Major thanks to everyone who has been following this story so far. I appreciate allll of you!
Super mega thanks to BK2U for editing this! You're editing skills are the stuff of goals lol.
I swallow down the round of pills without much of a fight.
After leaving Dr. Erin's room of torture, I'd reluctantly taken the handful of medication the nurse had handed to both Pete and me. He followed my lead, throwing them back and washing them down with something that tasted like apple juice. Each of us were then escorted to an exam room for monitoring. It was there that I spent an uncomfortable twenty minutes waiting for the pills to kick in, then another twenty minutes sweating when I realized Violet had been right.
They'd done nothing.
I don't feel the slightest bit groggy or drugged. I actually feel fine, maybe even a little more energized, though it could all be in my head. More than likely, it's my nervous system preparing to fight off the sluggish feelings I was ready for. Whatever it is, it feels far better to sit and ignore the nurse while she takes my blood pressure and occasionally smiles in my general direction than to sit here and talk about my feelings. I even let her murmured comment of good boy slide.
"Are you feeling alright?" she asks, and I nod, keeping my stare on the eye chart, mentally reading the letters over and over:
F
U
C
K
Y
O
U
Until she dismisses me without another word.
At dinner, I was given another cup of the multicolored pills, and while I eyed them warily, I swallowed them down once Violet nodded at me.
"Placebo."
She whispered it just as she had during Dr. Erin's session. The nurse behind her smiled blandly at our table, her interest clearly not on us. We were all sitting in the same seats as this morning, and it felt oddly disorienting to think I'd sat here, mere hours ago, with my fist around Pete's throat. I swallow heavily, not entirely enjoying the feeling of the tiny bits of plastic sliding down my esophagus. I notice one of the aides staring at me, probably making sure I really did take the pills, and I stare at her until she leaves.
"They're happy you took them," Violet whispers again, and I wonder if she can talk at any other decibel.
"Good for them. Now, tell me, why so many placebos?" I ask her, my voice cold and indifferent.
Violet peers up from beneath her hair, brushing it to the side and studying me for a second. I stare back at her, and I can feel my jaw clenching shut in irritation when it takes her forever to answer.
"I told you," she finally whispers, her gaze back to the aides lingering at the table. I notice them watching Bella, nodding as they talk amongst themselves. "It's a test. They want to see if you're willing to follow their system. Because if you aren't, and you resist taking the medication, they'll start you on a different plan of action."
She sounds like someone who could conceivably work here, if any of them actually spoke so quietly. I wonder if she's parroting what she's been told, or if it's even true. I have every inclination not to trust her; she could be setting me up for failure. They could be planning on testing me and seeing if I've been taking anything, or they could be slowly increasing my dosage.
"I know you don't trust me, but I'm not lying to you. I don't have any reason to."
I turn back to Violet, her brown eyes wide and honest, and I stab my hamburger with a vengeance.
"I don't."
I don't speak to her again. I don't speak to anyone else at the table, not even when Bella completely and utterly loses her shit at one of the cafeteria workers. She screams bloody murder, flinging her plate and her fork at Bobby, yelling something about can't we hear him barking at her, over and over again. She doesn't calm down until she's roughly pulled up from the table, one of the aides handing her something to take. I keep my stare trained on her, noticing that she takes three red tablets without question. Her shoulders slump in relief, and she leaves shortly after, her head down and her eyes glazing over.
"Well, that was fun. I don't know about you guys, but I am wiped out." Bobby breaks the silence at our table, grinning at me. "Eric, you excited to hear what you landed on today?"
"What I landed on?" My eyebrow must be into my hairline. I stab my burger again, trying hard to pretend the meat is edible. Even Dauntless couldn't manage to fuck up hamburgers, yet this place somehow did.
"Yeah, on the chart. At the end of the day you get a behavioral color. It's how you earn privileges. I sure do hope I'm on green. That way I can get an extra hour of reading time. Oooh, or maybe a haircut! It's getting kind of long."
