Had I gotten more sleep, I would've been more prepared for the final day of initiation.
Today is stressful. Staring at the tinted leaders' observation room, I'm reminded of Cole being a pawn of Jeanine's.
The devil herself is here today and it's difficult not to notice her. She stands out like a sore thumb in her pish-posh blue jacket and with the two lackeys who follow her around like lost puppies. I should be amused on how Jeanine's hair is tied into a ridiculously tight bun, giving her face the resemblance of a chicken egg; instead, I'm focused on the two female lackeys. It's pathetic really, because even my dogs don't look as stupid when walking with me. I do wonder what she did to train them to walk to heel like that, God forbid I ever restrain my dogs of freedom unless absolutely necessary.
However, my hostility towards the two lackeys I've never met isn't because the girls walk like idiots in their absurdly tall high heels, but because of their shameless ogling whenever Eric walks out of the observation room to congratulate the shaken-up initiate. Technically, it's only the black haired one that's ogling, since the other seems to be uninterested unless nudged by the shoulder.
I've yet to come up with a logical reason as to why Jeanine decided that two girls who can barely walk and wear bordering-skimpy dresses offer far better brains and protection than two males ones.
Going back to the true competition – since Eric doesn't seem to even acknowledge the girls – I stop glaring at them and turn to Cole. The feelings of failure and impending dread should overwhelm me, just like it did when I was in Eric's apartment.
But looking at him now, I feel nothing towards the boy.
Maybe it's because I've taken a page out of Eric's guide to relationships – to not overthink – and decided that I shall not let a brutish boy consume my entire being. He deserves no such privilege from me.
Or maybe it's because I've never been a competitive type. All my training sessions with mom consisted of me thriving to improve myself instead of beating others or purposefully getting ahead of the group. So, looking at Cole now, I don't see someone I should beat. Rather, I see him as an inconvenience to my plans.
Or maybe it's because of Four, who decided to throw me into a game of endless cat and mouse these past two days. His distraction has kept my mind off all my problems, unknowingly forcing me to desensitize and detach from my reservations.
In retrospect, chase tag didn't only distract me, but it also made me feel accepted – like life wouldn't be so lonely without my family. As much I would hate to admit that he's right, I did enjoy the company of the Pedrad brothers. Had Four not audaciously introduce me to them, I would have never known what it feels like to be around such high-spirited people.
Being around them is like having a weight lifted off my shoulders. They have this aura that makes you feel as if you've been friends since young. The stories they tell about their pranks and Four's failed dates had me crying in laughter; and it's hard not to open up to them.
A seed of light was planted in me at that moment; maybe Dauntless could be my home.
Of course, this is ignoring the whole exchange involving Axel.
Cole makes his way into the landscape theater without a falter in his step. Jeanine grins widely at her meticulously groomed subject, causing a scowl to form on my face as I think about how she probably was like this with Eric. Never would I ever understand why people are able to consciously use others for their benefit. Forget the perks that come with it, the subjects will live in a world they didn't build themselves, and I believe that's the worst part – to know that everything you have is because of someone else. Even though my dogs were created as weapons, I sure as hell don't treat them like that. These animals are part of my family, and I would do anything to make sure they live a life full of love and what they deserve. Sure, they have their flaws and their odd quirks, but never would I ever give them up because of it.
As predicted, Cole flies past each fear as if his body has been set to stone. It is only logical to assume that he had gotten some practice in these past three days while I had goofed off with Four on Chase Tag. Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy spending time with the mirthful trio of Lions and the Pedrads' ability to crack jokes at every corner. In fact, I can imagine myself joining the odd band of new friends I made, just that I'll have to desensitize my dogs to the game once they arrive – I hope they will.
Cole's time is thirteen fears in five minutes twenty-one seconds. That's remarkably fast considering that Jace's time was almost seven minutes. However, that's not what draws my attention. For the first time since the fear landscapes started, Eric's head is turned to Jeanine's instead of the initiate.
