This story popped into my head after watching American Horror Story. One of the songs- Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge, just reminded me so much of Eric.

So this won't be nearly as long as The Training, but maybe two or three chapters. (or until it's out of my brain.)

This also came about after I've been reading so much about Eric and his character (both in the novels and fanfiction/ novels vs. fanfiction.) I definitely believe there's so much that could have been done with his character, and this was my way of exploring a darker side of him (feelings wise).

Or maybe I just spend too much time on tumblr lol.

+ Also, interpret the war any way you wish. The mentions of it here are very vauge, because it didn't need any more attention that being a minor setting for the story.

+The story will only take place from Eric's POV which is a huge challenge. Let me know if it works out.

Amity gets a new leader on Thursday.

The announcement comes in the form of an e-mail, and I go over it several times, reading between the lines of Max's carefully worded message. The new leader, elected by the members of Amity, will take over effective immediately.

I find myself smiling.

I take great pleasure in Johanna's departure. The woman was nothing more than a passive nuisance. Never actively doing anything, and never enough intelligence to form an original thought in her head.

I savor the words over and over as I read through her unnecessarily wordy statement about her departure. She's taken a lesser positon amongst the community, and she willingly relinquishes her position in the faction. My lips form a sneer just reading the words. How absolutely wonderful for her.

Her timing is key here and I know the real reason why she's no longer willing to be the mouthpiece for Amity.

The war is starting, and Amity is the last needed line of defense.

Johanna's replacement sits across from me, and she's staring down at the paper in front of her as though trying to memorize it. I inspect her carefully; she's exactly what one would expect from Amity, just not who one would think they would elect as their newest so- called leader. She's younger looking, small and pale with green eyes and this long dark hair that looks like she hastily pulled it on top of her head. She's dressed as though she just breezed in from an afternoon in the fields- her dark maroon sundress is far too sweet and innocent, and the sweater she's pulled over does little to hide the fact that she's not used to being out of the sun.

She's frowning at the paper, but she smiles when Max comes in, and she even grins at Jack when he makes a grand arrival.

My sudden dislike for her flares up instantly, hot and quick. I don't like the way she seems happy to be here, nor do I like the way she seems easy to get along with. The only way I'll ever get along with her is if she's on her knees in front of me, her mouth open and her eyes staring up at me. For a moment I let myself think of that image- the way my hand would look in her dark hair, urging her on.

She meets my stare curiously, and I realize I'm smirking in her direction. I hold her stare back, watching the unease finally creep into her posture. It takes her longer than I would expect for her to look away, and I relish the way she finally breaks her stare and turns her attention back to Max.

Her cheeks look pink, and she doesn't look at me again for the rest of the meeting.

Max finishes up earlier than expected, and I recline in my seat, scrolling through e-mails on my phone while she lingers behind to talk with him. I hear him say her name a few times, and I mentally repeat it in my head while she talks about how she's convinced Amity to fight alongside Dauntless.

Her plan sounds stupid, but it worked. She simply urged them to fight for their own faction and for themselves. They weren't Abnegation, so they were allowed to have an inkling of selfishness for their own safety and their own land. It must have struck a nerve with them, because she tells Max they are willing to fight, but that their training is minimal.

I glare at her while she talks.

She sounds eager and naïve, and it won't be long before she dies in battle, crusading for a cause she doesn't understand.

Max clears his throat and I stand, flashing her a cold smile. I have decided I have little interest in this girl, and I raise my eyebrows at him as I walk by. It's cute that he's willing to let her think she'll make a difference when he really just needs the men in her fields to fight alongside his own.

My fingers brush against hers as I walk past them, and I take delight in the way she tenses up.

Ivy stands beside me.

She's too close for her own comfort. I watch the way she seems tightly wound up out here, a far cry from the relaxed girl in the meeting room. She fidgets with the too long sleeves on her temporary Dauntless uniform, and I try not to laugh at the way she looks like a small child playing dress up.

We had met up with those from Amity who were willing to fight alongside us. There were many more than expected, and I was not surprised to find them all in decent fighting shape. Long hours in the Amity fields had left them in peak physical condition. Some could shoot a gun fairly well, though most of them had never even held one before. We only had a week to train them, and I'd found myself beside Four, Ivy, Max, and Peter. The men were split into large groups, and they rotated through the training exercises quickly.

We were either going to be all right, or completely fucked.

They weren't my highest choice of who would fight with us, but we didn't have many options. The other factions had already sent anyone they could, and Amity had a much larger population than the others.

Ivy commands the class in front of us to aim their rifles, and I smirk at her display of leadership over them. They listen to her, their posture careful and their sights on the targets. She walks behind them, watching and encouraging them, doing her best to help correct anything she can.

