Quick thanks to all who reviewed…PrincessDorkatron42, SilverEyeShinobi, and trobiasforever, and sorry if I didn't reply. I still have finals to take…agh. And I lent out my copy of Divergent, so I might not update again until I get it back. Anyway, here's chapter 10.

Breaking The Habit
Chapter Ten: Sighted
Eric

I wake up that morning thinking about Christina. The ghost of a migraine is starting behind my forehead the first sign of withdrawal (though it won't hit in full force for a few days yet), but lucky for me, I have a surplus of Instigate hidden behind the mirror. I stumble out of bed and stare at my reflection in the broken glass. Two of the piercings in my lip are bleeding—I must have been biting my lip while I was asleep. I scratch the dried blood off with my fingernail, hoist the satchel over my shoulder, and leave the room.

As soon as I'm out the door I run headfirst into Four. His eyes fix on the syringe box in my hand, narrow into a glare. He knows exactly what I'm doing, though not where I'm going to do it, for which I am eternally grateful. "You seem busy," he says, words clipped and uncomfortable, "so I won't keep you long. Edward got stabbed in the eye last night. Be prepared for the fallout." He backs away, clearly disgusted by me and my vices. I ignore him, turning instead down a series of deserted hallways pointing the opposite direction, trying to find a place where I can shoot up alone.

It seems I won't have much luck. At the dead end of the last hallway, just out of range of a blue light, someone sits raising a bottle to their lips. I feel anger surge in between my ribs. I thought I was the only one who knew about this place. I step forward into the light and they freeze, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I catch sight of a bruised wrist, tanned skin. Christina.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. In dim illumination I see her open her mouth as if to respond, but then she closes it, remains silent. I hold out my hand, but instead of giving me the bottle like I expect, she presses a small black container I didn't even notice before into my palm. I open it and find about a hundred (probably more) little white pills. I know them well: Sighted, a watered-down, solidified, less addictive version of Instigate, one of the first versions of this particular vein of drug that made it past lab testing, though not for the reason they hoped.

"How did you get this?" I demand, closing the case and holding it up. She bites her lip nervously, and I crouch down so we are at eye level, forcing her to meet my eyes.

"From no one you know." It surprises me how she is able to repress telling the truth, which for some Candor I've met seems to be as instinctual as breathing. But, I remind myself, she isn't Candor anymore. She's Dauntless. The reason she is here is because she didn't fit in with them anymore.

"Why aren't you celebrating with your faction-transfer friends? You're in no danger of being factionless." I know she ranked fourth. Word travels fast, especially during initiation, and the rankings are the subject of gossip and speculation throughout the faction, not just among those who are in close contact with the initiates.

"No, I'm not," she says, glaring at me, "but I stayed up last night to clean blood off the floor because someone got stabbed in the eye. And now he might be factionless." She slumps back against the wall, as if talking about it drained any energy she might have had left, rendering her a boneless pile of sadness. "So I'm not really in a partying mood. Can I have that back?" she asks, nodding at the pill case.

Maybe it's just to annoy her, or maybe I'm desperate for an easy fix, but I shake a few pills into my palm and swallow them dry. They scratch on their way down my throat, but similar to the stinging of the needle, it is a good burn. She glares at me and snatches the case back, closing it with a snap. There are two bottles on the floor next to it. One has liquor in it. The other appears to be water, but it gives me a vicious idea that tears through me with a force I can't resist.

"You don't need those," I say, motioning to the closed pill case. She sets it down slowly, looking curious. Against my better judgment, I reach into my satchel. "I have something better."

There is a part of me that is screaming, that knows this is wrong. I only have so much, and to waste it on someone who doesn't fully appreciate its value might eventually mean the end of me. But the larger part of me that wants, craves, needs, ignores it.

I take a bottle out of the satchel, weighing it in my palm, and break the seal, letting the heavy scent fill the hallway. Hesitantly, she tries to take it from my hands, and I grip it tightly, instinctively. It takes me a moment to remember that she's not going to run off with it, how can she, when she doesn't even know what's in it? So I relinquish control of the bottle and watch her weighing it much like I had.

"What is it?" She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. A satisfied look crosses her face, and I know why. The smell alone is almost as addicting as shooting it up.

"Instigate. Hell and heaven, all in one convenient little bottle. I wouldn't drink it," I say as she raises it to her lips. She stops short, the bottle half a centimeter from her full mouth. "You'll die if you do."

"Then what do you do with it?" Her Candor eyes see too much, but they don't see this. She's still naïve, new to this world. I open the box and take out a syringe. Her face drains of color, much like mine did that first time…

"Are you sure about this?" She wraps a piece of fabric tightly around my bicep, effectively cutting off my circulation. Her slim fingers are quick and precise, touching only where they need to. I want her to stop, to rest her hand on my already-numbing arm and reassure me that we're not going to get caught, that we're going to be fine and this won't affect me in any way. I need it, no matter how stupid it is.

"I know what I'm doing," she answers, rolling her eyes. The needle is frighteningly long and sharp—more so, even, than the ones they use during the aptitude tests. I swallow anxiously as she fills the syringe with a murky brown liquid. "It's watered down," she says in response to my questioning gaze. "If I started you right away with the amount I'm taking, you'd overdose almost immediately."

"I'm not sure I want you sticking a needle in my arm…" she protests, but it sounds halfhearted and unsure. The curiosity in her voice is evident. She wants it, whether she realizes it or not. I grab the second bottle, tasting it first to make sure it's water, and fill the syringe, adding just a few drops of Instigate. Not much…only enough to ensure she feels it.

"This shouldn't hurt." I am tied off nice and tight, so I can barely feel my arm. I don't look as it goes in, but I know when it does. The flash of pain is quick and possibly imagined, but the pressure is not. "It'll take a few minutes to kick in," she says, preparing a second syringe for herself, this one less diluted than the first. "But it'll feel good when it does. Trust me."

So I sit and wait while she shoots up, and then for a few more minutes after that, and just when I am beginning to doubt her, I feel it.

And everything changes.

I find the piece of fabric and carefully loop it around her arm, tying it expertly. The first time I tried to do it on myself my hands shook so badly that after a few minutes I gave up and just stuck the needle in. The whole time I'm pulling the knot taut against her arm, flesh and muscle, she watches me nervously. "This is safe, right?"

"Trust me," I say as the needle slides under her skin. I press down slowly, looking her in the eyes the whole time. "I know what I'm doing."