It's a brief gesture; one that only lasted for a second. Still, nothing escapes my scrutinizing gaze when it involves Eric.
From the back of his head, I can't tell his expression towards Erudite's leader. Jeanine doesn't acknowledge him, applauding with a close-lipped smile along with the rest of the Dauntless audience.
I should dissect the intentions of the glance, to pull out all the possibilities on why Eric momentarily let his indifference demeanor slip, but I won't. I'm acutely aware of my tendency to overthink and blow things out of proportion, creating cracks on an already unstable relationship.
The glance is dismissed as a whim.
Once the young leader reaches Cole, he relaxes into a customary smile and shakes his hand like the rest of the leaders do. There are four of them present today. The other two are a lady with long maroon hair and another male with his blond hair tied into a bun. Four did tell me that the other three leaders are called Kyle, Veronica and Jessica, which by the looks of it, Jessica – who's being replaced – is the one that isn't present.
After the series of unnecessary handshakes and congratulations, Cole walks off the room towards Jeanine and her lackeys. The uninterested lackey beams as he approaches, a clear indication that there is more to them than strangers. As much as I would like to stare at them some more and try to figure out what is going on, I feel something heavy settle on me. It's the same feeling I felt on my last day at the fields.
Eric's staring at me.
I would've thought that he would give me a smile or mouth a 'good luck', but he's frowning at me like he's confused. There's not a doubt in me that he wants to talk once all this boil over.
About what, I'm not sure.
I step up to where Four holds the syringe for the final time.
Last night, I spent a long time thinking about my eight fears. Even though Eric walked me back to the dorms wishing me good luck, the warm fuzziness that bloomed in me quickly diminished as the dread of today took over. I should be thankful for having the less than average number of fears, but with the self-added pressure of having to be the fastest, I find it hard to even be grateful.
"We need to talk." He says.
Coming from a life where I've chosen to grow up in solitude, I am hesitant and inexperience when it comes to catering other's needs. This is probably why Riley has never quite confided in me despite me quite being the only person she talks to – if you consider asking menial things as talking – in the dorms. My lack of emotion and care towards what's going on in her life and her feelings towards Jace have unintentionally turned away the possibility of a friendship ever blooming – not that I wanted one with her anyways.
As for Skylar, she seems utterly content when I sparsely accept her offers of going to the Pit or having a – what she likes to call it – 'girls night out'. She doesn't seem to mind my absentminded nodding as she drones on and on about Zack. This leads me to think that perhaps this is what Zack is like to her, and that maybe she enjoys my company because I'm reasonably similar to him. Up till now, I'm still not quite sure how and why they are together. But it's not my place to judge.
My eyes haven't diverted from Four's, trying to gauge the reasoning of him wanting to meet up.
There were quite a few topics he could possibly be bothered with: my tripping, my abrupt leave last night, Lions, Chase Tag, Cole, Jeanine's presence, Jeanine's lackeys, Eric, Dauntless leadership, Faction system, yada yada yada.
I want to voice my apprehension and irritation towards his extreme vagueness, but Four gives the impression that he wouldn't elaborate.
So after shuffling my hair to the side, I reply him rigidly. "Before dinner today at five preferably." The initiation party starts at seven.
Four merely hums in agreement as he pokes the needle into my neck. My racing thoughts skid to a stop as I wince and glare at the door in front of me, not at all appreciating the lack of numbing substances that should be applied before performing tasks like these.
With a barely audible mumble of 'all the best', I push the door open into the landscape room.
Staring at my deformed hands, I grit my teeth together and scan my bedroom.
According to my limited mental calculations, I have less than forty seconds to pass each stage if I were to beat Cole. Yet, it had completely and conveniently slipped my mind to get a watch for this.
Hole covered appendages is one of the few fears I've failed to find a solution of, which leaves the only option of calming down. Jumping onto the bed I miss dearly, I grab the edge of my blanket and roll around the mattress, forming the familiar cocoon I sleep in every night.
