Chapter 38- Connections

Tobias's POV:

I wait at the counter, my chin sweetly lying on top of my linked fingers—a purposeful pose.

"Ghertrude, I know you're back there. Please come out?" I turn my ear at the sound of shuffling, but it stops just as suddenly as it had started. "I haven't had a decent cup of coffee in months—"

"Decent?!" A stubborn form in a bright orange silk robe with poofy things at the end of her sleeves storms out of the backroom somehow pulling it off smoothly. "Don't even use my coffee in the same sentence as the word decent. Pleh! C'est une abomination!"

"That may be so, but, it's true—nothing compares."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Don't give me this face you have. I don't miss you as much as you think! I have…many friends now." She flits her hand languidly and proudly in the air, like smoke curling around a cigarette.

"That's good."

I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing she's talking about Tris and Lynn. According to Tris, either of them visit Gertie at least two or three times a week. When Tris told me that, I honest to God had to walk away, the twinge of relief, guilt, and then…happiness threatened to present itself in the most humiliating way—the minute prick that you feel at the back of your eye when unwanted emotion threatens to spill. I had never quantified or qualified the affection I felt toward Gertie until that moment.

"You're smeerking."

I stand up straighter, realizing I was caught.

"Mon amour, don't bother hiding it. I know an American smeerk when I see one. You're all the same! Wearing your heart on your shirt. You hide nothing!"

I relax my face, holding myself back from both laughing at her expense and obnoxiously correcting her expression.

"So, why this face of a love struck nincomtoot?"

I frown. "Being love struck makes one a nincom…poop?"

"Yes. Always hide your feelings! This is why I've lived so long and have no problems."

"Ah. Yeah okay…" Fake news, Gertie. "So…may I have two cups of coffee?" I squint my eyes at her, giving my best please face.

"No. Absolutament pas!" She swaggers toward the back, disappearing around the corner. "Why two?"

I bite my lips to hide my grin. "Because I missed it so much that I want one for later," I respond, giving my best passive voice that only very few can see right through—

"You lie. Who's the other coffee for?"

I clear my throat to keep from growling, looking up to see her leaning against the corner accusingly. "And…how do you know I'm lying?"

"Because of your smeerk," she replies with a self-satisfied smile on her face that I'd really like to wipe off.

"First of all, the word is smirk. And what about it?"

"Haha! Look at you all huffing and puffing like the big bad coyote! If only you had a house made of branches…it would be blown right away!"

I can't help but laugh lightly at her fairytale botchery. I wonder what Tris would say to Gertie. Would she correct her? Probably.

"Oh là là! Look at this face we have here, mon chéri. Oh, don't roll these eyes at me. So coy, you are. Your eyebrows speak the language of your love. They twerk," she states like that's a normal way to describe eyebrows. "I have…twerking eyebrows?" "Yes, and your mouth. It does the same but on the side. This side." She points to the left side of my mouth, making me instantly subconscious of my face. "Most of the time, just once. One twerk. But…this is the important part—the two twerk. You do it…like this." I inwardly cringe as Gertie does her best impression of my twerking mouth. "Dare I ask why the double twerk is the important part?" "Dare? You are daring me? Why do you dare me—" "I'm not. It's an…express—never mind. What is important about my mouth…twerking?" I sigh. "Two times. Likes this—" "Yes, Gertie, I get it." The image is burned into my cerebrum. "Hmph." She narrows her eyes at me again before pouring coffee out of her French press. "Put it this way—It's how I know you need two coffees."

I decide to filter out the important words and part ways with her nonsensical ones. "So, I get two coffees?"

"No." She, again, shuffles elegantly to the backroom.

I glance down to see…surprisingly three…cups of coffee sitting on the counter.

"You get three."

I furrow my eyebrows, Gertie's dainty form returning around the corner. "Why the sudden generosity?"

"Ma Petite has a…a… Bah. How do you Americans say…? When the people live together, what is this word?! Roommate. Oui! Such a stupid word! Americans ruined English from the English!"

"How did you…?" I close my mouth, feeling the dryness seep in.

"How did I know you're bringing my coffee to Beatrice?"

I nod my head imperceptibly, the sound of Tris's full name sounding almost regal when pronounced in French.

"Ma Petit Chéri smiles again. Just like the first day you brought her here. She smiled that day—and now, finally, she smiles like that…again. Entre deux cœurs qui s'aiment, nul besoin de paroles."

I'm a little too dumbfounded to process exactly what's happening, let along decode her Southern French accent.

"Don't tell La Crétine that I give her coffee." She roughly places the three cups in the holder on the counter and then tosses a brown paper bag at my chest. "Or do! I don't care! Do what you want! Now, leave me alone. Au revoir!"

My voice is stuck at the back of my throat and I don't seem to know how to retrieve it.

"Get out! Get out! I'm busy! Look at all this work I have!" She scuttles about, grabbing a broom and sweeping the floor—the perfectly clean floor.

