Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent or any of its characters, all rights belong to Veronica Roth.

I do own the ideas behind Jaded and the main plot events and original characters.

This story isn't set in the Divergent world, I'm just borrowing the characters and placing them in modern day Chicago.

'Jaded' contains adult themes, strong language, alcohol abuse, and light recreational drug use. Therefore, is rated M for mature audiences only.

August 1st

I was 26 days shy of my eighteenth birthday when my mother told me that I needed 'help'. I asked her for her definition of 'help', to which she responded with "help from real people, none of that therapist crap."

My anxiety began when I was fifteen years old. It's common, but detrimental at the same time. At first, I was certain that I was going crazy: waking up every morning and feeling nauseous before I went to school, dizzy spells, strange appetite. My mother on the other hand, just thought that I was pregnant. So, the doctors gave me drugs which numbed the pain. In fact, they numbed me all together. My anxiety riddled thoughts and actions have lessened a great deal since then, but it still lingers. Lingers like an annoying cough that you can never get rid of. Or like a buzzing fly still trapped in the house even though all the windows are wide open. My mother tells me on a daily basis that I just need to get over what happened, and that I'm spiralling into depression. But, I assured her that I definitely wasn't depressed, because my friend Lynn is depressed and I am no where near as pessimistic as she is. She wasn't convinced.

One might ask why. Why do I feel this way? Why do I struggle to get out of bed in the mornings? Well, it all started when I was fourteen. My mother is a hopeless romantic who wears her heart on her sleeve, dives head first into relationships, says 'I love you' after a couple of weeks, and needs the reassuring and constant loving affection of a man to keep her happy. So, she met a man and fell in love with him. Perfect, right? Wrong. I knew there was something wrong with this man the first time I saw him collapsed in a puddle of vodka outside our front porch. Did she think there was something wrong with this? Of course not. So, unsurprisingly, she ignored my remarks that he was no good for her and decided to marry him one short year later. We moved away from my home town of Chicago and began our own personal form of hell. The drinking got worse, and so did his anger issues. Let's just say the police got involved, and one messy divorce and restraining order later…we're back in Chicago. You'd think that now we're back here, everything would be fine again. But somehow it's not. To outsiders, it looks like nothing ever happened. But in reality, the girl that left Chicago never came back. This girl, the one that's sat here right now, has a crushed self-esteem and the impressive life knowledge that only means I had to grow up too quickly. So I guess you could say that now, that's all there is to me. My name is Tris, and I fear that I have become infected with the evil of the world.

-.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.-

"Tris?" My mother's too-chirpy-for-this-time-of-day voice rings out from the bottom of the stairs.

"What?" I barely yell, slamming the lid of my laptop shut.

"We need to go now or else we'll be late!"

God forbid we be late for dinner at a friends house. In one of my mother's many efforts to get me out of my bedroom or off the phone with Lynn, we're going to visit some old family friends. And when I say old, I mean old. Not in age, but we haven't seen them since my parents were together, which means that I don't even remember what they look like. Our family 'friends' have a son, and in one of my mother's weak attempts at finding me un-wanted friends, she asked if he would tutor me. Yeah, you read that correctly. Tutor me. I have finished school now, but I didn't pass math. I'm not planning on going to college, I just want to get a job. But in order to get a job, I have to be good at math…or so my mother thinks. Although, I'm starting to believe that she doesn't really think this. I'm betting she just wants an excuse for me and this boy to get to know one another. She told me that if I comply, then I can continue to live with her, rent-free. So naturally, I obliged.

My mother and I hop into our run-down car and begin the extremely short journey to our 'family friends' house. I'm just about to crank the volume up on the radio when my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. A smile grows across my face when I see it's Lynn calling, and I hold the phone up to my ear.

"What's up?" I ask.

"My place, tonight."

"To do what?"

"Man, I don't even know right now. My head feels like it's gonna explode. Lets go fuckin' stargazing or something."

