Hey guys! This fangirl just finished her exams and is hyped to be getting you a new chapter! I know the last chapter was a little bit of a cliffhanger so I hope you enjoy this chapter. Just a warning, it's a little dark, a little sad, so I'm putting a trigger warning on this chapter for alcoholism and alcohol abuse. Nevertheless, enjoy!
It's Eric.
I'm immediately sober. All of the other initiates have long disappeared – not even some of my friends stuck around. Did Eric tell them to leave? He'll probably issue some form of cruel punishment in tomorrow's training.
With a gulp I meet his eyes. I'm faced with his usual cool exterior, but this time I can see his anger. In the dark, I can only just see the flame of rage that burns in his eyes, but it's there. His fists clench by his sides, and it looks almost as if he is shaking in anger. Eric is dark, threatening – and I'm not stupid enough to ignore the fact that I could be in danger right now. It's unmistakable when Eric is angry. Immediately I avert my gaze, too ashamed to hold his stare. Or maybe too scared.
I guess it's a bit of both.
Eric hasn't even put on a jacket, despite the chill of night that I can suddenly feel settling into my bones. The warm, giddy feeling of the alcohol in my system has gone and left me shivering. I tell myself that it's only from the cold.
I shuffle my feet slightly, my cheeks the only warm thing about me. I knew I shouldn't have done this, it was obvious that the night would end in disaster. Surely, the Dauntless leaders have dealt with so many initiate classes get drunk and play truth or dare on their first night that they're poised to break it up as soon as it starts. As a Dauntless born, Calla should have known better.
Wiping my suddenly sweaty palms down my hips, I force myself to pull my head up. It's within the spirit of Dauntless to stand up for yourself. To do dangerous stunts for some cheap thrills. I shouldn't be ashamed of being unafraid – I was brave enough to pull off a deadly dare and I managed it. Surely that should just show the leaders, Eric, that I'm Dauntless through and through.
I try to take a step towards him – towards the train tracks – but as soon as I lift my foot off the ground I stumble. Okay, so maybe I'm not as sober as I thought I was. That's something that I could actually get in trouble for.
"Are you drunk?" Eric questions. There is a certain sound of demand in his voice that makes me feel as if he already knows the answer, and is just asking to strike some fear into me.
I don't answer him and attempt to take another couple of steps. After one or two successful movements, suddenly I'm rushing through the air and just as I think I'm about to fall to the ground right in front of Eric – and prove him right – two warm hands wrap around my waist, a little rough and a little too tight. I let out a little hiss, slapping at the hands and trying to pick myself up.
"Let me go," I spit. It's humiliating to be seen in this state, and I don't want this to get back to Zeke and Uriah. They'd be so angry.
"You're drunk. I'm taking you home." Eric's voice is dark. I flinch slightly at the barely concealed anger that I can hear in it.
I push off him and make a break for the train tracks. Eric merely growls and stalks after me.
It takes too long a time to get home, and every second of it is more agonising than the last as I feel Eric's silent glare at me the whole time. Any sane person would be terrified right now – I certainly should be – but it's the soul-crushing dread I feel for when I get home that causes me to shake instead. I can only imagine how disappointed my brothers will be. I could never bring myself to knowingly hurt them. Tonight is like a punch in the gut for me, a forced reality check. I should have known that if I started drinking with the other initiates, I'd get out of hand. The shame bearing down on me is almost as bad as the concern for my brothers, who will no doubt find out eventually.
I've relapsed, and I don't know how I'd cope if my brothers found out.
I frown as I realise that Eric is not leading me to the initiate dormitory, but instead to where I lived with Uri and Zeke. Immediately I panic – I can't face them yet. Not while I'm not completely sober, there'll be too many questions that I can't answer, that I don't want to answer. I needed at least a night to gather my thoughts and find an explanation.
"No, Eric, you don't understand – I can't see my brothers right now," I plead with him, struggling against the vice-like grip he has on my wrist as he drags me through the compound. "Please,"
Eric just ignores me. By the time we're at the apartment, I'm shaking uncontrollably. He stands me right in front of it, facing him with my back to the door.
"You explain to me, right now, why you're so terrified to see your brothers, and maybe I won't make you."
His gaze is cold. The venom in his voice sends shivers down my spine.
"I- I can't," I break, my eyes stinging with tears that I refuse to let him see. For a second, he just stares, and I wonder if he's going to let me off easy this time. But then, he raises his arm and raps on the door three times before striding away, leaving me by myself to deal with my brothers.
The door creaks slightly as it swings open and I whirl round to see Uriah, clad only in a t-shirt and some pyjama trousers, his curly mob of hair tousled in an even bigger mess than usual. I can't meet his eyes, instead I look down at the ground, cradling my arms to myself in an attempt to stop the shaking.
"Clara?" Uriah questions. "Hey, what's up? Why aren't you in the dorm?"
