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Tobias' POV
I look down at my hands- so, so many times I've dreamed of curling them into fists, defending myself, hitting my father back.
There were two reasons I didn't. First, I'm way too cowardly to hit him back. Even though I may be stronger than him and smart- but I'm not Erudite smart- like he used to be- if I had retaliated, if he had wanted to- he could have killed me.
Secondly, I'm Abnegation. I wouldn't hit my father.
Of course not.
I look at Tris. She wouldn't have been a coward- she would have hit my father, outsmarted him even. She would have overcome the fear.
"I'm going to show you some basic punches first, then some kicks. We'll do some more complicated stuff later," Tris says, her words sliding smoothly from her lips.
I watch her carefully as she shows each punch and kick in the air, then demonstrating them lightly on me, so I know where to hit. She moves easily around me, expertly executing a hit from every angle, controlling her body and containing her strength so by the time she hits me, it's only a light tap. She says something about wishing for a punching bag.
"I have one," I barely whisper. I shouldn't, but I do. I found it when I was walking through the factionless areas after volunteering, and passed by a dump. It was relatively new when I found it, some Dauntless threw it out because it had one rip in it- so I taped it up and hid it in my closet, and moved it here when I left. I never touched it, of course- it already felt dangerous just to have it- if my father had found it… I don't even know what would have happened.
"Really?" she looks up at me, the curiosity that always lingers in her eyes suddenly emerging to the top.
I nod, barely smiling. I see her smirking just a little and her small frame perks up- happy for the familiar object. She grazes my hand as she walks by, not even noticing- though my skin tingles from the touch.
She walks up the stairs comfortably, and turns- knowing exactly where the rooms are, not even looking in the direction of the bathroom. It seems as if it's impulse for her, as if she's so used to it, she doesn't even have to think. Which confirms my original suspicion- she was Abnegation. Also, it hasn't been long since she's been in one of these identical houses, I remember Max saying something about her being a new member, but being extremely qualified.
I follow after her, up the stairs, to the right, into my room, where she's already in the closet, pulling at the punching bag. She moves it a little, but I know that the punching bag is heavy- I barely got it home, and my house was not far at all from the dump.
Her face tightens as she tries again, and I see it sliding slightly across the gray carpet. She doesn't look at me, though I know she acknowledges my presence.
"Do you want help?" I ask quietly, and she nods. I walk into the closet, feeling my breath hitch both from the confined area, and the confined area- with a girl.
She doesn't seem to care too much, and we both grab at the metal railing that holds the punching bag. She grabs a little lower than I do, her side slightly pressed against mine. She begins to pick it up, her small frame struggling next to me, shaking from exertion. I begin to lift too, energy pulsing through me. I've always loved to use my strength, though I've never had many chances. With both our work, the punching bag easily lifts off the ground, and we walk it out into the bedroom, into the empty space a good ways from the bed- it should be plenty of room to practice on the punching bag.
"Okay," Tris says, "you try to practice some of the punches and kicks here- then we'll fight each other."
My stomach clenches in confusion. By my size, I should be able to beat her easily. I know that I simply have more strength than her. I don't want to hurt her. Then again, she wouldn't be a bodyguard if she couldn't beat up someone like me. Also, when she demonstrated the punches and kicks, she seemed like an expert. Then on top of it all, the few ounces of pride I have that Abnegation allows me to own doesn't want to get beaten by someone I don't fear.
That's when I realize- I don't fear her. I fear my father, for sure. I fear other people, because of what they may think of me. I fear some people because I know that they could hurt me like my father did. But she is one of the people I don't fear because something in me tells me she doesn't judge me the way others do after they hear about my situation. And, even if there's the fact that she may be able to hurt me- I know that she wouldn't want to.
She notices my pause, and gestures to the punching bag, raising her eyebrows. I nod, and as she drops her hand, I notice the tattoo on her wrist, though she drops her arm before I can see it. I don't ask to see what it is, even though I'm curious. However, I don't want to pry- that would be something a Candor would do- I can't stand them.
I face the punching bag, and my father's face floats into my brain.
I throw the first punch.
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