Tobias
"Announcing, Four and Eric!" the announcer's voice yells over the speakers. I often wonder how we aren't heard to the buildings around us. Even though we are underground, these tournaments are loud.
Now is not the time to consider the 'why's' and 'how's' of the world; I need to focus on the task at hand: knocking this punk out.
Despite what Amar had told me my very first day of training, I cannot help but picture my father on every opponent I face. It helps me win. I guess that's sort of sick and twisted, but if you spent sixteen years of your life with a belt being whipped against your back, you'd understand why my method of motivation works.
I take a quick moment to look up and down this 'Eric.' He is built, similarly to me. I assume the piercings all over his face and the large tattoo printed on his neck are supposed to be intimidating. But all I think about his whole getup is that his piercings are a weakness, and that his neck ink serves as a bull's-eye to aim my fist at.
He is sizing me up at the same time. I don't give him much time before I take advantage of the printed bull's-eye and deliver a fast hit to his throat. He gasps and lets his defenses down.I deliver a swift blow to his undefended midsection and he doubles over. This is too easy. While he is doubled over, I bring my knee up to his face. He stumbles a few steps back. I am not cruel; I give him a slight moment to stand. When his eyes meet mine, the overconfident gleam is combined with pure fury. It doesn't faze me, I am ready for it. When his fist flies at me I simply side step and he stumbles forward. I wonder, not for the first time, if he is a rookie.
My thoughts are cut short when he lifts his foot and brings it to my gut. He gets the hit in, but it doesn't really hurt, it mostly just surprises me. I don't stumble, but he does. His balance suffers from his uncoordinated movements and I take the opportunity to kick his unsteady foot out from under him. He lands on the floor of the ring with a thud. If I was ruthless, like many others in this league, I would begin to kick him everywhere until he fell unconscious. But something tells me that he is a rookie, and I feel a bit of pity for him. I remember my first fight; it wasn't pretty.
I give him a moment to breathe and to stand back up. The look in his eyes is a mix of rage, fear, and pure hatred. I know I won't let him win, but at least I am taking it easy on him. I await his next move. He is looking me up and down, looking for a hole in my defenses. He is too obvious about it. I wonder who trained this guy. I can read him like a book. Amar taught me a good poker face at the same time he taught me how to look for gaps in your opponent's skills.
He must find one in mine because his eyes light up for a moment before he pulls his fist back and aims it. He is looking at my ribs, but I already know he won't get the hit. His stance is all wrong; if he continues this way he will stumble and leave himself wide open. I almost feel bad. If it wasn't for the extreme hateful rage and arrogant look in his eyes, I might have let him punch me, just to make him feel better. But he seems like a complete asshole, so I side step while connecting my fist with his ribs. I must have hit the right spot because he crumples. I look down at him lying on the floor, wondering if he will concede or if I will have to knock him out. I hate knocking people out. I hate seeing the light leave their closing eyes and their bodies going limp. It makes me sick.
But this guy isn't giving me much of a choice. I take a moment to look out to my father and I see the look on his face that I have seen a thousand times, 'finish him.' So I do, and I tell myself that it is okay because, in a way, I am helping him by ending this. I deliver one good, solid hit to the correct spot on his head and I watch as his eyes roll back as they close.
I walk off the stage ignoring the cheers for my win. I am not proud. I don't want their excitement or their money. I want to get the hell out of here. I pick up my towel and my shirt and walk unceremoniously back to the locker room.
We get back to the house at a reasonable six o'clock, which I am thankful for. The only thing my father said on the ride back was, "Fifteen hundred." Great. People paid one-thousand five-hundred dollars to watch me beat the daylights out of some punk who didn't know what was coming for him. I don't know what my father does with all the money he gets, but I don't want to know. I know that I have a new truck and he gives me a one hundred dollar allowance from my winnings each week. I don't want to know what he does with all the money that I never see or use.
As soon as I am in the door, I go up the stairs. I brush off my father's not-so-polite reminders that I need to make dinner. But first, I need to shower. I have to get the disgusting locker room, arena, and sweat off of me.
After I am clean and have accepted the things that I have done yet again, I go downstairs and begin dinner. I call my father into the room forty-five minutes later and we eat in complete silence. When we are done, he goes upstairs to go to bed and I gather the dishes and wash and dry them all.