I swallow my food down, the tasteless lump stuck somewhere in my ribs, and I try hard, very hard, not to kill someone.
"Yellow."
Kenan grins at me, handing me a basket with a towel on top of it.
"Congratulations, man. You've now earned the right to shower and wash that shit show greasy hair of yours, some new clothes, and last but not least, slippers."
I could crack his skull in two. I stare at him and the wide, happy, genuine grin on his face, and I realize he's clearly psyched for me.
"You uh, you wanna shower now? They're pretty empty at this hour. You'll have a bit more privacy if that's what you're into."
Every inch of my skin hurts the longer he talks. I realize I'm holding my breath, and I exhale sharply.
"Those are my privileges?" I sound nasty, as nasty as I would right before I'd normally shoot someone in the head, but he has to be fucking kidding. Not only had I been ranked on some sort of childish color chart, the name Eric Coulter had been stuck to a yellow square, one above red.
"They are, my man."
"They're shit. I want a phone call. I want to call…"
"No can do," Kenan interrupts and he shakes the basket at me. "You'll get a phone call tomorrow if you complete your one-on-one session, though I doubt you've got a long list of people waiting for you to call them. Your intake paperwork looked pretty bleak."
He's not being rude. I can tell by the look on his face, the slight change of tone to his voice, that this man, this fucking security guard at an insane asylum, has the audacity to pity me over my emergency contact list.
"Who I have to call is none of your fucking business," I snap, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
"I know yellow ain't all that great, man. Trust me, I get it. But you gotta start somewhere. I'd suggest you start by taking a shower so you don't get labeled as the smelly serial killer. Regular serial killer is cool. But smelly? That shit don't fly around here."
I wordlessly take the basket from him and I bite down on the side of my cheek so hard that I taste blood.
"Fuck off."
There's nothing that makes you feel alive like having another man stand there while you take a shower. Or sit there. Because the first thing Kenan does after taking me to a room with a row of four separate showers is make himself comfortable on the bench against the wall.
"Get out," I narrow my eyes at him as he settles back against the wall, opening up a magazine and propping his feet up.
"I ain't here to check out your ass, Dauntless. No one showers alone. It's in the handbook, section six, paragraph three. Don't need you trying to hang yourself with a shower curtain before bed. You can do that shit on someone else's watch."
I could scream.
"You can have up to fifteen minutes. I'm feeling generous today. Especially after your big promotion and all."
I choose to ignore him. Instead, I turn on the shower and yank my shirt off over my head. The terrible pants and my boxers are next, and I step into surprisingly hot water and pull the shower curtain closed.
"You've probably got a much nicer shower back at home. I heard Dauntless leaders have pretty cushy lives."
I reach for the shampoo bottle, not bothering to tell him he couldn't be more wrong. I don't lead any kind of cushy life in Dauntless, not unless one considers cushy to be working relentlessly and being hounded to produce more. More soldiers, always from weak initiates that are mostly just overly-brave teenagers. More Divergents, from lists that have questionable descriptions of what exactly a Divergent is. More specimens for Jeanine to experiment on. More mind-numbing paperwork to fill out, making it look like I spend most of my time approving and expanding upon factional boundaries and patrol routes.
No, there's nothing cushy about it.
Even as a leader, my downtime is minimal at best — mere minutes before I fall asleep at night, a scant hour here or there, usually aided by the strongest whiskey I can find. I often sleep dreamlessly, through short hours, rising before the faction wakes. It's a pace that I won't be able to keep up forever, but it has been worth it to me.
Or at least it was, at one point.
My eyes sting at the thought. Squeezing them shut tightly, I wipe away the overly-scented shampoo from my face.
"It's not as nice as you think."
I don't know why I answer him. The room has been silent aside from the sounds of me washing my hair and the running water. Kenan makes a disinterested sound of approval before I hear him stand up and open the door. He talks quietly with someone, their voices echoing, but I can't quite make out what they're saying.
