Guilt [is] A Tool, Rather Than A

He Holds My Face In Both Hands And Kisses Me Back. I Press Into The Distance Between Us Until It Is Gone, Crushing The Secrets We Have Kept And The Suspicions We Have Harbored-for Good, I Hope.

Don’t Worry About Me Handling The Pain," I Say. "i’ve Had A Lot Of Practice.

Then Drew Shuffles Into The Dining Hall. I Drop My Toast, And My Mouth Drifts Open. Calling Him “bruised” Would Be An Understatement. His Face Is Swollen And Purple. He Has A Split Lip And A Cut Running Through His Eyebrow. He Keeps His Eyes Down On The Way To His Table, Not Even Lifting Them To Look At Me. I Glance Across The Room At Four. He Wears The Satisfied Smile I Wish I Had On.

Tris," Tobias Says, Crouching Next To Me. His Face Is Pale, Almost Yellow. There Is Too Much I Want To Say. The First Thing That Comes Out Is, "beatrice." He Laughs Weakly. "beatrice," He Amends, And Touches His Lips To Mine. I Curl My Fingers Into His Shirt.

Guilt [is] A Tool, Rather Than A Weapon Against The Self.