The pitiless holes scare me, but not as much as the rest of my fears, since I've yet to see a real-life case of a person having them. So, I focus on the comfort of my bed despite my racing heart. I focus on all the good nights I've spent in this room with Gunner by my feet. I focus on the mornings where I'm rudely woken up by my dogs who've taken up the superfluous task of ensuring I start each day first thing in the morning. I focus on how only during winter do all the dogs bunk in my bed, creating a mass of warmth, fur and blankets.
And just like that, I'm standing on the top of the building. All fuzziness and contentment slip away as my stomach drops. The wind howls tauntingly in my ear and a cold hand creeps up my spine. I sincerely hope that I'll never have to enter Dauntless like I did on the first day; for I think I would vomit my guts before anything else.
I pat my face with my hands and take a deep breath. The fear of heights is the fastest to overcome, but it's the mind that prevents that from happening.
Just like the first day I arrived to my new life, I picture Eric. His presence calms me in the face of fear even through all the uncertainty we face. I imagine him beside me, providing moral support that everything will be alright and reminiscing the hug from last night.
Breathe in.
With my mind distracted, my legs loosen from their steel-like form and I break into a sprint. I keep my eyes up, knowing that the mistake of looking down will cost precious time.
Breathe out.
I shut my eyes as the ground disappears from my feet.
I yelp as pain shoots up my legs, forcing them to buckle as I tumble unceremoniously onto the ground. Unlike my previous two fears, this time I'm not alone. The familiar disgusting smell of dog breath is in my face as something wet trails up my face; something like… a… tongue.
My eyes snap open to thin stalks of grass and I scramble onto my unsteady knees. Gunner and Sabre is in front of me, looking as lively as the day I left them. In all my fear simulations, my dogs were only near me, not with me. This is the first time they're this close to me and unlike the fear sims, they are alive.
A toothy smile breaks out of my face as I bend down to the wagging mess, their tongues lolling out as they greet their owner. "Whachu doing you here?" I coo, hands weaving behind their ears. Their fur is just as soft and silky as I remember it, even coated with a thin layer of dirt from their capering in the fields. "Playtime?" Gunner pants loudly in excitement, the breaths sounding like 'yeah, yeah, yeah.'
My hand automatically reaches for the frisbee I always keep by my right, but a thought freezes my actions. Something wasn't quite right; and weren't I in a fear landscape, I wouldn't have sensed it. "Where's Hawk?"
My brain racks to pinpoint what fear this is, for losing my dogs isn't something I recall. A new fear? Hawk's disappearance doesn't instill fear in me; I have too much faith in my dogs to worry over their absence. Rather – if anything – it's the reasoning that does. A recognizable light brown hue registers in my peripherals. I look above my two remaining dogs and the answer clicks in place.
Standing fifty meters from our small group is Hawk. But unlike the duo, his attention isn't to my presence or the notion that it's playtime, it's to the sky.
I recognize his stance immediately; tail tucked between his legs, ears flat against his skull, eyes wide towards the rapidly greying sky. It's about to storm.
Just as the realization enters my head, a lightning bolt strikes the fence and fat wet bullets start falling.
Run.
The fear of lightning is from the courtesy of my dogs, though they mostly fear the merciless noise that comes with it. It is times like this where I regret bring them out to the field, for it was a horrible mile away from trees, much less shelter. Being a nerd at school, I had undoubtedly believed that the chances of being struck by lightning was close to zero, until my dogs proved it otherwise.
A year ago there was a young tree that grew in the middle of the field, probably planted by some child who thought Amity would be better off with more fruitless-bearing trees than grazing fields. The moment the tree hand grown slightly taller than me, the gods from above decided to end its despicable life, striking it down with a flash of light on one stormy day.
Of course, I wasn't next to it to witness such a monumental event. Hawk had refused to come out of the house that day, sensing the storm half an hour before it came. Either way, the damage was obvious when I came back the following day. The already thin trunk was split down into three, drooping like cooked spaghetti, while the leaves barely clung onto their frail branches.
