TOBIAS POV
Tris leans into me tiredly as I lead her out to the car. I am weary myself, and all I did was stand off to the side while she had fun the whole night, essentially. I have never been much of a party person, let alone a social person, so I am now in a bad mood and want nothing more than to go home and crash.
Except, that mansion is not my home, as much as I have warmed up to it.
With droopy eyes, I pull open the passenger door to help Tris inside the car, but I am shocked wide awake when I hear her muffled scream behind me. Whirling around, I find that there are three masked figures—two of them holding Tris while simultaneously digging through her clothes for money, and one of them heading towards me to hold me off.
I am fueled with anger and adrenaline as I approach him just as quickly, dodging his first punch but not the knife in his hand. He nicks me across the forehead, right above my eyebrow, and I grit my teeth before blocking his next hit and kneeing him in the gut. Through his mask, I hear him moan in pain, and I disarm him at the same time I kick him back into a random car on the street, which luckily doesn't sound an alarm.
Dropping the knife, I turn my attention to the other two. One of them has let go of Tris, while the other struggles to get her to hold still. This guy is not as smart, and all it takes is two hard hits to the face for him to fall to the ground whining.
"Four!" Tris suddenly shrieks in terror. Her urgency sends me into a panic. My eyes land on the man who is grabbing her by the hair, on the shiny knife that inches its way to her waist. I don't get to her in time, but I am pretty certain that I see her turn out of the stab—or mostly, at least, since I hear her cry out.
I take most of my anger out on the last masked person. He did not just help attack us, no, he tried kill Tris.
When had I become so protective of her?
I lose track of how many punches I throw, how many kicks I land in his torso. The man yells out as he curls up on the sidewalk, but nobody comes to help him—I doubt anyone would, even if they could hear him over the loud music coming from inside. I am relentless, and I don't stop even when I think he is going to pass out.
I am enraged. I am out of control.
I am my father.
It is her that pulls me out of my trancelike state, that returns my vision from the red that was all I saw for a moment. "Four," Tris squeaks out.
My gaze lands on her when I stop, panting from my sudden outburst. Her white shirt is soaked with blood on her left side, seeping into her jean jacket. She clutches the wound, whimpering lightly. I have never seen her this vulnerable, and it surprises me so much that I am rooted to my place until she calls my name again.
Stepping over to her, I crouch down in front of her and say, "Let me see it." She shakes her head stubbornly. "Tris. Show it to me."
I doubt that the stab wound is fatal—if it was, she would look and act a lot worse—and I am correct in my assumption. The laceration does not seem too bad, but it is a decent cut, some two inches long and probably a centimeter deep. It is still hard to assess the damage because I only have a streetlight to see at the moment. But blood pours from it fast, staining her skin, and I know that I need to get her out of here.
"You're going to need stitches," I inform her, helping her remove her jacket. "I'll take you to the hospital."
"No," she whines.
I sigh, moving her hands to rest on the jacket pressed to the wound. Seriously? Now is not the time to throw a fit. "Tris, you need to go to the hospital."
She shakes her head. "No, please, Four. Take me home." She sniffles, her throat clogging from tears, "I want to go home."
Stitching the wound is doable, although a doctor could do better. However, she is clearly tired and not in the mood for the emergency room tonight, and it sounds ridiculous, but I make the decision to not take her to the hospital.
Maybe it is her pleading that wins me over, or her scared, wet eyes, I don't know. Something drives me to do whatever she wants. It is an automatic reaction that I can never seem to control.
Agreeing, I slide my arms under her knees and around her back before standing up. I scan the street and notice that the attackers had taken off while I was distracted. Hopefully they learned their lesson tonight because calling the cops would be useless at this point.
"Who were they?" Tris mumbles into my chest.
"Probably just a few thugs who thought they could rob some rich people leaving a party," I say, carrying her to the car. It takes some maneuvering, but we manage to get her inside, lying on a reclined seat. "I don't think they were specifically targeting you." She seems pleased to know this.
I shut the car door and walk around to the other side, getting in the driver's seat and starting the engine. As I drive us home as quickly as possible, she whimpers in the seat next to me, so I reach over and press my right hand on top of her trembling one to let her know that I am here.
"We're almost there. Just hang on," I encourage her, trying to make sure she stays awake. Stay with me, my mind says silently. I can't lose you.
The other part of my mind, the part that is accustomed to following orders, thinks that I should let her bleed out. By the end of this, she will die one way or another, and I would rather have it be because of someone else than by my hand.
No. This is my fault in the first place. I wasn't quick enough and was unable to protect her. She is my responsibility, no matter what.
I look over at her, at her damp face and shaking body. And I realize at that moment that she is not just a responsibility to me. She is not some inconvenience.
