Truth (a Divergent Fanfic)

Chapter Twenty One

One, 21 Guns

Lay down your arms

Give up the fight

One, 21 Guns

Throw up your arms into the sky

You and I … ~ Green Day, 21 Guns

*****

We’re in my bedroom, back at the compound. And no one can stop thinking about what just happened. 

The sassy, dangerous Callie is gone now, and she sits on the floor cross-legged, rubbing her knuckles. I have a more pressing matter to attend to, although I want to go to her, to hug her, to thank her for probably just about saving my life. Had Eric touched me at all, I probably would have flash-backed, panic attacked and had a heart attack all within the first ten seconds. But Julian.

My cheeks are still slightly tearstained from earlier on, but I lie Julian down slowly on my bed and he groans from the movement - I feel his pain. My lower body is still sore, and my head feels as though it is about to explode, which is possible. But I try my absolute hardest to focus every inch of my short attention span on him.

I take both the bandages that Tori wrapped around my arm for Candor off, and tie them together to create one longer one. Rushing to the bathroom, I grab one of my tshirts, ripping it up as I run to wet it under the tap. Soaked with the freezing water from where the tap sprayed, I sprint back to where Julian lies on the pillows. As I gently press it to the gash over his chest, he winces and tries to edge away from the pain, but it is all encompassing. The pain will get us all, eventually, whether we know it. The very essence of humanity is based upon self doubt and self hate. At one point or another, we’ve all felt it, we all feel it, we will all feel it again. It’s horrible - but it’s inevitable. I slowly run it over his chest as he hisses out in that same pain, but it will only get better, can only get better as he adjusts to it. Hold on, Julian, I think. Hold on.

“I am so sorry Jules.” I whisper, and his eyes find mine. 

“S’not your fault Amb.”

Isn’t it? As far as I was aware, I didn’t do anything to stop him hurting you Julian. I couldn’t. Doesn’t that make it kind of my fault, in a way. 

Before I know it, the wound is clean. I tie my bandage over it, so that it wraps around his broad chest, tanned from working on the Amity fields, and ties over his left shoulder. An imprint of blood can just be seen through the fabric, but it only looks like a pretty pattern, disguising what’s beneath it, under the pretence that everything is going to be okay. I run my finger on a parallel line to the cut, down his chest, which heaves from his breathing, and kiss him on the cheek, a sisterly gesture. He shivers. I pull back, aware that my hands are probably freezing and he doesn’t need anything else to top off that nasty cut.

“Sorry.” He’s breathing a little heavier than I would consider normal according to all the books I’ve read, but that’s probably just because a) he’s in pain and b) most likely quite cold. I stand up to get a blanket from the cupboard and carefully lay it over him, tucking him in. When my hand passes his heart, I can tell it’s beating, once again, slightly too fast. In tune with the breathing. His chocolate brown eyes are fixated on my every move. I wonder why.