Tuvia:
Ioni and Shmuel...I can't believe them. I mean, being hostile and annoying in Amity is practically taboo, but hitting some random girl is just...well, let's just say they'd be Factionless faster than you can say "sorry".
I meant to talk to Avigayil last night, maybe comfort her by giving her my support against the two thugs, but I was too sore in the thighs and shoulders from such intense, unfamiliar training to do much more than wash up and go to bed, blocking out any other noise but the sound of my own drowsily buzzing head.
I wake up this morning reluctantly at six-forty, roused by rolling half off of my bed and feeling the absence of solid mass under the left side of my torso, hanging off the edge. I attempt vainly to return to my slumber, not wanting to peel myself up and condemn myself to a rerun of yesterday's pain and violence. I wonder whether I'm the first one up or not, when I see a figure straighten up slowly from a mattress. Ohad, the gentle giant, looks around, his feet planted on the floor. Careful not to wake his friends, he prances around on his tiptoes, looking like a dancing tree in the dim light. I crack a smile at this simile, and I rise to begin my day.
On my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I meet up with Avigayil, who must have woken up while I was changing - I'll admit, I wasn't exactly being as graceful as Ohad the Dancing Tree. A toothbrush vigorously moving back and forth in her mouth, she nods a curt "hello". I whip out my hair gel - I always place a bit at just the front of my hairline, to keep this big mop out of my eyes, but still curling wildly - and meticulously begin working on my hair, making sure the curls look glossy, not frizzy.
While I style, I begin talking, a few octaves quieter than usual, since it's early. "Hey, Avigayil, I just want to tell you that I think you're right. Shmuel and Ioni are...all those things you called them and more. If you get the opportunity to crush them, have me in mind," I tell Avigayil.
She gives me a grateful, toothpaste-covered, awkward smile, then spits out the mint-flavored mess. "Thanks, Tuvia, and keep me in mind, too, if you beat one up," She chuckles, then turns off the faucet to go get dressed.
Dressed in my black shorts and T-shirt, I stand an hour later among the others where we stood yesterday, but lacking guns this time.
"Today," Tris projects from her tiny frame. "We'll be trying something new - to some, at least. We'll be doing hand-to-hand combat, no weapons, to the dismay, I'm sure, of a few of you," She takes a few steps closer to the far right of our row. I lean my head forward and look over to see that she's talking about Shmuel and Ioni.
I try not to snicker, because I'm pretty sure Four would kill me for that. Tris, a foot away from the jerks, suddenly pivots away, and continues speaking, "A few of you are familiar with this section of Dauntless education," She turns and glares at Shahar, who is standing two people to the left of me; Shahar, in return, swivels her head nervously to the right, to look instead at Four.
Four decides, probably hoping to prevent three murders by this girl, to take over speaking, nonverbally forcing Tris to take over his job of standing quietly and looking nonchalantly intimidating. "We'll be assigning fight partners:
"Tuvia and Ioni; Sivan and Ohad; Shmuel and Yaakov; Avigayil and Lele; and, Shahar and Margalit."
Tris jumps up before Four can say anything else. "I trust you've all seen the basics, yesterday, and Four and I won't have to demonstrate," She flashes a smile, half "hey - when - this - is - all - over - and - you're - Dauntless - I'm - really - a - nice - person", and half "die - weaklings - die".
I look past the two to see a thin, wide mat on the floor. Sivan, standing next to me, leans gently against my side, and I feel her shaking a bit. I look at her to see a complete wreck of the confident, goofy Sivan I have known during my short time as a Dauntless Initiate. Her eyes are red and watery, and she's muttering unintelligible things under her breath. She can't make contact with people, and this is freaking straight-up physical contact! But Four and Tris can't see this, or she'll get kicked out first.
I tilt my head down a bit and whisper, "Sivan, put on a brave face. I'll...I'll buy you, uh, soap. And, if you win, I'll get an ice cream cake for you. Besides, Ohad showered this morning, before most of the others were awake. He's clean," I assure her quietly. She sniffs, then nods.
