Please. They're Like The Cult Of Four.

In That Moment I Know Exactly What I Want; I Want To Peel Away All The Layers Of Clothing Between Us, Strip Away Everything That Separates Us, The Past And The Present And The Future.

And He’s Right To Say That Every Faction Loses Something When It Gains A Virtue: The Dauntless, Brave But Cruel; The Erudite, Intelligent But Vain; The Amity, Peaceful But Passive; The Candor, Honest But Inconsiderate; The Abnegation, Selfless But Stifling.

You're Not Very Nice," I Say, Grinning. "you're One To Talk." "hey, I Could Be Nice If I Tried." "hmm." He Taps His Chin. "say Something Nice, Then." "you're Very Good-looking." He Smiles, His Teeth A Flash In This Dark. "i Like This 'nice' Thing.

And Don't Pay Attention To Christina. Your Face Doesn't Look That Bad." He Smiles A Little. "i Mean, It Looks Good. It Always Looks Good. I Mean--you Look Brave. Dauntless." His Eyes Skirt Mine, And He Scratches The Back Of His Head. The Silence Grows Between Us. It Was A Nice Thing To Say, But He Acts Like It Means More Than Just Words. I Hope I Am Wrong. I Could Not Be Attracted To Al-- I Could Not Be Attracted To Anyone That Fragile. I Smile As Much As My Bruised Cheek Will Allow, Hoping That Will Diffuse The Tension.

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.