Count On Me

Uncertain Ground

After many attempts and failures, I finally have something for you. I'm not sure I love it, but I am done fighting with it. It's really only about half of what I wanted in this chapter. I finally figured it out and got in a groove with writing... then when I thought "this is going great, I can finish the chapter tomorrow!" I woke up sick the next morning. I decided that at least if it was going to be broken into two parts, I had left off at the perfect spot for that. As soon as I am feeling better I should be able to pick up where I left off and hopefully have the next one for you soon. Thank you all so much for sticking around when I take forever to update. Life is super weird right now for everyone, and I am no exception. Writing is a hobby, so if it's stressing me out instead of acting as an outlet, I have to step back and that is what I have done these past months. Everyone stay safe and healthy! I hope you are all coping well through these uncertain times.

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SUNDAY, JANUARY 1, 2017 | 11:45 AM | FOUR

Uriah never came home last night, so I thought that Tris and I would fall back into our routine of reading together on the couch this morning, but I read alone. I can admit that I am disappointed. Over the past few months, that morning ritual had become one of the best parts of my day. But more than that, her familiar presence would reassure me that everything is okay between us after the events of last night ― that she is not going to pull away from me again.

I have tried to keep busy. I did some cleaning around the apartment, then I spent some time setting up my calendar for the new year and looking over my schedule; a new term of classes starts next week. As I jot down my youth boxing class at the community center, which will begin next Monday, I think of Fernando. I have not seen him in nearly a month. I know now with near certainty that he is being mistreated at home, probably neglected, too. Worry for him often creeps into my mind. Is he eating enough? Did he receive any gifts this Christmas? Is he warm? Is he safe?

Thoughts of Fernando are more unsettling than my apprehension about where I stand with Tris. I push back from the desk and find myself wandering down the hall to the open door of her bedroom.

Tris's back is to me as she arranges boxes in her closet. Her hair is pulled into a bun, artfully messy with streaks of crimson standing out against her natural golden blond; the blue streaks she wore when she arrived in Portland have faded out over the months, and she added the red color a few weeks ago. She is wearing my favorite jeans, the ones that insist that I check out her butt at every opportunity, and her oversized sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder, revealing the strap of a black tank top underneath. The Neighbourhood plays from a speaker on the desk. If the way Tris unconsciously wiggles along with the beat is anything to go by, she seems to be in a good mood.

I knock on the door frame to alert her to my presence. Tris spins to face me, and it is a relief to see her smile when she sees me leaning against her door frame. "Morning, Four," she chirps, like she is happy to see me ― which is not quite what I expected today. It is usually one step forward and two steps back with her.

"Barely morning now," I point out. "What are you doing?"

Tris shrugs. "I figure Uriah and I can't share this room much longer," she explains. "I'm trying to get our stuff organized... you know, for when one of us moves out. Besides, I had all these boxes from Hana's to go through." She looks me over, slowly and critically. I feel self-conscious by the time she speaks again, her voice flatter and less certain. "Actually, I found something of yours."

My pulse quickens as I watch her reach onto a shelf for a familiar old shoebox. With her short stature, Tris's fingertips barely brush the cardboard. I push back my impulse to rush over and help her; she grabs the wooden desk chair that is just an arms reach away and climbs onto it, lifting the lid and pulling something out of the box without removing it from the shelf. She jumps off the chair, feet hitting the floor with a thud, and crosses to me before reaching up and placing something on my head. I try to suppress a shiver when her fingers brush my ear.