an unusually gruesome choice of attack. I mean, the attacker stabbed Edward, the guy who didn't boast, the guy who ranked higher than himself, the genuine guy.

He stabbed him in the eye with a butter knife.

A butter knife.

It's been two years since I told this story, and I haven't been able to find a story to top it since.

However, I always am the one to tell the most gruesome stories each year.

It's been two years since that story.

Three years on crutches.

I'm twenty-five years old now.

I've had five surgeries total in my life: all on my left leg.

One thousand three hundred and fifty seven stitches have been put in my body since my return to Chicago.

I've been tried three times; once each year.

I'm learning how much memory I have lost in my past, there's this gap between the ages sixteen and twenty that I know nothing from.

When I was placed in a cell and my family surrounded me, I was around the age twenty one.

I recall the war.

I recall the bullet entering my body at age sixteen. I watched David stand up from his wheelchair and shoot me.

From there I don't remember anything up until being placed in a cell by my family. I was about twenty-one.

It makes no sense. Those four years are what I'm asked about on my trials, and each year I tell the same truth I know, and each year West gets more pissed at my memory loss as if it's my fault.

It frustrates me more than it should frustrate him.

No memories of that period have come back to me. Even the branding on my hand and the branding on the bottom of my foot make no sense.

How can I not remember not being branded?

These markings have to do with the situation in New York, and they try to prove me guilty from having them on my body every chance they get.

I wish I knew how I got them.

What was I involved in?

Did I choose to be part of this?

Things keep changing around me, and I cannot even figure out my past before my future changes in front of me.

I wish everything could freeze so I could pick up the past, then proceed into the future with knowledge of who I am.

I've been home three years.

Tomorrow is my fourth year.

Tomorrow I get off of my crutches.

.

Hellooooooo

Ok I have been on a roll like I have been pre-writing like mad this past week. Literally, I have planned updates twice a week already written for the next 3 weeks.

Y'all are ab to be spoiled this summer (or winter depending on where you like I guess)

☀️☀️☀️Ok please answer this question (not a spoiler just playing around with ideas for the future)

Qotc: Sex scenes -semi detailed- yay or neigh?

Aotc: Give me feedback as to what y'all want bc idk what I want soooooo

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Writing makes me happy again this is fun (:

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