Once I am finally done with the dishes, I go back upstairs and shut myself inside my room. I see my phone on my nightstand and I remember that I told Tris I would call her. I don't know if I can. The guilt after a tournament always consumes me for a good twenty four hours, but then again I promised Tris.
As bad as I feel about not telling her about my 'double life,' I know that I simply can't tell her. If anyone could know, Zeke already would. It's too big of a risk. The underground fighting leagues are highly illegal. For one thing, the bets and profits aren't taxed, which I guess is the thing the government cares about most. Another has to do with all kinds of laws against physical harm. Those claims range from domestic abuse to gang and mob relations. They might not be so wrong, but still, nobody wants to go to jail for knocking a guy out for some money. I am somewhat safe because I am under eighteen, so if I ever was caught, my case would be one of child abuse.
So no, I can't tell Tris. I can't tell Zeke. As much as I want to confide in them, to help shovel off the guilt that has built up over the past couple of years, there is no way I can confide in my friends.
Some nights, things are worse than others. I feel worse about some fights than others. But I always feel bad. I want out of this hell so badly, but there is nothing I can do at this point; I am in too deep.
The thing that holds me back the most is the look on my father's face when I win a fight. He looks… proud. I realize that he is probably more excited about the money than anything else, but I can't help but feel like, indirectly, he is proud of me. He has never in my life shown me true affection, and that look, right after I win, is the closest I ever get. Most of the reason why I still fight is because I know when I win, I will get that look. After a long debate in my head, I finally asked Amar about it once. He told me that he felt the same way when he was my age.
Amar is my only confidant. I know that he was in such a similar situation, so he is the only person that I know that can ever come close to understanding how I feel. Simple phone conversations with him have helped me through some of the worst times, and I always find myself grateful for everything he has ever done for me.
I think about calling him now, but I don't want to bother him. So instead, I dial Tris' number as I had promised. I can't get myself to press the 'call' button though. I just can't decide if I am okay enough to talk to her right now.
Ultimately, I decide that it is in hers and my best interests to just wait a while. It is only seven thirty so I could always call her in a bit.
I stare up at the ceiling and try to calm my thoughts. I always wondered why the guilt I feel after every single fight doesn't manage to overpower that millisecond long gleam of pride in my father's eyes. It really doesn't make much sense. But here I sit, for the thousandth time, contemplating it.
"Wake up, boy! You fool! Wake up!" I wake to my father viciously shaking my shoulder and yelling at me.
"What the fuck?" I yell at him.
"Don't you speak to me in that tone, boy! Get up; you're going to be late. Again!" he yells back. I think about yelling at him that I always manage to get there on time so he should just shut his mouth, but before I get the chance, he gets up and leaves my room.
The hardest part of weekday fights are the mornings after. I have to go to school, often bruised and sore. Today isn't so bad because my opponent was so weak, he didn't even leave any marks. Except the guilt, that's always there.
I get ready for school before promptly leaving the house. I make sure to check my messages, just in case Tris' brother leaves her at home again, but I don't have any messages.
I walk out the front door, climb up into my truck, and throw my backpack in the passenger seat. I start up the truck and make the drive to school. I don't know if Tris is going to be upset with me today because I didn't call her last night. I guess you could say I am nervous to see her now.
I pull into my usual spot and sigh when I see Tris' car. I am not sure if it is a sigh of relief or dread, but I don't have much time to think about it before Zeke's overly-happy-ass is tapping on my window like his life depends on it. I kill the engine and grab my backpack from the seat next to me. I abruptly open my door, almost knocking Zeke back onto his ass, and I burst into laughter at the sight.
"Geez, Four! Are you trying to kill me?" he exclaims. His bewildered expression just makes me laugh harder and soon he is laughing with me.
"Somebody put too much sugar in their cereal this morning," a voice says from behind me. I spin to see a beautiful girl behind me, her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, contradicting the obvious amusement in her eyes.
"Hey," I say, reaching out to her. She returns my embrace and wraps her arms around my waist.
"Hey," she replies softly, her smile lights a fire within me. I've been seeing her everyday but I never fail to notice how beautiful she is. Her eyes are looking especially blue today.
