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Rated T: swearing, mentions of violence and guns.
Constructive criticism is welcome!
Enjoy!
Chapter Three
The library was dark, dank and looked like it hadn't been touched in years. It couldn't even really be called a library, more of a closet with shelves, if she were being honest.
Henley crept forward; scared to make a noise, worried it would cause the books to crumble to dust. There wasn't even a librarian; just a small counter with an old machine perched on top that sounded like it was on its last legs, humming loudly and erratically. She scanned the shelves, going even deeper into the dark abyss, eventually reaching the back corner where a rotting, rickety desk stood. The book she needed was sitting innocently on the shelf above it, dirty and musty but in her desperate state, absolutely beautiful.
She grabbed the book, carefully placing it on the table and settling into the wooden chair. She delicately opened the cover, coughing at the plume of dust and mould that assaulted her nose. Her heart started thumping excitedly as she read a page, shifting happily in her seat as she turned to the first chapter.
The book outlined various martial arts and fighting techniques smaller people could employ to win, stressing the use of the whole body as a weapon and utilising an opponent's power against them. It was exactly what she needed and she almost wept with relief in that miserable, quiet corner of Dauntless.
Minutes could have passed, or hours, days even and she would not have noticed as she sat there and devoured that book, absorbing every detail. She had found an old notebook and blunt pencil at the back of a creaking drawer in the desk and started taking messy but detailed notes, filling page after page with new moves and techniques that she was desperate to try straight away.
Henley was so immersed in her new lifeline that she didn't notice she wasn't alone until a low voice spoke right into her ear. "What are you doing, initiate?"
She jumped several feet in the air, almost going into cardiac arrest at the sudden interruption. "Shit!" she exclaimed, whirling around to face what she hoped wasn't a ghost.
Even worse, it was Eric.
He was leaning against a bookshelf, eyes dark and shadowed in the poorly lit aisle, looking almost relaxed, although that made him infinitely more dangerous. His tattoos appeared to be living darkness in this light, contrasting harshly with the pale skin of his smooth throat. She couldn't read the expression on his face; it was too shrouded in darkness, lending to the threatening aura that always seemed to surround him. He stood directly behind her, uncomfortably close in an effort to intimidate her.
She stared blankly at him.
"Well?" Eric asked again, his voice taking on a dangerous edge that dared her to continue ignoring him.
"Reading." She said flatly, turning back to her book and dismissing him entirely.
He didn't take it well. A low snarl broke the tense silence that had cloaked them and he grabbed her chair, somehow whirling her around without touching her. If she weren't so irritated she would have been impressed.
He loomed over the chair, boxing her into it as he braced his hands on either side of her. "Want to try that again, Amity?"
She sighed, blowing a small, delicate puff of air into his face. "No, not really," she replied, shocking even herself at how brazen she was being. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a voice was screaming at her to shut up, for fuck's sake, do you want to die? She ignored it.
He gritted his teeth, visibly restraining himself. "You don't belong here, Amity. You're not brave, you're just stupid and even worse, you're weak." He moved away, grabbing her book and quickly scanning the title, turning to her with that cold, mocking grin. "You think this will help you? Some book?" He shook his head in faux sympathy. "You're even dumber than I thought."
She flinched back and he smirked victoriously, sensing he had struck a nerve and leaning into her personal space again. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I won't forget your little attitude. I will punish you for it, maybe an hour from now, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week. Who knows? But it will happen and you will regret it."
She was too tired for this shit, too tired for everything. "I doubt it."
His face turned momentarily feral before he schooled into back into that icy, unfeeling mask. "Watch yourself, Amity. There are fates far worse than being factionless."
She glared at him, defiant and angry. "What are you even doing here?"
A sardonic smirk. "Reading."
She gritted her teeth, giving him a sarcastic smile. "Funny."
He moved back and she tried not to show how relieved she was, suddenly able to breathe freely again. He noticed her reaction and looked smug, moving into the aisle next to hers and manoeuvring through the tightly packed space with effortless grace. She could see him through a gap in the shelves, watching as he ran a finger over the spine of a heavy book.
Henley debated with herself internally, wondering whether she should get up and leave, thus escaping him, or whether she should stay just to spite him. In the end, her stubbornness won out and she remained, refusing to let him cow her into running away. He could be the first one to leave. She would stay there all night if she had to.
She went back to her book, spine stiff and hyper aware of him as he prowled the library, silent and predatory. She tried to focus on the words of the page but it was difficult to notice anything but his presence. She read the same line over and over again as he picked up books from various shelves and she resisted the almost burning urge to turn around and watch what he was doing.
