My arm lifts to shield my face as I cower beneath the weight of his eyes; eyes that show nothing but a venomous distaste for his son.
The belt snaps loudly in his hands.
"This is for your own good…"
The words echo through my head as I wake with a start; chest heaving, the sheets clinging to my sweaty skin. My head spins as I get my bearings in the darkened room. The thunder of my heart is painful against my rib cage, and it takes a while for me to unclench my balled fists and relax my muscles enough to draw my knees up to my chest. I hang my head between my knees and breathe, trying to calm my heart.
I hate this.
I hate the feeling of helplessness that nights like this bring.
Anger blooms deep in my chest, and my veins feel thick with self loathing, my stomach coated with the sickening feeling of a fear that I can't control, that I can't overcome. Dreams are supposed to be the one place you're safe, but even there it's like I can't get away from him - from my past.
The light of my alarm clock casts a glow on the cement wall beside me, the word Fear illuminated in a greenish glow, and I almost laugh at the word as it mocks me from above. Ripping the sheets off, I swing my legs out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold cement floor. Frustrated, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until red splotches appear, until it feels as though I've scrubbed the last images of the dream from behind my eyelids. I forcibly push the thoughts of Marcus from my mind, force my brain to think of anything but him.
It works. In the dark of my suffocating bedroom, suddenly it's Tris's face that swims in my vision, not my father's.
I press my fingers to my mouth, the fingers that just hours ago were pressed against her skin. I don't know what it is about her that sticks with me, but I can still feel her strong fingers threaded through mine, feel the skin burn where she touched me. I flex my fingers, trying to shake the alien sensation from them. A part of me bristles at the Abnegation side of me that marvels at simple human touch. The Dauntless aren't afraid of touch. But it isn't fear that I feel with her touch, it's something else. Something I can't name or even pinpoint. All I know is that she makes me feel something… which is more than I've felt in a long time.
The sound of feet shuffling past my bedroom door is enough to clear my head of these alien thoughts. Lights out was hours ago – not that it's ever bothered the Dauntless before. But I figure I should check it out anyway; make sure the initiates aren't stealing leftover cake again.
My eyes are sore from lack of sleep but my mind is alert, still trying to catch up to the sudden swing of emotion – fear, anger, confusion and that unnamed feeling that thinking of Tris brings. Sighing, I reach into a drawer for a clean shirt and slip it over my head.
The minute I step out into the hall my mind is wiped clear of previous thoughts as a scream echoes through the compound. My whole body snaps to attention, the muscles in my back and shoulders taught. I approach the end of the hallway, listening for movement, when suddenly a figure rushes past. Before I know what I'm doing my hand shoots out and my fingers wrap around the initiate's arm. He shakes from the inside out, his eyes darting between me and something unseen around the corner.
"Al?"
"It was a joke… she…" His eyes flick back and forth, unseeing, his face twitching as he trembles. "We were just going to scare her."
"Who, Al?" I ask, squeezing his arm harder than I should. But I already know who he's talking about, and the scream that follows this realization pierces me like ice. I'm used to the kick of adrenaline through my blood, but the surge of rage that follows it is like nothing I've ever experienced. It burns through my body like wildfire; a pulsating, writhing beast of its own.
Fear God? Not tonight. Tonight they will fear me.
There are two of them, their backs turned to me as I round the corner. Beyond them I see her; beaten, bloody, but still fighting. Peter's thick fingers are wrapped around her neck as he holds her over the chasm, the water spraying against her feet as they dangle over the edge.
The roar of the river below hides my approach until the first thing Drew hears is the sound of my breath in his ear as I wrap my arm around his neck. My heart is beating so hard it's all I can feel, the sound of my blood rushing through my veins the only thing that drowns out the sound of the water crashing against the rocks below us.
He gets one good punch in, but that's all he gets. I barely taste the blood, and for a moment I'm consumed with the need to punish him.
I turn for Peter but he's gone, the coward that he is. But Drew was too slow, and I watch as it dawns on him that this isn't a fight he can win. I hit him once – right in the side of the face – and it feels good. My elbow slams into his stomach, and the anger inside of me surges at the sound Drew makes as he crumples in half, his arm coming up to shield his head as he drops to the ground. My muscles tense as I stand over Drew's wheezing body, his shoulders shaking as he tries to suck air into his lungs. I open my mouth to say something when my name drifts through the roar of the chasm.
Tris.
