The Divergent Library: Divergent; Insurgent; Allegiant; Four: The Transfer, The Initiate, The Son, and The Traitor (Divergent Series) (127 page)

Maybe that’s the problem—it’s all one-sided right now, because I know her, I know what she’s afraid of and what she loves and what she hates, but all she knows about me is what I’ve told her. And what I’ve told her is so vague as to be negligible, because I have a problem with specificity.

After that I know what to do, it’s just the doing it that’s the problem.

I turn on the computer in the fear landscape room and set it to follow my program. I get two syringes of simulation serum from the storeroom, and put them in the little black box I have for this purpose. Then I set out for the transfer dormitory, not sure how I’ll get her alone long enough to ask her to come with me.

But then I see her with Will and Christina, standing by the railing, and I should call her name and ask her, but I can’t do it. Am I crazy, thinking of letting her into my head? Letting her see Marcus, learn my name, know everything I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden?

I start up the paths of the Pit again, my stomach churning. I reach the lobby, and the city lights are starting to go out all around us. I hear her footsteps on the stairs. She came after me.

I turn the black box in my hand.

“Since you’re here,” I say, like it’s casual, which is ridiculous, “you might as well go in with me.”

“Into your fear landscape?”

“Yes.”

“I can do that?”

“The serum connects you to the program, but the program determines whose landscape you go through. And right now, it’s set to put us through mine.”

“You would let me see that?”

I can’t quite look at her. “Why else do you think I’m going in?” My stomach hurts even worse. “There are some things I want to show you.”

I open the box and take out the first syringe. She tilts her head, and I inject the serum, just like we always do during fear simulations. But instead of injecting myself with the other syringe, I offer her the box. This is supposed to be my way of evening things out, after all.

“I’ve never done this before,” she says.

“Right here.” I touch the place. She shakes a little as she inserts the needle, and the deep ache is familiar, but it no longer bothers me. I’ve done this too many times. I watch her face. No turning back, no turning back. Time to see what we’re both made of.

I take her hand, or maybe she takes mine, and we walk into the fear landscape room together.

“See if you can figure out why they call me Four.”

The door closes behind us, and the room is black. She moves closer to me and says, “What’s your real name?”

“See if you can figure that out, too.”

The simulation begins.

The room opens up to a wide blue sky, and we are on the roof of the building, surrounded by the city, sparkling in the sun. It’s beautiful for just a moment before the wind starts, fierce and powerful, and I put my arm around her because I know she’s steadier than I am, in this place.

I’m having trouble breathing, which is normal for me, here. I find the rush of air suffocating, and the height makes me want to curl into a ball and hide.

“We have to jump off, right?” she says, and I remember that I can’t curl into a ball and hide; I have to face this now.

I nod.

“On three, okay?”

I nod again. All I have to do is follow her, that’s all I have to do.

She counts to three and drags me behind her as she runs, like she’s a sailboat and I’m an anchor, pulling us both down. We fall and I struggle against the sensation with every inch of me, terror shrieking in every nerve, and then I’m on the ground, clutching my chest.

She helps me to my feet. I feel stupid, remembering how she scaled that Ferris wheel with no hesitation.

“What’s next?”

I want to tell her it’s not a game; my fears aren’t thrilling rides she gets to go on. But she probably doesn’t mean it that way.

“It’s—”

The wall comes from nowhere, slamming into her back, my back, both our sides. Forcing us together, closer than we’ve ever been before.

“Confinement,” I say, and it’s worse than usual with her in here, taking up half the air. I groan a little, hunching over her. I hate it in here. I
hate
it in here.

“Hey,” she says. “It’s okay. Here—”

She pulls my arm around her. I’ve always thought of her as spare, not an ounce of extra anything on her. But her waist is soft.

“This is the first time I’m happy I’m so small,” she says.

“Mmhmm.”

She’s talking about how to get out. Fear-landscape strategy. I am trying to focus on breathing. Then she pulls us both down, to make the box smaller, and turns so her back is against my chest, so I’m completely wrapped around her.

“This is worse,” I say, because with my nervousness about the box and my nervousness about touching her combined, I can’t even think straight. “This is definitely . . .”

