I'm about to take a seat when my name is called.
Lauren stands holding open the door to the room. The sound of my name is foreign to my ears; it's the first time Four isn't overlooking me.
It's also the first time I'm going first. My legs don't move and my brain doesn't work. I've been the last few initiates to be picked these past three days, so what makes today special? The dark-haired instructor turns impatient, repeating my name with underlying contempt. A hand forces me forward, resulting in my feet stumbling over each other.
The Dauntless instructor throws me an insult that falls on deaf ears; someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I look around the room warily, but it is unsurprisingly identical to Four's. Climbing onto the metal chair, apprehension claws at my consciousness as I try to figure out why I'm here. The thought of voicing my curiously plays teasingly at my mind, though it is the caution that prevents the execution.
The dubiously color liquid enters my field of vision before disappearing to my neck. It is at that moment I make a random note for alcohol to be applied at the injection site.
"Eleven minutes, fifteen seconds." Does Four do this to the other initiates too? Inform them of their times robotically? I sit up and pat my cheeks with the back of my cold hands. Today's fear was my first abstract one; I'm not sure which I prefer.
My calves are stiff as boards and a brisk glance at the now-blank computer screen tells me that my face is as white as a sheet. Even though the thick hoodie hugs me securely, I feel cold inside. Only when Lauren grips my arm and hauls me out of the chair, do I exit the room independently.
I immediately regret stepping past the threshold.
"I'm taking you to Amity." Every muscle in my body tenses at the baritone voice.
I take a step back to the door, but it slams shut as I bump into it. Bitch. Holding my breath, I slowly look up to the Dauntless leader. Eric stands relaxed a few feet away in his sleeveless vest, hands deep in his pockets – the epitome of perceived casualness.
'He took away one of ours, saying that his Candor mother was sick. It's been more than a week already.' My mother's warning flit wispily in my ears. 'The boy showed signs of divergence.' Eric knows. My chest constricts painfully at the revelation. Eric must know of what I am for him to bring me out. Never have I ever seen him bring a transfer back to their faction of origin. The air is starting to suffocate me now; the same substance keeping me alive has disappeared, leaving behind a small fraction to tease. I need to escape. My back presses into the door behind me, clinging onto the pathetic hope that Lauren would let me in.
But Four would. My eyes zero in on the door to my right. It's a good distance away but a head start will get me there. I will survive.
I barely make a step to the side before I'm roughly grabbed by the arms. Panic takes over as I shriek and kick out, managing to hit something soft but firm. Flashes of my sim-father cloud my vision, 'How could you?'. It's as if the fear sim is mocking me now that I can't run from reality. The calloused hands around my arms tighten.
A caged feral dog; that's what I've become. 'After everything that we've done for you... After everything everyone's done for you...' My back is struck with cold air before being pushed against the freezing wall. I've failed them; I've failed them.A hand covers my mouth as I'm about to scream, muffling the tone undetectable. Eric's body is pressed up against mine, rendering my legs useless for escape. Spews of curses fall of the Dauntless leader as he retrains me with himself. I struggle back, using all the resources and mobility I have to throw him off. But he's an unmoving rock. Nevertheless, I continue to fight back and yell into his hand, praying that Four will come save me.
No one does. I'm full blown panicking now, every warning bell in my head going off like wildfire. There is a loud ringing in my ears and my vision is blurry, rendering both senses useless. My uncoordinated mind rakes through my memory, trying to pull out anything mother has taught me to escape from situations like these. But unlike in training, the intention here is to kill; and that is enough to fog every technique I've learned.
"Fuck Anna, what's gotten into you!" Is what he yells after my forearm has been twisted behind and my cheek is against the wall. As much as I shouldn't say this, I am grateful that the fight has ended. All energy has been sapped from my body, mentally and physically. This is where Eric will take me to anywhere except Amity, most likely to execute me like he did to Amar – Four's divergent instructor – and the Candor boy. "Fucking hell. Is this somehow linked to your fear sims?" His question is sharp like a bark, but has an underlying hint of weariness.
"No."
His response is without hesitation and with a growl. "Liar." I blink. "You know, here I was thinking that you would be prancing around when I told you Johanna wanted to see you." He steps away and rubs his face harshly. There is a small bruise forming on his forearm, one that no one would notice unless they inflicted it.