I'm entirely unable to stop my mouth from turning itself into a smug grin ever since Gertie informed me about Tris's smile—"…and now, finally, she smiles like that…again."—and then, something in French. The sick part of my mind still questions the semantics of Gertie's statement—Was Tris's smile exclusive to me? Or is it just nice that someone…anyone…is making her smile again?

And the shit-eating grin is officially…gone.

I slowly set the carrier of coffee down on the front steps of Tris and Lynn's entirely illegal four-plex, ignoring the crumbling concrete and rust shavings from the wrought iron railing. Crouching as low as possible as to not be seen by any beyond-early risers, I arrange the brown paper bag of scones, balancing it perfectly on top of the coffee cups. I suppose I have Gertie to thank for the fact that I can even make such a structure seeing as I had absolutely no intention of bringing Lynn-the-jerk any such coffee; but, it is currently serving my aesthetic purpose. I decide to move the contraption down one step and just far enough to the left so the door won't hit it, but still in plain sight so that only a total jackass could possibly not see it. Once it's in its perfect position, I step back to admire my handiwork.

Tris and Christina always had some weird inside joke about coffee and scones that I never quite understood, not that I tried to—Stopping mid-thought, I get a feeling that I can only describe as…irksome? It's dark out still—Thank you, January—but…something still seems…off. And when I say off, I literally mean…off—the apartment is completely black. Because I'm an overbearing freak, I often drive by on my way to the office—the front porch light is always on, and I can usually faintly see the vent light over the small two-burner stove along with the back-lighting coming from the ancient under-mount clock. It dimly lights up Tris's closet at just the right angle, allowing me to imagine her body lying comfortably on the cot. But, right now, their entire quadrant looks totally obscured. Then, I notice the window. Whereas a thin layer of fog usually lines the inside of the pane—the result of the minimal inside heat mixing with the below zero temperatures outside—right now there is no such barrier. It could mean one of two things—new windows or…matching temperatures. And I don't even have to look closer to know it's not new windows.

"Shit," I whisper, jogging back to my car to grab my phone. I hastily dial Tris's number—straight to voicemail.

Last night we both fell asleep talking, at least, I think—my iPad was lying on my chest when I woke up, and I don't remember saying goodnight. A memory of one of her last comments comes forth—"...my phone is dying…" followed by a large yawn.

I run my hand down my face, hoping it will help—It doesn't.

And, I'm at the top of the concrete steps before I even know that I'm at the top of the concrete steps, opening the completely nonfunctional screen door. My first thought being to kick the main door down; but, the mature side of my aggression wins out and I knock first. Will Lynn answer? Possibly. Would Tris be pissed because she'd have to explain my presence? Yes, because she won't be able to make up a lie. And, even if she did, it would be terrible. Something akin to 'Wow, Four (enunciating 'Four')…uh…what are you…erm…doing here…so early on…uh…a…a…?'

I huff a warm breath into my hands, bouncing on my toes in both trepidatory anticipation for what's to come and downright frigidity. But, there seems to be no movement. I lean over the railing and look in the window again—Tris's closet is wide open, but my view is shrouded by shadows. Cupping my eyes to keep out the street light, I spy the clock in the kitchen—an antique of an item where the numbers flip down when the minute changes. It's stuck on 2:07. The power is out.

I groan knowing what I have to do—pound on the door like a gorilla showing its dominance. So, I do just that. The door rattles so much that the bottom two locks actual come loose, and the wood around the locks splinters easily.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I rasp through gritted teeth.

One hard push with my shoulder and I'm through the door, picking up on very minimal temperature difference from the outside. I storm into Tris's closet and find nothing but a heap of blankets. Suddenly, a whooshing sound travels right past my neck, two white strings laying uselessly on the floor with a human marshmallow at the other end shakily holding a now useless Taser gun.

"FOUR?!" The walking Inuit with Lynn's voice shouts. "What the…HELL are you DOING HERE?!"

"Did you just try to Tase me?!" I rub the back of my neck where serious injury almost ensued.

"Of course, I tried to fucking Tase you! You broke my God-damned door down!" Breathing heavily she balances herself on the wall, a tear drips down her face, and I realize what I did maaaaaay have been in poor form.

"Look, I'm sorry. And I…I…that's all I know how to say right now. Where's Tris?"

"She's right there, dumbass! Why the hell are you…? Oh, my…God…"

I walk to Tris's bed, giving Lynn all the time she needs to put two and two together. Pulling back the blankets—there must be at least five—I find another human marshmallow, curled up into a ball, her hoodie pulled over her head.

"Tris?" Not understanding how the completely unnecessary scene that Lynn just made didn't wake her, I violently shake her shoulder. Please don't be dead please don't be dead please don't be dead—a swift jolt to my chest robs me of the ability to breathe, and then a fire cracker explodes on the back of my head. The world is all a blur—yelling and rustling and more yelling; but it's all in slow motion, like my body is stuck in one of Hana's Jell-o molds.

"Tobias….. ….. ….."

I feel ice cubes on both of my cheeks—ice cubes that are holding my face together.