"Tuvia and Ioni, you're up first," She instructs, now seeming more indifferent and less bloodthirsty when she stops talking about yesterday's battle.
With Sivan's problem taken care of, I look around for the poser I'm supposed to beat up. He steps forward from the line, staring menacingly at me. I raise a condescending eyebrow at Ioni, but I approach him. We stand four feet apart on the mat, when I'm overcome with a horrible anger, flooding my mouth with the metallic taste of desired bloodshed, and my eyes pulsate in my head.
"You...phony," I growl at him, just barely quiet enough that nobody can hear me. "You know what? You never were my friend, not even as little kids." I thrust an uppercut punch to his chin, savoring the feeling of his slightly pudgy skin shaping itself around my knuckles. His head jerks, and I shove a foot into his rib, pushing forward and down a bit, and jump onto him, so I have Ioni nailed down. To insure his stabilization, I quickly take his arms, fold them like he's wearing an invisible straitjacket over his slightly rotund stomach, and kneel on them, forcing my knees into his wrists. He cries out in pain, but I'm not giving him mercy.
I lean my face toward his, five inches apart. "You snobbish, evil brat..." I spit in his face, but he smiles, his face shining with sweat and my saliva slowly dripping down his cheeks and into his ears, since he's on his back.
"You're nothing but a fool, Tu-Tu," He taunts. Tu-Tu was his nickname for me...when we were friends. "You think I'm on the decline here?" He brings up his knee, a part of Ioni that I'd neglected to restrain, hitting my lower spine.
I surge forward from the impact, falling over so my slightly bony torso crashes onto Ioni's face. I think I feel a pop against my ribs, and Ioni rolls me off of him. I look at him, now working laboriously to stand, confirming that his nose, indeed, is gushing a crimson waterfall down his shirt, and is likely broken. The blood flow isn't too visible when it reaches his black shirt, but the disgusting coppery smell of blood fills our mat.
This seems not to bother Ioni at all and, once he's on his feet, he full-on tackles me, grabbing my black curls and twisting my hair - my best feature! Praying he didn't just mess up my appearance for the next few months, I try to roll him off, the way Ioni did before, but he's managed to cover most areas of me that could fight back - knees, arms, abdomen.
"This is the bottom line," he wheezes through the red streaks on his face. He punches me across the face, leaving me with a burning pain in my cheek and jaw, and the taste of blood wraps around my tongue. I struggle against his hold, and I nearly get out of his grip, both of us being as slippery and blood-soaked as we are, but he perseveres in his desire for victory, reaching murderously for my throat, a killer's leer on his ugly face. Whoa, I think dizzily, three days in Dauntless sure can change a guy.
As his hands close around my neck, ready to strangle to death, or at least paralyze, I think fast and jam my forehead into his vicious grin. I think I might've knocked a few teeth loose, and he pulls back. Nobody's going to kill me in Training, and definitely not Ioni. No way, man, I'm going all the way, not Factionless nor dead.
Screaming like a lunatic, I lunge at him, clawing at his cheeks. Suddenly, strong hands lift me, by the armpits, off of Ioni. Blindly, I struggle, until my vision clears to reveal a frantic Four.
"This is only the beginning of training!" He seems frustrated, a tad angry, and a bit shaken, looking at the blood-soaked area. Everyone is staring at us, some horrified, some grotesquely interested. Ioni is standing up now, also, a few feet away, on the other side of the mat. "Quit killin' each other, guys!" He beckons Tris over. "Tris," He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Can you please get these two to the first-aid kit and fix 'em up? Someone, or both, are bleeding, and I'm curious to find out where and who."
Tris opens her mouth to protest, but Four gives her a pleading look, and she obliges, one hand on my neck, roughly pushing Ioni and me forward toward a wall across the room, next to a small red and black duffel bag, the first-aid kit. I pass one gaping transfer in the line after another and, as I pass by Avigayil, I think, an amused, mostly contained grin on my face, I had you in mind for that one, Avigayil. You're welcome.
Gross, I know, I just have always wanted to write something like that. Well, I hope you liked this! Thanks!