Johanna wants to see me. Either he is actually taking me to Amity; or a really good liar.
But questioning him will only raise more red flags. "Go change." He snaps. "Preferably something with pockets and boots." No time is given for me to reply as he shoves me towards the dorms, phone already by his ear.
Eric stands outside the dorm snapping orders and sarcastic remarks through the mobile. He's in a foul mood, with the cause being me and whoever's on the other end. The veins that are usually inconspicuous under the tattoos stand out unmistakably now. I pity the person on the receiving end. A clenched fist is held out in front of me. "Take this." There is a moment of hesitation from me, since I am still leery of his intentions. "For protection." He adds on impatiently. I expected a gun, since a gun would be an obvious choice as a weapon of self-defense. Instead, a metal bar falls into my hand – a pocket knife. My eyes snap to his in shock but his back is already to me; never once did I voice out my preference for blades over firearms to anyone.
It's only when I see the familiar orchards do I believe his claim and apologize.
He doesn't reply; eyes never straying from the road. Eric's perpetual scowl has yet to cease, keeping the air in the Caiman truck tense. I sit at the edge of my seat, regretting my choice of choosing shotgun. My boots are tight and stiff on my feet; a subtle torture device. The pants are no better with their baggy feel throughout, a far cry from the leggings and skirts I wore my whole life. The rough material of the pants makes it feel heavy, draggy and hot – every adjective about clothing I dislike; well, with the exception of sparkly.
When the truck rolls to a stop meters away from the barn I realize something: my dogs are here. Did something happen to them that Johanna requested for me? My fingers curls around the edge of my seat. There were a million things that could go wrong; injury, sickness, lash-outs, depression, disappearance, death. A ball forms at my throat, one I can't swallow. I shouldn't have left them.
The door is thrown open, revealing a very infuriated Eric; the scowl on his face seems like a permanent fixture. I stumble out of the vehicle before he can say anything, too distracted to even mumble a thanks. The ground is soft and familiar, a stark difference to the uneven concrete my new faction has to offer. I don't make a step when a hand grips painfully at my forearm. "We take Faction over blood-"
Irritation sparks in me; I've just about had it. "Yeah I know." There are more important matters to attend to than his stupid speech.
But the consequences of my actions only register the moment his nostrils flare. Shit. The moment he takes a step forward, I start to understand why everyone is afraid of him. Eric towers over me by almost an entire foot, breathing ragged as he tries to get a grip. My back hits the metal truck, reminding me of earlier outside of the sims room. But unlike then, Eric is the one who initiated it now. I'm definitely in deep shit. "You-"
He's cut off by a noise, one that didn't come from me. 'Thup.' Something just landed on the truck.
It's the body that anticipatedly brushes past my legs that confirms my hunch. My blood runs cold. Everything is starting to roll out just peachy. Why did I not put up more of a fight when we were leaving Dauntless? "Do. Not. Move." Each syllable is strained and robotic, a small comparison of the dread I'm experiencing. I dig my hand into the mass of fur to restrain the dog. It jolts beneath me, releasing a snarl that tears through the air.
Forcing myself to think, the index and middle finger touch my thumb as I count; one above, one in front.
Crap; crap; crap. There is something dangerous about Sabre when he's in hiding, for it means that whoever's getting the end of his jaws will never see it coming. The grey dog has the hunting instincts of a wolf, making him ridiculously deft at being a predator. Green grass greet me from both sides, stretched out far with no patch of silver in sight. At this point in time, there is only one thing I can do. "Hold!"
A beat of nothing passes and the leader still stands unscathed. Another snarl enters my ears as I sigh in relief. Thank the heavens.This was a close call. Though my dogs have been programmed to only engage in hostiles at command, they are still animals, and animals may get ahead of themselves sometimes.
The fur beneath my palm continues to jolt forward, snapping its jaws before recoiling like there's a chain restraining him. Eric's eyes are wide; I'm just glad he's still alive. "Back off." I raise my voice over the snapping; it stops. A familiar coat of black and brown moves to stand in front of me, forcing the man to take a few steps back. Hunter doesn't stop there, continuing forward step by step and flashing his teeth warningly, hackles raised. "Hey! Hey! Ears down." The dog pauses with a paw in the air but doesn't back off, bending its forelegs slightly like a lion stalking its prey.