"Did ….. …..kill him?! ….. ….. I'm not ….. going to jail ….. this shit—"

"Shut-up, LYNN!" says the voice of knives slicing open my eardrums. "Oh, my God. Tobias, please please please please please wake-up wake-up. I love you I love you I love you. Oh my God oh my God. Lynn, help me! Call 911!"

"Mmmmmmm…" My head vibrates at whatever sound is coming out of it.

"Holy shit. You didn't kill him! Wait, is he crying—"

"Shut up, again, Madelynn!"

Fuck, am I crying? My eyes open on their own accord to complete blurriness, but, at least, the world starts to make more sense—I'm lying on my back, Tris is inches from my face. Well, I think it's Tris. The sudden excruciating sobbing in my ear, a load of hair in my face, identifiable scent—it's definitely Tris.

"Let the poor man inhale, geez, Prior."

"Are you okay?" Tris whispers, pulling away.

"Uh. Yeah, I think. Can you get the ice off my face?" I swipe away…her fingers, pursing my lips and trying to sit up.

"So…yeah…what are you…doing here…Four? I mean, you were…just in the neighborhood…on this…a….a….a….?"

Nailed it. What an idiot.

"Subtle. Real subtle, Prior. So…this is the anti-Four? Not quite what I had expected. Nice touch."

"How long has your power been out?" I wince at the pain stinging the back of my head.

"Huh? The power is out? I hadn't noticed—"

"What the hell are these?" I interrupt before Tris can attempt any more lies, pulling off the huge cracked leather headphones, her hair getting stuck on the antennae—yes, they have an antenna.

"Prior called the 80s. She heard they were getting rid of their landscaping headphones."

"I don't have earmuffs! And these were free!" Tris states as if that were some sort of explanation.

"So, you were without hearing of any sort?! I could have been a murderer! And your roommate is worthless."

"Hey Four, after she kicked you in the chest like a mule getting an enema, she tried to use the Taser as a stun gun on you, but I wrestled it out of her hands—ya know, in case you ever want to thank me—"

"That'll be enough, Lynn." Tris crawls in front of me, hastily wiping my eyes that were watering—not crying, just innocently watering, minding their own business. "Are you okay?" she asks again conspiratorially in a tone that says just 'cause you're crying doesn't make you less of a man.'

"I'm fine," I grunt.

"You went down…hard. Real hard," Lynn points out, biting into a frozen banana on the side of her mouth.

"Is this a banana moment, Lynn?"

"Name me one time, Prior, that doesn't qualify as a banana moment."

"There are about a million."

"Nope. I can always make a banana work—"

"We're leaving," I state pushing myself up, attempting to hide the right foot over left crossover.

"Whoa there, cowboy, take it easy. I know it's deceiving, but these guns aren't exactly made of steel."

I look down to see that I had grabbed Lynn's arm, thinking it was Tris's. I shake my head to clear it before turning left this time, catching Tris's glare. "Yes. Now," I interrupt the conglomeration of thoughts going through her head.

"You don't get to just—"

"Yes, I do! You know why? Because I love you!" I shout in frustration, fighting against the desire to wring her neck. "And people who love each other don't let them sleep in sub-zero temperatures!"

She looks at me, taken aback before a slight smile crosses her purple lips.

"Don't look at me all cute. You know I love you," I scoff. "Now, get on board before I get you on board!"

"And how exactly are you going to do that?"

I clench my jaw staring at how ridiculous she looks in all the layers of clothes and—Jesus, she's wearing boots! I glance at Lynn who looks like she wishes she had a bucket of popcorn. I need to strategize: For some reason, Tris doesn't like me to use brute force. What to do. What to do. And then, it's like a lightbulb goes off—I can almost hear the movie-like 'ding' that goes along with it. Hurriedly, I walk the four steps it takes to get the hunk of plastic that's supposed to qualify as her dresser and grab the whole thing. Since she's already wearing ½ of her clothes, it's actually pretty light. I pull off the blankets on her bed and book it out the door, ignoring the protestations behind me.

After tossing them in the back seat, I run back up the stairs to see a very, very pissed-off Tris. Don't care.

"Now what the fuck are you going to do?" I ask, pointing toward her now nonexistent bed.

Suddenly, her voice changes and she shrugs her shoulders as if she literally has no clue. Aaaaand…that's because I haven't told her.

"You're coming with me," I say softly. "Not to live with me. I have another…thought."

She glances toward Lynn who—for the first time in her life—looks almost sheepish.

Damn it.

Tris's POV:

Lynn and I are still stiffing our laughs as Tobias grumbles to himself. Him tripping over the coffee that he himself brought was near double-over-from-laughter hysterical. Ya know, If I could have doubled over—I was wearing a lot of layers.

Truthfully, I'm beyond relieved to be leaving that apartment right now. But, just for right now. I can only imagine what hotel Tobias is going to put us up in. Hopefully nowhere overpriced. He knows I'll insist on paying him back. Where the hell wouldn't be overpriced that isn't a bed bug breeding ground with yellowing 1970s wallpaper adorning the walls, tiny curly hairs on the toilet seat, stains on the sheets—

"So, where in God's name are we going…To…bi…as?"

