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 7
Tris POV
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For the first time since I've arrived, once we're seated at a table in the cafeteria, two others come to join us. Both men have darker skin and matching brown eyes, but the slightly taller boy with a short buzzcut shoves a hand at me to shake and introduces himself as Zeke, and introduces his smiling companion with slightly longer, curly hair as Uriah, his younger brother.
"You must be the Tris that everybody's talking about," he says.
"Oh," I say.
It's not what I want to hear. It's best for me if they just don't care. Best for everybody.
This morning was another sharp reminder that it's always safest to go unnoticed. There's a haunting vulnerability in being thought of. It's not something I want for myself.
"Don't worry, it's nothing bad. People are just curious about Four's new girl being kept under lock and key."
Four glares at the man as he settles onto the bench next to him. "Did you want something, Zeke?"
They hold each other's gaze for a moment, and despite the look on Four's face, Zeke's smile doesn't falter. In fact, it grows. "I'm only being friendly, Four," he says, turning back to me. "We wouldn't want this lovely girl getting lonely here now, would we?"
"She's with me," Four snaps.
"And we all know what riveting company you are," he drones, rolling his eyes.
"Of course, the friendliest in Dauntless I'd say," Uriah chimes in.
I bite at my lip, my nerves buzzing at the light tension that simmers on the table. But it's not serious. They're teasing, something harmless that I remember from years ago. Like how Rob used to tug at the ends of my hair, and I'd snatch the cap from his head. Like how Susan used to make jokes about the way Caleb glanced at himself in the window's reflection, and he would laugh at how she tripped over her own feet on flat ground.
It was never very Abnegation of us, the smallest hint of rebellion in finding laughter in harmless faults.
I realise idly that none of us are Abnegation any longer. Perhaps it was more rebellious than I had first thought.
But the teasing was never done with ill intent. It was goading, building up to a final joke that would coax a laugh from each other. It was just fun.
Like how Zeke, Four and Uriah must be friends. And this tension has to be harmless, because I find it hard to believe anybody from Dauntless would talk that with a smile if it was anything but.
"How's he been treating you, anyway, little lady?"
I eye Zeke. His brother slides into the seat next to me, too close and I don't like the smothering heat of his body, but I refocus on Zeke and offer him a small smile. "I've been well looked after," I say.
His brown eyes roll again. "You are so Marcus' daughter. Very diplomatic."
He doesn't mean it badly, but the words dig at a very sore spot within me, and I find my smile dropping completely. "I'm not his daughter," I say, and the words come out in a hiss. They're the harshest thing I've said in a while.
"You're such an idiot, Zeke," Uriah says next to me. "Ignore him. He's too simple to understand, even if you were to explain it to him."
"Fuck you," Zeke says, and despite the words there's no venom to it.
Uriah shrugs, "It's true."
"You watch your mouth, boy. You know that I'm the one in charge with helping score you and your punk ass friends," Zeke says. He gives a convincing show of being mad, but the tremble on the corner of his lip gives the performance away. He's only kidding.
They joke with each other all of the way through dinner and I find myself learning to smile at the display. Zeke asks Four about things that seem work related – some surveillance cameras, patrols about certain sectors and buildings, and he answers him easily. It's like they talk in code, because every other word feels unfamiliar, but Uriah seems to understand because he follows along, nodding his head and shaking it at the appropriate intervals.
Maybe it's Dauntless talk, or maybe I'm more tired than I thought. I can't be sure.
Eventually, Four nudges my tray to get my attention. "Are you done?" When I nod my head, he says, "I'll walk you back."
"Well," Zeke starts, but Four claps him over the back of the head with his free hand before he can get another word out.
"Don't." He looks over at me, and I climb out of my seats.
"It was nice to meet you both," I murmur quietly to the two boys. They smile at me.
"You too, Tris."
"I'll see you around."
I follow after Four, falling into step beside him. With him leading the way, the walk to my apartment is short and I try and imagine a world where I know my way around this place as well as he does. The image doesn't come easy.
I reach into my pocket for the key to my apartment. "Thanks for walking me," I mumble quietly as I unlock the door.
He's still hovering in the hallway when I turn, leaning my hip against the door. "Get some sleep," he says, his tone is half commanding, half asking. "I'll be here to walk you at five tomorrow."
"Okay," falls from my lips, but he's walking away before I can mutter it, and I find myself waiting to watch his form retreat the way we came, somewhat mesmerised.