The locker room is now humid, but it feels good against my skin. I use the bar of soap provided, viciously scrubbing at my skin until it's red and raw. When I'm satisfied, I rinse off, wiping my face with my hands.
"You okay in there, Dauntless? You still got five minutes, but I'm just making sure you aren't trying to figure out if you can fit down the drain."
His words make me snort.
"You think I'm joking. But there have been a few looney tunes who thought they could escape through the plumbing."
I rinse my hair and shut off the water. It gurgles down the drain, and I watch it swirl around for a solid minute before reaching for the towel Kenan had gifted to me. I step out, a slight bit surprised to find him still in the room.
"Well, look at you. All nice and clean and a lil less murderous than before." Kenan grins from his perch on the bench, and he motions to the sinks. "Maybe that's all you needed. A good scrubbing to calm down your rage." He pauses, but starts again before I have time to snap at him. "I grabbed your toothbrush. You can thank me anytime."
I don't say another word to him.
That night, I dream of my mother.
She stands before me, her arms open wide, her gaze soft and kind and everything that any child would want to see. I ignore her plea to come near her, stubborn even in my unconsciousness, and I walk past, disregarding the flinch in her posture.
"You can't go yet, Eric. Will you stay a little longer?"
Even in my dream, her words are like a snake, wrapping themselves around my brain until I can't think. I stare at her, her blonde hair neatly pulled back and her royal blue dress so extravagant — yet so oddly simple — that it almost seems too formal even for Erudite, and I shrug at her.
"I'll come back to visit."
But I won't.
Even in my dream, I can connect what she's talking about.
The day when I chose to leave my life in Erudite behind. A life of practical and applied theories. One that, should I have chosen to stay there, would have been filled with logic, rules, and strictly enforced codes that I would thrive under, allowing me to follow in their footsteps.
But I didn't want that.
I never wanted safety and pragmatism. I wanted something else, something that would make me feel different. Something that would make me feel purposeful. Needed. Alive.
After I left Erudite, I never went back.
But there was no need to. One blisteringly hot afternoon, after I'd returned home from school, my father coolly informed me that there had been an event and that my mother wouldn't be coming home. I would always remember his words, his clinically detached tone as he explained I wouldn't see her around anymore.
I never asked any further questions, but I did dream of her.
Just like now.
She reaches for me, her hands soft and warm, pulling me towards her. I finally give in, letting myself lean into her, no longer a child but a grown man, and she dissolves into a million little pieces, each one blinking away as they grow smaller and smaller.
I awake drenched in sweat.
My head is pounding and my hands are clammy. I force myself to sit up, dizziness sweeping over me with the fading image of my mother. The thought of her makes me feel ill and hot, suddenly claustrophobic in the tiny room. I don't hesitate as I shove the sheets off of me and swing my legs over the bed; my bare feet hit the floor. I make the split-second decision to take a risk by heading towards the door and opening it without listening for the night nurses doing their routine checks. They'd surely force me back into the room, or drug me back to sleep if I protested.
I'm relieved when I find no one in the hallway.
I walk past all the closed doors quickly, trying hard to slow my breathing down to something more normal. So far, the floor is mostly silent; there is only the ticking of a clock somewhere and the hum of cheap, industrial fluorescent lighting. When I reach the end of the hallway, I come upon a doorway marked 'stairwell', and it is by some miraculous force that it is unlocked when I pull on it. I don't really know where I'm going, but I step through onto a landing, glancing around quickly.
My choices are either up or down.
I head down the stairs two at a time, rounding a sharp corner and coming to a halt when I see a door marked 'exit'. My heart pounds in my chest, refusing to slow down at the tantalizing good fortune I have stumbled upon.
My hand is sweaty as I turn the knob and push slowly, preparing myself to run as fast I can once my feet hit the outside grounds.
Too bad my plan is a spectacular failure.