Thinking back now, it was a comical sight. Though at that moment, I knew had not Hawk stubbornly stayed, that would've been me. And I'm next.
A loud clap of thunder shatters my thoughts like glass, fear of being killed fueling energy in my strides. I ineffectually rub my face over and over, each time only providing me with a short window of sight before being blinded with a new wave of stinging rainwater. On my sides and front are my dogs trotting with their heads lowered while I run as fast as my two legs can carry me through sinking mud. It embarrasses me that my speed is barely half theirs, and that I'm doing nothing except slowing them down.
I would like to believe that their unwavering loyalty is what prevents them from running ahead to find shelter quickly, but the knowledge that my dogs seek me for comfort tells me otherwise.
Nonetheless, I continue to give them the benefit of doubt.
The moment we hit the tree line, everything around me disappears and the weight of slick water is lifted from my clothes.
I'm back in my old home; specifically, my kitchen. Goosebumps trail up my skin as I stare at the small gap between the fridge and counter.
Rats and mice are the only animals that scare me shitless. Ask me to pick a roach by its antennae or a snake by its tail, I'll do it; everything except anything that involves these vermin. There's something about their disgustingly naked pink tails, filthy exterior and squishable-size that instills fear in me. Unlike bugs that die with a slight crunch, these animals squeal and bleed when harmed not even fatally.
Had my dogs come along, I wouldn't have a problem with this fear.
The small squeaks sound loud in my ears, an inevitable fate that we will collide.
Fear landscapes are where we think through the fear, so I hastily pat down my clothes, trying to find anything that will aid my survival.
There is a throwing knife in my pocket, but the image of me fighting off hundreds of squirming vermin with a pathetic piece of metal makes me nauseas already.
Instead, I scan the kitchen around me for any tools I could use. All the gleaming knifes fly past my scrutinizing gaze as I figure out another way to fight off the creatures. There must be another way out of this other than getting bitten all over like in the sims.
My attention latches onto the stove. I could burn the place down.
A blur of black makes me jolt and leap onto the counter. It's a huge rat, one that's half the size of a cat. Cold washes through me as the monstrous creature stares at me with its beady black eyes, snout twitching and hairless tail straight behind it. I press myself against the overhead cabinets, brain screaming for me to run away like I could actually outrun this nasty thing.
The silver stove gleams mockingly across the other side of the room, right next to the fridge. Survival instincts kick in and I scamper on the counters on all fours, the decision to take the long way a no-brainer.
The rat follows from down below, squeaking loudly at its inability to reach me. Another flash of black calls for my attention, a new rat has arrived from the gap I'm heading towards. This time, the flash of black doesn't end like it did at first, more rats are pouring out at a rapid pace. Their numbers increasing like a factory pumping out goods. Bile raises to my throat as I make the last turning to the stove. Time was precious now, every second led to new rats, and with it came the ability for them to climb onto my sinking boat.
When I reach the stove, a glimmer of hope came with it. The rats where attempting to crawl on top of each other now, reaching the halfway mark of the counter. The solution was easy; burn the house down and the rats with it. Yet staring dumbly at the circular metal now, I belatedly realize that I couldn't just turn on the stove and hope the surroundings will catch on fire.
The glimmer of hope dims as dread begin to overlap my fear. My plan was not as thought out as it should be, and I may have to resort to waving a butchering knife in the air at the unnaturally brave pests.
Fear landscapes are stupid for only providing one solution out. Once this is over, I promise myself to two bottles of apple cider to forget about this whole traumatic exper-
Alcohol. The idea sparks in my head.
Alcohol is flammable.
The new found hope spreads like wildfire as my focus diverts from the stove to the fridge. I've never been more grateful for my dad's weird experiments until now. Hope consumes the noise and trepidation in me as I reach forward to yank the refrigerator door open.