Tris is my friend, and I promised her father as well as myself that I would take care of her.
xXxXx
"So, how exactly are we going to do this?"
We both stare at the laceration that still oozes blood. In the light of the bathroom, I now see that it isn't as bad as I thought. I can definitely work with this, as long as I have the right tools.
"Do you have a first-aid kit?" I ask. "That has stitches?"
She nods, blinking a few times to keep herself awake. She seems to be slightly calmer now, but her body still shudders. "I think so. Should be in the supply closet somewhere."
Vaguely remembering where the supply closet is, I leave her sitting on her bathroom counter and hurry downstairs. When I find the right door, I open it and gawk at the wide variety of cleaning supplies and other necessities that come with having a house this big. My eyes land on the first-aid kit within ten seconds of standing there, and I grab it from one of the shelves before heading back upstairs to Tris's bathroom.
"Okay, so I'll stitch you up only if you promise to hold still," I warn her.
She looks up from the large amount of blood spilling down her side, biting her lip to hide her fear. "How bad will it hurt?"
I shrug. "I don't know. But you might want something to hold or bite down on just in case you have the urge to move." Staring at her for a second, I add, "Um, you're going to need to take your shirt off." Thank God her parents aren't home tonight to see this. That would be awkward to walk in on.
A blush takes over her face, and I turn toward the medical tools on the counter and busy myself with disinfecting them while she takes her shirt off. I hear her wince as she does so, and I turn back to find her in a black sports bra. Not that I'm looking. I swear, I'm not.
Averting my eyes and focusing back on the task at hand, I examine the laceration and determine where I am going to start. With the needle in my hand, I kneel down to the correct height and look up at her.
"Ready?" I question.
She sticks the part of her shirt that wasn't ruined with blood in her mouth, giving me a thumbs up in response. I chuckle softly to myself and get to work.
It surprisingly goes smoothly. I thread the stitches through the wound, while she bites down on the shirt in her mouth and clenches my shirt in her fist. By the time I finish, the bleeding has stopped, and I clean up the blood caked on her skin. I have to admit that I did a pretty decent job.
She seems to think so too. Her face is one of amazement as she looks at my work in the mirror. "Wow," she says. "How did you know how to do that?"
I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe. "Military training."
Taking one last look at the closed wound that looks significantly smaller now lined with stitches and placing a bandage on it, she turns back to me, not caring in the slightest that she is still only in a bra and leggings. Trust me, I don't mind either.
But I do mind the purple bruises that cover her arms. Furrowing my eyebrows, I grab her wrist carefully and pull her closer to get a better look at the dark patches. "Did they seriously grab you this hard?!" I exclaim, anger evident in my voice. I should have killed those thugs for manhandling her.
"It's okay. Really, I'm fine. I took ibuprofen. There is not much else I can do, but..."
"That doesn't make it okay," I growl, letting go of her.
We stand silently for a moment while I contemplate how unfair it is how she has been treated this way, not just by those men tonight but also by her former boyfriend. As an abuse victim, I am guilty of pretending like every injury inflicted upon me is fine. However, I don't like when she does it, neither did I like it when my mother made excuses for my father after a particularly rough fight.
"Thank you," Tris whispers softly, setting a hand on my arm, and it takes me a second to catch up with what she is talking about.
"No problem." I unfold my arms and avoid her eyes, but she pushes my head up with her hand on my cheek daringly to get my full attention.
"No, seriously. You saved me tonight. Not only that, but you were willing to take me home and stitch me up. At two in the morning." A smile tugs at her mouth, and she lets go of me, though I wanted her to keep her hand pressed to my face; for what reason, I am unsure.
It is now that I notice how she struggles to keep her eyes open and sways as if she is about to tip over. I feel selfish for being so caught up in the moment that I forgot how much blood she lost tonight and that on top of that she is undoubtedly as sleep-deprived as I am.
Clearing my throat and trying not to get locked on her alluring eyes again, I mutter, "You should go to bed. You've had a rough night."
Nodding lazily, she stumbles into her bedroom and to her walk-in closet. I would have helped her walk, but I don't think it would have been very appropriate of me, considering what she is wearing at the moment.
I turn my back to her to give her privacy as she begins stripping to exchange her current, bloody clothes for pajamas without warning. I don't want her to get the wrong impression of me.
Hypocrite. You were the one with the wrong impression of her in the first place.
Although the revelation that Tris doesn't sleep around does relieve me—not that it matters to me personally—I now know for sure that the file Max gave me for my mission is false. If he lied about this, then he must be lying about everything else. So where am I supposed to go from here?
Turning around when I hear Tris lie down in her bed and watching her curl up under her covers innocently, I know that I am past the point of killing her. She matters way more to me than I ever thought she would. It is foolish to let her get this close to me, but without a doubt, I now consider her to be on the minuscule list of important people in my life, right next to my mother and Uriah.
