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unstiff
Mar. 23rd, 2015 05:06 pm"They’ll care for each other," she says. "That’s what people do."
I smile and close my eyes.
Everything is foggy at first. Hazy, distant, impossible.
Her mother had been there. Her touch still lingers on Tris' cheek, the weight of her hand in hers. She remembers the hug. The hope that she might be forgiven. For all the deaths she's ever caused. For all the mistakes she ever made. For leaving him when that was the last thing she ever wanted to do.
She remembers that.
And she remembers David slumped over in his chair. She remembers hitting different numbers on the keyboard, her last desperate attempt to key in Caleb's code. The flash of green that she thinks came next is foggier. Footsteps in the hallway. Did it work? Had it been worth it? She can't remember. What she does remember is wanting to be done. Wanting to have done good.
Or are those someone else's thoughts? She can't tell. It's like being in a dream right now. Or maybe this is what the non-Divergent experience when they're in a simulation. She wants to tell herself it's not real.
She doesn't know anything.
Except, suddenly, it's impossibly bright. It had been darkness before. Calming, comforting darkness that she wants to return to. Her mother's embrace. Peace. Instead it's bright and there's a pain now. Intense, overwhelming pain that makes tears fall from her still closed eyes. It hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts and all she wants is to be back in her mother's arms. Safe.
Her eyes open with a startled gasp and everything is still so bright even as shapes slowly come into focus. Somewhere there's a beating, the frantic beep beep beep of a heart monitor going haywire. She can't focus on anything and there's something in her throat and she starts tugging on it, wanting it out. Now. It's too much. She knows she's panicking and she can't stop. Her head hurts and so does her lower side and even though she tries, tries as hard as she can to remove all the tubes attached, she's too weak. Tears roll down her face.
It hurts. It shouldn't hurt this much.
I smile and close my eyes.
Everything is foggy at first. Hazy, distant, impossible.
Her mother had been there. Her touch still lingers on Tris' cheek, the weight of her hand in hers. She remembers the hug. The hope that she might be forgiven. For all the deaths she's ever caused. For all the mistakes she ever made. For leaving him when that was the last thing she ever wanted to do.
She remembers that.
And she remembers David slumped over in his chair. She remembers hitting different numbers on the keyboard, her last desperate attempt to key in Caleb's code. The flash of green that she thinks came next is foggier. Footsteps in the hallway. Did it work? Had it been worth it? She can't remember. What she does remember is wanting to be done. Wanting to have done good.
Or are those someone else's thoughts? She can't tell. It's like being in a dream right now. Or maybe this is what the non-Divergent experience when they're in a simulation. She wants to tell herself it's not real.
She doesn't know anything.
Except, suddenly, it's impossibly bright. It had been darkness before. Calming, comforting darkness that she wants to return to. Her mother's embrace. Peace. Instead it's bright and there's a pain now. Intense, overwhelming pain that makes tears fall from her still closed eyes. It hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts and all she wants is to be back in her mother's arms. Safe.
Her eyes open with a startled gasp and everything is still so bright even as shapes slowly come into focus. Somewhere there's a beating, the frantic beep beep beep of a heart monitor going haywire. She can't focus on anything and there's something in her throat and she starts tugging on it, wanting it out. Now. It's too much. She knows she's panicking and she can't stop. Her head hurts and so does her lower side and even though she tries, tries as hard as she can to remove all the tubes attached, she's too weak. Tears roll down her face.
It hurts. It shouldn't hurt this much.
