by IsYourH3artTaken
Hiding In Plain Sight
03
Quid Pro Quo
I would have been knocked to the ground, if it hadn't been for the wall acting as a barrier. It feels like she stuck her hand clean through me and ripped out an internal organ, leaving nothing but hollowed out bones and marrow. Did she break something? I think and begin to panic, backing away from her in case she tries to hit me again. But she won't now that I know her motives.
"What was that for?" I say, breathing heavier, half because of the aching pulse at my middle and the other out of sheer wariness.
Molly doesn't answer and just glares at me. Her face is serious, but there's something in her eyes that glosses over with pride, as if hitting me out of the blue like this erases what happened in the ring earlier and proves her to be the superior one. Maybe she is. I'd never tell her that, though.
I drop my arm from it's protective curl against my waist, thinking she's calmed down enough for me to go back to the dorm, but she's still blocking the corridor, making an easy escape difficult. Her punch wasn't meant to just startle me. She aimed to start something with it and intends to finish. I'd rather not give her the satisfaction of playing along, but there might be no other choice. She's clearly hellbent on getting revenge and I'm stuck in her blast radius zone.
"You got lucky, you know," Molly sneers and crosses her arms. There's dried blood all over her knuckles and some of it doesn't look like her own.
"We're not allowed to do this."
"Don't act like you care about the rules. No one's around anyway. Unless you're scared."
I sigh and shake my head. "I don't feel like fighting with you. And I shouldn't have to explain myself for it. Can you move now?"
"Try to make me."
Her instigation is a clear sign that she's not going to give up or let me through without hands being thrown. As thin as my patience is wearing, I don't want to risk getting into trouble over something like misplaced animosity. I just want to be left alone. Shaking my head again, I stuff my cold hands in the conjoining pockets of my hooded long sleeve, then turn to go back way I came. There's bound to be another tunnel to the dormitory other than this particular path. I'll find it eventually.
Molly makes a scoffing noise behind me. "Coward." Her words are like safety slugs shot into the air. She pauses when I don't react. "Just like that sister of yours."
I freeze.
The hallway seems smaller and darker than before, and the light that faintly fades around the corner into the cafeteria feels like it's trying to say something to me; to not fall into her trap, to bring me back to rational decisions, but I'm thinking it's too far away now. I can hear voices filtering through the doors and it sounds noticeably quieter than before, if such a state can exist within Dauntless. I tune it all out. It's too much like white noise, clinking of glass shards in my head that slowly begins to prod away comprehension. What happens next is hazy. I don't even remember turning back to Molly, much less my fist connecting to her cheek. All I piece together following it is that she's on the ground, grimacing and my hand is throbbing with immense pain. It feels like I had just tried to break concrete with it.
I blink and come back to reality as Molly stumbles to her feet, her eyes aflame and dark under the bluish lights. Under these dim lanterns and cramped spaces, I feel all the more suffocated by her athletic body blocking the way. Before I can predict it, she closes the distance between us, hitting me wherever her fists can reach. I feel her punches coming at my face, some narrowly missing and others sticking. I try to turn away, ducking whenever her assaults slow, but they come like the first drops of rain. When she attempts to grab me, I slam my knuckles against her jaw, making her stutter back for a second. The skin underneath my eyes tingles with pain at her tags and I feel a few more start to bloom around my waist, at my neck where her short nails tried to dig in.
This is nothing like what happened in the ring. In there, fights can be tethered. Padded, somewhat. There's always a limit to the amount of hurt you can give and receive, but out of it, it's all what you can imagine to do; what you're capable of. I haven't figured that out for myself yet. We trade punches as if it's about to be outlawed. Between the blocking of her strikes, her trying to shove me against the walls, kick me off my feet, I can't stop myself from shoving her away, cracking my knuckles against her jawline. I know I shouldn't be, but she's sunken me down below breathing level and I have no choice but to try and float. It's too late. Eventually I'm gonna drown.
Multiple footsteps come thumping around the bend then. I don't know if it's the transfer class or passing Dauntless, but once they come within view of us, their footsteps skid to a halt. Someone curses. Another pair of shoes go running in the opposite direction and I should be worrying that we're about to get caught, but the tenacity of Molly's oncoming fists pound energy out of me instead of sense. I wince when she hits the bruise already formed at my waist and push her away from me. She leans against the opposite wall and cracks a bleeding knuckle.
"Knew that'd piss you off," Molly smirks, breathing evenly despite the bloody scrapes on her knuckles and the patches of dark blue on her cheek bones. The spot where I first hit her is already swelling.
"Don't talk about her again."
"Why?" She goads. "Because you know it's true?"
I punch her so hard this time it makes her head snap to the other side and my knuckles burn so much I start to think that I really broke it now. Bad move. When she turns to face me again, her eyes light up like the Hub in the dead of night and she swarms me. I feel her hands go everywhere, grasping and punching like she can't decide on whether she wants to strangle or beat me to death. She'd probably choose both if she could. I block some of her hits, getting in one or two myself before I'm ripped away by the hood of my shirt. Molly also disappears into a pair of big arms, but I don't recognize who they belong to until-
"That's enough!"
I immediately stiffen at the sound of Eric's voice and I realize he's the one that's holding me back by my shirt. Four is the one restraining Molly, but she struggles against him until he tells her to stop. He glances between the two of us, doing a double take as though he's making sure the equation is right. Then he sighs.
