Author's Note:
This is my first post! I own nothing, all characters/ideas belong to Veronica Roth. This is purely for fun :)
I've taken a bit of a creative license; I pulled stuff from the books, movies and a few of my own ideas to write the story.
Hope you like it!
Tris P.O.V.
Finally, we were nearing the end of the first stage of initiation. I was standing a few metres away from the battling mats, staring at them, taking slow, deep breaths. The next round of fights were about to start and I was feeling… not confident, but ready. I felt like this time I actually had a fighting chance to get out of that red zone. I was so close and I'd been working myself hard all week; the palms of my hands had become calloused and my knuckles raw from the punching bags. Plus I'd had Four giving me pointers here and there on my positions and playing to my strengths in a fight. The memory of his lingering hands on my waist, correcting my stance sent a fluttery feeling through my core.
"What are you staring at Stiff?" An abrasive voice made my thoughts come to a screeching halt. I turned to see Peter Hayes looking me up and down, tactlessly pausing for a moment to stare at my ass.
"I should ask you the same question," I said, turning away from him and into the direction of the mats again, my face beginning to flare from embarrassment.
"Touché," he replied with a brief chuckle, walking away from me and towards his friends whom had just entered the room.
The rest of the initiates came pouring in and we all gathered around the raised mat. Eric came traipsing in from the other side of the room walking deliberately, so you could hear the clear sound each of the rubber soles of his boots made when they hit the concrete.
"Ok, let's start," Eric called to us, still in motion.
"You ready?" asked Christina who'd seemed to have vaporized beside me out of thin air.
"Define 'ready,'" I said nervously with a breathy laugh. I took a sip of water from my metal canteen, preparing myself. I briskly walked over to the side of the room to set it down for later.
"Tris!" The sound of my name coming from that voice sent volts of electricity up my spine. Still hunched over from dropping my canteen off, I slowly stood up and turned around to find Eric looking right at me. Even from the distance, I still sensed that uneasy feeling I got from his piercing gaze. I froze, not daring to make another move until he said so.
"Tris…" he repeated, "and…Peter. You're up." I tried to wrap my head around the situation. It didn't work.
"Come on, let's get this show on the road you two," Eric called gesturing for me to get a move on. I started to walk back to the mat and the circle of watching eyes surrounding it. Every barefooted step closer that I took, my heart sank deeper and deeper into my stomach. My newfound confidence had disappeared as quickly as it had been found. Peter was a beast. I was no match for his brute strength. I've seen the way he fights; it's ruthless and violent. He treats his opponents like a punching bag; no mercy, no sympathy. I'd never once had the inkling to think I'd need to prepare myself for a fight with Peter, being one of the weakest and all. Eric definitely had it in for me. But it was too late for analyzing the situation now; I just had to try and survive it.
A few metres away from the mat, a firm grip latched onto my arm halting my walk. I jumped a little, but calmed a bit when I saw Four's concerned face staring at mine. His brown eyes locked to my gaze immediately.
"Remember what I said about attack?" he says in a quiet tone, bringing his face close to mine. "First shot, right to the throat. And you watch him. He steps before he punches. Alright?"
I took a shaky breath in and gave him a deliberate nod. Four broke eye contact with me and looked down to where his hand was grasping my arm tightly. He loosened his grip to just a soft, almost tender touch and then released me.
Peter was standing on the mat, eagerly waiting for me to step up on the platform. He watched every move I made while he flexed his arms deliberately and started to pump himself up – obviously his play at intimidation. The sad thing was that it was working.
We got into our fight stances and I moved to the furthest corner of the mat, trying to give myself as much distance as possible from the pure hunk of mass on the opposite side. The sculpted outlines of Peter's muscles were visible underneath his black training shirt and the light danced off his toned biceps. The fluorescent bulbs from above highlighted the panels on his face and cast shadows across his cheekbones. If it weren't for his repulsing personality I might've even thought him attractive. He licked his rosy full lips and smiled devilishly at me with an eager glint in eyes. It was reminiscent of a lion scouting out its prey, hungry for lunch. I swallowed hard at the sight of him, hurting my throat trying to push down the nervous bile.
"I can't wait to get my hands on you Stiff," Peter taunted from the other side of the mat, starting to close the distance between us. This made my stomach churn. I could feel another particular pair of watching eyes on my back: Four. I could see his attentive expression out of the corner of my eye.
And that's when Peter made his move. He lunged forward to try and tackle me but I luckily jumped out of the way and kneed him in the side of his stomach. He hunched over in pain for a moment; I had definitely caught him off guard but he recovered quickly. I did what Four said and kept an eye on his feet. Sure enough he stepped forward and I lunged out of the trajectory of his punch, taking the opportunity to sock him right in the throat. Peter winced in pain, winded from my punch. I instinctively glanced over to where Four was standing and he gave me a subtle nod. I turned back only to have been met with a fist to my face. I recoiled and held my throbbing head in one hand. Even though it was painful, I felt Peter was holding back. He's normally more ruthless at the start.
"Are you gonna cry already Stiff?" he jeered at me. My blood boiled at his comment. I was not weak. Why should he go easy on me? I was just as much dauntless as he was.
"You asshole," I muttered under my breath. My instincts took over and my anger thwarted my strategy, desperate for my fist to make contact with his body anywhere I could. But I wasn't vigilant enough because he managed to grab my arm in his grasp and pull me roughly towards him. He stared at me with his dark blue eyes and I became fixated on his memorizing gaze for a split second. But the trance was lifted when he kneed me in the gut, making me keel over in pain. My organs felt jostled around, like they had gotten intertwined in ways that shouldn't have been possible.
"Stop playing with each other," Eric murmured from the edge of the mat.
Another punch to the face. I stumbled around like a fool trying to right myself. I felt impact again, this time right to my chest. Still reeling from the knee to my stomach, Peter saw his chance; he lunged forward and scooped me up off my feet like a groom picking up his bride and threw me down on the mat -hard. There was something sadistic about that.
I lay weak on the ground, my head throbbing from the hard impact and body aching; I felt like a tenderized piece of meat. Another kick to the gut from Peter's heel. I could feel blood starting to trickle out of my nose. Peter looked down at my limp body, his expression softened, not so harsh. I thought I even saw a flicker of guilt wash over his face. He looked up and across the mat to someone, nodded, and the last thing I remember was his foot crashing down on my face.