All for You.

Chapter 18 - Not Forgiving

Chapter 18 - Not Forgiving

—Tris

Every year on this exact date I am taken into custody of Candor. I celebrate how I'm back in Chicago for another year the day before, then I am put in handcuffs and wheeled down to a cell for a few hours before tried.

This year I plan to stand with my crutches. My first trial, I was brutally screamed at for falling to the floor and being unable to stand. Candor members did then actually stand up to West and got a rule passed that injured may sit.

I'm not in as much pain as I was yesterday, for the new cast doesn't squeeze my leg as much, and the swelling has subsided with painful intervals of icing my knee, foot and upper calf.

The same thing happens every year. They come into the cell, they wheel me out in the wheelchair, get me to the interrogation room, then this year I'm helped to stand on my crutches and once I'm stable they stick the needle in my neck and administer the serum.

All the guards disperse until West is the only one standing at the podium. It's him and I.

"What's your full name?"

Beatrice Prior.

"Middle name?"

Born Abnegation. They believe there is no point to a middle name. Transferred Dauntless.

"Date of birth?"

Born Abnegation, I don't know anything other than it's in the Winter.

"Age?"

Around twenty-five.

"Relationship status?"

I live with my boyfriend, Tobias Eaton.

"When was your last surgery?"

Five months ago in May.

"Are you in pain?"

All the time.

"What are you hiding?"

Nothing.

"What were you doing around the time of Winter, around the time of your birthday, seven years ago, when you would've been almost, if not seventeen?"

I don't know.

"What about the year after that, when you would've been eighteen."

I don't know.

"Nineteen?"

I don't know.

"Twenty?"

I don't know.

"Twenty-one?"

I woke up on a cold cement floor with two people asleep in the same room. One person per cell, there was someone directly to my left, then across the narrow hall to my left. It's the only vivid memory I have before recognizing my mother's voice to my left and passing out again. When I came to, she was pregnant, and not by my father who was diagonal to my left across the hall; not by the man she loves.

"What were you told about the years you were asleep?"

I woke up thinking I was still sixteen, still fighting a war in Chicago. My last memory until this day is David standing up from his wheelchair and shooting me at the Bureau. From that moment it goes right to when I woke up in the dark in that cell, thinking I was still sixteen. However, when returning to Chicago and adding up time, I was about twenty-one.