I turn around, glaring at Lynn, knowing she's only using his real name to piss him off…or to piss me off in protest of keeping secrets from her which I technically didn't do.

"Please keep the crumbs in your mouth and off my seat!"

"What crumbs? Oh, these?" Lynn picks up a pile of crumbled scone and lets it slide through her fingers.

"Can I drop her off on the curb? You sure know how to pick 'em for roommates—"

"To…bi…as, dahling, if I remember correctly Zeke wanted to kick your ass to the curb because you were the ultimate tight ass—"

"Hey, Lynn? He's doing us kind of a favor right now. Can you maybe just…not…be an ungrateful bitch?"

I notice the side double-take coming from Tobias. He's probably not used to our dynamic. "Seriously, please, tell me where we're going," I plead, noticing we're heading Southeast to the land of luxury hotels. "Oh, hell no. You are not paying for us to—"

"Relax. I would never even suggest such an asinine idea," he drones like a sarcastic jerk.

"Well, I'm all in, I'll tell you that much—"

"Get…your…feet off my seat!" Tobias swats Lynn's feet off the back of my headrest as I roll my eyes at her annoying ways of trying to get a rise out of people.

"Ignore her. It's the only way I function."

"She makes it…very…difficult."

Suddenly I notice him turn into a familiar parking garage—the one from his old apartment. "What…are we doing here?"

"This…is where you'll be staying."

"I can't or…we can't…afford—" I purse my lips, my teeth biting into the inside of my lips. "I know how much you pay per month—"

"I'm not paying anything for this place."

I turn and look at Lynn as he whips right into his old parking place, probably purposely sending her across the backseat.

"I usually remind people to wear a seat belt, but I made an exception today. Let's go."

He gets out of the car, popping the trunk and grabbing my plastic container of clothes, leaving Lynn's behind with the trunk still open.

"Thanks a lot, Toooo…bias."

"Doesn't bother me anymore, Maaaaadelyyyynnnn!" he yells over his shoulder, making his way to the elevator.

I roll my eyes…for about the tenth time, making my way back to the car to help her.

"Whoa. Wait, wait, wait. What's this? What's happening?"

"I'm helping. I can be helpful, you know."

"No, Prior. No, I don't know."

"Fine!" I throw her comforter on the ground and walk away.

"Hey! That was…really shitty!"

"Lynn, Jesus, I'll get the front desk to help you," Tobias growls.

"Oh! So, I don't have to carry, like, anything?! Haha. This place is great."

We make it up to Tobias's old apartment with him entirely ignoring my protests, partly because of his claustrophobia, and partly just to be an ass. I drop my stuff right in the hall, giving him a huff of petulance as Lynn walks up behind us swaying her hips like the smug, smug little bitch that she is.

"Tobias James Eaton, tell…me…now."

"Say, 'please,'" he says with his most cheekily expression.

"Say, 'please'?! Are you…kidding me?! This was not my idea! In fact, I would have been fine, absolutely fine with staying—"

He opens the door, grandly walking in before I can argue with him any further. I sigh, following after him, immediately being interrupted by his back smashing into my face. "What the…HELL?" he roars, Lynn's stupid head crashing into the back of mine.

"Ow! I always knew you had a hard head…but, damn!"

I walk forward, ignoring her as Tobias goes on an absolute rampage into his…apartment? There is…no way this is—

"Mr. Eaton! I'm so sorry! I'm so—"

My eyes register a tall skinny body being flung right in front of me and Lynn. After he rights himself I notice that he's shirtless and in boxers. He fists both hands in his hair, looking like he's about to vomit, cry, and shit his pants all at the same time.

"Jonathan?"

I tentatively look around the corner at the rest of the commotion. A host of teenage boys scrambling about picking up chip wrappers and Monster soda cans, whatever game they were playing on whatever game console left entirely unattended. I look around, my mouth dropping open at the all-around mess.

"Uh. Hey, Tris—"

"What the fuck are you doing, you little punk?!" Tobias grabs Jonathan by the shoulders, shaking him awkwardly, the poor kid's head lolling front to back.

"Geez, Four. At least, let the kid keep his tongue."

"I… I… I…thought you were... gone! I didn't know anyone…lived here. Please, stoooopppp…"

Tobias tosses the kid to the side, as I step in to grab him, but his scrawny self slides right by me into the dining room table.

"Get out! Right the FUCK NOW!"

Lynn and I quickly move to the side as a mini-parade of underwear-clad pubescents rush out into the hall. The crunching of orange-powdered chips being ground into the area rug is going to be the death of Tobias. Unless he kills Jonathan, then he may die in prison.

"Tris! Tell him I'm sorry! Please—"

"What are we playin' over here?" Lynn interrupts, swaggering over to the TV.

