Divergent: no war

Chapter 102

Chapter 102:

TOBIAS POV:

I maneuver Tris around in my arms so that she won't get any blood on her from the bullet lodged deep into my shoulder. She sniffles and I can feel the guilt begin to rumble in the pit of my stomach.

Everything that has happened to her all ultimately leads up to being my fault. Al trying to kill her in initiation, dropping her off the chasm, because she liked me, not him. Al was filled with regret and sorrow, feeling anguish, that someone like Tris couldn't even like him. Though Tris deserves so much more than Al, so much more than me, even.

Tris views herself as a girl who could pass for a non attractive 12 year old-small no maturity in the facial structure yet-but she's no-where near that. She doesn't see what I see, the brave, courageous young women who can stand up for herself. The beautiful girl with grey blue eyes that, as soon as you catch them, they pull you in, taking you captive. As soon as she walks in a room the place brightens, as if a thunder storm was raging, but suddenly the sun appears, shining down on your skin with the warm feeling, not only on your smooth skin but also on the inside, heating up until you feel like your heart is whole, like everything you did is for this ray of sunshine, and you would do anything to make it last forever. That's Tris. Tris is my ray of sunshine on a wet, stormy day.

I need her, she's changed me. She's mended me from what Marcus has done. She's taking what he left behind, gluing all the shattered pieces back together, even if that means the sharp edges can cut her. She doesn't mind, she believes it won't, but now it has. Those edges have dug a deep gash, splitting her apart, and it's all my fault.

I know, very well, that if I ever admitted any of those words to her she would curse me for even thinking it, so I will never tell her. I love her, and over some miracle, she loves me, and she's to strong to let me tell her that my shattered pieces are in the way. Tris would deny it no matter what pain she goes though, that I, ultimately, caused.

As she lays in my arm wailing, tearless-from the injury to her eyes-I feel pain myself, not from the bullet wound gushing blood, but from the cries. Her cries. I try to calm her by gently rubbing her arm as if the feeling would do anything, but I know it won't. We have to sit here helpless.

Gazing around the room does not help the emotions flowing through me. Marcus is at fault, but so am I, so am I for dragging everyone here. Will is huddled in the corner to my right holding baby Dylan, while the cut on his forehead seems to dry, stoping bleeding as if it ran out of blood, still leaving a trail on crackling dry crimson red blood.

Dylan, luckily, has had no harm done to his small body, and if Marcus had ever intended on it, then I'm calculating that Will would have gotten that slash from that incident.

Uriah, on the other hand, sits in the opposite corner to Will. His body is mangled and the only sign of life from him is his chest slowly rising and falling, as his breaths get shallower and shallower. Sooner or later he will bleed to death, and it all depends on when we get out of this hell hole and when his bleeding stops.

I know for a fact that the last thing I want to happen is anyone dying in this cement box keeping us prisoner. Uriah's life is in the hands of weather he's ready to move on from this state, from the physical world, and move to heaven, leaving Marlene behind him and all the chances and risks the future holds. From the looks of it he is in a deep sleep, coma like, and he doesn't show any signals he's going to be back soon.

I fix my eyes on the wall straight across me, glaring at it as if it was doing unspeakable things. My mind spins as I wonder about the countless number of things Marcus and Nathaniel can do to me, Tris, and our children.

Beside me I feel Tris's sobs turn into heavy breathing and then soft, light breaths, signaling she's asleep. I calm my own breathing, praying to get out of here soon before I shut my eyes, falling asleep quickly.

It feels like only a few moments after I fall asleep, when I'm jolted awake by the sound of the door squealing open and a small boyish figure is dropped in before its quickly shut again. I can feel my head still pounding with a headache as I focus on the body of the tiny boy, his small t-shirt revealing open cuts in his arms.

I can feel my eyes grow wide, realization smacking me across the face as the little boy stands up and faces my direction.

That hair that matches my dark brown color, the lips that are shaped as Tris's, and the eyes, the amazing deep but bright blue grey iris. My stomach seems to churn as I look into his watery eyes.

His voice only makes the smallest sound-his small body barley able to get it out-but in the quiet room that echoes, it seems like a shout, and the one word he says is, "Daddy."