Red

39

"Tris, love, you need to answer me. How do you want to get out if you don't want my help?" He asks me the same question, only this time it was much more demanding.

"I-I do need your help," I stutter through a sob. Van kept looking at my face, studying it to see if he could find any answers as to why I was upset. But he wouldn't be able to find anything.

Mike's words were what worried me. I didn't want them to be true, but I fully knew they could be. The only one who knew what he spoke to me was myself, and I planned to keep it that way. I didn't need Van trying to persuade me Mike was wrong, or, even worse, go beat Mike up again. I didn't like violence at all, especially when Van was involved.

"I don't know what's going on, then. Just hold my hands and I'll pull you up," Van says, confused. There was a hint of annoyance present in his voice as well, though I couldn't blame him. I'd be annoyed at me, too.

I stay there, standing still, not completely sure what I was waiting for. Van to say something, him to leave me, or me to finally give in.

"Tris, tell me what's wrong. Is it that you don't want me to look at you? That's the only thing I can think of," he says.

I nod my head. He was right, but he didn't know the whole story.

"Okay, well you've got my shirt on...and I promise to close my eyes," he tells me.

"I-" I cut myself off, not even knowing what I would say. I shake my head and swallow.

Van purses his lips, this time I knew he was annoyed. "You can't stay in here all night. Am I going to have to get in and pick you up? Is that what you want, Tris?" He asks. He crosses his arms across his chest.

I shake my head. "No," I whisper, only loud enough for him to hear. I wouldn't allow him to get in the cold water simply to get me out. And I most definitely didn't want him to have to carry me out.

"That's what I thought. So, grab my hand," he demands. "I'm not asking you again," he says seriously when I don't do anything after his initial command. His voice almost convinced me, but I resisted.

"Alright, then I'm getting in," Van says. He stands up and starts fiddling with the zipper on his jeans.

"No!" I shout. "I'll get out! I'll get out," I repeat myself. He stops what he was doing and looks down at me. "Please, Van," I say, sounding desperate as ever, my quiet voice contrasting with my louder voice. "I promise I'll get out."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Really, darlin?" He says, smirking ever so slightly. Just enough to warm my cheeks. He squats down back to where he was. "A little indecisive tonight, aren't we?" I don't reply, but he doesn't make me.

Van holds his hands out for me, and this time I grab them. My small, cold hands held firmly by his own hands, which somehow managed to stay warm tonight.

In no more than ten seconds, it's over. He lifts me up like it was nothing, like I was as light as a feather. I felt embarrassed. Thirty minutes of me refusing his help for something that could have been over in ten seconds.

And he helps me stand up before turning away rather quickly, making my anxiety kick in, my heart beat a little faster. He didn't even want to look at me. Was I really that disgusting?

"You tell me when I can look, darlin," he says, calming the nerves which I don't think he knew he had ignited. He didn't hate me, at least not yet.

I stare at his back for a second, trying to process what he was thinking, why he wasn't completely pissed at me for wasting so much time as any normal person would be. But I couldn't come up with any rational explanation.