"What the hell were you thinking?" He demands, sounding more exasperated than angry. I wonder if this happens a lot.
I don't say anything and neither does Molly.
"It just sort of happened," I reply after a moment in lieu of explanation. "I'm sorry."
Molly glances at me sharply, her eyebrows furrowed like she can't fathom why I don't pin the blame on her when she deserves it. I could have. But it wouldn't have made any difference.
Four sighs again. "You know both of your ranks are in jeopardy because of this, right?"
"I... I don't want to leave-" Molly sputters.
Eric's fist tightens around the chunk of my hood. "Then start talking."
I swallow thickly and look up at Molly, seeing her eyes also avoid any space surrounding our two instructors. It's obvious neither one of us want to reveal too much and I know that won't slide with these two men who both wield a substantial amount of power - one more than the other.
"If you won't," Eric says in our silence and his tone is that of someone who takes pleasure from delivering bad news. "Max will."
He releases his death grip on my shirt then, making my shoulders drop from how high he was pulling me back, but I don't feel any more relieved at being let go. Especially since he's clearly angry.
When Four lets his arms fall from Molly, she looks over at me furtively and for the first time, I think we mutually share the same exact thought.
Max's office is nested deep within the compound.
It takes quite a few twists and turns to get there, but it's difficult to get lost when you have Eric's hulking height to act as guidance. We follow him quietly, at least ten or fifteen paces behind his beckoning shadow and I especially linger farthest in the back. I've haven't seen much of the eldest Dauntless leader except for his introduction above the cafeteria, but that appearance on it's own is enough to indicate this was a man you didn't want to cross. It kind of makes me wish Four had accompanied us over here as well. He's not someone I feel exactly comfortable around either, but at least there's familiarity there. Sort of.
They see us one by one.
Molly goes in first, leaving me to wait alone in the dim corridor. It's kind of eerie being in this unknown domain, where there's not a single soul in sight within the connecting hallways. I'm so used to hearing the echo of so many voices speaking at once, boots pounding throughout stairwells, laughter carried out from level to level. Seeing a part of Dauntless on mute is weird, like I had entered another realm in my sleep. I wander toward each end of the tunnel for a few minutes, half of me anxious to go back to familiar grounds and the other nervous about what they're going to tell us. If Molly didn't want to say much before, would she change her mind now? They wouldn't have any reason to not believe anything she says.
I guess for that, this all really is my fault. Molly was the one that hit me, but I didn't have to hit back. I just couldn't control myself. Didn't want to, maybe.
After a while, the door swings open and Molly comes trudging out. Her head is tipped down at the ground as she walks by without saying a word, almost as if this is just her shadow separating from her body and the real Molly is still somewhere inside. I watch her silhouette fade in the direction that we came from from my position against the wall, hands warm in my shirt pockets. Eric's frame takes up the open doorway seconds later and he gives a curt jerk of his head towards the inside of the room. My cue, I gather as I mentally prepare for whatever's waiting on the other side.
Eric steps back to let me through, but I still find myself shrinking by him despite the appropriate space between us.
Like many other enclosures in Dauntless, Max's office looks more like a storage unit than somewhere to conduct any leadership. There are some equipment shoved into corners that looks related to security purposes, but everything else lies in mystery. I'm not sure what to expect as the door closes shut and I see Max propped against the front of his desk, hands clasped low over his lap. He cracks a knuckle as I come closer. I don't know whether to take that as sign or just a bad habit.
"I hear you've been having problems."
"I guess I have."
"That's expected. Transfers of your history don't normally make friends with everyone and considering the circumstance, there's gonna be-" he pauses, like he's thinking over what either Molly or Eric told him and is searching for the right word. "Some conflicts."
"My history?" I echo him.
"We're aware where all our transfers come from."
His answer is so simple and clipped. I don't press for more of an explanation on it and just shift my weight uneasily. "Well... we don't randomly punch people in my old faction."
Max smirks and it touches every part of his face except his eyes. "I should hope so." He cracks another knuckle before pausing. "I don't know what the other initiates tell you, but disputes like this don't happen too often. You'll understand why I have to be heavy with your penalty." The end part sounds like an order more than a suggestion.
I just nod.
Max looks past me at Eric. "What do we got?"
"Emmanuel's understaffed in the kitchen," the younger man answers from by the door, staying close to it like a gatekeeper to hell.
"Always understaffed," Max repeats, as if he's mocking the said man's proclamation. From under the lighting, I think I see him roll his eyes. "Anything else?"
"Four's been trying to recruit last year's class to help set up the training room in the mornings."
"And?"
"They've been ducking him."
Max sighs and shakes his head slightly. "Give her that then. Ten hours a week for a month. Either you or Four will have to log it in."
Eric nods.
The elder leader turns to address me then. "I'm sure that's fine with you?" He says, but his tone isn't fitted for a question; only a statement. He rises from the desk top then and moves back around to the seat of it, the aftereffects of his decision acting as a tranquilizer to my otherwise flipping stomach. At least I can breathe easy now that it's all done and over with.
