Duplicity [p.h]

chapter fourteen || wearing tight, unbreathable pants

A/N: i'm aware i'm widely hated for the eric thing (same besties :/ ) but it was a necessary evil besties!! emotional maturation!! so surprised people are still reading this i'm sort of just writing for the lols every now and then but it's kind of fun playing god with the characters heh heh. mostly filler ig but yall are starved for content and ofc we have to have some inner turmoil for the ~character development~ enjoy xoxo

THE TRUTH SERUM was as bitter as I expected it to be, but its lingering aftertaste and stickiness clinging to my throat was nothing compared to the its sharp claws digging into my brain and seizing every last ounce of control I had in me.

Against my will and better judgement, a plume of fear sprouted in my stomach like an invincible weed, one I knew Four was well aware of as he sat in the isolated corner of the interrogation room, and one I wrestled with tooth and nail as it grew and grew while the clock ticked away. Why they chose oral administration, I did not know — perhaps it was because the intravenous doses were in limited supply. Or perhaps it was because the liquid I forced down my tongue was much higher in dosage, and though it took longer to come into effect, it was much harder to resist.

But I had no reason to lie, and everyone in this room knew it.

It was strange to be holding an interrogation in private, but I presumed Four thought whatever information I might cough up would not be for the general public to behold. It was too sensitive. Smart man.

I was in part grateful to avoid the needle as well. Unless Four himself had been the one to press it into my neck — which I was positive would not have been permitted — I would be on trial and guilty for assault or battery on top of treason. Seemed wise to avoid. Plus, I wasn't keen on throwing a temper tantrum in front of two poor Candor women and Lauren.

Perhaps Eric had a fear of needles too and they were saving the other intravenous doses as an extra little morsel of gleeful torment. Judging by the number of piercings and tattoos that man had acquired — in a wide array of different and painful places, might I add — it would be reasonable to conclude he actually liked feeling a needle's sting.

What a masochist.

But he was human, after all. More than a cruel, vicious war criminal. I knew that very intimately. And I didn't — I didn't regret it.

That was how I know the parasitic intrusion on my free will had begun to take hold. I felt... nothing. Heavy, maybe. But that was the first time I let myself process my involvement with Eric. It was something I stuffed down, down, down — because at a time like this, how could I ever let it bubble up? I was young, but I did not have the luxury of thinking through my feelings yet.

But it had escaped my iron grip on it. Out of my control.

Still, I had no urge to spew out my life's story, sandwiched between these black linoleum floors and tacky, windowless white walls, strapped to a rather uncomfortable chair and wholly visible to any and every nosy passerby through the single glass door. Not a single innate, insuppressible desire to dump out every lie I'd ever told for the camera in front of me that recorded every blink and twitch with the intermediate flash of red light.

No urge, but... but there was weight. Like the anchor inked into my skin had caught on a rib, and as it sank, it dragged me down with it. It was bearable, though, so for once, I sat there, and I let it happen.

There was no urge. No more wild thoughts. Nothing.

Nothing, until they started asking questions. Then, I was back, back, back—

— flung back into the easier days of months too close to feel as far away as they did, with Peter's hand in mine as he trusted me with his deepest, darkest, most horrible fears, blood still buzzing from a rather embarrassing kiss that we made up for many a time later on. Back to our arguments on Dauntless staircases, shared muffins in the Dining Hall, his admission of broom dancing. I couldn't help but smile. It made me miss him. It made me want to find him and know more than just a few fragments of who he was; the good, the bad, and the expansive in between—