When I close the door, I run through all of the routines I need to before bed, and when I rest my head against the pillow, instead of dreading the nightmares to come, I let the rhythmic shuffle of his footsteps disappearing down a hallway lull me into my rotten dreams, like candy covered rat poison.
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I sleep a while longer, the nightmares dragging on ever so slightly more, and so when I wake, my heart is pounding so hard I fear it might explode right there in my chest, and there's no motto of reassurance that I can offer myself to douse the panic in my mind.
Eventually, my breathing slows to the point my body does not burn and I drag myself for a shower and prepare for the day.
In the shower, I assess the wounds slowly healing. Every old wound has scabbed over and my bruises are beginning to fade, the purple turning a dingy yellow on my hip and side. They're nothing worse than the wounds I've had before, but they still hurt.
I trace them, gliding my finger along the flesh, thinking idly of how they're the last marks he'll ever give me. In a perfect world, where nothing happened as it did, I might find relief in the idea. But this isn't perfect, and I've done things I'll never confess to, and the monstrosity of my crime is enough to bury me and whatever relief that should have been mine.
But it doesn't do well for me to let my thoughts linger, and so I don't.
My body aches from lack of rest, the strain of training making an ugly mix with my insomnia, and I let myself lie in bed, my eyelids drooping shut, my entire body limp, until there's a knock at the door.
I smooth down the leggings of today, and another one of the long-sleeved big tops that I'm starting to run low on. I'll have to wash them soon – however, and wherever, that happens.
The red band is around my left thigh and the elbow of my t-shirts long sleeve. I've rolled the cuffs up until they don't completely cover my hands. The boots still feel entirely too clompy and heavy to be wearable, but I'm slowly growing used to them.
The outfit isn't anything exceptional by Dauntless' standards. It would cause a borderline scandal in Abnegation, though a very muted one considering it's inconsiderate to gossip and is a generally frowned upon practice to spread scandals. But I suppose everything about Dauntless is backwards by Abnegation's standards, so it's hardly important.
It makes me wonder if my parents would be disappointed. I'd like to think not. I'd like to think they'd understand. I'd like to think they'd love me regardless.
But it's hard to tell sometimes.
I pull the door open, while slipping my keys into the small pocket on my leggings. Four is waiting outside, like he was the first day I arrived, which feels so much longer than just a few days ago.
"Hi," I mutter, shutting the door behind me.
He doesn't greet me in return. "What the fuck are you doing all night? Do you even fucking sleep at all?" he snaps, stepping a half foot closer. He raises his hand towards my face and the sudden movement has me flinching away from him, so fast and thoughtlessly it's a reflex.
I don't realise what I've done, what I might have given away, until it's already done, and he stills, watching me quietly. He drops his hand to his side.
"I slept fine," I murmur, hoping to move the conversation on.
He doesn't pretend to believe me, and I can at least appreciate that he's honest. "Your eyes say otherwise. I'll get you some pills to take tonight."
"Pills?" I fall into step beside him when he sets off down the hallway.
"Sleeping pills, Stiff. For people who can't just do it themselves like everybody else," he says, and his words are laced with a venomous frustration that hardly feels fair.
It's not like I'm complaining.
"Oh."
We walk to a different room today, one that's a smaller, slightly brighter version of the training room, where he leads me to the punching bags. He stands me in front of them, and I hit them hard as I can for as long as he tells me to, before he takes me into one of the rings. All day, we fight for what feels like hours. He explains some techniques and strategies, and shows me some different hits and tackles, and lets me try them on him.
I don't land many hits, and the ones I do aren't even hard enough to make him wince, but it's something.
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At lunch, Uriah and Zeke join us again. Four grumbles something under his breath and shakes his head when they slide in next to us, but I don't mind it. They seem nice, and if I ever make it past initiation, it would do me well to know at least a few people from here.
Besides, I don't mind a reprieve from the thick silence between Four and I.
"So, Trissy, my girl," Zeke starts, "what's with the heroin chic look?"
I furrow my brows, my eyes flickering to Four in confusion, though he's too busy glaring at Zeke to notice. I turn my eyes the same way, shaking my head at Zeke. "I don't know what that is."
"I mean the baggy clothes, the purple eyes, you know, heroin-chic isn't it? I'm sure that's what Shauna called it when she tried the look out."
"Shauna's his girlfriend," Uriah supplies.
"Oh," I glance at Four again, whose still watching Zeke.