Eventually, he sat at a desk in far better condition than Henley's in the next aisle. She could see the edge of his sharp jawline through a dusty shelf and had to stop herself from groaning in frustration. Why had he sat there? Why couldn't he just go away? She gritted her teeth and turned back to her book, stuck on the same page for what felt like an eternity.
Henley didn't know how long they sat there. It must have been hours. Her muscles were stiff, eyes blurry and stomach rumbling and yet she refused to leave, refused to back down. She had definitely missed dinner. She sighed, imagining all the burgers she was missing, all the chocolate cake she wasn't eating and very seriously considered leaving when Eric shifted in his chair, reminding her that she could not, would not, submit to him and scurry away like a scared little mouse.
Henley had no doubt that Eric knew what she was doing, knew that they were in some kind of weird contest even if he did not acknowledge her. Well, she thought, jokes on him because I babysat toddlers and small children for years. I know how win a battle of wills. No adult could ever quite match the stubbornness of a four year old in a temper tantrum.
Dusk descended on them and the already shadowed library grew even dimmer. Henley had to strain her eyes to read the page in front of her and she wished she had some kind of lamp or flashlight. Eric still sat in the aisle next to her, silent save for the occasional turn of the page. A thick, competitive tension fuelled by mutual animosity had been filling the room for hours and she couldn't help but think of all toddlers she had been forced to look after in Amity. They used to sit in stony silence and pout after arguments, moody and stubbornly clinging to whatever issue that had upset them. Even though Henley's silent struggle with Eric was almost comically similar, she couldn't imagine Eric as a kid, as anything other than the Achilles type warrior he exemplified.
She glanced over her notes, overwhelmed at the sheer amount of work she had ahead of her. There was no way she could learn an entirely new style of fighting from just one book, she had to grudgingly admit that Eric was right in that regard, but she could incorporate some of its techniques into the style she currently studied. She could adjust the moves she already knew to suit her size and weight, using this book as her guide.
Slowly, Henley started to drift off. She tried to fight it but the library was warm and dark and she was so, so tired. She couldn't resist sleep's alluring pull any longer and she eventually passed out on that old, flimsy table, losing herself to the world of dreams.
When she woke up, it was in the early hours of the next morning. Her back was stiff, she had an agonising crick in her neck but a broad, victorious smile lit up her face. Eric was gone. She had outlasted him. She had won.
Henley had settled into a comfortable routine. Every morning she would drag herself out of bed and just barely make it to class on time. She would suffer through whatever torture Eric had cooked up for her that day and endure their morning exercises before gratefully stuffing her face at lunch. In the afternoon she would work on her fitness, lose miserably in a sparring match and then rush off to find Zeke once training ended. Zeke would pout and grumble but still follow her to the empty training room, helping her adjust the techniques she had learnt in the textbook and practice on him, giving her tips of his own. Sometimes Bella would join them, lounging on a mat as she chewed on some kind of candy and yelling out encouragement or insults, depending on how well Henley was doing.
Gradually, Henley could feel the iron fist of panic and fear that had held her hostage for so many weeks steadily loosening its grip the more she improved. She still had yet to try out her new fighting style in class but she wanted to perfect it before she did, wishing to avoid making a fool of herself and retain her element of surprise.
She started to walk around with far more cheer, despite the constant colourful array of purple and blue bruises that decorated her body. It seemed to drive Vincent insane trying to figure out why she was so upbeat when she was right at the bottom of the board and why she wasn't afraid of him even after he had beaten her unconscious.
Distantly, Henley knew this couldn't last, knew that there was a very real chance that she wouldn't make it, despite her best efforts, and that even if she did it was likely that not all her friends would but she wanted to cling on to this small bubble of happiness for as long as possible. Here, in Dauntless, she had the opportunity to be whoever she wanted, she could say what she thought, act however she pleased and no one would try to lock her in a room and drug her up for it. She was almost drunk on the freedom.
Poke.
"Hey, idiot, wake the fuck up."
Poke. Poke.
Henley frowned, scrunching her nose in her sleep and trying to swat the hand away.
"Henley, if you're late again Eric will, very literally, have your head. Get up."
Henley groaned, cracking one eye open to peer at Bella from her cocoon of blankets. "Fuck off."
"Sorry, babes, you did this to yourself," Bella said completely unapologetically.
One moment, Henley was warm in the soft embrace of her bed, the next she was hitting the cold, concrete floor with a loud smack that echoed around the room. "Eugh," she grunted on impact, the dull pain vibrating through her elbows.