The irony is deep.

The newest leader of the most peaceful faction is training them to kill.

I watch her adjust a man's elbow, and when she steps back I walk closely behind her, and I yank her back by her arm. Her eyes fly open, dark green staring up at me in honest confusion.

"When was the last time you shot a gun, Ivy." I say her name with disgust. My grip is tight on her scrawny arm, and she stupidly tries to wiggle away.

"I know how to shoot a gun." She insists, and she stops struggling. "You're hurting my arm. Let go." She yanks away the best she can, but I'm easily more than twice her size, and she can't escape my grip.

"Why would someone from Amity know how to shoot a gun?" I'm mildly intrigued, a spark of genuine curiosity running through me. She stares up at me, and frowns.

"My brothers taught me to hunt." She says the words softly, and I tighten my grip on her arm. How easy would it be to drag her behind the wall, to twist her arm until she says my name and then shove her away once she's realized she's merely taken Johanna's place as next up to die.

"Then you should be well prepared for this war." I release her arm abruptly, and she takes a step back from me, her eyes narrowing at me. I resist the urge to step closer to her, to put my fingers back on her. She shakes her head at me and shoves a stray piece of hair out of her face.

"I don't think anyone can ever be fully prepared for war, Eric." She says my name gently and there is absolutely zero malice where I expect it to hear it.

The first bomb explodes and the ground shakes beneath us.

"Left! Go to the left!" Peter's voice breaks through the explosion, and he's a moment too late. I'm already moving that way, my boots crunching over the dry grass. The troops to the side of me follow suit, except for Ivy. She's floundering for a second, stupidly trying to pull one of the remaining Amity back with her. He's too tall and heavy for her frame, and he's badly wounded. His arm hangs at an odd angle and his leg drags beside him. He's about to weigh her down and there's mere seconds before the next bomb will more than likely go off.

I head right, and the action is unconscious. I reach her quickly, and shove the man off of her.

"No!" She protests, her hands moving to push me away. "He's my brother!" She's shrieking now, and I reach for her waist. My fingers dig into her sides until they feel her bones of her ribcage through the thick jacket, and I press harder.

"Stop! No!" She's yelling, reaching for her brother. The man stumbles a few feet away from us before he collapses, a dark pool of blood dripping from ear. He's gone, or will be very soon. I yank Ivy back until she's against my chest and I pick her up. Despite all her gear, her weapons and boots, she's not heavy. Her fists pound against me, a very non Amity rage built up inside of her. "You asshole! Don't leave him!"

I stride quickly and we barely make it behind the ravine of rocks before the next bomb explodes. I set her down, moving to crouch us both low and out of the way and she starts to yell. "We have to go back! We have to go back and get him."

I clamp my hand over her mouth, and hold her tightly against me.

"Shut up. He's not going to make. You're about to blow our cover and there's nowhere else to go right now."

The men in the red uniforms are closing in around us, and I keep my grip on her tight. There is a lazy mix of dirt and smoke, and I can feel Ivy breathing heavily, almost erratically. The men pass us, and I wish she would stop hyperventilating so I could get a good shot in. Luckily for me, she finally calms down and I shove her aside. I easily take out the three men before I turn back to her, finding her wiping her eyes.

I sure hope this is everything she thought it would be.

Her room is next to mine.

Max had the brilliant plan to have her stay in Dauntless. She's got a second in command back in Amity, and all of this is laughable. We're at max capacity here, but Max wanted her close by, ready to lead them back into battle at a moment's notice. Over half of the faction is here, bunking with the active duty soldiers, so whoever needs to be overseen back in Amity is beyond me.

She'd been practically silent the entire way home, aside from the occasional sniffle. I was tempted to cruelly ask her if this was just as easy as hunting back home. For some reason I kept my mouth shut, trying to ignore the fact that she would have died out there had I not pulled her back.

I can almost guarantee the knocking on my door is her.

I stare at the door to my apartment, wondering if it were possible to ignore it. Pretend I was sleeping or that I simply didn't give a fuck about who was on the other side. I finally fling it open, barking a short greeting, unsurprised to find her there. She's got a paper in her hand and she stares up at me.

"What do you want?" My words are a snarl and I feel irritated that she's felt enough of a connection to come over here. I saved her life, and she owes me, but in this moment I'd like nothing more than to fall into my bed and not open my eyes until sometime tomorrow.

"Max dropped this off." Her words are soft and quiet as she thrusts the paper at me. Her hand is shaking and I snatch the paper up quickly. It's some sort of attendance record, and I realize it shows who was lost in battle today.

