The Unlucky Ones

[31] - Hypothetical

[Tobias]

Drew is on the ground, collapsed. I hear him groan as I carry Tris away--not to the infirmary, where the others who went after her would think to look for her, but to my apartment, in its lonely, removed corridor. I shove my way through the apartment door and lay her down on my bed. I run my fingers over her nose and cheekbones to check for breaks, then I feel for her pulse, and lean in close to listen to her breathing. Everything seems normal, steady. Even the bump on the back of her head, though swollen and scraped, doesn't seem serious. She isn't badly injured, but she could have been. My hands shake when I pull away from her. She isn't badly injured, but Drew might be. I don't even know how many times I hit him before she finally said my name and woke me up. The rest of my body starts to shake, too, and I make sure there's a pillow supporting her head, then leave the apartment to go back to the railing next to the Pit. On the way, I try to replay the last few minutes in my mind, try to recall what I punched and when and how hard, but the whole thing is lost to a dizzy fit of anger. I wonder if this is what it was like for him, I think, remembering the wild, frantic look in Marcus's eyes every time he got angry. When I reach the railing, Drew is still there, lying in a strange, crumpled position on the ground. I pull his arm across my shoulders and half lift, half drag him to the infirmary. When I make it back to my apartment, I immediately walk to the bathroom to wash the blood from my hands--a few of my knuckles are split, cut from the impact with Drew's face. If Drew was there, the other attacker had to be Peter, but who was the third? Not Molly--the shape was too tall, too big. In fact, there's only one initiate that size.

Al.

I check my reflection like I'm going to see little pieces of Marcus staring back at me there. There's a cut at the corner of my mouth--did Drew hit me back at some point? It doesn't matter. My lapse in memory doesn't matter. What matters is that Tris is breathing. I keep my hands under the cool water until it runs clear, then dry them on the towel and go to the freezer for an ice pack. As I carry it toward her, I realize that she's awake.

" Your hands, " She says.

Her eyes are fixed on the broken skin of my knuckles. It's a ridiculous thing to say, so stupid, to be worried about my hands when she was just dangled over the chasm by her throat.

" My hands, " I say. " Are none of your concern. "

I lean over her, slipping the ice pack under her head, where I felt a bump earlier. She lifts her hand and touches her fingertips lightly to my mouth. I never thought you could feel a touch this way, like a jolt of energy. Her fingers are soft, curious.

" Tris, " I say. " I'm all right. "

Her eyebrows are furrowed, though the expression on her face makes even that look painful.

" Why were you there? " She asks, her fingers now wrapped tightly in my hands.

When did I grab her hand? I sigh.

" I was coming back from the control room. I heard a scream. " I say.

One eyebrow is cocked and she stares up at me with wide eyes.

" What did you do to them? " She asks.

I sigh. I want to tell her how when I was punching Drew, I couldn't control myself. It felt right to punch someone, hurt someone who was trying to hurt someone else.

" I deposited Drew at the infirmary a half-hour ago. Peter and Al ran. Drew claimed they were just trying to scare you. At least, I think that's what he was trying to say. " I say.

I sound bad. Like I intentionally hurt Drew. I did. I should own up to it.

" He's in bad shape? " She asks.