The silence that follows seems like a dismissal, so I look over at the door and see Eric opening it, giving me a look that confirms now is the time to take my leave. His blue eyes are still hard and cold as I escape out into the hall, holding my breath until I hear the door click shut again. Under the dull lanterns and drafty corridors, I shut my eyes for a second and breath. That didn't go half as bad as it could have, although one terrible mistake tends to make way for another, so a part of me can't help but wonder what this means now. The Dauntless don't seem to let little permanent marks like this go or be easily forgotten, so I know I'll just have to be even more careful now. I thought I was when I was trying to evade Molly, but look where that brought us.
It takes a while for me to retrace the steps back to the dorm. Without the lead of someone whose memorized the layout, wrong turns are a given and by the time the familiar tunnel comes into clarity, the dormitory is filled with sleeping transfers. It must be close to midnight. Either Max's office is an avid collector of time or I really did get lost. The door hinges creak when pushed past a certain limit so I try to squeeze past the tiny gap as much as I can without making too much noise. Someone shifts in bed, rolling to their side and I go still until the rustling of blankets fade. Then it's quiet.
No one has cried themselves to sleep in a while. I don't know why I haven't given in yet... I guess it's because there's really not much else to give; not right now, where the mines haven't been set yet. Although with the way things are going, that's bound to change at any given day.
Feeling drained and too tired to change clothes, I fall onto my front on my bed, arms around my pillow and try to ignore the stiffness of my shoes as they point halfway off the mattress. Pain blossoms at my waist from Molly's jabs, the pressure of lying on the making it seem like they're being seared open, but I don't have the energy to do anything to try to lessen it except remain there with my eyes clenched shut, pretending it's not real and that the night will pass.
Somehow, it does.
One of the few things that stays consistent with my old life and the new Dauntless way of living is the uneventful mornings. I wake up around the same time everyday, maybe earlier if sleep happened to touch me last, and for the most part that gives me at least an hour ahead of everyone else. I don't do much with it, though. Not here at least. At home... in Candor, I mean - I'd be getting ready for school or sitting up on my comforter, finishing the reading material I had put off the night before, looking out at the window as the sun rose over grey clouds. Things that aren't necessary, aren't even relevant now.
So I just lie here, still in my day clothes. They feel stiff and soaked with the odor of everyone else in the room, but I still feel too sleep deprived to actually get up to take advantage of the early hour. Maybe it's not even early at all. Maybe there's only five minutes before we all have to roll out of bed and start the morning. I guess I'd really be behind everyone else, considering I look like I'm still stuck in yesterday's time loop.
Minutes pass, though, without disturbance. I lay there with my eyes closed, settled on that halfway place between consciousness and sleep until I can't anymore. My boots sound awfully loud when I slide off the bed but no one makes a sound from under their blanket. All that's visible under the feeble light is the tufts of hair peeking out beneath sheets and their lumpy forms lying in various positions. I try to walk as quietly as I can to the exit that's seeping with a bluish white light, covering my mouth when I almost stumble over a discarded shoe. The more the days pass, the messier our dormitory becomes.
Once I'm in the hall, I stretch my arms, shake the tension away, then ponder what to do now. The sky appears foggy through the view of the glass building. It must be at least five in the morning. What do brave people even do at this hour?
The dining room is teeming with a surprising amount of activity of both young and elder members when I enter through the side door. These must be the ones just getting off their overnight shifts or preparing for an early one. I feel okay being in here despite the body count, as it's not overwhelmingly crowded like it usually is and I can walk between the tables with little to no anxiety spikes. That's something new. I step in behind some older Dauntless members as they wait for the serving line to clear, most of them holding steaming tin mugs with what I can only guess is filled with coffee. There's not many people intending to eat at this hour, so the line moves along quickly and people snatch what they want within a couple seconds before stalking away.
No one else is lingering about so I take some time to actually skim the choices. I hardly ever eat breakfast, so this is a different experience for me, especially in an eatery so polar than the one at Candor. There's a lot of options to choose from, but I decide to go for something light and reach for a basket filled with muffins. One placed near the top has these black dots in them that looks like chocolate. It's still pretty warm and smells just as good.
"Who let the Wells Street refugees out?"
I haven't heard that in a while. It's what the Dauntless sometimes call the Candor because of their last accessible street name that leads to the Merciless Mart. People don't really use it that often, though. Not like how they spew 'loudmouth' to anyone wearing black and white. If only they knew how it's not always true. Turning to the source, I see a tall guy with unkempt brown hair come up around me to the serving line. At the entrance, a flock of Dauntless borns begin to trickle in, striding over to where the other guy stands. From the look of their clothes and haziness in their eyes, they haven't slept for several hours. Days, maybe.
"Candor transfer?" The brunette boy asks as he takes an empty tray and starts to fill it with enough food to feed five starved grown men.
"How did you know that?"
He smirks then, but not in a derogatory way. "You know all of you look the same. Ow, hey!" He flinches suddenly when a girl smacks the palm of her hand upside his head.
"Ignore him," she says. "He's just grumpy because he drank up all his ration points again."
The boy makes a guilty face at that, the redness in his eyes telling a story of how he spent the past few nights. That would explain the bedraggled appearance.
I knew I should have stayed in the dormitory, I think to myself as all of them begin to crowd around and take their portions. Another girl sifts through the assortment of muffins and upon finding none that she likes, she frowns and walks with the others empty handed to a nearby table.
The guy with the tousled brown locks is the last one to leave. "You heading out?"
"I was, yeah."
"Good. Come over with us." He inclines his head for me to follow.
