A/N – This story is Al's point of view from the second stage of initiation through his own death. I have attempted to get inside his head and tell his story. A few words of caution – this fic contains mentions of mental/verbal abuse, some minor language, and extensive talk about suicide. If these are triggers for you, I urge you to skip this particular story. Get help if you need it; you're worth it and it can really help. Isolating yourself is like adding fuel to a fire. That's the lesson Al teaches us.

The rights to the Divergent world and its characters belong to Veronica Roth and her publishers.

XOXO,

Libby

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Cold, reptilian skin slinks across my throat. My eyes fly open, but it's pitch dark. I try to swat at the creeping sensation, but my hands are bound behind me. I seem to be laying on a slab of wood, like a backless bench, face up. My feet are bound together at one end, and my hands are bound under the board. I hold still, trying to calm my racing heart, trying to focus on the ropes binding my hands. If I can relax, maybe I can figure out the knots and get myself free. But I cannot calm down, not with the creeping, cold, slimy thing slithering across my throat.

I hear a hiss, and feel another creeping cold thing cross my chest.

Snakes.

The realization makes my heart rate elevate even further. I hate snakes.

A third snake slithers across the upper part of my legs. I'm in an absolute panic, my heart racing and my head swimming from lack of oxygen. No matter how hard and fast I breathe, I cannot catch up.

A fourth snake wraps itself around my ankles.

All at once, the snakes clench, squeezing me, and I realize that it is not a group of snakes, but one, big, thick snake coiled around my restrained body.

The snake squeezes me harder, crushing the breath out of my lungs. My face is red with exertion, the blood pounding in my ears.

I realize that there is nothing I can do, but my body wants to fight. I squeeze, shift, wiggle, anything I can do to fight, but it is no use. The snake squeezes harder and I let out a strangled scream.

My eyes open again, and this time it's not so dark. A blue safety light glows along the far wall. I can hear the other Dauntless transfers grumbling and rolling over on their bunks. I probably woke them with my screaming.

I gasp for breath and try to determine if this is reality or a nightmare. What's the difference? At night I face my worst fears; during the day I face my worst fears. There is no chance to relax. There is no way to take a break and sort it all out. I'm confused and afraid. Why did I come to this sadistic faction?

The one tiny bright spot in my day is the time we spend after training and before bed. The time when I can see her.

Tris.

But even the thought of her isn't enough to calm my nerves anymore. When we started here, she looked at me with hope. She wanted us to be friends. Maybe she wanted us to be more than friends. Maybe not, but I think she might have warmed up to the idea eventually.

I tried to let her see my softer side. I know she missed her family. I miss my family, too. I didn't hide my feelings; I wanted her to know that I understand, that I hurt too. I'm not vicious like Peter, Edward, or Eric. I'm big, but I'm not aggressive. I'm a teddy bear.

I could care for her in a way that would make even an Abnegation girl comfortable. I used to dream of how life would be for us after initiation. I imagined confessing my feelings to Tris in a private moment. She would blush in that cute way she has, and let me hold her hand. Eventually, we would get married, and in the privacy of our home she would open up to me. I would protect her and provide for her, and she would take care of me. Eventually we would have children, and I would enjoy spoiling her and waiting on her through her pregnancies. Of course, as an Abnegation girl she would resist being waited on, but when I insisted she would know just how much I care for her.

But the more I tried to show Tris my soft side, the more she distanced herself from me. Training hasn't broken Tris the way it has broken me. Every fight, every trip into the fear simulation room seems to make her stronger while it makes me weaker. Now she despises me. I tried to show her my soft side, but she saw weakness. I tried to let her be herself, but she changed.

Now I'm on the brink of failing initiation and becoming factionless while she moves closer to first place. A little girl Stiff might be in first place. Her fear simulation times are blazing fast. She's deadly accurate at throwing knives, and she picked up decent shooting and fighting skills. She's putting on muscle, gaining knowledge and experience, and making friends. Even the Dauntless-born initiates look up to her.

No one looks up to me. When I got here, my size got a lot of respect. But when I refused to be ruthless, when I tried to help Tris by showing my soft side, everyone saw me as weak. Now I get no respect at all. Peter and Drew openly mock me. Edward called me a crybaby before Peter stabbed him in the eye. Even Myra - the weak little Erudite who chose factionlessness, and who only came to Dauntless to follow her boyfriend - even she looked at me with disdain.

I'll show those bastards. I'll show them all. They think I'm weak. They don't respect me. I'll find a way to show them that they can't mess with me.