Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent.
All of a sudden, I'm on my back and the lights in the dorm are assaulting my face with the intensity of a nuclear bomb.
Three very important facts slap me in the face. I'm still in bed while the other initiates are already up. It could already be eight in the morning. And that means I'll be late for my last and most crucial fight.
I try to energize myself as much as possible. I'll have to, or I'll fall like a sack of bricks before the match even starts. I envision myself jumping to my feet and hopping out of bed, but just imagining that wears me out. Nope. Can't do it.
I flop back down against my pillow, wishing I could just collapse into the floor and avoid this hardest part of initiation. But I'm still holding onto my promise to not let Marcus win. Quitting would mean failing, and failing would mean Marcus was right about me.
Moaning and groaning, feeling like there's an elephant parked on my chest, I somehow get myself to sit up.
That's when my skull nearly blows apart. Oh God - my head!
"Shouldn't have gone out," I wheeze, holding up a hand to my eyes to block out the bright lights. I'm stating the obvious, but who's even here to listen to me?
Then I see him. Out of the corner of my eye, a figure stooped on the floor next to his bed, tying his shoelaces with vigor. The person I least want to see me in my sorry state, even though he'd most likely sympathize with me.
Yet, when Eric looks up and notices me, his expression is unforgiving. "Toby, you look like hell."
I'm about to tell him off, ask him if he thinks I don't already know. But just then, a spell of dizziness nearly makes me pitch over. I clutch my head with both hands, praying for my balance and coordination to return.
"Hate to say this," Eric continues, "but you're most likely gonna lose." He gets done tying his shoes and straightens to his full height. Unlike me, he may as well be in perfect shape.
I clear my throat, so I'll sound less incapacitated. "Do I need to be reminded?" I shoot back at Eric. "I know I was an idiot. I just had to put myself out there." No need to elaborate, surely Eric's already guessed that I left to play another drinking game with the Dauntless.
He gets the complete picture when he sees the bandages covering the ink on my side. "Holy mother of…" One disbelieving shake of his head later, "You have a tattoo?"
I half smile, half grimace, as if to say, Oh well, can't take it back now, can I?
Eric's expression remains as hard as stone. "Toby, when you lose, you better not use this as an excuse," he says. He turns around without another word and leaves the dormitory. I massage both sides of my head for several seconds, then I very slowly get out of bed to take a shower. I'm forced to stand with only half of my body under the warm spray, so the bandages won't get soaked.
The minutes drag by while I just stand there, letting the water cascade over my body. When at last I exit the stall, I check the nearest clock.
It's almost ten past eight. Even if the fight between me and Jason is last on the list, I might still not show up in time. And Eric's right, short of a miracle performed by Jesus himself, the loser's gonna be me.
It's just a touch, Eric pep-talks himself. Just a simple knockout punch. That's all it'll take.
While Mia circles him, looking for the chinks in his hypothetical armor, Eric's focused on getting over a mental blockade. After all he's been through, he has yet to find a solution to the problem of having to fight one's own girlfriend.
First he tried replaying Jeanine's advice in his head. Didn't work. They say love makes you stupid, or was it infatuation? Whatever. Makes no difference.
Then he attempted to hijack his own mind, to somehow justify beating Mia into unconsciousness. C'mon man, she's basically asking for it. Challenging you to come at her as hard as you can.
As tempting as those thoughts were, he had to dispel them in the end. Course, he's no saint, but he's got no interest in becoming a psychopath. Some things a sane human just can't afford losing, and compassion is one of them.
So what's Eric's next step? He can't say.
Mia hits him again, probably trying for his face but catching his collarbone instead. She shakes out her hand and grits her teeth in effort. Her combative stance actually injects fear into Eric's heart.
His gaze turns downward and he keeps it that way, else he'll be distracted and defeated.
To his surprise, the next blow from Mia's fist doesn't feel that impactful. Guess it hurts a lot less when you aren't getting intimate with your opponent.
Wait just one moment!
A lightbulb turns on in Eric's head. Oh jeez, can't believe I didn't try this sooner.
Closing his eyes against Mia's next advance, Eric pushes his own body forward. Imagines he's fighting Jason once again. Visualizes the boy's face, his expression mean.
And throws a single jab, knowing he'll have already experienced a colossal boost in strength.