"Oh. God of War. My friend got a PS4 Pro for his birthday. Been keepin' it here."

"Wow, kid. Keep him as a friend."

"I know, right? You should see—"

"Explain. Now." Tobias grabs Jonathan's arm most likely leaving indelible finger-prints, making him look right into his very close, very angry, face.

"I…I have no excuse. I thought the place was empty," Jonathan whines pathetically.

"It…was."

"Geez, your face is so…scary—"

"Jonathan, relax." I walk closer to the both of them, resting my hand on Tobias's arm, giving him the let-the-fucking-kid-go face, to which he begrudgingly backs away, walking to the other side of the kitchen table. The physical barrier of the furniture piece relieves some of the tension. "Now please continue."

"Ms. Ghertrude told Stephen that this place is empty, and it needs to stay that way." He looks down at his bare feet, twisting and untwisting his big toes. "So…I just figured…we'd use it to hang out. We weren't doing anything wrong—"

"Kid, there's porn in the DVD player. Yew…" Lynn holds up a DVD as if it were contaminated, and it may as well have been. "I mean, who even has DVDs anymore? Download that shit!"

"They aren't mine." Jonathan backs away with wild eyes, his face turning 500 shades of humiliation. Rightfully so.

"Tris, I'm gonna kill him. Get him out. Now. Right the fuck now." Tobias braces his hands on the back of a chair hanging his head between his arms practicing a very poorly executed form of deep-breathing.

"You sound like a rhinoceros running a marathon," Lynn remarks absentmindedly.

"Shut your pie-hole, Lynn," I growl.

"Just sayin'."

"Jonathan. You need to go." I grab his arm, leading him toward the door.

"Can I have some pants and a shirt?" he rasps in a whisper that isn't a whisper at all. Suddenly pants land on his head followed by a t-shirt compliments of Lynn.

"Keep walking," I advise, quietly guiding him into the hall. I glance up at the security camera in the corner, the one that had been installed post Nita. "Uh…Jonathan. How did you…get past…?" I point to the camera hoping he'll get my drift.

"Oh, yeah. I changed the angle. Thanks, Tris. Good to see you again…" he trails off over his shoulder tripping into whatever pants Lynn threw at him before falling onto his face.

I sigh deeply, heading back into the apartment. There's no sign of Tobias, but Lynn is way-too-happily playing on the PS4.

Lynn's POV:

I can't fucking believe I'm actually cleaning an area rug. Not just cleaning—scrubbing the shit out of it. I'm tempted to destroy it—take scissors and snip-snip-snip all the little thread things—

"Stop grumbling! This is the least we can do!"

"No. Nope. This is actually the most we can do. I have cheese balls shoved up under my fingernails. This is some Guantanamo Bay shit."

"He's letting us stay in his apartment for the same rent we're paying at the crap hole."

"Uh, yeah, no. Gertie is letting us stay here for the same rent."

"Well, she was saving it for him."

Sitting back on my heels I see a teensy smirk cross her face. "Oh, does that make you happy? That a small part of him was still pining for you?" I cross my arms over my chest, gazing at the ceiling like a lovestruck teenager. "Well, that supposed pining crap is making my fingers look like ten little Donald Trump heads."

"Care to switch places?"

I tilt my head watching her scrape whatever was ground into the wide-planked hardwood floor with a razor blade. "Is that really necessary?"

"If you knew Tobias better, you wouldn't even have to ask that question."

I gaze at her for a moment, silently judging her. "S'weird, ya know. Hearing you call him Tobias."

"Get used to it. Feels weird calling him Four."

"Whatever. Trust me, if this is weird for anyone, it's me. I've been made the fool." I stand up and stretch, steering clear of the DVD player. "Side note—Why are high school boys so nasty? I mean, how does one go from horny piece of dog manure to fully functional, responsible, adult?"

"Some of them…don't," she grunts trying to pry free a caked in piece of something brown and sticky.

"Probably true. Not sure Uriah is ever gonna get there. Hey, do you think you'll actually have friends again since you—ya little liar-in-chief—and Four are bumping uglies again?"

"Number one—gross. Number two—we aren't bumping anything because we are just dating. And number three…" she sighs, sitting back on her heels. "I don't know."

"Shauna'll forgive you, ya know. I mean, she pretty much already has. That girl has an impeccable rebound rate."

"That's not it. I just…I don't even officially know where Tobias and I are at...relationship-wise. I mean, supposedly we're getting to know each other again." She purses her lips with that thinking face she does, I've captured it many times on camera. "We have a lot to talk about still, and I'm afraid I'm going to hate what he has to say."

I plop down in front of the fridge, freeing a banana peel from beneath my butt. "He may hate what you have to say too."

She literally looks taken aback—like the action that people do where the pull their chin back in their neck like a sling shot, but just leave it there for several seconds until it slowly goes back to normal. "Lynn, he left to start a new life with someone else—now, don't get me wrong, I take responsibility for a good part of that, I practically sent him packin'—"

"Yeah. Newsflash. I think you give yourself a 'lil too much credit for his sudden absence."