I sigh and glance at the exit, wondering if it'd be okay now to cut it all the back to my bunk, but the way the five of them start to dig into their breakfasts, make each other explode with laughter between bites is a sight that oddly draws me in. I find my legs moving toward them, after the lanky one who drops in unceremoniously onto the bench, then motions for me to sit as well. First impressions don't always have to be considered first, especially in a faction where one is meant to act with abandon, but the initial awkwardness of the situation feels like the beginning of a class I don't remember the course material for. And despite me being a complete stranger joining on a faction born circle, the people there are surprisingly receptive to new company in their own way.
Not all of them are very vocal. They either throw their heads up in greeting or wave their fingers as the guy I'm sitting next to, Brandon, introduces them all from left to right: Alison, Danny, Safiya, Noah. No one asks for my name and I don't really mind that. Something tells me that I won't be seeing much of these people after this morning, so it's not necessary to know everything about everyone.
The first girl, Alison, peers across from me strangely, as though she's seen me before this encounter and is just now remembering my face. Her hair is jet black and pin straight, the ends closest to her shoulders tapered so they frame her face. She's the only one who doesn't smile or greet me in any way at first, but I wouldn't peg her as unfriendly. Just precarious. The other girl is like the book end. Her dark eyes appear cat-like when she smirks and I notice when she reaches up to brush a lock of hair back, she wears plain metal rings on her right fingers. They look pretty against her brown skin.
The clinking of cutlery is the only thing that reverberates throughout the dining room.
"I haven't made up my mind yet," Brandon reveals when the subject of after-initiation jobs come up. "I might take something up in the armory. Or go out and guard the fence with my brother."
"He probably took the job in the first place to get away from you," Noah says, then cursing when Brandon roughly kicks his leg under the table.
I giggle a little, my temple propped against my curled fingers and listen as everyone else voices their dream position. Safiya wants to do something in either the computer room or intelligence; she's interested in both. Danny and Noah both desire to join the city patrol and nothing else, while Alison is thinking of getting into tattoos. Apparently, she likes to sketch in her down time and would like to see some of her drawings as real tattoos.
"What about you?" Brandon asks me after a beat.
"I haven't thought that far ahead yet." Or more like, I didn't know I was supposed to. How can someone already be looking over far into the horizon already? They must so sure of the future and confident in themselves. I wonder what that feels like.
"No one ever does," Alison chimes in, as if she's speaking from personal experience.
And despite the others and their bullheaded determination to land the job they want, they don't argue with her. They just keep on eating and make small talk.
"Okay, kids," Brandon says after a long while, looking up from his watch. The stamp reads 7:30 AM. "Time to face the firing squad."
I stand up first, the Dauntless borns following just seconds later. Their trays are picked clean of crumbs and dot along their side of the table, except for Alison's spot at the end. She's the only one who hasn't eaten yet. The muffin I had meant to munch through earlier is still cupped in my hand, forgotten and cold, so I roll it over to her. I lost my appetite anyway. Her eyes light when she sees the baked good and scoops it up with a smile. The first real one I've seen around here.
"Later," a few of them say to me at the same time before they all turn and file away.
I can't imagine spending so much time with people that you eventually develop an unintentional synchronization with them. It seems so odd yet fulfilling at the same time, but that's something I doubt I'll ever experience for myself. Most of the transfers must be awake now, so I exit the same way I came in and head back toward the dorm, shifting to a jog when I'm only a couple corridors away. Shoe scuffles and mattress springs creaking echo from the entrance. A small line of initiates slumping out into the hall on their way to the showers makes me skid to a stop, almost colliding straight into them. Their hair is mussed with sleep and eyes still sewn half shut. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, suddenly conscious at the receding time limit.
The others are getting dressed when I pad over to my bunk. Molly's bed is only two rows across from mine and she's occupied with pulling a clean shirt over her head. As she tugs the hem down to her hips, our eyes connect. A current passes between us, but it doesn't feel vengeful or cordial. It feels like nothing.
Nothing at all.
"Since there are an odd number of you, one of you won't be fighting today," Four announces when everyone is gathered in front of the board. He shoots a tight eyed glance over at the first jumper. I guess that means she's safe for the day.
I look up at the board and seek through the list of paired names. Mine is next to an Erudite girl, but we're one of the last people to be written down, so I know I'm gonna have to wait a while again until it's our turn. Some initiates would probably take that as a good sign, an opportunity to practice more, but I don't know what it is for me. I haven't been thrust into a first fight of the morning yet - an idea that's terrifying all on it's own. But being stuck on the sidelines means I'd have to stand by and watch the others fight and some of them have progressed so much, they look ready for Pit entertainment spars. How can I ever catch up to something like that?
What if I never will?
"Look, I'm against the Tank," Christina's voice announces behind me.
Her words make me snap out of my concentration from skimming through the slots and find hers printed beside Molly's. While it's true that Molly has been making a reputation for herself physically, a petite girl like Christina whose spirited nature and energy can be used for good has an even chance of winning. When someone been consistently on top, the only real way they can progress is down. And the same can be said for the ones who don't seem to be moving at all. But our instructors might think differently. One of them, that is.
"The Tank?"
"Yeah, Peter's slightly more feminine-looking minion."
