Truth (a Divergent Fanfic)

Chapter Eighteen

Atelophobia; The fear of not being good enough.

*****

The door slams open and I wince at the noise, Why do the Dauntless have to always be so obnoxiously loud? I just want out of this mess, I want my home; except I don’t know where my home is anymore. In Tobias’s arms. In Callie’s arms. In Julian’s arms.

When I bring my head up, I tilt it to the right, examining the person whom Tobias has brought in. It’s a woman, which is not exactly what I expected when he said help. She’s dressed in black to match the heavy circles underneath her eyes. It’s obvious she’s been having trouble sleeping for some time. Maybe it’s dreams; I should know. Every time I close my eyes I get the same recurrence. To be trapped on the podium for my final assessment while I admit my worst fears and my deepest secrets over and over, and my friends glare, and everyone else taunts and laughs. Why must I be this way?

“Amber Rose?” she says in a softer tone than I would stereotypically associate with the Dauntless, and I stare, still not really feeling anything but the numbness that took control of my insides a while back. Do I know her?

She seems to read my thought - “No, you don’t know me. Four told me your name just now.” Four? Who’s Four? Tobias mimes pointing at himself and I wonder why he changed his name - probably for the same reason that I no longer wish to use mine. A clean start; a fresh slate to write on.

“I’m Tori,” she says, in the same gentle voice, “I’ve brought you some spare clothes to wear.” I reach out my arms to take them. “There you go.” Tori says. And I am grateful and everything and I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m tired of people talking to me as though I’m a glass under pressure from seismic waves - like I’m about to shatter. 

“You don’t have to treat me so carefully. Even after everything I’ve just been through, I still have an actual backbone, my anatomy hasn’t changed; I’m still actually a vertebrate. And I won’t break.” My voice is sharp and direct - sharper than I meant it to be and so I bite my lip again, chewing nervously to shut myself up, but I needn’t have worried. I’d forgotten that insults and direct speech are the nature of the Dauntless; Tori laughs.

“Good for you. What faction did you come from?”

Do I risk it? “Erudite.”

She laughs again. “I can tell. But you’re Candor now?”

I nod. A minuscule movement. “Quite a change.” She sounds almost impressed. “Well, put these clothes on and we’ll clean your face up, yeah?”

She helps me stand, leaning me against the desk I’d been sitting on. When I’m changed, I look down at my attire - I look like a wannabee Dauntless, a fragile flower dressed in the clothes of a thorn. I stand taller against the table, pushing myself up with my arms, but they still shake. Oh God. I lift my chin up, trying to look more confident, tougher, more Dauntless. Tori smiles warmly. She walks over to the sink at the edge of the room and wets a cloth. Slowly, maternally, she wipes it over my tired face, washing away the pain and the tears, like the mother I never had. 

Next she applies my makeup in bold, straight lines across the top of my eyelids, making them seem sharper, more alert. I like the Dauntless style, how it makes me feel. Like I can be anything. As a final finish, Tori takes the white medical sheet off the tattoo chair and tears two small strips off. She ties one around each of my arms, to separate me from the Dauntless, to show my Candor origins.

I look in her mirror. Some people say when they look in the mirror that they feel disjointed and not themselves, and I’ve certainly felt like that before. This is different; I feel like this is the better version of me - like the person I could become. I will be that person.

“Tori?” I ask hesitantly. She murmurs a yes in in response, rubbing her eyes. She sets up her equipment for her next Dauntless customer, but her next customer isn’t going to be Dauntless. They’re going to be Erudite. It’s going to be me.

“Will you give me a tattoo?” She turns to me, her eyes startled and wide, but then she grins and nods, leading me to the operating chair. I sit, shuffling slightly to find a comfortable position. Tori runs around, collecting ink, setting up goodness knows what equipment that even I can’t name. She’s a mad whirl of dangerous passion, the embodiment of Dauntless spirit, and as she sticks pins in her mouth whilst humming tunelessly as she dashes from one side of the room to the next.

“Dd mmm hee amee ibees?”, she says.

“Sorry?” 

She casually takes the pins out of her mouth any repeats the question. “Do you have any ideas? Any designs caught your eye? What do you want for your tattoo?”

I smile softly, playing with the straps of my new sleeveless Dauntless dress. And I tell her. 

And she smiles back.