"Madelynn, do you try to make me feel like shit? Like, does it bring you joy?"

"No—well, yes, but, that's not what I'm trying to do right now." I bite the inside of my cheek wondering how to convey my thoughts, or if I even should. I'm not exactly thrilled about the idea of Four even being back in town…particularly based on my mini-iota of misleading information concerning Tris's relationship status. Damn it, Lynn! Why couldn't you keep your mouth shut—

"Proceed!"

"Has it not occurred to you that Four's insta-exit was a little…fishy?"

"Fishy…"

"Yes! Family, friends, killer job, and then he just up and leaves with some lady?"

She rests her face in her hands, and for a moment, I feel slightly sorry for her. "Look, they were starting an ALG branch office. It was his out. So, he took it." She shrugs and goes back to prying off the remains of dead snacks between the floor boards. "And…I really don't want to think about him and any other woman…okay? These are the answers I'm not looking forward to."

"Fine," I huff. "I'll concede the argument on that one on account of my total disdain for hearing anything about Sofi's exes. But, it behooves me to point out that it seems incredibly out of character in an all-the-fuck-around kind of way."

"I try not to think about it." She shrugs, pushing herself up off the floor.

"Well, do ya think about this…?" I pause for several seconds just for dramatic effect. "Your little fuck buddy Tre?"

"So vial," she scoffs.

"Oh, hmmm, unless…you forgot…? Well, the good friend that I am—I will remind you: You accosted him in Tori's office…and then continued accosting each other for…several weeks? I didn't exactly keep track."

"What's your point? It was nothing."

"Maybe to you—but I think Tre may disagree, ya little jerk."

Her shoulders sink, and she loses a little of her fire, making me take an uncharacteristic pause. She's too nice for her own good sometimes!

"Geez, Prior. I'm just baiting you! How have you not figured this out yet?!"

She shakes her head and looks away. "Anyway, Tobias…I mean…he cannot care. Seriously, how could he possibly be mad? He's the one who—"

"Stop right there." I put my finger up in the air in the same way a crossing guard uses their paddle thing. "A word of advice?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Savor it. Look, Prior, you are the queen of what I like to call the…le whataboutism."

"Well, Lynn, you are the queen of bullshit. And you're French accent sucks."

"And, dearie, you have now proved my point. When a convo starts to go belly-up for you—I don't know if it's some protectionism thing, or deflecting, or I'm sure there is some psychology behind it—but, you go all eye-for-an-eye, two-wrongs-make-a-right, why-did-Susie-get-2-cookies-when-I-only-got-one. You're like a walking talking two-year-old—wait, do two-year-olds already walk and talk—"

"Lynn… That isn't what a whataboutism is!"

"Uhhhh… Yes. It is."

"Uhhhh… No," she disagrees attempting to unsuccessfully mimic my voice. "It was a propaganda technique used by the Soviets, you dipshit."

"Oh. I actually thought it was something Fox & Friends invented…"

"Now your comparing me to Fox News? I'd rather be a Soviet!"

"Alright just calm down, Prior. You know just as well as I do that Fox isn't news—"

"Can we stay on point? I'm trying to de-crypt your encrypted form of horse shit. Are you saying I'm petulant?"

"Yaaaasssss! That's the one."

She sighs, yanking on her pony tail holder. "I know this."

"You…do?"

"Yes! I've been…informed."

"Someone besides me was brutally honest with you?"

"Well…not exactl—I CAN BE SELF-REFLECTIVE, OKAY?!"

I just about fall back on my ass at her screech, but then am overcome by a foreign emotion as I see her face fall… What is this called? Oh, good God… Empathy.

"What," she says curtly.

"Well, Jesus, I just really want to continue making you feel bad about this; but, now I can't!" I stare at the floor in disbelief at myself, as Prior snorts out an unsuccessfully stifled laugh.

"Look, I don't mean to be…petulant. I…really, really don't. In fact, I don't even know I'm doing it half the time."

"Hmm… Alright. Let's role play," I suggest, sitting Indian style in front of her. But, the wary and condescending look on her face speaks volumes. "Ech. Not like that, Señorita Immaturita! Anyway, Sof is the only person you'd go gay for, and she's not here to inspire you. You'd be worthless."

She shrugs in agreement. "True story."

"Okay, I'm Four. And you're, well, you." I waver for a moment, not quite sure how to achieve the opposite of a falsetto—

"Don't even bother doing his voice. No one gets it right. They just end up sounding like a meathead with roid rage."

I think about the awful audio visual she just painted and decide to kabosh my efforts. "No voices then. Okay... Ahem. 'Tris. You and I had the non-zombie version of World War Z. Do you remember this horrific event?'" I wait patiently for her response.

"Why not just say World War Three?"

I roll my eyes at her interruption of my actually being helpful for once. "Fine. World War Three. Ahem, again! … 'Now…because of that…I met a lovely cougar-lady who was just high enough on the hot scale to qualify for a cross-country move. So, we packed up our lives and made the trek out to the land of milk and honey." I clench my jaw in order to hold in my opinion of Four's bullshit story…especially since I added to his exodus—

"Why did they go to Israel?"