I am hit by the smell of rain and pine. I'm also hit by the sight of Violet sitting atop an awkward extra step that leads down to an old fire escape. My mind whirls as I try to make sense of what's going on, and I'm overcome with a rush of white hot disappointment when I realize this fire escape leads nowhere. Someone has detached the set of stairs that would normally lead to the level below, and instead has neatly sealed it up enough that you can't fall through it. The edges of the metal are welded, leaving me without the hope of prying them apart.
It doesn't matter.
I had no idea until now, but we are a good five stories up, and there's a higher likelihood of falling to my death than there is of actually landing safely on the ground below.
"Are you okay? You look a little pale."
Violet looks up at me, unwrapping her arms from around her knees. She's dressed atypically from the pajamas I imagine they hand out; hers seem to consist of an oversized men's shirt that isn't from here and a pair of short, flimsy-looking shorts. She is barefoot, and she doesn't seem to be bothered by the turn in the air. There is a sharp breeze that scrapes against my cheek, and a coolness that wasn't there a few days ago.
"Does Kenan know you're out here?"
Her words drift up in the night, soft as ever and quiet enough that they could be swept up with the wind. I shake my head at her, reluctantly sitting down beside her when I realize I have nothing better to do. She rewraps her arms around her knees and turns her stare back to the vast darkness in front of us.
"Why are you out here?" I ignore her question, my voice sounding rougher and ruder than normal.
But she isn't bothered by it. She smiles up at me warily, and for once, I can see her entire face.
"I'm on pink. I can go pretty much wherever I please so long as it's on the grounds. Sometimes, if I can't sleep very well, Kenan and I will come sit out here and talk until I'm tired. Not many of the other residents know this is here."
I grunt in response.
"You thought you were free, didn't you?" Violet asks curiously, cocking her head to the side. "I bet when you saw the sign you thought you were almost out of here. You probably wondered how could it be so easy?" She doesn't sound condescending at all. Her voice is perfectly even and soft, and she pulls her knees up higher. "The first time I saw it, I did."
"When did they take it down?" I settle down against the step, letting my feet touch the cold metal.
Beside me, Violet shifts, her hair falling back in her face, and she looks down at the patched-up area. A few raindrops have fallen onto it, and the wet metal gleams back at us under the cold moonlight.
"A long time ago. It used to lead all the way to the bottom, you know. When they took off the ladder it mostly fixed the problem, but some people still tried to use it as a way out. That's why Kenan doesn't let anyone out here but me," she answers, and her voice sounds far away.
I want to ask her if she's ever tried to run away, but I don't. Maybe she has. Maybe that's why she stays so quiet, always silently observing the world around her, because she knows she's ultimately stuck in this hellhole.
The two of us lapse into further silence, sitting side by side on the creaky metal fire escape as the rain slowly increases, sprinkling down upon us. It isn't until Kenan appears, with a grumpy look on his face and crankily informing us that we both need to get back in bed, that I forget about my dream.
"Oh, heck yes, are you ready for this? Oh, you're ready for this. You were made for this."
Bobby's excitement has reached a level I haven't seen before. He practically bounces on his heels as we wait in a long line of assorted patients who aren't exactly mentally stable. Everyone is dressed in orange clothing, and they look like a sea of strange animals being herded towards a slaughterhouse.
"Where are we going?" I grit my teeth together, hating that I'm forced to ask him a question. I dislike not having the upper hand here, and so far, my knowledge of this place is frustratingly limited. I'd only learned a tiny section of the layout: my room and the bathrooms, the locker room with showers, a therapy room, and a cafeteria. It's all laid out on one floor, and after last night, it's maddening to know that there are levels and wings that would leave me lost in a maze were I to wind up in one.
It's a far cry from Dauntless, where I know every inch like the back of my hand.
"We're going to the gym."
Bobby says the words loudly, eliciting a few whoops of celebration.
Not from me.
"Why?" I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. We haven't had any coffee yet; hell, we haven't done anything except sit through Dr. Erin's lecture on the power of positive thinking. I'd been positive it was a waste of time, but I did catch up on some sleep by nodding off behind Aidy until Bobby shook me and told me we were leaving.