At the sound of her voice the anger recedes faster than it appeared, and all I can think about is getting her to safety. In three steps I'm at the metal railing where she's holding on, the metal wet from the mist. I'm forever grateful to her Dauntless training and to her stubborn streak, the two things that have helped her hold on as long as she has. She's barely conscious when I lift her over the rail and her face is already swelling from the beating she took. Her frame is sinuous and muscular, and yet, unconscious in my arms she feels fragile and light, like she might float away if I let go. I hold her to my chest, trying not to grip her too tightly as she buries her face into me. We've never been this close before, and I'm sure she can hear my heart crashing against my ribs, hear the deep breaths I'm taking just to try and keep it's beating under control.
I walk without thinking, and I take her to the only place I know she'll be safe; my bed, the place where my worst nightmares haunt me, and where just an hour ago I couldn't stand to be a minute longer.
Now it's a place of refuge, a place where I know I can keep Tris safe.
My hands are shaking as the adrenaline recedes. I clean her up as best I can: the blood from her split lip, the cut over her right eye. Her hair is gold against the dark blue of my covers, her skin even more translucent than I'd imagined up close. I can see the bruises that are already appearing on her arms and face – she's going to hurt like hell when she wakes up. The thought is sobering, and I want nothing more than to be able to stop that from happening but all I have is the ice packs in my freezer. I don't even have painkillers to give her, something to ease the pain.
My hand hovers over the bruise on her cheekbone, the blood on my split knuckles stark against her pale skin. Clamping my fist closed, I step into my bathroom and wash the blood from my hands, watching it swirl down the drain. I'm too filled with shame to even look at myself in the mirror, too afraid to see my father's face staring back at me. All my life I've done my best not to turn into him, and already I've failed.
Tris shifts on the bed behind me, and I can't help but look at her reflection.
Since the day she literally fell into my life I've let this girl turn my world upside down. But this girl, this stiff, this broken thing lying in my bed, has changed my future in ways she'll never know. It's her strength, her resilience, her bravery, that's opened my eyes.
I turn off the faucet and reach into the refrigerator for an ice pack, wrapping it in a cloth. Her blue eyes watch me as I cross the room and I feel exposed in my own skin, opened wide, every deep dark secret I have out on display. It feels worse than the fear landscape, and I do my best to stay calm as I slip the ice pack under her head, but when her fingers brush the cut at the side of my mouth, my insides tense.
"Tris." I try so hard not to lean into her touch. "I'm all right."
She asks why I was there and I lie, too much of a coward to tell her about the dreams that woke me.
I tell her about what happened, about Al and Peter, and how they ran. I spare her the details of what happened to Drew and watch as her eyes flash with anger, her lips set in a thin line as fury builds inside her as it had in me. Instead of lashing out as I did, she cries. She cries and I have to swallow to urge to touch her, to hold her to me again. She wipes at her cheeks furiously, wincing as she touches the cut on her cheek. Her skin is warm and tender beneath my thumb as it brushes the cut gently. She looks at me through watery-blue eyes as I speak; trying to make her understand that showing a vulnerable side isn't a bad thing. I know she's strong - stronger than she even knows - but it's that strength that makes her a target for people like Peter and Drew.
"You think I have to pretend to be vulnerable?" she asks, arching her brow at me. The combination of her voice – deep, throaty, bordering on seductive – and the graceful arch of her brow stops my heartbeat for just a moment.
"Yes, I do," I reply firmly. Her eyes watch me as I stand, trying to put some distance between us before I get closer than I should.
Her face twists with anger as I try to explain to her that she can't just walk in there and hold her head high like I know she wants to. The fragile side of her that I know is in there somewhere will be the only thing that can keep her safe.
Her cheeks flush a bright pink with anger. "I don't think you get it. They touched me."
Every muscle in my body tightens and I swear I can feel my pulse in my throat. "Touched you." I speak the words, feeling their weight on my tongue, tasting them.
"Not in the way you're thinking. But… almost." Her lips stumble over the word, her voice cracking slightly. My fist clenches around the ice pack so tightly that I'm surprised it doesn't explode. I don't care how almost it was, there is no reason for them to have touched her the way they did. I have to keep my mouth shut for who knows how long as I squeeze my hands into fists at my side. My brain runs through the hundred or so ways I could kill each of them, but as soon as I think it I realize it does no good for me to reap the revenge she deserves, the revenge I so sorely desire.
Punishing them would only make things worse; worse for me, and more importantly; worse for her.
"It's more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand?" I ask.
She nods, and my fingers twitch at my side to comfort her.
Do it. What have you got to lose? I ask myself.
I reach out and her cheek fits perfectly into my hand. I tilt her head up until her eyes meet mine, no longer watery-blue but crystal clear and bright, even in the dim light.
Her skin is warm in my palm, and I want to step closer, to remove the space between us until there's nothing left there but us.
"But please," I ask her, knowing that whatever happens that she'll want her revenge, "when you see an opportunity. Ruin them."
Thank you to MagTwi for pre-reading.
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