"Amtiy only lost two people, and one of them was my brother." She looks up at me like she expects something from me and I shrug.

"It's a part of war. I saved your life. I couldn't save you both." My response is nasty, and I wonder how stupid this girl is. Did she not know what she was getting herself into. No one willingly signs up for this sort of shit thinking it'll be a walk in the park. Dauntless signs up for it because it's their job. We are brave and we fight for the city. She willingly led Amity to sign up for it, knowing the full consequences.

"Why are you so mean?" She's looking up at me, and I try not to focus on her mouth. She's chewing her lip, and I have the urge to bite her. To shove her up against the wall and bite at her lips until they bleed and she doesn't ask me any more questions.

"Go away, Amity." I move to shut the door and her head falls.

She can seek comfort elsewhere because I have none to offer.

The next few weeks are the same.

She fights beside me, tirelessly as we make minute progress. Without Amity besides us we'd be losing the war for sure. Ivy keeps up with me as though she's on a personal mission, and I have no patience for her. I shove her aside when she's in my way; kicking her away from me when she stands to close. I watch her frustration with amusement.

She has no choice but to stay with me.

Peter and Four simply follow my commands and my commands come from Max who isn't out here all the time. The Amity soldiers seem to know that the commands Ivy gives them are the proper orders to follow, but it all stems from my words. It's enough to warrant the headache blossoming behind my eye.

Today I can't find her for a moment, and I ignore the raw chewed up sensation that starts up in my stomach. "Ivy." I roar her name, trying to survey the grounds. The previous gunfire has ceased and both sides appear to be retreating. I finally see her scampering towards me, her head down and her shoulders slumped.

Something is wrong. Little Amity rarely looks defeated, even after the death of her brother. She makes her way towards me, and I realize a second too late she's in enemy sights.

"Move." I snarl at her, and her head jerks up. Her eyes lock on mine, she tries to move quickly. I hear the shots fire, and I let out a string of swears as I make my way towards her. Babysitting her isn't my job, but I don't want to deal with Max's shitty lecture if I have to tell him she didn't make it back. I grab hold of her much rougher than necessary, ignoring her squeak, and I pull her into the back of one of the trucks. The driver has been waiting impatiently for some time now and I bang on the back wall to signal he can leave.

We lurch forward as he takes off and I roughly pull her close to me.

Her lip is bleeding, split open in a few spots, and her eye is irritated and swollen. There's blood on her cheek, and her hair is matted against her forehead. She looks like a far cry from the girl that sat across from me in a conference room, smiling at everyone who walked in the door.

"What happened?" I bark at her.

She swallows, and her whole face seems to crumple. "I got caught for a minute."

I raise an eyebrow. "You got caught. For a minute."

She nods, keeping her eyes downwards. "I got away. I thought…I thought I saw my brother."

I resist the urge to snort at her.

"Sorry." She tells me and she finally looks up at me. Her green eyes are glassy, weary with exhaustion and desperation. As if my hand acts on its own, I reach forward and brush the bloody bangs out of her eyes. My stare falls to her lips and my thumb works over the bloody cut.

She winces.

"You'll need stitches." I tell her, and I pretend I still don't have the urge to hold her by her throat until she agrees to not do anything else stupid.

She is soft, much softer than the women that normally grace my bed.

I wasn't surprised when she showed up after the infirmary. She needed me to sign off on this paper that said she was able to return to active duty, and I almost threw it in her face. I could give a fuck if she was okayed for battle or not. I'd drag her out by her hair if I had to. This was no longer just my war, it was all consuming and it was just as much hers now.

But she'd held her head high and asked me what time she should be up tomorrow.

I stared at her.

I thought for sure she'd break by now. Give up, head back to Amity with her tail between her legs and her shitty army behind her. But I couldn't afford for her to give up, not like this.

I'd found myself stepping towards her, my hand finding the bone in her jaw and pulling myself up to my full height. Her head barely came up to my chest, her dark hair reaching the pocket on my jacket. I smirked down at her, knowing full well she wasn't going to push me away now.

I knew what she wanted and I knew what she needed. The stress and angst that had been building up inside her had to be beyond tolerable now. This life was such a stark difference from the one she'd known, and I knew full well what she would explode if she didn't get it out.

I find the hair at the nape of her neck, my fingers working to twist into it until her head jerks up to mine. She looks surprised at the unexpected contact and her eyes widen when my other arm snakes around her back, pulling her flush against me.

"I haven't decided what time we'll be down there. Peter is leading the squadron in the morning."

I'm staring at her mouth, her pink lips stitched back together with ugly black thread. Each cut only needed a few stitches, but they are very black against her pink lips.