“Shh. Arms around me.”

I wrap my arms around her waist, and bury my face in her shoulder. She smells like Dauntless soap, and sweet, like apple.

I’m forgetting where I am.

She’s talking about the fear landscape again, and I’m listening, but I’m also focused on how she
feels
.

“So try to forget we’re here,” she finishes.

“Yeah?” I put my mouth right up against her ear, on purpose this time, to keep the distraction going, but also because I get the feeling I’m not the only one who’s distracted. “That easy, huh?”

“You know, most boys would enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl.”

“Not claustrophobic people, Tris!”

“Okay, okay.” She guides my hand to her chest, right under where her collarbone dips. All I can think about is what I want, which has nothing to do with getting out of this box, suddenly. “Feel my heartbeat. Can you feel it?”

“Yes.”

“Feel how steady it is?”

I smile into her shoulder. “It’s fast.”

“Yes, well, that has nothing to do with the box.” Of course it doesn’t. “Every time you feel me breathe, you breathe. Focus on that.”

We breathe together, once, twice.

“Why don’t you tell me where this fear comes from. Maybe talking about it will help us somehow.”

I feel like this fear should have vanished already, but what she’s doing is keeping me at a steady level of heightened uneasiness, not taking my fear away completely. I try to focus on where this box comes from.

“Um . . . okay.”
Okay, just do it, just say something real
. “This one is from my . . . fantastic childhood. Childhood punishments. The tiny closet upstairs.”

Shut in the dark to think about what I did. It was better than other punishments, but sometimes I was in there for too long, desperate for fresh air.

“My mother kept our winter coats in our closet,” she says, and it’s a silly thing to say after what I just told her, but I can tell she doesn’t know what else to do.

“I don’t really want to talk about it anymore,” I say with a gasp. She doesn’t know what to say because no one could possibly know what to say, because my childhood pain is too pathetic for anyone else to handle—my heart rate spikes again.

“Okay. Then . . . I can talk. Ask me something.”

I lift my head. It was working before, focusing on her. Her racing heart, her body against mine. Two strong skeletons wrapped in muscle, tangled together; two Abnegation transfers working on leaving tentative flirtation behind. “Why is your heart racing, Tris?”

“Well, I . . . I barely know you.” I can picture her scowling. “I barely know you and I’m crammed up against you in a box, Four, what do you think?”

“If we were in your fear landscape . . .” I say. “Would I be in it?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Of course you’re not. That’s not what I meant.” I meant not
Are you afraid of me?
but
Am I important enough to you to feature in the landscape anyway?

Probably not. She’s right, she hardly knows me. But still: Her heart is racing.

I laugh, and the walls break as if my laugh shook them and broke them, and the air opens up around us. I swallow a deep breath of it, and we peel away from each other. She looks at me, suspicious.

“Maybe you were cut out for Candor, because you’re a terrible liar,” I say.

“I think my aptitude test ruled that one out pretty well.”

“The aptitude test tells you nothing.”

“What are you trying to tell me? Your test isn’t the reason you ended up Dauntless?”

I shrug. “Not exactly, no. I . . .”

I see something out of the corner of my eye, and turn to face it. A plain-faced, forgettable woman stands alone at the other end of the room. Between her and us is a table with a gun on it.

“You have to kill her,” Tris says.

“Every time.”

“She isn’t real.”

“She looks real. It feels real.”

“If she was real, she would have killed
you
already.”

“It’s okay. I’ll just . . . do it.” I start toward the table. “This one’s not so bad. Not as much panic involved.”

Panic and terror aren’t the only kinds of fear. There are deeper kinds, more terrible kinds. Apprehension and heavy, heavy dread.

I load the gun without thinking about it, hold it out in front of me, and look at her face. She’s blank, like she knows what I’m going to do and accepts it.

She’s not dressed in the clothes of any faction, but she might as well be Abnegation, standing there waiting for me to hurt her, the way they would. The way they will, if Max and Jeanine and Evelyn all get their way.

I close one eye, to focus on my target, and fire.

She falls, and I think of punching Drew until he was almost unconscious.

