𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑻 . Tobias Eaton

*ೃ༄ 34 ༄ೃ*

We walk past the hallway. People notice me after a few seconds. I stay close to Four's side as they point, but I can't walk fast enough to avoid some cheers, some claps on the shoulder, some congratulations. As I look at the people around me, I realize how strange they would look to my mother and brother, and how normal they seem to me, despite all the metal rings in their faces and the tattoos on their arms and throats and chests. I smile back at them.

We descend the steps into the Pit and I say, "I have a question." I bite my lip. "How much did they tell you about my fear landscape?"

"Nothing, really. Why?" he says.

"No reason." I kick a pebble to the side of the path.

"Do you have to go back to the dormitory?" he asks. "Because if you want peace and quiet, you can stay with me until the banquet."

My stomach twists.

"What is it?" he asks.

I don't want to go back to the dormitory, and I don't want to be afraid of him.

"Let's go," I say.

He closes the door behind us.

"Want some water?" he says.

"No thanks." I hold my hands in front of me.

"You, okay?" he says, touching my cheek. His hand cradles the side of my head, his long fingers slipping through my hair. He smiles and holds my head in place as he kisses me. Heat spreads through me slowly. And fear, buzzing like an alarm in my chest.

His lips still on mine, he pushes the jacket from my shoulders. I flinch when I hear it drop, and push him back, my eyes burning. I don't know why I feel this way. I press my palms to my face, covering my eyes.

"What? What's wrong?"

I shake my head.

"Don't tell me it's nothing." His voice is cold. He grabs my arm. "Hey. Look at me."

I take my hands from my face and lift my eyes to his. The hurt in his eyes and the anger in his clenched jaw surprise me.

"Sometimes I wonder," I say, as calmly as I can, "what's in it for you. This...whatever it is."

"What's in it for me," he repeats. He steps back, shaking his head. "You're an idiot, Quinn."

"I am not an idiot, that's impossible" I say. "Which is why I know that it's a little weird that, of all the girls you could have chosen, you chose me. So, if you're just looking for...um, you know. ..that ..."

"What? Sex?" He scowls at me. "You know, if that was all I wanted, you probably wouldn't be the first person I would go to."

I feel like he just punched me in the stomach. I press my hands to my abdomen and look away, the anger flows through my blood, I blink a few times, lower my hands, and stare up at him. 

"I'm going to leave now," I say quietly. And I turn toward the door.

"No, Quinn." He grabs my wrist and wrenches me back. I push him away, hard, but he grabs my other wrist, holding our crossed arms between us.

"I'm sorry I said that," he says. "What I meant was that you aren't like that. Which I knew when I met you."

"You were an obstacle in my fear landscape." I look to him. "Did you know that?"

"What?" He releases my wrists, and the hurt look is back. "You're afraid of me?"

"Not you," I say. I bite my lip to keep it still. "Being with you...with anyone. I've never been involved with someone before, and...you're a bit older, and I don't know what your expectations are, and..."

"Quinn," he says sternly, "I don't know what delusion you're operating under, but this is all new to me, too."

"Delusion?" I repeat. "You mean you haven't..." I raise my eyebrows. "Oh. Oh. I just assumed..." That because I am so absorbed by him, everyone else must be too. "Um. You know."

"Well, you assumed wrong." He looks away. His cheeks are bright, like he's embarrassed. "You can tell me anything, you know," he says. He takes my face in his hands, his fingertips cold and his palms warm. "I am kinder than I seemed in training. I promise."

I believe him. But this has nothing to do with his kindness.

He kisses me between the eyebrows, and on the tip of my nose, and then carefully fits his mouth to mine. I am on edge. I have electricity coursing through my veins instead of blood. I want him to kiss me, I want him to; I am afraid of where it might go.

His hands shift to my shoulders, and his fingers brush over the edge of my bandage. He pulls back with a puckered brow.

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

"No. It's another tattoo. It's healed, I just...wanted to keep it covered up."

"Can I see?"

I nod, my throat tight. I pull my sleeve down and slip my shoulder out of it. He stares down at my shoulder for a second, and then runs his fingers over it. They rise and fall with my bones, which stick out farther than I'd like. When he touches me, I feel like everywhere his skin meets mine is changed by the connection. It sends a thrill through my stomach. Not just fear. Something else, too. A wanting.

He peels the corner of the bandage away. His eyes roam over the ancient Sanskrit symbol, a symbol to breathe, and he smiles.

He presses the bandage over the tattoo and pulls my shirt back over my shoulder.