The warmth, the caring in his voice is the final straw and I break. I rush at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his t-shirt. I heave with sobs, my eyes streaming with tears and soaking his t-shirt through.
"Sweetheart," His voice cracks slightly. One of his hands comes down to stroke my hair. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head into his chest and only sob harder. As if he just realised we're still standing in front of the door, he lifts me up, so that my legs wrap around his hips and he carries me, like a koala, over to the couch. Setting me down carefully, he sits half-on half-off the couch, facing me completely. I sniffle a little as I try to regain my composure.
"Sweets...you smell like -" He cuts himself off immediately. I can almost hear the realisation in his voice. "Have you been drinking?"
When I don't answer him, he sighs. He pulls me into a tight hug, and I can feel his warm skin press against my own freezing touch.
"I though you gave up drinking," He murmurs. There is a resounding sadness in his voice that sends a pang of pain right through me. But the next voice that sounds through the room crushes me completely.
"I thought so too." It's cold, unnaturally so. I can't remember the last time I heard Zeke's voice sound like this.
I pull away from Uriah and look up to see my eldest brother standing in the doorway. With a cry, I make a start towards him, but he takes a step back, and I stop in my tracks.
"Eric came to the control room to tell me what happened," Zeke says. There isn't an ounce of emotion in his voice. "I ran here."
I collapse back down onto the couch and hide my face in my hands in a pathetic attempt to stop myself from crying again. It doesn't work.
"You haven't drank in years, Clara." The way he says my voice, as if he can barely even look at me, tells me all I need to know about how my brother is feeling right now. Disappointment doesn't even begin to cover it. My worst fears turned out to come true – my brothers will never forgive me for this.
It was a year after I moved to Dauntless that I went of the deep end again. Not suicide this time, thankfully, I don't believe that my body could have survived another attempt, but with drinking. Dauntless was so different, so scary that I felt like I needed some sort of relief. It was the first time I'd ever drank – with alcohol being a forbidden selfishness in Abnegation and not legally being allowed to drink anyway, it's needless to say that my first drink had me drunk within seconds. And when I stumbled home that night, thirteen years old, Zeke, only three years older, had needed to clean me up. He'd looked after me every time – and every time I promised him that I'd never touch a drink ever again. And like always, the next night I'd be hurling into the toilet and sobbing my eyes out. I can't even begin to imagine the pain that Zeke must feel right now.
It took me a long time to fit into Dauntless, and I guess those first years were so tough that I chose to get drunk every night rather than acknowledge what I had done to be kicked out of my home. Thankfully, I eventually found my way. Zeke and Uri started training me, and I chose learning how to fight and training myself to be the best possible over drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I hadn't touched alcohol until tonight. And of course, it got out of control.
"...I'm so sorry, Zeke," I breathe. Tears run down my face without stopping, and some of my hair sticks to my cheeks. I swallow, trying to find words to explain what happened to my brothers, but there's an unmovable lump in my throat preventing me from speaking. I just shake my head and look at the ground.
For a moment, there is nothing except a painful, torturous silence. It is broken only the clock on the mantelpiece chiming once – for one in the morning. Zeke's night shift wouldn't normally end for another couple of hours.
I jump as a warm hand wraps around mine, tugging me up from where I sit on the couch, and I stumble forward a bit.
"Come on," Uriah murmurs, leading me to my bedroom. I follow him, my feet dragging on the floor, my head hanging. It's as if I was thirteen again, as he sits me down on the bed and crouches before me, helping me take off my shoes as I am shaking too much to do so myself.
"Uri..." I start as he goes to leave, but he just offers me a sad smile. I knew this would end badly. I should have thought more about how my actions would affect my brothers.
I crawl into my bed as soon as Uriah leaves the room. Through the walls, I can hear Uriah shouting at Zeke and I only hold my pillow tighter as their voices only die down.
I don't sleep that night. All I can think about is how I have to make this up to my brothers.
…
I'm up at five the next morning. My head pounds with every strike I lay on the punchbag, but I don't let it stop me. I have to work through this – get through my anger at myself, escape, even momentarily, the unshakable feeling of guilt that twists in my gut whenever I think about my brothers. I have to show them that they can trust me. I don't want them to be angry at me. I don't ever want to hurt them again.
I punch the bag again, but this time I follow through with a kick. It's so strong I feel the impact rush through my muscles and it pushes me off balance. I fall, but at the same time, the bag releases one last creak before it splits open, sand spilling out onto the floor by my feet. I pant, cursing under my breath.
"You'll, have to pay for that, initiate." I don't need to turn around to know that it's Eric. After withering in exhaustion and self-loathing all night, the sudden rush of anger I feel towards him takes me off guard. I pick myself off the ground, slowly, and force myself onto my feet. I'm still slightly unsteady.
"What, you going to go tell my brothers this too?" I spit at him. He doesn't even look phased by my comment – it's as if he doesn't care. But I've always known he doesn't – why does his indifference feel just like another blow to me?