Tris’s hand closes around my arm. “Come on. Keep moving.”

We walk past the table, and I shudder with fear. Waiting for this last obstacle might be a fear in itself.

“Here we go,” I say.

Creeping into the circle of light we now occupy is a dark figure, pacing so just the edge of his shoe is visible. Then he steps toward us, Marcus with his black-pit eyes and his gray clothes and his close-cut hair, showing off the contours of his skull.

“Marcus,” she whispers.

I watch him. Waiting for the first blow to fall. “Here’s the part where you figure out my name.”

“Is he . . .” She knows, now. She’ll know forever; I can’t make her forget it if I wanted to. “Tobias.”

It’s been so long since someone said my name that way, like it was a revelation and not a threat.

Marcus unwinds a belt from his fist.

“This is for your own good,” he says, and I want to scream.

He multiplies immediately, surrounding us, the belts dragging on white tile. I curl into myself, hunching my back, waiting, waiting. The belt pulls back and I flinch before it hits, but then it doesn’t.

Tris stands in front of me, her arm up, tense from head to toe. She grits her teeth as the belt wraps around her arm, and then she pulls it free, and lashes out. The movement is so powerful I’m amazed by how strong it looks, by how
hard
the belt slaps Marcus’s skin.

He lunges at Tris, and I step in front of her. I’m ready this time, ready to fight back.

But the moment never comes. The lights lift and the fear landscape is over.

“That’s it?” she says as I watch the place where Marcus stood. “Those were your worst fears? Why do you only have four . . . oh.”

She looks at me.

“That’s why they call you . . .”

I was afraid that if she knew about Marcus, she would look at me with pity, and she would make me feel weak, and small, and empty.

But she saw Marcus and she looked at
him
, with anger and without fear. She made me feel, not weak, but powerful. Strong enough to fight back.

I tug her toward me by her elbow, and kiss her cheek, slowly, letting her skin burn into mine. I hold her tightly, slouching into her.

“Hey.” She sighs. “We got through it.”

I put my fingers through her hair.

“You
got me through it,” I say.

I take her to the rocks that Zeke, Shauna, and I go to sometimes, late at night. Tris and I sit on a flat stone suspended over the water, and the spray soaks my shoes, but it’s not so cold that I mind. Like all initiates, she’s too focused on the aptitude test, and I’m struggling with talking to her about it. I thought that when I spilled one secret, the rest would come tumbling after, but openness is a habit you form over time, and not a switch you flip whenever you want to, I’m finding.

“These are things I don’t tell people, you know. Not even my friends.” I watch the dark, murky water and the things it carries—pieces of trash, discarded clothing, floating bottles like small boats setting out on a journey. “My result was as expected. Abnegation.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “But you chose Dauntless anyway?”

“Out of necessity.”

“Why did you have to leave?”

I look away, not sure I can give voice to my reasons, because admitting them makes me a faction traitor, makes me feel like a coward.

“You had to get away from your dad,” she says. “Is that why you don’t want to be a Dauntless leader? Because if you were, you might have to see him again?”

I shrug. “That, and I’ve always felt that I don’t quite belong among the Dauntless. Not the way they are now, anyway.” It’s not quite the truth. I’m not sure this is the moment to tell her what I know about Max and Jeanine and the attack—selfishly, I want to keep this moment to myself, just for a little while.

“But . . . you’re incredible,” she says. I raise my eyebrows at her. She seems embarrassed. “I mean, by Dauntless standards. Four fears is unheard of. How could you not belong here?”

I shrug again. The more time goes by, the stranger I find it that my fear landscape isn’t riddled with fears like everyone else’s. A lot of things make me nervous, anxious, uncomfortable . . . but when confronted with those things, I can
act
, I’m never paralyzed. My four fears, if I’m not careful, will paralyze me. That’s the only difference.

“I have a theory that selflessness and bravery aren’t all that different.” I look up at the Pit, rising high above us. From here I can see just a small slice of night sky. “All your life you’ve been training to forget yourself, so when you’re in danger, it becomes your first instinct. I could belong in Abnegation just as easily.”