I stifle laughter at the description and out of my peripheral vision, I can see Christina grinning. Since that afternoon in the cafeteria, we haven't had a lot of contact, but there has been are a few instances where she will bring up something from the past and ask for backup whenever Al would say he didn't remember. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who hasn't retained much memory of our old faction, or at least the ones dating several years ago. Those two are one of the few whom I don't feel a completely dead connection to. I haven't grown very close to the other transfers and it's not because I don't like all of them; it's just that it's obvious that some of us have been raised differently and those individual tweaks has put a shark in the waters. Not all of them are bad, but the rest are who they seem to be. Strangers.
Christina's sudden query pulls me from my thoughts. "Right, Charlotte?"
"Huh?"
"I was just telling Tris about Peter and everything they used to do in Candor. You got some of the worst of it."
I don't respond to that. If she remembers it, then I suppose it's true.
"I think they know we're talking about them," the first jumper points out quietly.
"So?" Christina counters brashly. "They already know I hate them."
"They do? How?"
"Because I've told them. We try to be pretty honest about our feelings in Candor. Plenty of people have told me that they don't like me. And plenty of people haven't. Who cares?"
The first jumper's gaze darts to me after Christina's explanations, as if she's expecting a word of either agreement or flat refusal. But I don't. I don't say anything and just turn back to the two boys who have already begun to fight. Their conversation continues vaguely in the background, although their voices are too hushed for me to hear now. I think a part of me might agree with what Christina said. Candor is an open environment, but if growing up there has shown me anything it's that people don't always say what they mean or mean what they say. And sometimes people will feel strongly about something and not say anything about it at all. They should, though. It could change everything.
Especially the things you want to change.
I wander away after a while to the punching bags. It seems like hours have passed until the sound of dead weight dropping disrupts my focus. I glance across at the mats and see a boy sprawled out cold, his arms extended by his head. The big Candor boy, Al, stands over him. He breathes heavily and the expression on his face suggests he wants to apologize for his own victory. Their height and muscle mass difference is comical to begin with, but with the smaller boy on the ground like this, it makes the other one look like a figure from one of those History stories they once told us about in school; I guess that would make Al the goliath. Except he's not the one unconscious.
I jump the second time another body hits the mat. Christina lies on the ground now with Molly looming over her, blood trickling from her nose. I already feel my stomach churn at the sight. A terrible sign. I swallow the dry lump in my throat when Molly swings her leg at Christina's stomach, then pins her down on her back so she can't move. Her punches land so hard it leaves imprints on her Christina's skin, the bright glow to her cheeks diminished to a throbbing red. I almost look away, feel this close to turning back completely, but my sights are glued as crimson fluid begins to drip on the white mat. Like paint from a brush.
"Stop!" Christina exclaims when Molly moves in to hit her again. "Stop! I'm done. I'm done."
Eric has been watching the whole time. "You need to stop?"
Will he even let her? Four might have, but he left the room several minutes ago and hasn't been back since. Even if he was here, there isn't much he can do against Eric's word. That's been proven before. He himself can be a stickler - not as severe as Eric - but at least his presence is not as suffocating. Not all the time.
A shutter falls behind Eric's eyes when Christina nods, blood slowly leaking down to her lips. He doesn't appear satisfied with her decision nor angry, but whatever it is inside, it can't be good. Nothing concerning Eric can be good. "Okay. Let me give you a hand."
There's a very disquieting pause in the air at this and I realize that a few other initiates have also ceased their activity and observe the scene unfolding with baited breath. It's an unorthodox situation I don't think anyone ever expected, especially from this kind of man. It's hard enough to grasp sometimes seeing Four lend assistance. Offering selfless aid without wanting anything in return is trait I thought only the Abnegation have, but as instructors, I guess they have to make sure everyone gets a fair chance of survival. Don't they?
"Alright, let's everyone take a break," Eric announces. There's a certain bite to his tone. It's alarming and I'm sure I'm not the only one who notices. "Follow me," he adds hollowly.
I look around, seeing the others break away to trail after his lead. It takes a second for everyone to file out into the hall and I wait until I'm one of the last few initiates to follow so I don't get trapped in the middle. The cumbersome path that leads to the Chasm is dead at this time of day, but with the hissing of the waters in constant motion, it seems like a living thing that needs to sleep, eat and think just like a human. I can barely see a view over the pillars of tall heads from the back like this, except the wide width of Eric's shoulders up ahead. That's the only thing that stands out.
As we get closer and light from the end of the tunnel starts to brighten, I roughly make out the long shape of the Chasm bridge. The glow from the ceiling illuminates Eric's features as he cross the threshold first with Christina beside him. She's the only one close to him, a mere pint of his size and a part of me wonders if everything looks as fragile around him as it does when he's with us.
Eric says something then, his voice low in pitch and muffled by the crashing waves below. Before they reach the middle of the ramp, I hear Christina's startled cry as she slips off the edge. Everyone skids to a stop in front of me, hands coming up to cover their mouths and the weight of bodies pushing up around me to see what's happened. Someone grabs my arm out of shock, not painfully, but enough to make the pieces slowly click together in my head. No one seems to have really registered it. I look at Christina's figure hanging off the ramp, clutching at the edge with one hand while Eric anchors the other with his own.
"Grab the rail," he tells her deliberately. I can hear him clearly now. "Or don't." He releases Christina's hand then, leaving her to dangle. "You got three options: hang there and I'll forget your cowardice, fall and die, or give up. But if you give up, you're out."