"Watch your mouth," He snaps. After everything – my brothers, my relapse, and now Eric's snide comments, it's too much. I explode.
"I hate you," I seethe. I march right up to him, poking my finger into his chest. "You ruin everything."
It's only then that I see a slight flicker in his resolve. But immediately, it's replaced by anger.
"You think I wanted to deal with a couple of drunk initiates last night?" He scoffs. "I have more important things to do than to deal with some childish brats."
I take a step back, shaking my head in disgust.
"There's nothing childish about what happened last night," I hiss at him. He has no idea about what truly happened last night – he could never begin to imagine the consequences I have to face for one stupid mistake – one simple mistake that he hasn't ceased to punish me for.
"And what did happen last night? Why the fuck are you so angry with me?" He demands. I can hear the obvious anger in his voice, but that's not it. Masked by the shouting, it's almost as if he's hurt too. I'm directing all my anger that I have for myself at Eric, and I need to stop, because I know that if I push Eric too far he'll snap. And while I don't want to admit, he scares me a little.
My rage collapses in on itself, and all my emotions finally catch up with me.
"Nothing, Eric," I mutter in defeat. "Nothing happened."
He curses.
"I'm excusing myself from training today," I say quickly before he can demand that I tell him, my voice shamefully small. "I have a headache and need to recover."
In any other instance, I know Eric would forbid me from skipping training like this. He would rage and shout and force me to run laps of the compound for even considering the idea of not turning up. Before Eric showed up, I was all ready to force my way through today, and return to the dorm at the end of the day so exhausted that I would be able to fall asleep without thinking about anything. But now... it's not just physical exhaustion any more. And I know that Eric feels just as mentally exhausted as I do.
He doesn't say a word as I leave the training room, my workout long forgotten. Despite my anger at Eric, I somehow feel even worse now than I did before.
…
I spend most of the day wandering the compound, looking in various shops in the pit, and browsing tattoo designs. Despite the importance of physical fitness and practicality to me, looking through dresses and other clothes has always brought me joy. It might explain why I never really fitted into Abnegation – I take too much pride in my appearance to have accepted their way of life. I'm a strong believer that women can be both physically strong, but also have a pretty, traditionally feminine side. Honestly, trying on pretty pink dresses and twirling in the changing room is something I have taken to doing when I feel sad, besides working out. I allow myself to forget temporarily that I could never wear these dresses because of my scars, and pretend that I am a totally different person.
Today is no different. The gorgeous dresses, in all sorts of vibrant colours, not just black, momentarily take my mind off my brothers. I end up buying a pretty blue skirt, purely because it makes me feel good about myself. I don't know when I'll have the chance to wear it, but I feel like I need a little brightness to my day.
As I exit the shop, I stand opposite the tattoo parlour. There's been an idea swimming around my head for my first tattoo for a while, something symbolic. I know that getting it would make my brothers proud. They'd understand it. But today, after what happened last night, I don't feel is the best time to get inked. Instead, I decide to head back to the apartment. I have a plan to make everything up to my brothers.
I'm never letting something like this happen again.
…
It's around seven in the evening, and the apartment smells of cooking. I'm making our favourite dishes – all sorts of foods. I even stopped by the kitchens and got some chocolate cake, knowing that my brothers love it so much. My laptop is set up on the living room table, a bunch of horror movie DVDs sitting next to it. I know it's not perfect, but it's a start. I want to try to make up for the suffering my brothers suffered last night.
Zeke is the first to arrive.
He unlocks the door and enters the apartment, and when he sees me, a small frown forms on his face. I quickly brush myself down as I turn to face him, albeit nervously.
He looks me up and down, taking in my blonde curls which have been swept up into a slightly too messy bun, and my flour stained apron, before looking around the room. His expression is unreadable.
"What are you doing?" He asks, hesitant. His cropped hair is neat, the way he likes it to be for his work, and he's wearing his usual all black. The dark smudges under his eyes aren't prominent on his caramel skin, but I notice it. I've always noticed when something is wrong with Zeke. My feelings of hope suddenly feel childish and silly, and I wish I could just get rid of everything I've cooked and sink into the floor. Of course he doesn't want to talk to me right now.
I look down at the floor.
"I wanted to make it up to you two," I speak quietly.
My words hang in the air and for a long time, nobody moves. I'm about to turn and hide in my room before Zeke finally moves.
In a few strides he's across the room, and I'm enveloped in a spine-crushing hug. I breathe a sigh of relief, tears springing to my eyes and offer silent thanks to my brother, who despite everything, still is able to forgive me.
"I was so worried..." He whispers, and then, in an even quieter voice, "I love you, Clara."
I hug him tighter. My brother, through many struggles, my rock. I'm never letting anything come between us again.
Is it just me who felt some extreme feels for Zeke and Uriah this chapter? I can't get enough of them. Let me know what you think, lovelies! Until next chapter!
