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Started reading
April 16, 2025
I am selfish. I am brave.
I don’t think. I just bend my knees and jump.
Four sets his hand on my back and says, “Welcome to Dauntless.”
Someone who looks so strong shouldn’t act so weak.
Then I realize what it is. It’s him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.
My father used to say that sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to be near them.
If I can’t be with her, the least I can do is act like her sometimes.
“I want to go home,” I say weakly.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Even closer, so we would be breathing the same air—if I could remember to breathe.
He puts his lips next to my ear and says, “You look good, Tris.”
Peace is restrained; this is free.
As I pass him, he rests his hand on the top of my back to usher me out, his palm pressing between my shoulder blades. I shiver. I hope he can’t tell.
Why do people want to pretend that death is sleep? It isn’t. It isn’t.
No, was. That is death—shifting from “is” to “was.”
“Shh,” I say. “Arms around me.” Obediently, he slips both arms around my waist. I smile at the wall. I am not enjoying this. I am not, not even a little bit, no.
He slips his hands over my neck and presses his thumbs under my chin, tilting my head back so his forehead meets mine.
“Terrifying,” Will says with mock seriousness. “That’s my girl. Tough as cotton balls.”
“Weak-willed,” Tobias scoffs. “It requires a strong will to manipulate a simulation, last time I checked. Weak-willed is mind-controlling an army because it’s too hard for you to train one yourself.”
I feel like someone breathed new air into my lungs. I am not Abnegation. I am not Dauntless. I am Divergent. And I can’t be controlled.