Nobody moves. Some initiates look away, while others can barely tear their eyes from the pair of damp hands that seem to be losing grip with each second. It's like the whole world has been turned off and the only who can can put it in motion again is the one who shut it down in the first place. A completely powerless position to be in. I touch a hand to the cold wall, standing close to the corner, lean over a little to see the deep, sawtoothed floor of the Chasm. The height sucks me in like a vertigo, as though the water will take the form of a hand and reach up to drag me under. I snap away after a moment, my pulse suddenly racing. The ones who jumped from here must have felt comfort in knowing they were gonna sink in something so cold, so soft and deadly all at once. I can't imagine finding that kind of solace.
Minutes pass.
Someone pushes their sleeve back to check the time. Every moment I think she's about to pull herself up or loosen her fingers and let the frothy waters claim her, she readjusts her position and hangs on that much longer. But how long is long enough?
Eric watches the scene evolve with an eerie nonchalance, like even if she were to fall, there would be a sturdy and reliable contraption to catch her. If that happened, would he even care? That someone just died, because of his doing? Maybe that's how we're supposed to view death in Dauntless. I've never seen a dead body before. I wonder when that will change.
"Come on, Chris," a pensive voice says. Eric looks sharply at the girl, the first jumper, and her lips don't open again.
Another minute ticks by.
It feels like an eternity.
"Time."
The first jumper and another boy spring forward to pull Christina to safety, releasing our own breath from it's noose the second she's on stable ground again. She inhales shakily, her cheeks bright with color and hands trembling. She slumps against the smaller girl's body for support and closes her eyes. She must still feel like she's falling.
The heavy thud of Eric's boots regains our attention as he turns to face all of us. "Dauntless never give up." His eyes meet mine at the last word. The contact holds.
I don't look away. Not this time.
Three days after the incident in the Chasm, Four has plans to take us on a train ride. It's just him, us transfers, and the quiet hum of the wind as it blows through my hair. We stand at the mouth of the tunnel waiting for the train to swing our way and I notice that not all of us have made it in on time; a few initiates stumble in late, post-sleep thick in their eyes and mussing their hair. Christina suffers a bloody cut on her lower lip, but it looks to be healing nicely, as well as the first jumper's bruises.
"Feeling okay there?" Peter asks the ex-Abnegation with faux concern. "Or are you feeling a little... stiff?" He chuckles at his own joke. I thought only Amity people do that.
"We are all awed by your incredible wit," an ex-Erudite boy deadpans.
"Yeah, are you sure you don't belong with the Erudite, Peter?" Christina glowers at him. "I hear they don't object to sissies."
"I think you need a brain to get in there," I say, hearing Christina burst into laughter as the orbs of light grow bigger and bigger inside the tunnel. Metal wheels screech all the way in front of us and hiss to a stop. One of the doors is already wide open.
"Am I gonna have to listen to your bickering all the way to the fence?" Four chastises and at once, the chattering stops.
He strides up to the train car and climbs in easily, then stands at the side for us to trample through. The way he speaks, so dry and clipped sometimes, it's like an overworked man who hasn't had a proper night's rest in over twenty years. I wonder at times if this is a position he was forced upon instead of something he willingly chose to do. Is that why he doesn't see eye to eye with the leaders, let alone anyone else?
Once we're all inside, I stand with my left shoulder leaning against the cold steel wall, angled toward the window so I can see the city drift farther and farther away from us. It takes a few hours to get out of city limits and an additional forty-five minutes just to reach the wall. The train remains quiet for half the ride and we split into two lines at either side of the cab.
"As Dauntless, we fight to protect every life inside the fence without fail," Four explains. The tall, spindly structures of the wall loom closer in the distance. "That's why we train you the way we do." He scans our group. "To teach you not to give up. And to find out who has what it takes. I know it's been quiet out there for years, but that could change at any moment. So we have to be ready for everything."
Preparing for everything doesn't even sound possible. What if there's something out there that's far beyond our imagination? Beyond the limited power and security of mere weaponry and a sealed gate? They can only do so much.
"If you don't rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you will probably end up here. Once you are a fence guard, there is some potential for advancement, but not much," Four goes on. "You might be able to go on patrols beyond Amity's farm, but-"
"Patrols for what purpose?" A boy pipes in.
Four shrugs. "I suppose you'll discover that if you find yourself among them. As I was saying. For the most part, those who guard the fence when they are young continue to guard the fence. If it comforts you, some of them insist that it isn't as bad as it seems."
By 'some' of them, I get the feeling he only means one percent.
"What rank were you?" Peter inquires.
"I was first."
"And you chose to do this? Why didn't you get a government job?"
"I didn't want one." Four's response is simple enough, but I can't help but feel that there is something more swimming under the water. As a first ranker, there are words to be said about him all over Dauntless, and most of it is positive. I can see where that emits jealously from his peers, even older ones, who are now above him.
"They want you to work for them, don't they," I say and Four's eyes flick over to me. He knows who I'm referring to. "Why do they keep asking you if you always say no?"
"They think I'll change my mind at some point," Four responds and pauses to gaze out one of the windows. "I won't."