He's saying I look sick. It's not exactly a compliment, and I'm not sure what to say.
"She's just adjusting," he says quietly. "I'm getting her pills to sleep. She'll be fine."
"Yeah," Uriah adds. "Besides, the boys think you're hot anyway, Tris. Baggy clothes and all."
I try not to linger on the implication of Uriah's comment, and instead glance around the room. Looking around, I realise, only now that I know I'm different, that the girls here do tend to wear clothes so tight they could be painted on, and my cheeks heat with the knowledge I've been the odd one out the whole time without realising it.
"Sure, if anyone can pull it off, it's you," Zeke says, but I'm only half listening, my focus instead on taking some mental notes of what all of the other girls are wearing.
Leggings somehow even tighter than mine, and the same sort of shirts, but in a few sizes too small so that they ripple against the skin. They look fine, but I can only imagine it's uncomfortable to have the fabric hugging so closely to your skin. I try to imagine myself in those kinds of outfits, but I can't.
It seems like borderline nudity.
I decide I'll try some on some time, but I know it won't be anything I'm rushing to do.
Someone approaches the table, a girl dressed in black denim that curves right around her, and a blank tank top with a neckline that cuts low, and she leans over to whisper in Four's ear. He doesn't inspect her beyond her face, listening briefly to what she's telling him before turning to me.
I recognise her as the same woman in Max's office the day I arrived. The one that bumped into me on her way out.
"No, I can't," he tells her.
She rolls her eyes, but Four doesn't see because he's watching me. "Max said he doesn't care what you do with her. You have to go now," the girl says firmly.
"What's the problem?" Zeke eyes the girl.
"They want me for a meeting," Four says.
"Well, go then. I'll look after Tris," Uriah says. "She can train with us for now."
"No," Four snaps, his voice suddenly stern. "She can come with me."
"It's confidential," the girl drones, and when I look her way, she's glaring at me like I've offended her. "Max specifically said she can't be there."
"Then she can wait in my office."
"What good is that going to do her?" Uriah asks. "She's already missed a week. She can't miss any more."
"She's not fucking training with you, Uriah," Four snaps. "She can go and run her health screening tests at the infirmary."
I realise idly that maybe I'm supposed to interject my opinion, rather than sitting back and watching them bicker, but I'm not sure what the right thing is to say because I don't know what I want. I can't imagine myself sitting alone in Four's office because I'd feel like I was trespassing, and I definitely can't see myself making it through an afternoon of training with the Dauntless born initiates. Especially if that puts me anywhere near the vicinity of Eric and his initiates. So I just stay quiet.
"No, I'll take her," Zeke says. "I was going to work out anyway, she can do weights with me."
"No, I'll-"
Zeke interrupts Four by clapping him on the shoulder and standing. "She'll be fine with me. Come on, Trissy girl, I'll show you how I keep these in condition." He raises his arms to flex them and a small smile graces my lips.
He's a pleasant change from the company I've grown used to. Not so serious.
I hesitate, glancing between Zeke and Four until Four nods at me, granting permission, I suppose, and I slip from the bench, murmuring a quiet, "Bye," as I pass Four, and follow after Zeke on his way out. He's not at all like Four, and we stop at four different tables for him to chat with the people there before we reach the exit. He leads the way out, calling out greetings and catcalling friends the whole time, until he pushes out through a door to the outside.
"Where are we going?"
He turns to me and grins. "We're going to go and have some fun, Trissy," he says.
"I'm supposed to train," I say, only realising afterwards how pathetic it sounds as a response. Like I can't stand to go against orders.
It's not very Dauntless, but it is somewhat true.
"This is training," Zeke says, but there's a mischief in his eye that keeps me from believing him. "Think of it as learning as you go. It's very helpful." He laughs loudly, and my nerves ball in my stomach.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I say. "I'm behind everybody else."
He gives me a comforting smile as he walks us towards the gate on the way out. "Trust me, Trissy, I'll make sure this is as educational as can be."
The nerves stay stuck in my stomach, but I nod my head once sharply, and I try to force myself to do as he's asked, but the trust doesn't come easy.
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A/N: Thank you for your feedback on the last chapter. Reviews are truly the purest form of writing motivation for me. This one took a bit of redoing because I'm changing what comes next a little, but it's ready now. I liked this one better than the last, and we finally have some more characters coming into the fold. I hope you enjoyed.
Leave me your thoughts.
- Laylz :)