"Stargazing? In the city? Have you gone mad?"

"Okay, maybe not. Lets rent a crappy movie instead," she says. My best friend Lynn is my only friend. She dresses like a hippy, smokes like a hippy, talks like a hippy, but she sure as hell didn't always act like one. She constantly attempts to, though, which I guess is why she just suggested the ridiculous idea of stargazing in the midst of a light polluted Chicago. I've got to hand it to her, she does not follow the crowd. Even though she's not exactly a hippy, or a hipster, or an emo kid, or straight, or gay...she's definitely an alternative, 'artistic being' (or so my mother says). She's one of those people that, even if you wanted to put a label on her, you couldn't. Which I admire, since labels can be problematic.

"Dude, are you still there?" Lynn drones on.

"Shit sorry, just day dreaming."

"Yeah, you tend to do that a lot. Anyway, gotta go and do…nothing. I'll catch you later."

I was about to reply and say "Later" but she had already hung up on me. So I return my phone to its place in my back pocket and continue to stare ahead at the scenery whizzing by as we drive.

"You know, I really wish you wouldn't swear like that in front of me," my mother chimes in.

"You know, I really wish you wouldn't eavesdrop," my sarcastic remark shuts her up and causes her mouth to press into a straight line.

Finally, after what feels like hours later (but was only minutes) we arrive at our desired destination. Or, my mother's desired destination for that matter. I would probably give an arm and a leg not to be here right now. We both stroll past the perfectly trimmed circular bushes and up the jet washed path to come face to face with a freshly painted and glossed red door. My mother grasps the polished brass knocker and bangs it lightly against the door three times. We aren't left to stand for a few seconds before it swings open and I am hit in the face with the smell of freshly baked cookies like a brick wall.

"Marcus! It's been far too long," she steps up to the tired looking man in the doorway and shakes his hand.

"Natalie, a pleasure to see you again. This is my wife, Sarah." Marcus gestures to a sophisticated looking blonde woman stood besides him, who looks like she belongs in a magazine that advertises tupperware and cutlery.

"Hello Sarah, it's nice to meet you," my mother extends her hand, and the blonde woman snakes her pale thin hand into hers.

"It's lovely to meet you too Natalie. I have heard so much about you. And I've heard much about you too, Tris." Her voice is soft and timid, she was either brought up in a well-to-do household or it took years to master. "Please, come inside and let's make ourselves a drink!"

I feel like I'm in a boring colour-remastered movie, recreating the gladly long-lost ages of the fifties. Filled with repressed women, immaculate houses and only alcohol to drown your picture perfect sorrows. We're all crowded in the little hallway whilst Sarah runs into the kitchen, and returns carrying a tray with small beverage filled glasses. I am about to take a glass of who knows what off the tray when I hear someone coming down the stairs. At first, all I register are the sneakers, well fitted jeans and tight black t-shirt. Then I look up to see a bronze face, topped with deep drown hair and dominating ocean blue eyes. Not the colour of the ocean that you see on postcard's from the Bahalmas. This is the kind of blue that's only found deep in the Atlantic ocean. I manage to pull my eyes away before my three second gaze becomes classed as staring.

"Oh there you are dear," Sarah's voice drags me back to my less promising reality. "Natalie, I'm sure you remember this charming young man. Tris, this is-"

"Hello, my name is Four." The captivating boy interrupts Sarah's sentence, smiling at me in greeting. His smile is easy and comfortable, not an over-exuberant grin. I dislike it when people smile like they've won the lottery when they first meet you, since I can't imagine anyone truly being that happy to meet a stranger.

"Tris," I reply and nod my head casually. I have mastered the art of 'keeping my cool' from Lynn, which I am now all of a sudden incredibly thankful for.

"Why don't you two get started upstairs so us adults can catch up?" Marcus asks. 1) I don't think he realised how the phrase 'get started upstairs' could be drastically misinterpreted, and 2) I strongly dislike the patronising phrase of 'us adults'. Nonetheless, I take on his suggestion and follow Four up the stairs.