There in the illuminated led lights lays a bottle rum, used by my dad when he said it would improve his horrendous cooking. It didn't, for the food caught on fire and burned into a crisp while he yelled in a panicked frenzy for his wife to come and help.
I reach down and snatch the glass bottle containing the honey-colored liquid before a rat could reach it first, suddenly feeling feral now that this was my chance to survive through this shitty situation. In an extremely careless and hasty manner, I unscrew the stupid cap and chucked it into the sea of black, smirking maniacally at the loud squeal it caused. I waste no time to tip the bottle sideways, the golden liquid of survival spewing out onto the revolting creatures that are almost reaching the counter.
I will survive.
"I'm gonna win this, you hear me?" I chuckle darkly towards the soaking rodents, my hand moving past them to douse the remaining liquid onto the stove.
Do these imaginary things honestly think they could control me? To eat up my wobbling mental state? They must be incredibly stupid. They aren't real, I'm just in a simulation. They are just stupid things wasting my time.
With that, I toss the bottle into the sea of black and twist the stove's knob.
The next scene I'm in contains my family. I move to stand onto my feet from my embarrassing crouch only to find a cold metal barrel pushing against my temple.
"Kill one to save the rest." The voice is cold and feminine, just like she always is. I glance at the pistol that has been shoved in my palm and then to the three other faceless men who have their guns trained on me. I'm aware that the magazine only contains one bullet, because the simulation tells me so.
On my left are my dogs, all three chained by their necks, barking and straining against their restraints. They seem as if they had contracted rabies with the foaming at their mouths and the sudden jerks they make in attempt to break the links. One well-aimed shot to Sabre's chain and I know all hell will break lose. My prized hound would leap without hesitation, jaws aimed at the armed arm since it's clear I'm being more than just lightly threatened. No command is need in such a situation, all his training and animalistic instincts will kick in as he tears threat after threat down, starting with Jeanine beside me.
What stops me from such a delicious fantasy is the even slightest, slightest possibility that Sabre might be shot before he even gets to the second person.
And I will not risk my pup's life.
Moving my armed hand away from my dogs, it turns towards my parents and John. The simulation copies nod encouragingly to me, wordlessly telling me that it's alright for me to kill them. My eyes twitches in irritation despite their efforts to comfort the 'supposed' turmoil in my head. There was no turmoil in the beginning, for I had already made up my mind before entering.
My hand snaps backwards and I shoot myself.
"How could you?" Dad shouts in my face, his earlier solemn expression now animated and is now just a foot in front of me. Mom flanks his side, looking at me with disappointment and regret. "After all we've sacrificed for you! These past two years of-"
His speech is cut short by a punch to his throat. Mom gasps in horror as she jolts forward to catch her stumbling spouse.
Four warned me about this fear because of the content and secrets it holds. Prolonging any interception will result in my secret plans spilling out for all to see. The punch to the throat was necessary. However, it didn't make it any less easy to perform. It took me a while to come to terms with punching the person whose been nothing but supportive, regardless of whether he was real right now or not.
I am technically cheating the system by forcing it to move on now that the conversation has been cut short. I pray the leaders observing me will pass off my action as an act of the infamous, unrestrained Dauntless temper than an attempt to hide whatever was on the tip of my father's tongue.
My next fear involved me chained at the sidelines. Not far ahead is another version of myself, the vicious beast that feeds me heinous thoughts and goads me to put people back into their place; especially people like Cole.
More often than not, I do not let such malicious whims overtake me, forcing myself to let it slip as Amity preaches. Regardless, I do dread the day I lose my control.
Facing the callous version of myself is mother. The air hitches in my throat at the replacement of John with her. John was supposed to be here, not her.
No.
She is attempting to reason with me on a topic that doesn't register in my ears. The future plays out in my mind despite it not happening yet. I would beat her senseless, throwing punches and kicks she had painstakingly taught me. Mother would struggle to fight back, pleading and screaming at me to stop as she wouldn't lay a hand on her child despite all that's happening.