"I told you," Bella smiled, "to get the fuck up. Move it, Taylor, or face Eric's wrath."
Henley staggered up off the floor.
Despite the rude, and frankly unnecessarily violent, wake up call, Henley was begrudgingly grateful for it. Bella got a concerning kick out of shoving people from their beds but, nevertheless, she did it because she cared.
"Finally, I can't believe today is actually here!" Eliza exclaimed at breakfast, delicately placing a square of buttered toast in her mouth.
"Wha's happening t'day?" Henley asked around a mouthful of pancake, the sticky, sweet syrup dripping from her chin.
Bella sighed deeply, taking a napkin and wiping Henley's chin with it while the girl in question squirted even more syrup onto her plate. "Today is when they introduce us to weapons training. We have officially been here for three months."
Henley tried to gasp in excitement but instead inhaled some pancake, choking loudly. Eliza rolled her eyes as Henley managed to dislodge the food from her throat, taking large, greedy gulps of water while Bella snickered into hand.
Eliza levelled Henley with an exasperated look. "How are you even still alive?"
Henley's hair whipped furiously around her head as the wind engulfed their class in a miniature tornado. She glared half-heartedly at the sky, trying to shove the errant curls from her eyes. It didn't matter how many hairbands she used, how many bobby pins, her hair always somehow got loose.
"How does your hair always end up a mess?" Bella whispered as they watched Four demonstrate how to properly load a gun.
"I don't know," Henley replied, "it's my curse, my burden."
Bella snorted, rolling her eyes.
Henley nudged her with a pointed elbow. "You're hair isn't much better, so I don't know what you're laughing about."
They were on a roof, somewhere deep in Dauntless territory. Four was going over the basics of proper gun etiquette while the class tried not to crowd him in their eagerness. They were like small puppies, wriggling with excitement and enthusiasm at the chance to use a real gun. Eric lounged on the wall behind Four, uninterested and using a sharp knife to cut up a blood red apple.
Four finished his instructions, leading them over to the row of targets at the end of the roof, showing them a white line taped to the floor that they were expressly forbidden to cross. He handed out the weapons, warily eyeing a particularly eager and notoriously clumsy initiate.
Henley was shocked at how heavy the gun was, the cool metal biting into her gloveless hands. Four had made it look so easy as he had dismantled and reassembled his own weapon, smoothly handling a machine that could kill everyone there in a mere heartbeat.
The class lined up their shots, double checking that their ear protection was in place and switching off the safety. Four didn't give them a count down or a time limit, instead letting them adjust on their own terms, getting a feel for the gun before they fired it. The only advice he had given them was to be careful of the recoil.
Henley eyed her target down the barrel of her gun, the sensation of holding it uncomfortable but not unpleasant. She didn't want to be the first one to make a shot, reluctant to embarrass herself but she was getting impatient. She knew the others were waiting for someone else to take the first step, and inevitably fail, so that their own first attempt wouldn't look half as bad. Henley knew that by taking the first shot she was playing right into their hands but she couldn't help herself; it was getting boring just standing there.
She aimed her gun at the target, standing tall with her feet shoulder length apart. Using her left hand to steady it, she adjusted the position of her weapon, lifting it slightly higher so the gun was level with the centre of the target. Henley took a deep breath and held it, steadying herself. She fired.
The recoil jolted her, forcing her to stumble back as the bullet went wide, hitting the brick wall with a sharp crack. Despite the failure, Henley let out a loud shout, grinning widely from ear to ear and breathless as adrenaline pumped through her veins.
Predictably, Vincent tried to mock her. "Nice shot," he sneered, "maybe you'll be able to hit the target in a few years time."
"Big words for someone who hasn't fired a single bullet yet," she threw back, lining up her next shot.
The tip of Vincent's ears turned a dark red and he glared murderously but turned back to his own gun, scowling at his target.
Bella gave her a fist bump before firing off her own shot, letting out a big cheer when it hit the corner of the board. Not quite the target but far closer than Henley's first attempt had been. They grinned at each other and Henley gave her quick high five, slightly envious, but still pleased for her brown-eyed friend.
Henley's next five shots all missed, hitting the decaying brick wall instead of the board, leaving behind small smoking dents. It was no worse than anyone else but it still bugged her, like an itch she couldn't scratch. This didn't require physical strength, just good eyesight, good instincts and a bit of talent – why shouldn't she be able to do it? Gritting her teeth, she aimed her gun at the centre ring again, spreading her feet slightly further apart than she had before, trying to better prepare for the kickback.