All tension is broken when a howl sounds from behind the stunned leader. The outcry is deep and throaty, no doubt travelling for miles on end. A grin spreads throughout my cheeks as all dread and worry flies out the window; I'm home. Pure delight blossoms from my chest, pushing all the thoughts of the leader and the almost-mishap far far away. Two weeks. It's been almost two weeks since I've been separated from my fur babies, since I've went on an adventure or cuddled with them. I'm glad the wait is over.
'Tack, tack, tack, tack, tack' Is the sound a dog's feet makes on metal – uncoordinated and never-ending. "Hi Hawk." My voice takes on a babyish-tone, one I only use on them. The dog lands in front of me, tail wagging so hard that its entire body follows with it. He's doing the excited dance on the spot; body shaking, feet pattering, tongue lolled to the side. "Hi." I'm down to the dog's level before he can jump on me, hands grabbing his furry face as he surges forward to greet me. "Hi." Giggles explode within me as Hawk licks my face and then starts pushing his side against my chest. He spins round and round frantically, rubbing his fur all over my front before settling two paws on my shoulders. My arms go around him as he pants in my left ear, short clip whines escaping between quick breaths. He's such a cutie. Before I know it, I'm spinning him in circles. Hawk barks and licks my face, for once not minding being treated like a lap dog.
I only put the dog down once I felt my grip slipping through his fur. It is then do the deafening howls cease for a minute before erupting again much closer to me. Sabre has his muzzle vertical to the sky, front paws alternate on being lifted slightly. "Sabre." I crawl to him with Hawk still hopping and attacking me. "Sabre, hey." Gentle movements pull the dog's head down to my eye level. "Hey big boy." I coo, a hand going up to stroke his ear. The dog stops howling immediately and barks once. His front body drops to the ground with his ass shaking in the air – a comical sight. Cocking his head to the side for a millisecond, he takes off without warning. The hyperactive dog kicks of the dirt on the ground, dashing off at neck-breaking speeds in large ovals. Every time he comes a circuit which ends with dashing past me, he tackles poor Hawk, jaws closing loosely around one of his legs before taking off again.
My final dog stays rooted where I last saw him. The fur on his neck are no longer perked but his ears are trained towards the dangerous man. "Gunner." His ear twitches in recognition but other than that he doesn't move a muscle. Its only when I'm sitting on my heels in front of him does his composure collapse. Gone is the trained protector, replaced by what some may call as a 'pathetic puppy'. His ears lay flat against his skull and his elbows bend; a position who if anyone saw, won't believe his capabilities. This mighty beast had warp into a whimpering mess, making my heart ache for him. Arms hug Gunner close to me, tears springing my eyes as the reality of how much I've missed them hits. I am overwhelmed by the feelings of homesickness and regret. Unlike Hawk, Gunner doesn't put his paws on my shoulder; instead, he remains seated, face buried into my chest with a single paw pawing my thigh. Sobs wreck through me like how the whimpers wreck through his, raw and overwhelming. "I'm so sorry." I choke it out like he understands my words, because deep down I know this intelligent being does. Gunner continues to push against me, trying to get closer even though there's no space left between us. My lips are on his fluffy head, murmuring endearments and comforts. His coat is soft like a cloud, just like how I remembered it to be, reigniting the nights where he would lay by my side like an oversized teddy. Those nights were the ones I love the most.
Of course, since these dogs were born, no misery ever lasted long. The other two broke our bubble of gloom – a self-appointed duty they never failed to do. They nudge my cheeks and neck accompanied by hot breaths in the ear, just enough for me to chuckle and push them away.
"Now this, is the reunion I've been waiting for." My ears prick at the soothing voice.
I hastily erase traces of sadness before turning to my previous faction leader. "Thank you." The expression lacks the emptiness it usually holds when used as courtesy.
A hand extends to my face in assistance to pull me up. Like most Amity greetings, I'm pulled into a bone-crushing hug. "Welcome home."