I expect that we have to jump off the train as it soon as it comes within soft grassland, but to my surprise, the tracks wheeze to an abrupt halt in front of the vast field that connects to the wall. The door swishes open and we all pile out. I skim my hands over the top of the weeds that have grown above knee length and follow Four as he leads us up to the sealed gate. It's a long climb up the stairs as it starts from the base and ends all the way to top level. The guards that are up there don't seem even remotely bothered that they're several hundred feet in the air, facing out into the barren wastelands. I'm one of the first ones up the steps, just behind Peter as we come up to the rail where it overlooks the open pasture. Amity workers collect their means of living in the distance. They appear at peace with their lives. Content.
My brows pull together under the harsh glare of daylight and I gaze out at the plains of greenery. It's a pretty view, if not desolate.
"What's out there?" The first jumper asks.
Christina smirks at her and makes a waggling gesture with her fingers. "Monsters."
"Amity folk."
"No, I know. Beyond that."
"Places that never recovered from the war," the Erudite one explains. "We didn't even have guards near the fence until five years ago. Don't you remember when Dauntless police used to patrol the Factionless sector?"
The first jumper nods. "Yes."
"Oh, right. I bet you saw them all the time."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you had to pass the Factionless sector to get to school, right?"
Christina chuckles, shooting the tall boy a funny look. "What did you do, memorize a map of the city for fun?"
"Yes," is his instant reply. His eyebrows knit together. "Didn't you?"
Christina practically galks at this before shifting her eyes over to the rest of us, eyebrows lifted as if to ask 'is he for real?'
I just shrug at her and look back at the view, practically noiseless except for the billows of wind I can feel carding through my hair, cooling my skin and the sensitive scabs over my knuckles from my last fight. No one really talks about what lies on beyond Amity's perimeter, the possibilities anyway, except what had been occupying it before our time. Given the city's value of keeping safe and prepared for the day that gate should ever open, you'd think they be more inclined to find out. If there's anything to find.
I always imagined ruined cities, abandoned buildings, and unmarked graves beneath mounds and mounds of soil, tainted with the blood of those who caused us to seek sanctuary here. No life. No life but us.
The first jumper turns to Four after a moment. "Do you know?"
"Let's just say they built the fence for a reason," he answers cryptically.
"Do you think we'll ever find out?" I say to no one in particular. And nobody answers for a long time.
But then Four speaks. "Maybe." He doesn't sound so sure himself.
Still, I'd like to discover what exactly brought us to this point. One day.
On the way down, a heavily armored truck carrying supply crates and Amity members pass through the gate. It stops over the threshold and a few Dauntless guards check the boxes. They're filled with fruit. A boy in blue a blue shirt louder than the sky jumps out from the bed of the truck and hurries to hug the first jumper, making Molly roll her eyes and sneer something at them that I don't bother listening to. Even Four reverts his gaze away like the sight burns his eye sockets, the strong underside of his jaw ticking. Guess he's not fond of the peacemakers either.
When it's time to head back, Four steps inside the train cab first and waits beside the entry frame for the rest of us to clamber aboard. I go through first and sink down into a sitting position below a window next to the open car door. Half of the transfers are already inside when I see Peter pull himself up and come down the aisle. I don't know what comes over me, but I push my left foot further out as soon as he steps in front of me. His shoe bumps into my own and it makes him stagger forward, but he catches himself quickly before he can fall.
Someone laughs. Another clears their throat.
"Watch your step," Four advises dryly from the side. He bolts the door shut and fixes me with a hard look that's half cautionary, half reprimanding.
I didn't know he saw. He wasn't standing more than three feet away, but it's rare whenever something ever escapes his radar. I curl my leg back toward me, then lift and raise one shoulder as if to say 'sorry'. I expect him to ream into me more for the action, but he only shakes his head and stomps on ahead of everyone else to the front of the train.
As the train takes speed again, Peter rejoins his friends and casts me a very long glower from his side of the cab. He torments just about anybody, but the knife points in eyes look sharper than usual. I look away, turning my head so it faces the general direction of the door and listen to the mechanical stutter of the train wheels as they glide throughout the tracks. It feels nice like to be able to hear myself think like this - when I actually want to hear the contents of my own mind. I'll lose that once I step inside Dauntless compound, but it's an even exchange in a way. No one wants to be stuck with just themselves forever.
By the time we arrive back in the compound, it's past six o'clock and we're allowed to go free for the rest of the night. There's never much to do once training ends, at least on my part of the spectrum. The transfers tend to divide off into groups during dinner and it continues on well into the evening until we're all forced to board together again. Given that we're all supposed to be competing against each other, I don't expect for there to be much closeness as a whole. Maybe not even for half of us. But in unfamiliar territory, I'm not sure where to spend my time or even how to. As I come out of the dormitory, hearing initiates linger behind between the bunks as others go to the dining hall, a thunder of Dauntless borns' footsteps rounding the corner come from the side of the hallway.
Their dormitory isn't stationed very far from ours, but it's rare when we ever see them except in passing and in excerpts of time spent in the cafeteria or the Pit. They always feel out of our league. But this time though, the faces I see under the blue lanterns aren't ones of obscurity. Silver rings reflecting the lights, creating tiny moons all over the ceiling and it nabs my attention. I've seen them before.
"Hey. Wells Street refugee."
"Aw, hell no..." Someone mutters shortly after, feminine one this time and I faintly recognize it as Safiya.
I stand there with uncertainty as Brandon comes skulking forward, looking just as disheveled as he did earlier. The whites of his eyes are clearer, though.