She inhaled deeply once more, lungs rising and muscles relaxing. Time seemed to slow as she stared at the target and the wind swirled around her before dying down, leaving everything still, calm. She pulled the trigger. The force of the gun resonated through her body but she was ready for it this time, holding steady, watching as the bullet blurred forward and hit the target dead centre.
A hush fell over the rooftop. Henley stared in shock, not quite believing her eyes.
"Beginner's luck," one of Vincent's friends called out, giving her a nasty look. She ignored him, heart racing in anticipation as she repeated her position.
She fired again. It hit the centre. She fired once more. It landed dead on target. She fired over and over and almost every time the bullet hit the target exactly where she wanted it to.
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright and shining, and she felt like she could do anything; be anyone. She felt strong and invincible, as though no one could touch her, couldn't make her do anything against her will; couldn't lock her away. Like the ocean, bottomless, powerful, unmovable; a force not to be trifled with. It could have been the adrenaline speaking, or the rush of finally being good at something but Henley, for the first time since arriving in Dauntless, felt like she had accomplished something, like maybe she could belong here.
The afternoon passed quickly after that and by the end of the class Henley could hit the middle ring with deadly accuracy every time. Vincent had been slowly growing more and more infuriated with every compliment she received, every pat on the back. He wasn't bad with a gun but it was clear that he thought he would be far more proficient than he actually turned out to be. His jealousy became a living thing, a demon whispering in his ear, poisoning his thoughts and making the air around him toxic.
Four called it a day as the sun started to descend past the horizon, bathing them all in an orange glow. Henley's breath caught in her throat as she stopped and stared at the sky, the way the pinks, purples and blues all bled into one another, like ink dropped in water, swirling and changing, every mix of colour beautiful. The sight made her heart ache. It was the first sunset she had seen in months and it sent a small pang through her chest.
"Henley," a voice to her left called and she was jostled as someone heavy shook her, "sometimes I forget how Amity you are. Only one of you banjo strumming softies would look at a sunset like that."
She identified the voice as Felix but could not bring herself to tear her eyes away from the sky. "You don't think it's beautiful?" she asked softly, still distracted.
"Of course, but I'm not so taken by it that I'm going to become oblivious to the world around me and hold people up."
"Huh?" She finally dragged her gaze away from the picturesque scene above her, looking around in confusion. Sure enough, she had stopped right by the exit, blocking the doorway.
Felix and Bella stood behind her wearing identical amused smiles. Thankfully, they appeared to be the only people she was inconveniencing, the rest of their class having eagerly scurried off as soon as they could, probably to use the limited hot water available while it was still there.
"Oh," Henley laughed, moving to the side. "Sorry, I just got distracted."
"We know," Bella said, marching down the stairs. Felix swiftly followed and Henley took one last, wistful glance at the setting sun, intending to go after them.
A small flash of movement caught her eye, however, and she turned back, locking gazes with Eric who was watching her intently. His stare was cold and assessing, like he was trying to take her apart to see her insides and find out what made her tick. He caught her looking and glared, lips twisting angrily before he bared his teeth at her in a hostile sneer.
Henley scowled at him in return, raising a challenging brow before she smirked and strolled off to join her friends. She wasn't scared of him. She knew she should be; knew he should terrify her but somehow she just couldn't find it within herself to care. Her mother had always said she was reckless, had always predicted it would be her downfall.
The initiates had discovered pretty early on that dinner was far more casual than the semi-formal meal of their first night. Normally, the leaders sat wherever they pleased, free to mingle with their friends and family, although they were mostly found breaking up the small scuffles that sometimes broke out.
Henley's small group of friends sat and watched in amusement as Shiro, one of the Dauntless born initiates, got into it with his older brother, wrestling him to the ground and smashing anything delicate in the immediate area. Maria Sanchez, a leader of thirty who had a reputation for being a hard-ass easily broke them up, rolling her eyes in exasperation. She threw the two boys apart and turned to Henley's table, striding over and coming to a stop in front of her, hands on her hips and face stern.
"Hey, kid," she jerked her chin at Henley. "I saw what you did with that gun today. If you make it through initiation," she gave Henley a quick, unimpressed once-over, "then hit me up – I run the sniper division." She didn't give Henley a chance to reply, turning away and joining her friends to eat before Henley could so much as blink.
She turned to her friends in awe. "Holy shit."
Things were finally starting to look up.
Thank you for reading!