"It's Wellness Wednesday. It's part of our program. But don't worry. You were made for this class."
Bobby says the words as though I should have already known what's going on. Maybe even signed up in advance. He shuffles in place beside me, then claps me awkwardly on the arm and beams up at me.
I jerk away at his touch, nearly smacking Violet in the head as she sneaks past us, ducking beneath my swing. She turns back to look at me, then quickly turns back around and slips in front of a man who is wearing two different shoes.
Bobby laughs, his voice sounding a tad bit hysterical.
"Just whatever you do, don't piss off Coach."
"Move your fucking ass, Eric. Do you think this is some sort of game?"
I shoot the most venomous look I can at the beast in front of me.
So far, this little outing hasn't been going much in my favor. I may be physically fit — hell, I'm probably in better shape than most of the guards here — but I am unprepared to be playing fucking badminton on an indoor court.
I cringed when I saw the baskets filled with the vintage equipment; it's all dark and rotted, and it looked as though it had been here since this place opened. I cringed again when I'd realized we weren't going outside. I'd never been one to crave the sunshine or have any sort of appreciation for being in nature, but upon realizing we were stuck inside, my chest tightened a bit.
I had thought it was disappointment, and I fought it down fiercely. Until I was assigned to play on a team of complete and utter morons.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was a game. Did you not assign teams for the very game you said we were playing?" I snarl, already over this activity. It was clear that each week we were to perform some sort of physical activity, and I had a feeling they all were along these lines.
Our leader is a woman who barked that her name is Coach Melissa, and she gave us mere seconds to line up. She then handed out rackets and instructed us exactly where to stand on the court.
But right now, she bares her teeth at me as I take a step towards her, towering over her short stature.
"Are you getting smart with me?" she taunts, taking a step closer to me. She's unafraid, even though it would be easy for me to take her down in an instant.
"Here, I'll put it in words you can understand. Fuck you," I hiss at her, trying very hard to resist smashing her skull in with the badminton racket. It was bad enough that I was standing here barefoot, and it was soul-crushingly mortifying to think that'd I ever participate in such an activity. But the woman before me controlled my fate after this class, and she knew it.
"Oh, you want me to fuck you, Eric? No thanks. We have a strict no fraternizing rule. Not that I'd touch you with a hundred foot pole." The coach, who I refuse to actually call Coach Melissa, comes up to somewhere on the middle of my chest. She is rude and condescending, brutally unimpressed with the group of patients before her. She has the same scowl on her face that I might have had as I stood before a group of initiates, and while it doesn't strike fear in my heart, it does make me highly annoyed.
"You sound desperate," I sneer at her, waiting for her to back down a bit. I'm not dumb enough to think I can overpower her completely, but to my surprise, she seems to thrive off of resistance.
"Oh, I am desperate. Desperate for you to shut up and take orders for once in your life. Listen, I know what you're thinking. Everyone new here thinks the exact same thing. That you're too good for here. Too good to be standing around in the unofficial crazy person uniform, playing a sport that died hundreds of years ago because it was fucking stupid. Because you're Eric, and we're supposed to bow down to the almighty Dauntless leader and excuse him from his prescribed fitness class because he's too good for endorphins. But you know what? You aren't too good, not even a tiny bit. You're here, you're now one of us, and you're gonna play badminton like your life depends on it. Because it does."
With that, she shoves a shuttlecock in my face and smiles maliciously.
"You're up. Start serving."
Behind her, Pete snickers and nudges Violet. I feel a rush of ungodly burning hatred towards him, even more so when he bends down and whispers into her ear. She doesn't react, except for giving him a side eye before stepping away from him and resuming her spot.
Melissa glowers at me, her eyes flashing impatience at the fact that I'm still right in front of her.
"Any day now, Prince Eric. We're all waiting for you to start the game."
