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As with all things, time passed, and the height of emotions she so desperately drove to sustain waned.

“More.” She said.

“Even you have your limits, Bene.” Tris said.

She held onto her would be captor, nuzzling, nursing, nibbling, hoping to capture a moment since passed.

“If we stop, I’ll remember.” She said.

The world clawed back into focus. She was sick. Diseased, the dead called her. No logic to their words, but logic held no sway in her heart.

“What have I done?” She said. Broken her promise. Lost the last vestige of identity she laid claim to for a night of debauchery.

“Sh sh sh.” Tris said, petting her. “It’s okay. You are who you are. And I li-”

“But I can’t. I can’t be this.” She said. “The boys.” The last of her face paint flecked to the stone alongside her pride.

The breathed together, fire extinguished in the crisp morning breeze. Tris removed the bottle kept at belt.

“You want to forget, don’t you?” Tris said.

The familiar touch, the tender embrace, the way Tris knew her body. It all came together.

“How many times?” She said. How many time had she crossed the line, betrayed her past, lost her self, only to be reset like replacing a burnt torch and calling it the old one. Amnesia water was useful for forgetting the worst of the war, for those who needed to, but to use it for this?

She retched in self loathing.

“I’ve lost count.” Tris said. “Years.” The petting continued, still warm, still strong even strokes down her back, despite how horrible of a jackal it touched.

“I want you to be happy, Bene.” Tris said. “I don’t think you need this, but you always ask.”

The living could be rallied against. Berated down, divorced from. The culture that hated who she became was lost, ingrained as it remained. War changes all. But a father’s seething hatred seared into her deeper than any scar, permanent for his death.

“I-” She said. “I need it. Trust me.”

“I do.” Tris said.

The albino’s hand pet her back, and somehow she didn’t have the strength to stop it.