Coals Burn Slow
Disclaimer: This story deals with mature themes and contains explicit content. It's not intended for underage readers, and it handles subjects of all kinds of abuse, murder, and themes of a sexual nature eventually, so I'm warning ahead of time. If you might be sensitive to those themes in a fictional context, then maybe this isn't the best choice for you and you may wish to leave this one be. Otherwise, happy reading.
Chapter 6
Tris POV
X
X
The next morning, I stuff my blistered feet into the heavy combat boots that my feet are slowly breaking in, lace them up and give myself a once over in the mirror. It's a variation of the same outfit I've worn for the last two days. A black t-shirt so big it could be Four's, the tight leather trousers, which are the only type of pants in the trunk that fit properly even if they stick like a second skin, and my black boots.
I'm not used to looking at myself so freely in the mirror, not without Marcus hovering over my shoulder as I swiped the cover up over my face until it hid his handprint, so I allow myself a moment to stare. My honey blonde-brown hair is pulled up into a ponytail, the light blue of my eyes looks bright and stark against the purple bags that linger on the skin beneath. My face looks the same as I remember it, but there isn't a fresh scratch or bruise in sight for the first time in a while. My legs look a little stronger and my arms have the smallest bit more definition to them than I remember. But otherwise, it's all relatively familiar. It's just me.
Before, when I was young enough that I never knew true trouble, I'd eye my reflection in puddles, or in the reflection of glass window panes. I'd eye the angle of my nose, and the cut of my jaw. I'd measure it against the girls in class, the ones boys seemed to like better.
My friend, Susan, chalked it all down to us being Abnegation, as to why the rest of the world breezed by us like we hardly existed.
I'd always thought if my eyes were brighter and my cheekbones were a little higher, things might be different.
But then things changed, and bigger problems came around and I didn't have time to think of myself beyond covering up any incriminating evidence lingering on my skin.
I leave before my observations turn vain, chancing my way to the training room which I know a little better now. I expect Four to be there, waiting for me to tell me that I'm late, again. Instead, it's a man I don't recognise waiting just a few yards from the door and his eyes zero in on me like I'm what he's been waiting for.
He's blonde, built with a similar but slighter frame than Four's, and his beady eyes are framed with a silver piercing in the arch of his eyebrows. The eyes scan over me, like he's appraising meat at the butchers. Once his eyes reach my feet, they work their way back up my body and when they reach my face, I watch as his eyebrows raise, and he smirks.
There's something so unsettling to him it makes my gut twist like I'm going to be sick.
Lucky for me, I manage to suck my stomach to keep last night's dinner from making a reappearance, and I swallow back the bile.
"You must be Tris Prior."
I nod mutely and step just far enough into the room that I'm not in the doorway, but I'm close enough to make a quick exit if needed. My eyes scan the room for Four, but he's nowhere to be seen.
"My initiates are asking a lot of questions about you, you know?" he says. His head tilts and his brow raises, but the words ring more like an accusation than a question. "They want to know why you're so special."
I shift uncomfortably on my feet and pick at the thick material of my leggings with my left hand, digging my fingernails through my right palm to keep my hands from shaking.
I don't like his tone, or the charge loaded behind his words, or the way he's looking at me like he could snap me in half in a heartbeat without thinking twice about it.
He reminds me a little too much of Marcus. I'm not sure if it's the way he angles his jaw or curls his fists, but I don't like it.
It makes me want to curl into myself and hide somewhere his eyes can't find me. But for all my efforts, cowering has never worked for me before. And I don't imagine it'll work any better with this man.
It only makes things worse.
So, I try my best not to cower. I try not to let my shoulders curl or my chin drop or my eyes water. I try not to look away from his glare and I make my best effort to iron an impassiveness onto my face to blanket the fear there.
"They don't think it's fair, that some Stiff has all of these fucking leaders bending over backwards for her every need. I don't know what to tell them, so I came here to ask you. What's so special about you, Stiff? Why all of the special treatment?"
The silence that ensues is tense enough it prickles down my back, sharp pinpricks of horror as my spine stiffens.
There are a few things I could say, about being a late transfer, about Marcus dying unexpectedly and the paperwork that ensued, but nothing about him makes me think it's what he wants to hear.
I'm not sure what he wants to hear, and that's the worst part. Whether he wants an explanation, or an apology, or an argument.