"Huh?"

"The Land of Milk and Honey…?" she repeats as if I have no short-term cognition.

"It's an expression…dumbass."

"Yes. For Israel…dumbass."

"Wha… Well… This could very be the most unproductive conversation we've ever had!" I squeal trying my best to deflect.

"I entirely disagree."

"Screw the role play. How about I cut to the chase?"

"Please," she mumbles, grabbing her razor to pry more crusted over scum out of each nook and cranny in the floor.

"All I'm saying is…you did regretful things too, so no a-throwin' a-horse dung in anyone's face."

Sighing, she shakes her head. "Was it so bad that I slept with Tre?"

"No, hell no! I woulda climbed that vegemite-eater like a tree if I was a right-handed batter. But…the real question is…do you regret it?"

"Yes. But…not because of Tobias. For God's sake, this is the 21st century! No need to save myself for the sake of a guy."

"The evolution of Tris Prior. I likey! Now, let's keep up with that habit. And can you use it with me?" I ask snidely.

"Hey, pot. I'm kettle. It's really shitty to meet you."

"Please," I scoff, smacking her lacklusterly proffered hand away. "My evolution is almost complete. Anyway, all I'm saying is you don't have to apologize for what you did. Shit! You don't owe him any excuse whatsoever. But, don't expect Four to have one either…and you turning it around on him won't be good for either of you."

"What…is all this fuckery that's coming out of your mouth? Since when do you give more than even one rat's ass about any of my happenings?"

"Oh, come on! I've been giving a good two rat's asses lately."

She quirks her eyebrow and shrugs in agreement. "That…and you've been Ramosed. Your appointment was yesterday."

"Ugh. She got to me good this week. Don't worry, it'll wear off."

"Counting on it."

Tobias's POV:

I realize the stupidity of my mistake as I'm on lap nine around my block—empty stomach, no water, and minimal sleep are the perfect pairings for a grown man pass-the-fuck-out session. Underestimating how fast I'm going, I stop all too suddenly, stumbling my way for a few steps until I rest my palms on my knees to gain my balance and hopefully not fulfill the urge I have to dry heave. Taking deep painful breaths through my nose, I stand, stretching my arms over my head—an even bigger mistake—as a cramp that feels like a heart attack takes aim at my chest. I double over, not giving a God-damned what I look or sound like—

"Young man?"

I groan loudly and turn the other way. "I'm fine."

"I'm not sure you are."

I shake my head, standing again, trying to work my way through the stabbing in my chest... I don't succeed.

"You have two choices—I call an ambulance or you let me get you a…glass…of…water…"

Something familiar rings true about the frank and steady nature of that trailing off voice. I turn gingerly in curiosity, being greeted by a surprised face. "Mrs. Reyes?" I shake my head in correction. "I mean…Johanna?" I amend, remembering the many times she had corrected my overly formal greeting.

"Yes… Uh, Tobias—I'm sorry…Four…"

Sucking a breath through my teeth, I limp toward her, recalling when I rudely corrected her about referring to me by my given name. "Tobias is fine. You live here?" I ask, trying to pull off a light laugh.

"I do."

I tilt my head painfully in the direction of my house. "I live about three blocks over."

"Mmm hmm. I actually knew that."

"Oh." An uneasy feeling comes over me as I just about keel over based solely on the scrutiny of her gaze, and I'm hit with the distinct urge to flee. "Okay. Well, take care—"

"Come in," she orders, walking with purpose toward her house.

Johanna's no-nonsense tone makes me shockingly compelled to acquiesce, so I find myself following her like a moth to a flame. I take note of the exterior of her house quickly—a dark brick ranch most likely circa 1960s based on the homogenous identity of the brick and the ½ inch mortar lines, a nearly flat roof shows Frank Lloyd Wright influence, and the siding is a light green rough pine. We pass under the roof into a small covered mini-patio and head directly into the house. It smells like a home—as in a place people gather and argue and laugh and cook and have holidays…a place with memories.

"Follow me," she comments over her shoulder as she makes a left.

"O…kay," I mumble fighting the urge to say 'Yes, ma'am.'

I instantly stop in my tracks at the sight of the room. There is floor to ceiling art of all kinds—metal, paint, charcoal, needlework, watercolor, small, large, circular, rectangular—and it's fascinating.

"Do you like art?" she asks, walking briskly across the room.

"No," I shrug honestly. "I mean, I don't dislike it, but I've never had much of an appreciation either." Well, except for one artist in particular…

"That's ironic."

I furrow my eyebrows, glancing at her—the woman who knows nothing about me. "How so?"

She chuckles, walking toward me. I scoot slightly away from her, crossing my arms in a defensive position.

"What do you think of this one?"

I follow the trajectory of her gesture, bending awkwardly at the waist because of the odd height of the drawing, but I instantly realize I'm drawn to it. However, I can't fathom for one second why. Honestly, it's pretty damned boring. "It's a cone."