"How are you?" I ask, attempting to hide the nerves from escaping through my voice. I really don't want her to be mad at me…again. I realize I have never cared to impress anyone this much before.
"I am good," she says. I look for traces of dishonesty, but I am glad to find none. I feel the need to apologize anyway.
"I'm sorry I didn't call," I start.
"Oh, Tobias. It's fine," she brushes it off. I thought girls always freaked out about stuff like that, but I am happy that she doesn't.
"You're not mad?"
"Of course not!" she reassures me. I grin at her and she smiles back. I can't hold back the desire I always have brewing, and I lean down and press my lips to hers.
"Okay, crazy kids. How about you two stop sucking face and get to class!" Uriah says. I spin to see him trying to maintain a firm expression but I can tell he is about to burst into laughter.
"'Sucking face?'" Tris questions.
"Whatever, it was nasty," Uriah says, he makes a face as though he just ate something sour. I stretch my palm out and smack it up the side of his empty head.
"Careful, Uri," I tease. I don't hit him very hard but he sticks out his bottom lip. I hear Tris gasp softly behind me. She doesn't sound mad or shocked, it almost sounds like she realized something.
"Zeke-y, Four hit me!" Uriah whines like a child.
"Good," Zeke says flatly. Then he chuckles and bumps my hand against his own in gesture of success. He and I burst into more laugher and soon Uriah joins in too.
"Way too much sugar," Tris murmurs. I laugh and lean down to kiss her again. I grab her hand and the four of us walk to the door and into the hell-hole we call school.
The first three hours go on extremely uneventfully. There is a slight buzz in the air about Zeke and Uriah's party tonight. I don't participate in the talk because I don't want Tris to feel worse than she already does. I notice that Al is here today but he doesn't even glance at Tris or I, much to my satisfaction.
Finally lunch rolls around and Uriah, Will, and I retrieve our food and sit down at our regular spot. I resist the urge to freak out when I see who is sitting in the spot next to Will.
"Hey, guys," Al says, as though nothing eventful has happened whatsoever.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, not hiding the irritation in my voice.
"What are you talking about, Four? I always sit here," he says, picking at his food as though everything is normal.
"You're not invited to sit here anymore," Uriah says in a serious voice, a tone strange to hear from him.
"You don't own this table," Al snips back. I feel déjà vu at his words; they are so much like Nita's yesterday. Out of the corner of my eye I see the girls walk in. I turn my head fully, making eye contact with Tris. She smiles at me until she sees who is at our table. She leaves the food line and makes a beeline for our table.
"What are you doing here, Al?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.
"Well, hello, Tris," he says politely. This kid is crazy!
"Al, why are you here?" Tris asks in a tense voice.
"Well it is my lunch hour and I am hungry," he states plainly.
She just stares with her lips pursed. She looks up at me but I am also at a loss for what to do. I can't just force the kid to leave, no matter how disgusting he is.
Al continues to eat his food as though nothing is out of the ordinary. Now the girls are walking up to the table with their food in their hands. Tris is still standing behind me, her hands balled into fists at her sides. I am openly glaring at Al who is eating as if nothing is happening around him.
"What's going on?" Christina asks. I don't know if she is fully aware of how much discomfort Al brings to Tris.
"Tris, go get food. We will sit somewhere else," I finally say. She nods and turns to go get back into line.
"Four, why doesn't she just sit down?" Christina asks.
"She doesn't like him," I say, pointing a glare at Al.
"Yeah, but you both should just get over it. So what he flirted with her or whatever."
"That isn't all he did," I snap back.
Christina and the others look momentarily stunned at my small outburst.
"What did he do?" Marlene asks, shocked.
"He said something to her," I say through my teeth. I am speaking to my friends but I am glaring at Al.
"What did he say?" Will asks.
"I'm not going to repeat it. It was disgusting."
"What did you say?" Uriah asks Al.
"I am nothing but kind to Tris," Al says. He looks up and around the table with innocent eyes.
"You are disgusting," Tris says from behind me. I am still standing so I turn to face her.
"Have a nice lunch," I say behind my shoulder before walking with Tris to another table. A table vacant of perverted creeps.
"I think you are right," she says, taking a seat across from me at a booth type table.
"About?"
"I think Al is actually crazy," she says. I nod, trying not to relight the flame of our fight from a few days ago. She was really mad about that.