Turns out, Johanna had requested for me in exchange for Eric to meet her over new security implements – or so I'm told.
I had forgotten about the young man until he cleared his throat, startling me. Eric hasn't really moved from the spot Gunner back him into. It appears that he is stunned andmore relaxed than normal, an odd expression considering that he was basically threatened minutes ago. Johanna greets him stiffly, which would be hard to tell if one didn't see her interact with the rest of the general Amity population.
Keeping up her end of the bargain, Johanna leads us to her office-stable so they may discuss in privacy. Eric never once spare me a glance since the dog incident. Though such ignorance should turn my mood downhill, the dogs were too distracting for that to happen. Gunner stays almost pressed to my side; nose constantly nudging my hand for pets. The other rascals tackle and takedown each other, making me think that they skipped their morning exercise.
John is at the stables when we enter. In his hands is a large cardboard box, one that goes from his waist to chin. "Kelly made these for them." He pipes excitedly after the two leaders had left. Kelly is an Amity woman just a year younger than John. She makes all the harnesses, clothing, and equipment dogs may need throughout their life. Her expertise on this area and imagination to create new gadgets has made her well respected among the faction, even at such a young age. So naturally, any new items from Kelly was sure to perk me up.
The first appliance is called the 'loop muzzle'. It looked nothing like the ugly fully covered plastic muzzles that I used when the dogs were adolescents. The contraption was simply a collar with a loop that goes around the base of the snout. It prevents biting without restricting actions like eating, drinking and panting. The loop around the muzzle is padded and small in width, making the dog look less vicious compared to if it wore a basket muzzle. As if it weren't already amazing enough, the side-release buckle can be easily swapped out with a pull-release one. "Easy deployment." John says smugly as the nylon falls off Gunner's snout with a swift thug.
The following items are two types of vests, both for very different uses. The improved tactical vest has a sleeker and smaller design with hidden compartments underneath to slip in small knives or messages. Small packs can be attached to the vest separately, allowing versatility in all situations. Then there is the 'work' vest – courtesy of John for converting my dogs into messenger pigeons. Like the tactical vests, these too are very versatile. The sides are covered with one-sided buckles to allow switching between packs of all sizes. These vests cover almost the entire back of the dog, unlike the tactical ones that end behind the shoulders. The work vests are much more padded, no doubt to cushion and distribute heavy weights. D-rings are also fitted to either side of the vest, two on each side. To top it off, each vest comes in three colors. Army green for Gunner; black for Sabre; mud for Hawk.
And last but not least, a brand-new bite suit. John was most excited over the new sack of black Nanotech, wiggling into it with slight difficulty before calling Sabre over. This new and improved clothing is much less baggy and sleeker compared to its holey counterpart.
To my defense, I had to stitch up the previous bite suit using boot shafts farmers used. The wellingtons were made by the Erudite for the farmers after snake-bite cases increased. Building such armor required my blood, sweat, and tears as I had to cut them up and then snitch them together; it didn't help that its most prominent property was 'impenetrable'. I wonder how Kelly managed to get ahold of such a carefully regulated material.
Sabre latches onto the renowned punching bag's propped arm after a clipped command. John lifts the beast from the ground, his suit barely hanging down from the weight. "It's amazing isn't it." He wheezes, swinging the dog side to side while it violently jerks its head. "It's just loose and soft enough to mimic human flesh, but not enough to make me trip over my feet."
I grunt. A twinge of mild annoyance flares in me. Never has John complimented my bite suit like he did to Kelly's.
Feeling a little salty, I purposely let Sabre have his go on him before calling him off. Without the added weight, John slumps onto the wall, beads of sweat already trailing down his forehead. Sabre trots up to hug me standing, his energy levels finally low enough to properly welcome me back. The unexpected mass makes me stumble back slightly. Has he gained weight? "What have you been feeding them?" I look over to my cousin while trailing a hand down Sabre's ribs. Yep, definitely gained weight.