"Indeed," Johanna grunts as she pushes a leather chair across the room. "Sit."

"I don't…really have time to—"

"I said, 'sit.'"

"Okay." I gingerly sit on the edge of the large wing-backed chair, not wanting to get too comfortable—

"Sit all the way back."

I stare at her, uncomprehending how I got myself into this situation. "Johanna—"

"Just please do as I say, Tobias."

I swallow and sit back, probably looking like I have a pole stuck up my ass.

"Now, look at the picture."

Holding back the urge to roll my eyes, I take a second look at the cone. It looks remarkably different, now more like a tunnel than anything. Whereas before it looked remedial, now it turned itself into an optical illusion. I can't help but smile…and it's really weird.

"That was the first piece I ever hung in this office. You're sitting where my desk used to be. From this angle," she informs sitting in the lounger across from me. "…it looks like a cone. But, from yours, it's as if you can see through it—into it. It's a metaphor."

"For what?"

"The mind. I'm a therapist. This is my office."

I can literally feel my eyebrow quirk at her claim. This could be the least shrinkish shrink's office I've ever seen. Although, I've only ever seen one. The cliché piece of furniture she's sitting on is literally the only dead giveaway. "You see…patients…here?"

"Yes. But they call me Dr. Ramos."

"You have a pseudonym?"

"Not exactly. My full name is Johanna Elena Reyes Ramos," she pronounces with a remarkably strong accent.

"Ramos is your maiden name."

"Exactly. I married in my mid-forties—later in life. Anyway, I did change my name legally, but to my patients I stayed Dr. Ramos. I've been seeing some of them for upwards of 20 years, so it seemed silly to make them call me something different. And, most people don't call me Johanna. However…when they do, they use improper pronunciation."

"Sorry."

"You wouldn't have known any different."

"I suppose. But, I try to make it a point to…" I trail off, not wishing to explain further.

"Read people, assess a room, peel back as many layers as you can to use to your advantage in a corporate scene."

"Yes," I reply with a slight amount of shame attached. "Apparently, I'm not that good—I should have at least made the connection that you emigrated. Eastern Mexico?"

She laughs lightly, giving me a look of incredulity. "And how would you know that?"

"Your name—or, at least, your enunciation. Reverberation from the front of the mouth rather than the guttural nuance of a European Spanish accent, coupled with the clear presence of the 's' sound and a rise in intonation at the end of the words. Plus, your speed. Mexican Spanish to most other native Spanish speakers sounds muddled. Specifically, when it's been altered by linguistic assimilation. Your accent is pure—that's how I know you emigrated."

She blows out a long breath, staring over my shoulder. "It's uncanny, really. You're the spitting image of your father which makes you hard to look at, and it seems you have also inherited his 'smarts' shall we say. And you aren't afraid to show them…also like your father."

I don't often get the idea to lean over and strangle someone, apart from Matthew, but at this moment, there is little less I'd like to do.

"You look like you want to cause me physical harm."

"It may have crossed my mind," I utter deadpan.

"That's actually quite reassuring."

"How?"

"Because my mere comparison of you to Marcus causes you less than idyllic thoughts. That's encouraging to me."

"That's a gross understatement. And I'm still not following…you." The need to rip my hair out at the roots is near paralyzing.

"Do you remember the last time we spoke? At ALG? I told you I knew your father."

I swallow, preferring to purge every conversation regarding Marcus out of my mind for all eternity, but I don't seem to have a choice as this lady is gluing me to this chair with her eyes! However, the memory of Johanna and Nita outside of the conference room presents itself despite my internal protestations.

"Yes…Tobias…I know your father. And there is no one in this world I loathe more… Something we have in common, hmm? Sometime…when you're ready…we can continue this conversation."

"I remember," I murmur, lost in thought at the memory.

Johanna sighs, standing and wandering over to the odd cone drawing. "Your mother was my best friend," she whispers, running her finger over the bottom of the frame. "She drew this. For me. And then she made me hang it…right here…so I could look at it every time I have a patient. That's why I always move my chair right where you're sitting. It's where my desk used to be."

My head feels like it's literally spinning from the substantial amount of questions suddenly pouring through my brain. However, my speech has been simultaneously stunted.

"Your father ruined her."

I'm entirely taken aback by her undisguised remark. So much so, that I seem to regain function of my voice box. "Yeah." Well, sort of… I clear my throat hoping the small physical distraction will keep me in the present moment…although, my mind is fighting to travel into the past—revisiting the hail storm of memories.

"Although, in the long run, I'm not sure the alternative would have been much better…" she trails off, running the tips of her fingers over another picture—a semi-distorted image of a man's face.

"Johanna… I'm, so…God damned confused—"

"Call me Anna, please. And I'm referring to the alternate life she would have lived, had she ended up with my brother."

Du, dun, duuuuunnnnn...

Thanks for hanging in there still, those of you that did!

-Kris