I've Done Without Doing Things,

When You're A Teenager, Everything Seems Like The End Of The World, And I Don't Think That's Necessarily A Silly Thing. You're Waking Up And Becoming Aware That The World Has Problems And Those Problems Affect You, Whereas When You're Young They Don't Seem To Affect You That Much Even If You're Aware Of Them. This Dystopian Trend Picks Up On That Little Part Of Your Life Where Everything Feels Really Extreme And It Honors That Part Of Your Life And Says, "yeah. It Is The End Of The World. Look At It."

I Was Still Afraid Of Him, I Knew, But In A Different Way - I Was No Longer A Child, Afraid Of The Threat My Terrifying Father Posed To My Safety. I Was A Man, Afraid Of The Threat He Posed To My Character, To My Future, To My Identity.

Everyone Has To Blame Something For The Way The World Is.

I Wasn't Good Enough For Abnegation," I Say, "and I Wanted To Be Free. So I Chose Dauntless." "why Weren't You Good Enough?" "because I Was Selfish." I Say. "you Were Selfish? You Aren't Anymore?" "of Course I Am. My Mother Said That Everyone Is Selfish," I Say, "but I Became Less Selfish In Dauntless. I Discovered There Were People I Would Fight For. Die For, Even.

You Think My First Instinct Is To Protect You. Because You're Small, Or A Girl, Or A Stiff. But You're Wrong." He Leans His Face Close To Mine And Wraps His Fingers Around My Chin. His Hand Smells Like Metal. When Was The Last Time He Held A Gun, Or A Knife? My Skin Tingles At The Point Of Contact, Like He's Transmitting Electricity Through His Skin. "my First Instinct Is To Push You Until You Break, Just To See How Hard I Have To Press." He Says, His Fingers Squeezing At The Word Break. My Body Tenses At The Edge In His Voice, So I Am Coiled As Tight As A Spring, And I Forget To Breathe.