At her goading, I take the piece of cheap plastic from her, my fingers ready to rip it apart. She smiles, raising both eyebrows in mock delight.
"Well, now, look at that. Dauntless can listen. You learn something new every day." I listen to her crowing, well aware that she's not about to shut up. I ignore her, instead widening my stance so my weight is in my heels. "Assume your positions, everyone. Winning team gets an extra half hour in the cafeteria tonight."
"What? That prize sucks. Last week we got extra tacos," Pete sounds put out, and he takes a few steps towards the beast. "Why don't we get more tacos this week?"
"Because it's not fucking Taco Wednesday," she retorts. "Get back in the game before I send you to run laps."
"I'd rather run laps," Pete answers, and he crosses his arms. "This game is rigged so our team will lose. We all know you like Bobby the best, and you put him on the other team knowing that our team won't get along and we're bound to lose. There's not a chance in hell we can win."
"Lord have mercy, what are you talking about? You think I have time to sit around and analyze your friendships before dividing you up?" Melissa puts her hands on her hips. "Pete, are you high? Did you have visitors from Amity this week? Was it your family? Tell your dad to quit bringing you that Amity delight every time he rides his horse up here."
"What? No! Why would you even say that?" Pete strangely looks embarrassed, and he glances at me quickly. "I'm not from Amity. Who even said I'm from Amity? They aren't even real people there. And my dad doesn't even have a horse." He rubs at the back of his neck, and the look on his face tells me his father very much has a horse, but better yet, that we are close enough to the Amity farms that he's ridden it here.
I tuck that information away for later.
"Eric, we'll still be friends, even if you lose. Okay? I'm just letting you know. Just wanted to make that clear before we start. In case you guys lose. I'm just warning you because we play this game a lot."
Bobby calls my name from the other side of the court. His team is ready to play. I don't recognize any of them besides Aidy, but I do catch sight of a few relatively sane-looking men near his age. The odds do seem unfairly stacked given the fact that our side consists of me, Violet, Pete, and Bella.
"Eric, we will not be friends if your team wins. I'm just saying. I'm just getting that out there now. Don't think you'll be able to sit at your table anymore. You'll have to make friends elsewhere," Aidy threatens me from her spot, waving the racket around in a circle. "I mean, it's been an absolute delight watching you nearly kill people every time we eat, but I will be seriously pissed off if we lose."
"Let's GO," one of her teammates interrupts loudly, clearly impatient for this oh-so-important event. "We haven't got all day."
"Can't you see he's getting ready," Pete yells back, swinging his racket idly. "He's gotta bitch about everything first before he can start."
I take a step away from Melissa, and I toss the shuttlecock in the air just a few inches, testing the weight of it.
"He's gotta let everyone know how cool he is. How this isn't what he wants to do, and how he isn't supposed to be here, but he is because…"
He doesn't get another word out.
I toss the shuttlecock into the air again, and when it falls at just the right spot, I slam my racket into it as hard as possible. The plastic projectile works just the way I thought it would. My close proximity to Pete means the rubber ball on the end slams into the side of his face, near his temple. He wasn't anticipating being hit and he stumbles, throwing his hand to his face.
"What the FUCK! Did you just hit me? Did you do that on purpose?"
I flash both him and Melissa a blinding smile. She's watching me with a funny look on her face and her eye twitches.
"Oh, sorry," I apologize, without a single ounce of actual sincerity in my voice. "I didn't see you standing there. Wow, I'll sure have to practice my aim."
"Eric….Eric, you uh… did you uh…did you purposely slam your shuttlecock into Pete's face?" The coach can barely get the words out. Pete makes a disgusted face and winces, and Melissa presses her lips together. "I mean, that's not really how you play the game. Faces aren't where we should be aiming our shuttlecocks at."
"Can you please stop saying the word 'shuttlecock'?" Pete hisses. He turns to look at Melissa, and I can tell she's trying hard not to crack up. It makes me smile even wider as I hand her my racket.
"I'll let myself out."
I walk away without waiting for her response.