I bend forward, until my lips graze hers.

She jerks back and I smirk at her.

"What are you…" She doesn't finish. I kiss her roughly, uncaring if she bleeds again. I fist her hair tightly, pulling until it yanks on her scalp and I shove myself against her. We break apart with sudden force, and she gasps for air as though she's been underwater. "Eric."

It's what she's saying now.

She's on her hand and knees in front of me, my hands on her hips and her ass wiggling against me with every thrust. She'd submitted herself willingly; it was easy enough to coax her out of the hallway, and even easier to coax her out of her borrowed clothes. Leggings and shirts aside, she was tiny, way smaller without anything on.

She'd been tight and wet when I thrust into her, the mewling in her throat only spurring me on. She'd groaned when I yanked on her hair, one of my hands tangled in her dark locks. I liked her like this, compliant and docile, her spine arcing and her hands fisting my sheets with each frantic thrust of my hips. I don't have to see her face this way, and I don't want to.

She needs the release the same way I do, and I don't need her staring into my eyes while trying to force something between us that isn't' there. This isn't love and it might be war, but I'm not about to make anything fair for her. She'll get off, no doubt about that. But it'll be on my terms.

I groan against her she pushes herself back. Her words are frantic now, her voice still sweet despite her current position.

"Harder." She almost whimpers it, and I wish she could see me shrug in indifference. I oblige her though; I yank her hips back towards me and fuck her until I can't see straight. I can hear her moaning, saying my name over and over. I don't say hers though. I do let her come first, relishing in the way she tightens around me, her whole body tensing up as though she could snap in half. I follow quickly, thrusting a few more times until I've emptied myself inside of her. She all but collapses onto my bed and I decide to give her a few minutes before I kick her out.

I awake sometime in the night.

She's still in my bed, her warm body against mine. I scowl at her sleepily. My arm is over her as though I want her to stay near me, and my hardening dick is pressed up against her ass. I had her again a few hours ago, but even in my bone deep exhaustion I feel insatiable. I want to be in her again, buried to the hilt until I forget that there's a war outside with no end in sight.

She mumbles sleepily as I nudge her, trying to get her the fuck out of my bed.

It doesn't work, so instead I slip my hand between her thighs until I find the slick wetness I want. She lets out a small whimper and I push her on her side until I can slide into her.

She's hot, fucking hot and wet and slick and I try hard to not groan at the feeling of her. I thrust in and out lazily, one of my hands cupping her soft breast and pulling her tight into my chest. She wakes up as I bite her neck, teething scraping soft skin until it scratches.

"Eric."

She says my name again, and this time I thrust my hips forward furiously. I don't want her to say my name. I'm doing her a much needed favor here. I could have easily sent her back home, or left her to figure out a way to take care of this herself.

I bite down again, the sudden urge almost uncontrollable. I want to mark her, to mar her skin with my own hands and teeth. To outright claim her as mine to do as I want. My hands leave her breast and reaches upwards to her collarbone, and I dig my nails into her skin. She whimpers again, angling her head back and exposing her pale skin. My nails tear at her skin, pleased when faint red streaks appear, but it doesn't matter. She'll be battered and bruised by the war just as much as she will be me.

She comes after a few minutes and I find myself gloating against the back of her. She's easy, too fucking easy to please and when I come, I make sure I stay in her, slick and sticky between her thighs.

I wake her up sometime around six, and she looks at me blearily. Her lips are swollen and her hair is a long tangled black mess. Her legs are sticky, evidence of our night together still down her thighs.

"Shower." I tell her, and I nearly pull her out of the bed. She follows after me obediently, and she stumbles into the spray of water. I slip in after her, staring at her form underneath the spray. She looks outright exhausted, and I can't help the pleased grin that crosses my face. I've kept her up almost all night, giving her almost all of what she wanted. She's covered in marks that come exclusively from me, bold evidence of her loss of control.

I watch as she fumbles while washing her hair, trying her best to scrub it clean from our night together. I take pity on her, stepping behind her and hissing in her ear.

"Let me."

Afterwards she stumbles to my bed, crawling in it without asking. Every fiber of my being wants to yell at her to get out of it. She has no right to be in it, despite how great she felt. But I'm also exhausted and I find my eyes closing as soon I sit down on the bed. In a rare moment I decide I'll let her sleep for a few hours, and then tell her to leave. She'll learn her place with me. As long as she's here she'll learn what's acceptable.

It doesn't matter. I sleep longer than intended and she's gone when I wake up.

Ivy sits across from me, and she looks similar to when I first met her. Her lips aren't bloodied and her stitches are gone, her eyes are bright and alert and her borrowed uniform still looks too large.