"Just an adjustment on food." He says. My eye twitches. The meal plans for my dogs was meticulously constructed by me and dad after hours of research and months of trials. "Adrian and I have been experimenting on grounded meat, so it's more easily packable and transportable when the dogs head to Dauntless." Now my lips twitch instead. I guess that's thoughtful of him. "It's essentially the same proportions as to what is usually given, minus the bones that are still given at the side. I must have mixed up the amounts, since it's easy to overestimate when it's compact." John has gone into his Erudite mode, all analytical and calculating. "I'll have to weigh them and translate their mass into weight of food given. 90% of the meal is meat and organs yeah?"
"Yes. Oh, and you could add the supplements in too."
His face perks up and he points at me. "Right… that would make a ton of things easier." He grabs a cloth to wipe off the saliva on the suit. "We could vacuum pack to make the meats last longer. Maybe a week?" I don't get to reply or thank him as he picks up the box and carries it off, talking to himself whenever he's given a challenge.
Eric decides to stay for lunch.
I'm shocked, to say the least. It's pretty obvious that the young leader has never agreed to such a horrendous request before by the sneer he gives to every hippie he passes. Gunner stands between me and the man, effectively creating space that isn't necessary in such a packed area. Eric hasn't particularly spoken or acknowledge me yet, but at least he isn't treating me like everyone else – with contempt and brashness.
Even with all the sneers and frowns, there were still whispers that occasionally popped here and there. I wouldn't been bothered by it if it weren't for the fact that they came mostly from girls; single girls. At that realization, Eric's mood seeps into mine. A scowl plasters onto my face as I glare at the dazed girls. They aren't even the slightest bit bothered; bitches. Killer or not, the women don't deserve to have or ogle him.
Without a hint of bashfulness, I slide my tray closer him and shuffle my ass down the bench. The chewing beside me stops briefly before starting back up again, I'm not sure if he's smirking.
A hard kick at my shin makes me yelp, dropping my burger to rub the sore area. Gunner is propped up on the bench in a second, alarmed and facing Eric. I pat his shoulder twice and turn to glare at John who sits across me. My cousin's eyes are wide, looking at me crazy. I do my best to mimic his expression childishly before going back to my food.
A familiar flash of orange from my peripheral causes my hand to dart out. "Don't eat that." The dinner roll lays dejectedly on the plank table. "Contains peace serum."
Eric coughs into his fist. "Thanks."
The steak knife is back in my palm, viciously slicing through the apple in my other hand. Most of the Amity girls didn't look away when I had practically proclaimed that Eric's mine. So, I decided that some danger would do the trick. The process is simple: Make sure to hold their gaze; send the blade through the poor fruit with an exaggerated speed; wait for them to look away petrified; give the apple slice to Gunner.
I repeat the process until no one was gaping at the handsome leader. Johanna eats with a smile on her face while John still has that crazed look. When I drop the knife and apple core do I realize that Eric had finished his meal much earlier and was blatantly watching the show. He has a full-blown smirk now, one so big that I can see it when his head isn't to me. I clear my throat awkwardly, having the urge to excuse myself. It takes me a while to figure out what to say but I managed. "Thank you Johanna, for the hospitality." My voice is robotic but it'll to do.
John takes slightly longer to restrain the dogs who know that me heading towards the truck equates to me leaving them behind; times like these are when they are too smart for their own good. The peace-laced treats have yet to kick in their systems, which means that they are currently jolting and yowling from the barn.
I cringe as I pull the door shut. Eric sat in the car watching the whole ordeal. He had a cocky smirk on the whole way back to the truck, making the idea of him consuming some peace serum not too far-fetched. When it was time for us to depart, he told me softly to take my time with the dogs, saying that he'll wait in the truck. His words took a while to sink in as I'm not used to the tone, so I stupidly blinked at him. "Ah." Was all I manage to throw out. It was a pleasant surprise; for I've never seen the malicious leader show a gentler, caring side in front of other people.
My farewell with my dogs consisted of me promising that I'll be back. But judging by how Hawk suddenly started yowling, I don't think they understood. Sabre quickly caught on the situation and started tugging at the collar John was gripping. My poor cousin was lurched back and forth from the weight like a ragdoll, which I would've found amusing if my heart didn't hurt to leave them again.
It was Gunner who put a stop to the Belgian Malinois' antics. The largest beast rose mightily, lifted his tail, puffed out his chest and snapped at the two hounds. Though his efforts did help John to regain his composure, the dogs were back at it after mere seconds of cowering.
