Duplicity [p.h]

chapter five || check yourself before you wreck yourself

A/N: uh hi? I still exist?  who would have thought.  my apologies, but my hiatus has entailed three hardcore english courses and hopefully you can tell that my writing is improving.  voilà.

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I HAVE NEVER enjoyed resigning myself to being the "bigger person," mostly because I lacked the humility to admit to my mistakes. Maybe this was why, despite the words caught at the back of my swollen throat dying to escape and the churning pit of guilt in my stomach every time we locked eyes, we had yet to speak since our fight.

I had endured five days of brainless, menial tasks. Though the heat of the sun always made me groan, it was better than the sleepless nights of tossing and turning, of gazing at the naked infirmary ceiling, and wondering whether this meant the end of my relationship. Thinking about the situation tended to make my eye bags worse in the morning, so I did my best to think about anything else — even if that meant nothing at all. But no matter how I attempted to prevent it my gaze always returned to olive skin paled by the moon's gentle touch, to the roughened fingers I longed to entwine with my own, to the smile that melted me away, all accompanied by the worry I felt at the thought of never being able to call any of it mine again. Each night, I found myself tempted to reach out to him, and each time I almost did. Each time the sun reappeared, I found myself stubbornly preparing for another thoughtless day and a night that was anything but.

On day six, I felt so horrid that Jackson ordered me to remain in bed until the bought of sleepless (anxious) nausea and throbbing headache dissipated. Curling up on my pillow and swaddling myself in the embrace of my covers, I figured that maybe with Peter out doing Amity business I might finally be able to give my eyes — and my mind — some rest. 

By the time I was able to stand on my feet again without my insides threatening to become outsides, the sun was just beginning to set. I sat up. Much to my surprise, Peter was still in his cot with his back towards me. Curiosity filled me to the brim — mostly about his unexplained presence, but that shared the stage with the inky black tip of an unfamiliar tattoo peeking out of his shirt collar as he fidgeted in his sleep.

Everything is meant to happen, but not everything is meant to be. There's always somewhere to go, whether that's forwards or backwards, or up, or down. 

Four's words echoed in the back of my mind. Was our fight even something to get mad about? Did it amount to anything? The position I was in was quite literally killing me. It was killing us. And it was over something so unbelievably petty. While I hated being the "bigger person," I absolutely loathed not being in control of my own life. Then it dawned on me. "Four, you clever bastard."

Flipping over the covers as if I was turning over a new leaf, I shot out of bed with an unwavering sense of determination. In seconds the foot between us ceased to feel like a mile. I was an inch away from shaking his shoulder awake before I hesitated. I wondered if I should just let him sleep. I held my forehead in my hands as I concluded that my sincerest apology could wait a little longer. I sighed. Peter's cot squeaked as he flipped himself over. Probably my fault for disturbing him. I had walked past five other cots and even stopped to tie my shoelaces before I realized what was wrong with Peter's face.

Turning back around confirmed that I was not just seeing things. Though his good arm sheltered the majority of his face, the exposed skin of his cheekbone was more blue than it was olive. I wasn't sure I wanted to know how the rest of his face looked, and even less so why. Yet, I found myself compelled as I tiptoed closer and closer.  I gingerly lifted his arm away from his face. It was as if his tattoo had infected the rest of his skin. Looking at the infinite cuts marring his brow bone, the black eye that would put a raccoon to shame, and the purple-ish cloud of discolouration that rested on his nose made me uneasy. My breath caught in my throat as I traced my fingers over his busted lip.