When I stay silent, he takes a few steps forward and I know he'll intimidate an answer out of me if I don't give one so I spit out the only thing that comes to mind, because it's all I can think of that might satisfy him.
A concession.
"I'm not special."
The smirk on his face grows ridiculously bigger. "You're not, huh?"
"No," I say, averting my eyes again and glancing at the clock on the pillar nearby. I'm ten minutes early today.
"No, you're not. You're just another scrawny fucking Stiff this faction doesn't need." He sighs heavily, but it seems more for the theatrics than anything. Just to unnerve me. "So, what's with the special treatment then, Stiff?"
I open my mouth and shut it again. I don't know what to tell him.
I just really wish Four was here. Or anyone that isn't like this man.
He starts walking forward again and doesn't stop until he's so close I can feel his breath against my forehead.
It's enough to crack any front of bravery I'd crafted, scattering my thoughts like the wind. I turn my head away, pulling it in as far back as it'll go and my eyes drop to my shoes.
I don't want him to touch me. I don't want him anywhere close.
I'd run, if I thought he wouldn't give chase.
"I asked you a question, initiate. Your little privileges don't make you exempt from answering my questions." His voice is nothing but cold and cruel. It has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, and goose bumps rising on my skin.
I take as many steps back as I can without drawing him to follow and it must please him, because his face melts into a bitter smile for a moment before dissolving back into a scowl. He, at least, doesn't grab me.
"I'm a late transfer," I tell him. It's the only feasible excuse I can offer.
It's not what he wants to hear.
He barks out a cold laugh and shakes his head. "We don't take late transfers here."
I eye the clock again. Nine minutes early now.
I rack my brain for what to say. Anything. Whatever it is that he wants. Whatever it'll take for him to leave me alone. Because that's all I need from him – for him to leave. To go as far away from me as he can get.
The doors push open behind me and I flinch at the sound, cracking through the tense silence between us, and glance over my shoulder to see Four walk in. He's close enough that I can see the bluish bags under his eyes that match the navy irises, and the red streaks on the whites of his eyes. It makes his eyes look a little like mine, and I wonder if he's been losing sleep, too.
The sight of him has the anxiety wound tightly around my chest loosening its grip a little.
His eyes flash to me, then to the man and back to me again. He gives nothing away, his face glossed into the same handsome scowl as every other day. His step falters for half a beat, but that's all the reaction he gives.
I take another step back from the man as Four walks into the room, right past both of us to some sort of glass screen on a pillar off to the side, like we're not even here.
The man turns his blue-eyed glare from me to the back of Four's head, and there's no doubt its utter loathing plastering the sneer to his face. "How about you, Four? Do you know what makes Tris here so special?"
He doesn't lift his head or look in our direction, tapping away on the screen in front of him. "She's a late transfer," he says, his voice monotone and tight.
"We don't take late transfers," he repeats.
This time, Four looks up. "If you have a problem with it, take it up with Max, Eric."
"Why go to Max? We all know you're the one running the show around here now."
"Go to Max," Four repeats evenly. He looks and sounds so casual that I'd believe they were friends if it weren't for the way this man, Eric, is looking at him – eyes squinted, forehead scrunched, his hands balled in fists at his side.
Eric turns away from him, back to me. "We'll continue our conversation another time," he says, and flashes me a half-smile that sends a shiver down my back, before bashing into my shoulder on his way out.
I steady myself and keep my eyes straight ahead.
I'm not stupid enough that I don't know a threat when I hear one, and that was nothing short of it.
He's someone else to keep away from, I suppose.
When I blink again, Four appears in front of me. "Are you okay?"
I nod my head mutely, and he gives me the same doubting look he always wears. "I'm fine," I say, like it'll help convince him. But my voice shakes slightly, so it does nothing to help.
"What did he say to you?"
I hesitate, because I don't want to be what Caleb used to call a snitch – the person that always used to tattle on everyone else – but I figure that it's okay, seeing as they didn't look like friends anyway. And he didn't really do anything bad. Just scared me a little, but that's no difficult feat. "He wanted to know why I was getting special treatment."
Four nods, looking up over my shoulder at the closed doors, then back to me. He's quiet for a minute, glancing from me to the door a few times. "Don't come here on your own anymore. I'll walk you," he says.
I frown. "I was only just figuring out my way here." It's a slight exaggeration, seeing as I still went wrong a couple times on my way this morning, but still.