My heartbeat increases as panic fills me. The restraints pull against my wrist, a reminder that I can do nothing but watch as the simulation plays out.
I spent this past few days mentally desensitizing myself to John death on my hands, but mother is a whole different ball game.
This is the person I go to when the going gets tough. This is the person I go to when I've made a breakthrough in the dogs' training. This is the person I go to when I'm sick, sad, happy. This is my mother and best friend.
Hence, seeing me kill her is ten times worse than John.
But I must pull through.
I will myself to shut my eyes as her first bloodcurdling scream enters my ears. The emotionless side tells me time ticks away and I must act fast if I were to still rank first. There was no time to struggle or fight; all my efforts will be futile anyways.
So I think of nothing as she wails out my name. I grow limp against the restraints as I turn away from one of the most important persons in my life. My mind is blank against the violence, letting each yelp and sob exit my being just as quickly as it entered. Deep calming breaths. Breathe in; breathe out.
This is just a simulation. In the real world, I will not lay a hand on the people I love. Never would I ever lose my tight hold on my internal battles. Just as my dogs have learned to control their actions, I will do the same.
This is the promise I make.
Perhaps the last fear is the worst one.
Two different hands clasp mine on either side.
On my right is John. His hand is soft and familiar, a feeling I've associated with home. My hand is grasping his too hard, afraid of what's ahead.
His voice is full of hope and promise. "Let's go home."
Right behind him is my house.
Home.
Home is safety. Home is where life was easy, where I didn't question every step I took. Coming home would mean that I could go back to my simple yet happy life, where I could see mom and dad each day and tell them about my adventures.
But I gave up home the moment my blood split on the coals.
I stare sorrowfully at his face for the longest time, my heart aching for rest and solid ground. John doesn't say anything more than the three words, his face slowly dropping as I continue to hesitate.
The hand holding my left squeezes faintly. "Anna."
Eric stands on the other side, body already turned sideways almost as if he is impatient to leave. While my hand around John's is vice-like, my grip in Eric's is limp. His hand is calloused and gentle, just like the day on War Games. Here is the man who brings uncertainty in my life. He is the reason I'm having this fear in the first place – the fear of choosing.
Coming to Dauntless shouldn't have made me choose between people and values. The goal was simple; to do everything in my power to set things right. Everything has been meticulously placed for me, all I need to do is to execute it. There were no 'if's, only 'when's.
Until Eric came along.
He should've been the enemy, not the first person who appears when I'm in trouble. He wasn't supposed to care about me, nor want happiness for me. He was supposed to do what all villains do – remain in the black area – and yet he's managed to pull himself out of my firm resolution
A paradox. That's what he is to me.
Ever since he entered my life, I've fallen into a hole of confusion and doubt. I wish I could hate him for it, for taking my plans under my nose and ripping it into shreds. It should be his fault that I'm stuck where I am now, tossed into a roller coaster of emotions every day as I wonder that perhaps I shouldn't have said 'yes, I want to give us a shot'. Had I said no, we would have drifted away; both of us moving on with our lives. Perhaps if that were to happen, it wouldn't be hard for me to do the right thing.
Though I should hate him for all this, deep down, I hate myself. I hate myself for caring for him back, for wrapping myself around his finger without even realizing. I hate that I'm addicted to the man without his mask, every day yearning to be in his presence. I hate that I find solace in him, in his heart, laugh and smile. I hate that despite all he's done to others, I can't seem to find it enough to be repulsed and to let him go. I hate that I let him take the word happiness and tie it to himself, making home lose its value tenfold.
And worst of all, I hate that I can't hate him.
A/N
I find her fear of lightning the funniest. The last fear was really difficult to write, which was why I took so long to update.
Sorry for the late update. Just started boarding for A levels and I can foresee my life getting hectic .-.
I'll update once a week on Fridays for now.
Thanks for your patience ':P
On the side note, I think I'm finally figuring out what to italicise