Red

40

I wake up in my bed with a pile of towels covering me, more than I usually had, and roll over so I wouldn't have deal with the sun shining in my eyes. I groan and pull one of the blankets over my head, earning a chuckle from Van.

"Not a morning person. Noted," he says. I turn on my side and peak out from the towel that was covering my face to look at Van. He was sitting next to me, leaning against the wall of the plane, looking straight ahead, not at me. He was still wearing the same thing from yesterday, jeans and no shirt.

"I am a morning person," I say in my morning voice, rolling back over. "What time is it?" I ask him, despite knowing that he wouldn't have the answer either since we didn't really have clocks here.

"Not sure, love...Probably early afternoon. We're the last ones on here," he replies.

I nod my head, and cover head again with the towels. "Oh," I mumble, still feeling a little tired from last night. I don't think I got as much sleep as I needed.

"Why'd you give me your towels?" I ask, hoping he didn't let me use them all night. He needed them just as much as I did. No matter how strong he acted around me, he could still get could.

"You looked cold," is all he says.

"Yeah, but what about you?" I ask, a frown forming on my face, which I was thankful he couldn't see. I hated that he didn't think of himself before he thinks of me.

"I was fine. I prefer to sleep in the cold, anyway. Don't you worry about me," he says, making me sigh. That's exactly the response I expected from him. He wants to act strong, and I know he is strong, but not all the time.

I feel Van's hand rest on my back. "Is Tris under there, or am I just talking to a pile of towels?" He asks, his tone humorous, relieving some of the tension I knew we both felt. I knew he had a smirk on his face, and if I turned around to face him, I would start blushing, so I didn't.

"A pile of towels," I say, smiling, the towel providing me with a safe space from Van's smirk that would, without a doubt, make my stomach flip.

He hums. "That's what I thought," he says, beginning to rub my back in circles. The conversation falls silent for a minute, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence.

Eventually, I shuffle around again so I could face Van. I didn't feel like sitting quietly anymore. And this time, when I lift the towel slightly from my eyes, Van wasn't looking ahead, he was looking at me.

"There you are! Had me worried sick, you did," he says, exaggerating, and giving me a wink. He moves the towel further from my face. I bite my lip and try my best to hide my rosy cheeks.

"How are you feeling, darlin?" His tone suddenly shifts to become more serious, more concerned. I knew he was talking about last night. About Mike.

"Fine," I say, shrugging my shoulders like it was nothing. Because that's what I wanted it to be. Nothing.

Van sighs. "Well, that's good," he says, though he didn't believe me. It was obvious. "You know, we do have to talk about what happened," he says, looking at me with sad eyes. "I'm not saying it has to be right now...I think you deserve a break from me for a little while, huh?" He says, a weak chuckle following his statement. "But, sooner or later, it's going to have to happen."

"What's there to talk about?" I question, but I knew exactly what Van wanted to talk about. I turn my head around so I could avoid his eyes, and so I wouldn't start crying, or at least he wouldn't see me crying.

"C'mon, now. Don't play dumb with me, Tris," he says. I hear him scoot closer to me. His fingers brush through my messy hair.

"We already talked about it," I sigh, frustrated. My vision becomes blurry with tears, and I push Van's hand off my head. Just thinking about Mike made me feel sick.

"Tris," Van warns. "Don't give me that attitude. It's never done you any good, has it?"

Maybe by now I should have known better than to start arguing with Van, but sometimes I can't seem to help myself. "I don't have an attitude," I groan. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, you can't put it off forever, princess," Van says blandly. I hated when he called me that.

Princess.

He hasn't used that nickname in a while, but I should have known it would come back soon enough. It was bound to come back up when I started irritating him, saying I had no attitude when I did.

I don't reply to his comment. His snarky tone was putting me off, and, honestly, I don't know what was making him so upset. He knew about this last night and didn't get mad. What's so different this morning?

"You could be pregnant, or have an infection, for all we know, Tris!" Van exclaims, startling me with his voice, which was louder than I expected. "You can ignore this conversation, but you cannot ignore the consequences of what happened to you last night." His voice was rough, there was an edge to it that made me even more upset. I know he wasn't trying to, and he's told me that it wasn't, but it almost feels like he's putting the blame on me.

Again, I don't say anything. I know I wasn't pregnant, but I couldn't find the strength in me to speak, to tell him why I knew.

"Christ, you can be difficult sometimes," he speaks under his breath, I could still hear, though. And he was aware that I could still hear, that was his intention. "You know that, Tris? You know how much work you can be?" He wanted to push me over the edge, just enough to get me to speak, and that's exactly what he did.

"I never asked for you to deal with me," I say, my voice cynical. Van was a mystery to me, someone I don't think I'll ever completely understand. "You're annoying."

"Right, I'm annoying," Van emphasizes the word 'I'm.' "Sit up," he says. I can't, though. Not only because I don't want to give him what he wants, but also because I don't want him to see my tears, see what could do to me. How Van could make me so happy one moment and so angry the next is beyond me.

"I wasn't asking, princess," he says, leaning down closer to me, speaking in my ear with his low voice which quickened my heartbeat. It was almost enough to get me to obey.

I shake my head. "No," I say, hoping he wouldn't be able to tell I was crying through my voice.

Van sighs, frustrated with my unwillingness to comply. "Fine, I'll do it myself," he tells me, and without giving me time to respond, he grabs me by the waist and sits me up.

My mind races back to last night. Mike's hands exactly where Van's were. I know Van was no Mike. Van would never hurt me, that I was sure of. But I couldn't control my thoughts. And that's all I could think off. 

"Leave me alone!" I yell, putting my hands on the top of his arms and failing to push him off, just like I did to Mike. "Get off, get off...get off," I repeat, each time my sobs becoming louder and my voice becoming softer.

"Don't tell me what to do, Tris," Van demands. His grip on my waist doesn't get any looser and I gave up trying to get him off of me, just like how I gave up trying to stop Mike. My body shakes and I was taking short, fast breaths, like I was sprinting.

"You're just like him," I whisper.