"This is getting weird," I point out before he has the chance to speak.
Brandon's brows pull together at that and he scratches at a spot on the back of his neck. "What? No, no, we're not trying to follow you. We were close by." He glances back at his pool of friends then, watching as some of them continue ahead and the ones who were at his table this morning wait against the walls. "Are you doing something right now?"
"Uh-"
"You know, this is the second time I've seen you by yourself, is everything good on your side of the court? I've never seen someone from Candor so quiet. I never liked talking to your kind in school. Never knew when to shut it." The others pause and nod absently in agreement and it suddenly feels like I'm temporarily teleported back home. Surrounded by so many lively people and I don't know which face to put on. "Hey, do people get pierced where your from? Do you wanna come to the parlor with us? Have you even seen anything here yet?"
"No." I blink at his rapid fire questions, a little taken aback. "No, I guess not."
It's impossible to turn away from them after that so I'm left with little say as I follow them through the darkened tunnels, the hum of their voices talking at once sounding like a heartbeat being shocked back to life. From where we are, it takes a couple of corridors to reach the Pit, followed by some more climbing toward the tattoo shop. Given that the Pit floor is crammed with people at night, I hesitate a second as everyone gets swallowed by the mosh, disappearing into the red glow of the parlor entrance before sighing inwardly and pull myself through.
For once, my own pulse hammers harder than the music that's blaring throughout the room. I have to rub my eyes for a moment to let them adjust to the shift in lighting, anxiety spikes gradually ebbing away.
The Dauntless borns splinter off into smaller groups then. Brandon wanders off with Danny as Safiya and Noah get lost in the mausoleum of inked arms and reflective piercings. I can't even begin to pinpoint where the rest of the class is. The amount of people that can fit in here is astounding.
"Want to get something done with me?" Alison asks suddenly, at my side. She's the only one who's drifted behind.
I almost forgot she was there. "Like what?"
She only smiles and motions for me to come along with her as she carves a path to a tattoo station. "I'll go first if you want," she suggests, but her tone isn't insistent. "I'm actually supposed to be saving up for my next piercing," she confesses. "I've been getting a new one every year for my birthday since I was fourteen. But this year is extra special." Her eyes flit over to someone over my shoulder then, and her smirk widens. "Hey, Danarli."
A girl appears beside the closest tattoo station. The tips of her hair is dyed a deep crimson that gradually fades up into a natural dark brown shade, a striking contrast to her tan skin. She looks about two or three years older than us, very pretty, and her expression is composed for someone who is neither friendly nor antagonistic.
"Go home, Al," the girl clips. "The parlor doesn't allow squatters."
"Hey, I haven't been here in a month."
"Yeah, and that was the time you were coming back for a week straight complaining that your piercings were infected when it was you who changed the earrings early when told not to." Danarli pauses. "And no, you can't get a second tattoo for half the point cost."
"I wasn't gonna-"
"Yes, you were. You ask every time."
Alison glares at her and it only looks half serious. "Fine." She pretends to sniff and turns her face away, nose in the air. "I didn't like your designs anyway."
Danarli cracks a smile and waves her hand at us as Alison pulls at my arm over to a center wall stapled with other tattoo sketches. There's hundreds of them, some having patterns and shapes I didn't even know exist. The ones at the top look like they're not used that frequently, as they're still drawn from hand. Those are the ones Alison studies up at, like she's imagining having her own work up there some day.
"I bet it's weird for you," she says after a moment, her voice partially getting lost under the bass of music. She's still gazing at the wall, but then slowly turns her face to me. Curiosity blackens her eyes. "To be here, I mean. It must be so much different where you come from, and now you're finally where you belong."
"I don't know yet."
Confusion mars Alison's features and she shifts her body fully toward me. "You didn't get Dauntless as your aptitude?"
I shake my head. "Even if I did, I couldn't tell you why I chose this place. It just... seemed like the best option at the time."
"That must be nice," she mutters.
"What?"
"Not knowing. You still have time to find out. And if you left Candor, that means you're away from whatever made you unhappy, right?"
I don't answer that and she doesn't pry for a response. What did make me unhappy? There's so much I should have said before I left, about stuff that can still be, others that never were. It might not have helped either way, but there'd still be the completion of knowing that you tried. If I'm not around that long enough for the opportunity to come, I guess I'll just have to make peace with what has already happened instead of what hasn't. It's all I can do.
Initiates leave before curfew, which surprises me since the Dauntless appear like the type that don't particularly care for following the normal work day routine, but since it's initiation they have to drill in some kind of discipline. At least to Dauntless' definition. I wait near the back again when everyone makes for the parlor entrance and so many bodies converging toward one space makes me feel like I'm tipping into a sinkhole. An older man standing by a tattoo station closest to the entry, hands on his hips with his jacket zipped all the way down, fixes Brandon with a hard stare.
"Comb your hair," he says. Everyone laughs.
That's nice to hear. Happiness. Not the kind that Amity people are associated with, but something more unconventional. A feeling that only bruised knees and busted bleeding knuckles can produce. I didn't even know those things could coexist in such a way where it's the basis for their values; where it marks a newer generation. It makes me wonder what life could have been like if I had transferred to Erudite instead, where a fraction of family waits. Would I have thrived? Or gotten lost in a sea of brains that knew what to do with their intelligence?
I guess I'll never know.
A/N: Thanks for reading!