It's been a month since the war started.

We've made huge progress lately. It seems as if the other side can't keep up with us, and are slowly retreating. Not to mention the fact that we've killed enough of them off to be noticeable. Their troops seem to trickle onto the field instead of storming it, their men weary and tired.

It's been two weeks since the first time I had my way with Ivy, and four hours since the last time I came in her presence. There was something oddly satisfying about this little scrap of a girl, her dark hair against my thighs as she took me in her mouth. It was even more satisfying when I'd heard the delightful little rumor that she had someone back home, someone waiting for her to return to Amity.

She'd never mentioned his name, and I'd never asked.

Last night she'd been atop of me, arching backwards as my mouth sought out her neck. I marked her over and over, the line between the war outside and the war of our nights together almost nonexistent. I never liked anyone on top of me; it was too easy to give them the idea that they had some sort of hold over me or that I even cared what position they preferred.

But she felt delicious like that.

Her legs on each side of mine, the way I could touch all of her, the way she seemed to stare at me as though this meant more than it did. That part was laughable, but I went with it. Sometimes I kissed her less roughly than I meant to, but it all felt good. She felt good. Her lips were soft and warm, easily pressing against my own, easily going where I wanted them.

She said my name, every time, and I felt the sweet burst of triumph run through me when it escaped her lips. She'd go back to him eventually. But until then she was mine.

There is little triumph when she gets hurt.

I watch it happen in slow motion. She's following a few of the Dauntless soldiers, and she steps in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone of us, but of course, it's her. The men in red throw something at her, something quick and explosive and she's thrown back a few feet, her head smacking loudly against the ground.

Everyone reacts quickly; most of the men aim for those who were attacking. The fire easily, for they are well trained, and there is quietness in the air when they are done. I find myself making my way towards Ivy, yanking her up right gracelessly. Her head lolls for a second before I see her spark back to life. She coughs for a second, spitting out dust and blood and I pull her closer.

"Watch where you're walking, Amity." I snarl. She digs her nails into my shoulders, and I know what she wants. She wants to lay her head down on my shoulder; to collapse against me as I carry her back in attempt to find the smallest speck of comfort she can.

It's not my finest moment when I nearly shake her to keep her awake, then dump her at the first possible medic station.

I don't look back when I leave her, marching right back into the now resumed gunfire.

When I find her later that night, she's wandering the hallways in an oversized shirt and pajama pants that tell me she's been released from the infirmary. She's clutching the same yellow papers she had a month ago; release papers that will allow her to once again risk her life out there. She keeps her head down and she doesn't look up until she's in front of her door.

"Who let you out?" My words come out as a snap, and she looks up at me, blinking tiredly. I can see the defeat on her face. Cheating death twice is pure luck and she knows hers is running out.

"I did." She says, and her words are soft as ever. I'm used to her tone now; her voice is typically quiet and calm, even when she's losing herself beneath me.

"You did?" This amuses me greatly. Little Amity managed to force her own way out of the nurses' greedy hands. No doubt did they want to keep her. To make sure she didn't' have some sort of internal bleeding or brain damage.

Ivy nods and sighs. "Good night, Eric. I'll see you tomorrow." She moves to open the door and I step in front of her, using my size to block her.

"No. You come with me." I command, relaxing my shoulders slightly. It had nagged at me that she might have been seriously injured. Knowing she's alright, walking and talking and still Ivy, allows me to resume our routine. I've been waiting until I could find her, toss her onto my bed, and lose myself in her. She's an easy escape, and while I could definitely find the same thing with any girl in Dauntless, it's her I want in my bed.

For now only she will do.

But she simply shakes her head and glances down. "No, I'm too tired Eric. And my head really hurts." She bites at her lip, the same way she's bit down on it as she came undone around my dick.

"Are you telling me no?" I stare at her in disbelief, feeing myself grow hot with impatience at her denial. The anger that rushes through me is palpable.

Ivy nods and finally meets my stare.

"If you want to come in and lay down with me you are more than welcome to. But I just want to sleep." Her words are heavy and tired, filled with unspoken frustration. I share her frustration, but mine stems from a different place.

"I don't want to lay down with you." I hiss at her, my lips curling into a cruel sneer. My words are cold and honest, but she nods at them.

"Then goodnight." She holds my stare for a second, her face falling slightly. It's fleeting though. She masks it well, but her bone tired weariness can't be hidden. I step aside and nearly snarl at her as she opens the door to her apartment and heavily steps over the doorstep. The door shuts with a loud click and I'm left standing in the hallway, hot fury burning through my veins.

It's not so much that she told me no, it's how badly I wanted her to say yes.