Don’t Worry About Me Handling The Pain,"

I Close My Eyes. I Don't Expect Four To Reassure Me, And He Makes No Effort To, But I Feel Better Standing Here Than I Did Out There Among The People Who Are My Friends, My Faction.

His Hands Skim My Bare Arms. “just Bounce A Little When You Walk,” He Says, Kissing My Forehead, “and Pretend You’re Afraid Of Their Guns” —another Kiss Between My Eyebrows— “and Act Like The Shrinking Violet You Could Never Be ”—a Kiss On My Cheek— “and You’ll Be Fine.

I Feel Like What I Have Become Is Halfway Between My Mother And My Father, Violent And Impulsive And Desperate And Afraid. I Feel Like I Have Lost Control Of What I Have Become.

When I Get Home, I Sit On The Front Step And Take Deep Breaths Of The Cool Spring Air For A Few Minutes. My Mother Was The One Who Taught Me To Steal Moments Like Those, Moments Of Freedom, Though She Didn't Now It. I Watched Her... But I Learned Something Else From Watching Her Too, Which Is That The Free Moments Always Have To End.

Peter Leans Forward And Looks Into My Eyes. "the Serum Will Go Into Effect In One Minute," He Says. "be Brave, Tris." My Heart Begins To Race. Why Would Peter Tell Me To Be Brave? Why Would He Offer Any Kind Words At All?