"We'll just ignore him," I say flatly.
"I wish he wouldn't sit there though. I want to sit with my friends," she says.
"Maybe we should sit there anyways. We shouldn't let Al of all people, dictate where we do or don't sit."
A fire sparks in her blue-gray eyes. "You're right." We pick up our trays and return to our table. We take our normal seats and ignore the looks of confusion from our friends.
Leave it to Uriah to break the silence. "So the party is tonight!"
"Yeah! Are you coming, Four?" Zeke asks.
"I don't know," I start. As the words come out, I feel Tris hand on mine under the table. I meet her eyes and it's like I can read her mind. She's reminding me that she wants me to go even though she can't. "Yeah, I guess," I say to Zeke. He grins and nods.
"Who is excited for Candor or Dauntless?" Shauna asks the table, a couple of whoops and cheers go through the table. I do my best to ignore Al's presence but I know he is listening to everything we are saying. God I hope he isn't there tonight.
"I have an idea," Tris says after a short argument between Zeke and Uriah about who is going to kick whose ass. Everyone looks at her. "I could play Candor or Dauntless with you guys."
"What?" Lynn speaks for us all. "I thought you were grounded."
"I am," Tris confirms. "But my parents aren't taking my phone."
"So?" Uriah voices the confusion we all have.
"So, could I play with you guys over video chat?"
We all stop to think about this. It isn't a bad idea. Obviously she couldn't do dares with other people in the group but she could do things at home, and she could take on Candor challenges.
"That's a great idea!" Christina exclaims. "I am already thinking of Dauntless things to make you do!"
Tris blushes at this, though I am not sure what is going through her mind.
"Can I come to the party?" Al says, so quietly I am not sure I even heard him.
"What?" somebody asks, I don't know who. It might have been me.
"Can I come to the party tonight?" Al asks again, a little louder.
"Um," Uriah says, sharing a look with Zeke.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Zeke says.
The look of disappointment on Al's face is so strong that I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
At that, Al gets up and leaves the table. He crosses the room, dumps his tray, and then sulks out of the room.
"I feel kind of bad for him," Marlene says quietly. Nobody answers. I don't know if they agree or not but the table stays quiet. I feel Tris' eyes on me and I turn to see them. There is pity and regret in them, she feels bad too. How?
"I know that whatever he did to Tris was fucked up or whatever, but he's still our friend. He was still our friend," Lynn says to no one in particular.
I want to say how he was never my friend, but Zeke does it for me. "Not really. I never really liked the kid."
"Okay, so he was mine and Will's friend," Lynn clarifies.
"Well it's my party and Four is my friend. Al can't come," Zeke says, somewhat sternly. Lynn and Will both look at him with shock.
"Okay," Will says.
The rest of lunch goes by kind of awkwardly. We bicker all of the time in our friend group, but for some reason, this time felt different. I think it has something to do with Tris.
And apparently she does too.
"I don't think Will and Lynn like me very much right now." She says, watching her feet as we walk to Erudite History.
"No, don't worry about them, Tris. It has nothing to do with you," I reassure her, trying to keep the doubt out of my voice.
She doesn't say anything so I drop the topic.
Boring.
That's what the rest of the day is. I drive Tris home because she is grounded tonight so I can't see her until the plans we made for Saturday.
With promises to call her on video chat in time for Candor or Dauntless, I kiss her goodbye and then watch her walk into her house.
I kill time cleaning the house before heading out to Uriah and Zeke's. I have been spending more time with Tris lately and have gotten a little behind on some of my chores. Though I know my father won't beat me up anymore for not doing them, I still don't want to listen to him complain and degrade me. Plus, I like keeping a tidy home. My mother passed that down to me I think.
The time burning activities do their job and soon I am going right back out to my truck to heading to the party. I don't bother calling my father to tell him where I am going.
It's not like he cares.
I do leave a note though. It will save my ass later.
Dinner is in the fridge.
As long as you feed the bear, he will go to bed soundly and won't wake up to bite you.
Author' Note: Pretty please leave suggestions/ideas for Candor or Dauntless. If you leave one, odds are good that it will end up in the story. Your reviews have a strong influence on things that I do or don't do in the story; some of you may have already noticed that.
-GerdyGertha