He leads me to what I presume to be his bedroom, which is on another wave length compared to the rest of the house. It's simple, just how I like it. Very unpretentious, plain floorboards, only necessary furniture, an unmade bed and half-open blinds. Minimalist and masculine at its finest.

"I figured we could work at the desk?" He asks, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"What?" I reply, maybe a little too rudely.

"The math work…" he continues, now sounding unsure of himself.

"Oh, oh! Yeah, that. Well, um, you don't actually have to tutor me. It was my mom's stupid and unnecessary idea."

"Oh thank God," he laughs, "I'm not a math genius and I thought you actually wanted me to help you."

"No, I failed math but I couldn't care less."

He continues to study my face for a short while, and I become increasingly uncomfortable. I'm about to make some kind of sarcastic remark but I just can't bring myself to do it to him. He sits down on his bed and gestures for me to sit in the chair, "sit down if you want, I suppose there's no point in going downstairs."

"No, I'd rather not. Your mom seems…nice."

"She's not my mom," he replies sharply, with one hell of an attitude.

"Oh, sorry."

"It's okay, I hate her too," he starts to smirk at me. Talk about mixed signals.

"Why do you hate her?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"That was the first question I asked, for your information."

"Your mom warned my dad that you could be a bit of a handful."

"I am not a handful!"

"I know you're not. I'd just say you have a stick up your ass." I was hoping the mysterious 'Four' that my mother talked about would be as nice and charming as she made out, but it so happens he's the annoying bastard I predicted him to be.

"Be a dear and pull it out for me?" I snigger.

Four rolls his eyes, and stands up from the bed, obviously too mature to play my kind of childish games. "Come on, lets go downstairs before you get too wound up."

As I follow him down the stairs I realise, of course he's too mature for all that. He's not a boy, he looks like a man.

The dinner we all ate together was strangely pleasant and quiet. And now, we bid our good byes to the Eaton household and head out the door. He watches me as we leave, arms crossed, shoulders back, expressionless. There's a part of me that hopes this is the last time I'll ever come face-to-face with his intimidating self, but I have an inkling this is the start of something else.

The drive home is fairly silent, and I ask my mother to drop me off at Lynn's house. When we arrive, I get out the car and tell her that I'll see her in a couple of hours. Lynn, who is already sat on the front porch, greets me with a bear hug. Although she's too skinny to give someone a proper bear hug, so it's more like being hugged by two lines of rope. Strangely enough, she's dressed in an aztec patterned dress. Her brown hair which is shaved on one side is braided, showing off her ears which are pierced from top to bottom. The sleeveless dress shows off a lot of her tattoos. They're jet black and very random. Mostly they're quite small, consisting of different shapes and patterns and words written out in fancy lettering.

"Lynn, are you wearing a dress?" I ask in amazement, her usual wardrobe consists of jeans of all varieties, teamed with thrift-store logo t-shirts and cropped tops.

"Yeah, you know Marlene likes it when I wear stuff like this," she says shyly. The only time Lynn is shy is when she talks about Marlene.

"Oh, yeah I forgot," I roll my eyes, "Marlene's still the hot topic, right?"

Lynn playfully punches my arm and drags me inside up to her room. We have a movie-marathon night teamed with cold leftover pizza and soda planned, which lately seems to be the only thing we ever do.

"Dude, you smell like a dude!" Lynn says, when we're both leaning on each other on her tiny bed.

"Thanks, I think…"

"Either you've decided to buy some cheap cologne, or you've been hanging round with someone of the opposite sex."

"I've been hanging round with someone of the opposite sex," I reply flatly.

"Well, I didn't expect that to be the answer."

"Shut up!" I laugh, shoving a piece of pizza into her mouth so that she can't say another word.

I wish Lynn didn't bring up the fact that I smell like a man, because now, all I can picture are those fascinating blue eyes. And then I become annoyed and curse his stupid name.