I wait for the yowling to stop – which was a long time – before speaking up. "They can be a bit… loud… Sorry." The dogs are making horrible impressions for the person who will somewhat decide their fate in a week and half – once initiation ends.
Eric's facing front, towards the stable and dogs. His head is slightly tilted in fascination. "They seem pretty… attached." He says distractedly. "Yours?"
This conversation is starting to get weird. "Err yeah." I wring me hands together, unsure of his seemingly calm mood. Honestly, I expected him to snap at me. For spending pretty much all my time here with the dogs, Johanna and John; for going against the whole 'Faction over blood' crap. Throughout the whole visit, I barely stuck by the leader; and it wasn't because Gunner was nudging me a safe distance away, though it was a good visible excuse. My time and energy were spent on catching up with John and the latest nifty tricks he taught my hounds. Though some were impressive, like grabbing items when pointed at, most were unflattering.
"Look, look, look!" Is the phrase he uses that braces me to cringe. One of his 'greatest' accomplishments is when he forms a circle with his fingers and the dog will stick his snout in it. "You so smart eh? Yes, yes, a very smart smartie." He coos after every successful attempt, squishing the dog's face together as the tail wags. I try to stand behind my cousin when he exhibits his tricks; gives me the freedom to grimace without offending. In retrospect, I suppose that these tricks could come in handy for the dogs when they get to Dauntless; I'll just need to figure out in what way.
Eric's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Why leave?" He's still staring at the barn where my dogs had disappeared into. "You have everything you want here." His voice is curious but has a slight distaste. Picking up on his tone, I choose to thread carefully.
My head leans against the window as I relax into my seat. "No, not everything." I say quietly. These two words can be interpreted differently depending on the person. The first – the thrill of adventure. Despite Amity being the biggest faction area-wise, there wasn't much to do other than farming, singing and dancing. Even with all the trees and natural landscapes, normal apple-pickers don't venture out from the comfort of the fields. Dauntless though, offers adrenaline rushes with a sense of danger. Train jumping and protecting the city is sure to keep one on their toes, for one can't slack when doing such tasks. Ask me two years ago, and this would be my answer – that Amity was dull. But now with my dogs, I've spent hours at places that were left untouched. Curious ones, these beasts; they would dive head first when we approach a forest and it's hard to not follow them. With my dogs providing safety and fun simultaneously, it's impossible for me to ever find Amity dull again.
The second interpretation is one an infatuated person would wish for – to be with the man from the fence. Honestly, the man – Eric – wasn't what pushed me towards the glowing coals; in fact, his contribution was so minuscule that it might as well not be there. Sure, the man on the fence was the first time a man really noticed me. But had I stayed back here in Amity, I could've found someone right for me – someone like John preferably. Plus, it would be foolish of me to think that the man was a perfect fit just because he is curious about a flower-sniffer.
Looking at him now, with his posture relaxed and any hint of the stress of being a leader gone, I could imagine a life with him. One without any worries of divergents and all that slaughtering crap. One where we would come home from work and relax on the couch, maybe have the dogs by our feet as we watch a movie. One where I would make one of the few dishes I know – lasagna perhaps – and he would be watching in fascination or distracting me with showers of affection.
But as soon as the scene is created, it's gone.
A fantasy; that's all it is, just like all the times my mind wanders when I stare deep into his slate blue eyes. It is inane to hope that such a wild man like this would change his ways. 'You love the person as they are now, not who you wish they become', was father's words. People don't change for someone else, to fit a certain mold the other has shaped; even if they did, it will only last so long. A lie their relationship will be, only needing a small trigger point for everything to break loose. But with all the advice I've been given and studying Eric now, I can't help but cling to the hope that there's more to this man than what everyone perceives.
A/N
This is by far the longest chapter (5.5k words) and also my most hated one. .-. It's not so much of the content, but the writing. This is the chapter where I spent half a week to write and also felt really stuck. I kinda wanna rewrite it, but not really sure how I'm gonna pull that off while still including everything or how to write it in general. Maybe I should chop it up into two chapters when rewriting, but first I'll need to find the motivation to do it haha.
On a brighter note, I'm progressing a little faster now that this chapter is over.