He glares down at me, and when he talks, his voice is almost as cold as Eric's, "I wasn't asking, Stiff."
I break eye contact and look down at the floor.
He's putting me in my place. Or trying to, at least. I'd like to say it doesn't work, but I recognise the message for what it is.
"We're running outside today," he says, backing away and turning to an exit on the side of the room. I follow him silently, my feet aching in my boots. It's a few hallways, turns and doorways until the air is cold and sharp on my skin and the light is coming from the rising sun and a few streetlamps nearby rather than the yellow bulbs of Dauntless lighting.
I didn't realise I'd missed being outside so much, but I do now.
Fresh air. Bright skies. Open space.
It's something I hardly remembered to appreciate.
He looks over his shoulder at me. "Make sure you keep up. I won't wait for you."
I nod and keep pace with him as we jog out of the compound, through one of the guarded entryways in the tall, chain-link fence that surrounds the entire compound. Not one of the tens of armed Dauntless guard open their mouth to question us. Instead, they stare on silently and I find myself wondering yet again who exactly Four is in this compound.
We jog out onto the dusty streets of the city's edge, me following and pushing myself to keep up with him and the long strides of his half-sprint.
Eventually, we reach the Eastern city limits near the border of Dauntless, and I can see the fence casting shadows down over us, but instead of stopping, Four keeps going. He slows to a walk as we approach the skirts of the fence itself, and a Dauntless soldier must see us coming as he begins walking our way.
"Four," he greets once he's close enough. He's tall and seems relatively lanky but he holds the gun in his hand like it's nothing, so he must be plenty strong. He has curly brown hair and smiling brown eyes that seem kinder than any that I've seen in a while.
"Edward," Four answers, nodding at him. "Anything to report?"
"Nothing new," he says. "Who's your friend?" He smiles at me, and his smile is friendlier than the look I'm used to seeing from boys.
"Tris."
Edward nods, throwing a brief look at Four, and maybe there's some sort of silent communication that passes between them because by the time Edward looks at me, his smile is back in my place. "Pleased to meet you, Tris."
He holds a hand out to me and I take it hesitantly. I expect him to shake it, or squeeze it, but he lifts it to his hand and places a kiss on the back of my knuckles.
Nobody's ever done that before.
It takes a Hell of a lot of self-restraint not to yank my hand right back as the shudder rips its way down my back, and the best I can do is wait for him to let go before pulling it back to my side like he burned it, half tucking it behind myself.
"You, too," I force a reply out of my mouth, my voice a little higher than usual, flustered.
"This your first time at the fence?" I nod. He looks to Four. "I can show her around while Lesley goes over reports with you," he says.
"No." Four's tone is sour, and when I look at him, his face has hardened. "I'll come back later. Tris has to eat."
I furrow my brows slightly, but I don't say anything in protest.
I don't particularly want to climb that giant fence with Edward, anyway.
Edward nods his head. "I'll see you around then, Tris," he says with a friendly smile and a wave.
I wave back for the sake of courtesy, turning to follow Four as he stalks away.
There's no doubting that on the run back, he runs even faster. I struggle to keep up, pushing through aches and pains and a lack of breath. A few times I drop behind and I'm never sure if it's my speed or his pity that allows me to make up the distance. By the time we're at the Dauntless compound, I'm spent. The second we're away from the entryway, I stop to prop my hands on my knees, letting my chest heave with each shallow breath.
"Struggling there, Stiff?"
My heavy breathing fills the silence. It takes me a few moments to answer, waiting until I'm sure I'm not going to vomit. "Not at all," I exhale.
I could be mistaken, but I think I might hear him chuckle.
"Come on, you need breakfast."
X
X
We work all morning, until I'm so tired that I hunch over in a heap in the middle of the ring
I shut my eyes, my heart thumping so fast I can feel it in my head. I hesitate before opening my mouth, but I push myself to do so. Part of being Dauntless is being brave enough to ask questions. Besides, I'm tired of being so quiet I never say anything.
"It gets easier, right?" I ask, blowing the words out between heavy breaths.
This time I'm sure he does chuckle. A low, warm sound that I can't help but like.
I feel a nudge on my arm and when I open my eyes, he's crouched next to me with an open bottle of water. "Eventually," he says.
"Great," I drawl, the sarcasm a little unlike me.
