Warning: This story is only one short, emotional description of Marcus physically abusing Four. Proceed with caution.
For Your Own Good
"This is for your own good."
I am lying on the kitchen floor. My body is curled up in a ball, my hands hiding my face in a foolish attempt to hide my tears, as if it would keep him from knowing I'm crying. But he knows, of course he knows.
And it really pisses him off when I cry.
I can't see him, but I know he's holding his belt up in the air, ready to strike at me again. I hear him muttering under his breath, telling me to "man up". I hear the belt cutting through the air as he brings it back down. I hear the sound it makes against my skin, a sound that feels almost foreign as pain takes over my brain.
I bite my lip, tasting my blood as I try to keep from screaming out loud. I can't scream. Screaming would lead to questions, and questions would lead to more punishment.
I inhale deeply, bracing myself for the next strike, then the one after that and the one after that. I keep telling myself that it will be over soon, but I know it's not true. He will hit me until he's too tired, long after I forget why I'm being punished in the first place. He will leave me here, and he will expect me to get back on my feet and clean my blood off the floor before I go to bed. I'll sleep in my stomach, flinching at every move for the next few days. Then, before my wounds even begin to heal, I will do something wrong again, and he will have to punish me.
It takes longer than last time - it always takes longer than last time -, but eventually he stops. I hear the buckle fall near my head, I hear his heavy breathing, and I know what he's waiting for.
He has a script, and he expects me to follow it, taking the role of the good son I clearly am not. I get back on my feet, trying to hide the pain I feel every time I move a muscle. My shirt is on the table; I pick it up and put it back on, feeling the fabric cling to my back as it soaks in my blood. I use my sleeves to wipe the tears from my face and, finally, I look him in the eye. As usual, I feel the urge to spit on his face, to tell him to go to hell. I know what would happen if I did.
Instead, I follow the script, like a good son would.
"Thank you, Father."
A/N: Once upon a time, I read Divergent and told The Boyfriend I wanted to read a story about how Tobias became Four.
This was the starting point of a 40-page long story that's been left unfinished because Dissident happened.
This scene is the prologue of 'Four'. I decided to post it as a stand-alone because I actually love the end result. Maybe once I'm done with Dissident (and the side stories and sequel I've planned) I'll get back to it, but that's it for now.
Opinions are appreciated.