Sorry for late updates; I'm really feeling this story right now, and so I'm planning on updating everyday, but my computer died before I got one word typed, and I was already on the road (moving to Oregon for Texas), so I was virtually fucked. Review, lovelies.
Chapter 2
I shifted back to human form, and immediately realized something was wrong; I didn't check it yet, just replayed the fight in my mind, called myself a coward, and tore off a strip of my shirt, grumbling to myself angrily as I tied it.
I'd obviously run in the wrong direction; I didn't exit the forest across from the school, into the clearing where Shauna's house was, or to the side of Will's house: it was a gas station, with like two cars in it. One guy, with graying black hair and flat brown eyes, a big burly guy with dark skin. I dismissed him, and went into the mini mart for some water; when I came back out, a hand wrapped around my arm and tugged me forcefully around the corner. I was expecting, like, a Dauntless or Divergent—Hell, even Abnegation—disgruntled pack member.
It wasn't a disgruntled pack member.
It was the guy from the gas pump. If he was younger, maybe a little shorter, I'd probably think something like, Oh, holy fuck. But, he wasn't, and, therefore, my first thought was: Oh, holy shitnards. I'm fucked.
He smiled, like Four had before her NDE (near death experience) had occurred, but he wasn't a wolf. "Hey, gorgeous." He greeted, and his hands pressed into her waist.
"Get your hands off of me!" I growled, wielded my Knife In Your Eye voice, but he only smiled wider.
"Ooh. Feisty," He said, his hands trailing down her hips and thighs. They tightened around just above my knees, around the claw marks, and I gasped in pain. "Now, I'd be quiet." He said. "Or it'll be a hellava lot worse." His hands went to the button of my pants, but I pushed him away and kneed him in the groin. He winced, but his expression was angry. When I saw it, my breath sped up with panic.
"I'm sorry—I just-" He slammed against me, pressing me to the wall. When he talked, he spit on me.
"Now you've angered me," He said, scary calm. "I don't think you want to do that again, Beatrice."
How does he know my name? I was thinking, but my breath hitched and I screamed before I could even begin to reason it out; there was a pain in my leg, on the claw marks, or by them, or in them, I didn't know, but it made all of my mind blank, agony streaking my vision with black dots. And something pressed against my face.
FPOV
I was walking home angrily when I heard something; it was angry, a growl. "Get your hands off of me!" At the voice, I stopped dead in my tracks. It was feminine, but the tone was threatening, deadly. I felt rage rising in my chest. I looked around the corner, making no noise, and staying in the shadows. A guy stood in front of a girl—a beautiful blonde, with blue-grey eyes, like Tris, the leader of Divergent.
I dismissed it. It wasn't her.
The guy's face was angry, and when she saw it, the girl's own anger turned to that of panic. "I'm sorry—I just-"She started, breathing like she was hyperventilating.
He threw his body into hers, pinning her to the wall. "Now you've angered me," he said. "I don't think you want to do that again, Beatrice." He said, and his hand fumbled with something in his back pocket, a knife or something; I straightened, but before I could move, he slammed it into her leg. She let out a breathless sort of scream, and her eyes, long lashed, fluttered shut. He grabbed something else from his pocket, and pressed it against her face. She coughed once, then fell; he caught her head, laid it against the cracked asphalt, and his hands lowered quite a bit.
I was appalled.
"Hey!" I yelled. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Oh, relax. My girlfriend's just a little drunk." He picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder, and making towards a truck.
"That's not your girlfriend." I said.
"And how do you know?"
"Because she hates you, and you stabbed her."
"I did not-"
"Put her down."
"No."
Thank you for saying that. I punch him in the face, and he drops the girl; her head hits the ground with a sickening crack. The guy turns, an angry expression on his face. I kick him in the stomach before he opens his mouth. He doubles over, retching, and when I hit him again—a punch to the jaw—he stumbled back into the girl, hitting her leg.
Her eyes snap open.
The guy slings a fist at me, but I dodge, stepping away; he repeats three times until I fetch (no pun intended) up against the wall. Then, he raises a dagger—how many does this bitch have?-and falls to the ground. Where he was standing, is the girl; she's wearing black. Although I don't know why I notice that, because of her eyes.
She has yellow eyes.
Then, they blank, and I catch her as she falls.
I take the girl to my apartment; dad's on a business trip, thank god. I set her on my bed, settle in my desk chair uncomfortably, and promptly fall asleep.
I woke to a whimper; the girl from last night was still on my bed, and her hands were trembling over her leg. Her eyes were staring at me, wide with fear, and her face is pale under a healthy tan. She was crying quietly, and her cheeks are wet with tears.
I rubbed my eyes, and walked over to her; she'd gotten under a blanket, probably in the middle of the night. I throw it away, and gape at the knife in her leg.
"I'm an idiot," I said, face-palming. The girl is staring at me. "What's your name?"
"Um. Beatrice." She said hesitantly.
"It doesn't suit you." I said, and her mouth curved into a frown. "Well, Beatrice, this is going to have to come out." I said, pointing to the knife.