He settles back against the ropes as I drink and breathe and try to recover some energy. He watches me, but I keep my eyes settled on the sky-high ceilings.
He's always watching.
X
X
Lunch is even quieter than usual, and afterward Four doesn't walk me to the training room.
"Where are we going?"
"To my office," he says, like it's the most normal thing in the world.
"Why?"
"You could barely lift your fork," he tells me. "So, if you can't train, you can study. I have some books in my office that you can read."
We arrive there a few minutes later, and the office is brighter than most rooms here, with the back wall made entirely of tinted glass that overlooks the compound. I go to it and look down over the workers that look smaller than ants from up here, and out over the city's jagged skyline.
"Here," he says behind me, and when I turn, he's holding a book out for me to take. The title reads 'Strategies of War'. It reminds me of some of the things they taught us in history class – about the war that killed off everyone outside of the city, about the reasons we can't cross the city limits because out there, beyond the fence, it's all bodies and nuclear waste and death.
"Shall I take it back to my apartment?"
"No, you can read it here." He gestures to a seat on the opposite side of his desk, so I go to take it. Instead of opening my book, I glance around the office, taking in the sheer size of it and all of the files on shelves around the room.
"You have to open books to read them, Stiff."
I glance over at him. "What do you do here?" I ask, finding myself bolder than usual with my questions today. Maybe it's because he hasn't actually rebuked me for any of them. Not yet, anyway.
He looks mildly agitated as he pulls a file from a shelf and drops it loudly onto the desk. It makes the same sound my paperwork in Erudite made, and I marvel at how that was only a few days ago. "I'm one of the leaders here."
For a multitude of reasons – some I could guess, and others I don't want to understand in myself – the news shocks me like a bucket of cold water, and whatever courage led me to the question is shot down on the spot.
I've known the wrath of an Abnegation leader and as nice as Four may seem, I'm no stranger to false appearances and I'd dread to think of the things he could make happen here if he decided to.
It's not a question I want answered.
"Oh." I open my book and force my eyes to follow along, but the words don't register. My thoughts are trying to get away from me and it takes all my efforts to wrangle them back into order so that I don't freak out here, right in front of him.
I stretch my legs out, bouncing my knee, and under the desk I can feel the heat from his leg and it only serves to further my edginess.
After a while, my fidgeting must get too much for him to ignore because he looks up from the files he's flipping through and stares at me. "Do you ever sit still?"
"Sorry," I say, pressing a hand to still my bouncing knee.
"You're distracted."
"I'm not," I say.
"You've been reading the same page for the past five minutes."
"It's interesting."
"Really? Tell me what it says then."
My eyes flicker downwards, but he has me. I skim, looking for something to say, but the words blend and I come up blank.
"Didn't think so." He sighs, looks over the file in front of him for the last time and then pushes up. He seems more annoyed than angry with me. "Come on. If you're not going to read that, we can at least get something productive done today."
"Where are we going?"
"I'm going to show you how to fire a gun."
He tries to, anyway.
He takes me to a large balcony with holey targets and shows me how to load a gun, where the safety is, and he pulls at my positioning until I look the way he wants me to. His hands are still warm and unnerving, but they're just the tiniest bit familiar now.
He stands behind me and points me at a target. "Aim and shoot, Stiff."
I do, and the bullet sails past the target, flying away somewhere over the city skyline. I expected to miss, but I wasn't expecting the kickback that tosses me back into his chest. The heat from his chest on my back is the warmest I've felt all day, but he grabs hold of me and sets me back onto my feet before I can even take a second to imprint it to memory.
He clears his throat. "Again."
I do, readjusting my aim. The bullet whizzes out of the gun, I jerk back but don't fall this time, and watch as I miss again.
"Again," he says behind me.
We keep going like that, over and over until I stop stumbling backwards. Until I'm hitting the targets, every single time.
X
X
A/N:
My apologies for the delay. I really didn't like how this chapter turned out no matter how I rewrote it or reframed it, so it just is what it is now. I hope you guys like it a bit better than I do.
I hope you're having a lovely Saturday, wherever you are.
I've so, so appreciated your reviews. They're what prompted me to post again after the break I've had. I'll be done with the next chapter soon, so that should be coming soon.
Let me know what your thoughts are! Your reviews are the best encouragement I could ask for.
- Laylz :)