It all started out with both of us annoyed that we were forced into this position of constantly being around each other, and now here we are, drawing each other in one secret at a time. It all started out with me being sent to assassinate her, and now I am rebelling against my job that I was sworn into, just to protect her.
Fine, I admit it. I like her, more than as if she was just a friend.
Her stormy eyes fascinate me when it is actually her who is being fascinated, pushing me to reveal parts of me that I have always kept hidden. Her laugh awakens happiness inside me that I didn't even know existed. Her sarcasm pushes me to my limits yet draws me in. Every touch lights me on fire; I can still feel the ghost of her lips on my cheek from when she kissed me tonight.
I have never felt this way about girls. Growing up, I didn't concern myself with them, instead stressing about getting perfect grades so I wouldn't get punished, or about remembering to do mindless tasks like take out the garbage before my father got home to avoid an extra beating. I had also decided at a young age that I didn't want a relationship after seeing the way my parents' marriage turned out.
But now...
My thoughts disappear when I hear Tris wince as she leans over to grab a glass of orange juice—which I brought upstairs to help with the blood loss—off her nightstand. I step over to her bedside and ask, "Do you need anything else before I go to bed?"
She shakes her head and lies back down flat on the bed. "No," she mumbles, closing her eyes. "I just want to sleep now."
"Okay. If you need anything during the night or if you start bleeding again for some reason, then don't hesitate to let me know."
"Okay."
With a final glance over her, I move across the room and flip off the light, calling softly over my shoulder, "Goodnight."
And I don't think she hears me because she doesn't reply, too far gone to register anything.
xXxXx
A scream tears through the night, causing me to startle awake and bolt up in my bed. Swearing as I trip over something on my way to my bedroom door—I am still half asleep, don't judge—I throw the door wide open and run to Tris's room, where the shriek must have come from. I shove the door open in a panic to find her sitting up in her bed with a blanket pressed to her face, crying. I relax a little. Judging by her actions, I can guess what just happened.
"You okay?" I ask, clearing my throat because my voice sounds groggy.
She hiccups and wipes her face with the blanket before looking over at me. "I-It's embarrassing, I..." Another sob escapes her involuntarily before she can finish her sentence.
"It's okay," I tell her quietly as I shut her bedroom door and walk closer to her bed. "I get nightmares too. A lot."
"Really?" Her wide eyes slide up to mine curiously.
"Yeah."
Taking a seat on the bed next to her, I contemplate my next movements. I rack my brain for an idea of what to do in this situation, but I come up short. There is nobody there to comfort me when I have nightmares, so it is not like I know what to do for Tris.
But I do remember that when I was young, my mom used to hug me after I woke up from a bad dream. I don't know if that will work in this case, but it is worth a shot. Her crying is upsetting me.
So I scoot closer and wrap my arms around her, leaning us back against the headboard. As if on instinct, she rests her head on my chest and clings to me, her feet tucked underneath her. I tell myself not to get my hopes up, that she is only lying this close to me because she is scared at the moment. However, my heart is still throbbing at a quick pace. I wonder if she can hear it. If she does, she doesn't mention it.
"What was it about?" I whisper once we're settled.
She gulps and answers, "It was another attack. Another random guy with a covered face that has complete control over me, as hard as I try to escape from him." Probably brought on by what happened tonight, I assume.
I run my hand up and down her arm as I talk, silently wondering where I picked up this action. "Well, that's reasonable. You have gotten attacked twice in two months, Tris. There's nothing wrong with having nightmares over it."
She nods, and I lower us down on the pillows rather than the headboard to get more comfortable.
"I'm so tired," she murmurs. "But I don't want to sleep again in case I have another nightmare."
Normally, I would understand and stay up with her. But it is now four in the morning, and that means both of us have only obtained two hours of sleep. She needs rest.
"Sleep," I whisper. "I'll protect you from the bad dreams if they come to get you."
I feel her smile against my chest. "With what?"
"My bare hands, obviously."
We lie together for a few minutes while she drifts off. I am not sure if she is asleep by now, but I don't really care and can't stop myself from kissing her hairline. I stay like that for longer than necessary, and she doesn't stir, so if she is awake then she doesn't object.
Sleep tugs at me the longer I lie here. I don't mean to fall asleep in her bed, especially not with her, but by the time I try to argue with myself about it, I am overwhelmed with exhaustion.
I am finally pulled under with her in my arms, and everything, for once, seems perfect.
xXxXx
Yes, I am fully aware that the "bad dreams" quote is not direct. I changed it to fit with the whole "protection" theme.😂
I kind of glossed over the stitches part because the only experience I have had with stitches is getting them in my head when I was 5, so I don't know much haha.