Pushing one hand into my forehead as I run, I search frantically for the entrance to the training room. There, I see it! I burst through the doors to find a large group of initiates and Dauntless members alike, all of them staring me down. Amar is one of them. He's looking sternly at me.
"Nice of you to join us… three minutes later than scheduled." The fake-nice tone disappears from his voice, and I realize the camaraderie of the night before won't extend to today. Amar points at my sneakers. "Tie your shoes, and don't waste any more of my time."
I scramble to do as he says, tucking the ends of the laces under so they won't get in my way. Across the room, at the edge of the arena, Jason's warming up the muscles in his arms. They're bulging to the point where his sleeves might rip apart. I know I should ignore him, but I can't lie, I am intimidated.
Each time I move, the parts of my body that Mia struck in yesterday's fight issue a complaint. A very loud and obnoxious one. This makes the probability of me winning against Jason even smaller. Perhaps I'll lose like Eric did, my body prone and on the ground, tummy up, face unguarded, ready to meet the fist of death.
Speaking of Eric, how did he do in his final fight? Was he able to curb his worst fears about Mia? Give her a sound beating and win? I scan the large room in search of the couple.
There she is, a few paces from my longtime friend. Intact, without any serious injuries, still standing on two feet. Holy shit, did she do the impossible and defeat…
No, she didn't. Eric's nowhere near as scratched up as she is, and the way he stands reminds me of Rocky Balboa after the victory over Drago. The blood and sweat a testament to how hard he worked, proof that even the tallest barriers, physical or mental, can be overcome.
I'm happy for Eric. But where I am now, positivity is ephemeral.
As I face Jason, I feel my heart pumping at maximum speed, my head pain getting exponentially worse, the old aches from yesterday flaring up again. Then Amar steps out of the way, and Jason zips toward me, his right hook hitting me hard enough that I think my head might fly off my shoulders.
I zigzag backwards, but with no real escape plan in mind. One hand's up by my face to ward Jason off, should he come for me again. All the pain I'm enduring meshes together in my head, as if I'm inside a huge blender.
"Come on, shake it off," Amar coaxes. I'm trying to, but I swear my head hurts twice as much now!
I ensure my mouth stays fully shut, so Jason won't be able to get a scream out of me. Concentrating on that makes me forget him for one second. One second too long, because Jason's right leg is in motion before I can dodge it. The kick slams into a couple of my ribs that were injured in past fights.
Does it feel like this when you get a near-fatal electric shock?
I don't know, what's happening to me might be worse! Jason senses that I'm in panic mode. "This is easier than I thought it would be," he brags.
Color pours into my cheeks. I can't help but feel ashamed, just like when I didn't stop Marcus from obliterating my art. I know I'll lose this fight regardless, but I can't lose without getting at least one hit in.
Then I see the arrogant hole Jason left in his guard. I bend a little, both of my hands braced against my thighs, and make like I'm gonna go to my knees to conserve my energy. Instead, I punch my enemy hard in his mountainous belly. He's surprised, but I still don't have the edge.
My left ear is suddenly ringing, because the flat of Jason's hand whacked it. I can't maintain my balance, and soon my fingers are sweeping the cold floor.
"You know," Jason remarks in a quiet voice, "I don't need to do nothin'."
Bewildered, I blink and stare up at him. He's gone completely stationary! His hands are behind his back and his feet have gone still. What on Earth is he doing?
"You're finished, Stiff," Jason goes on. He follows that up with a self-congratulatory smirk.
My eyes have clouded over with half a dozen different varieties of pain. I didn't even know there were this many flavors, like acid rain and bee stings and tiny bullets to the head. Still, despite being put through the wringer by Jason, I've discovered something about him. I know his biggest weak spot in combat. And it doesn't have anything to do with his fighting style, nor how well-rounded he is, nor his defense.
No, what makes him weaker than me at this moment is his arrogance, his refusal to consider the possibility that there may be strength lying dormant in me, because I'm from Abnegation. He believes I could never hurt him as bad as he can hurt me. He thinks I'm everything he assumed me to be at the outset, humble and selfless and passive.
But he's dead wrong.
My pain transforms into an iron determination, and rage is the gasoline to its spark. I'm awed by my power as I swing at Jason's face, and then I do it again. And again. And again. Do I even know where I'm hitting him? No, but is it important? No again. Nobody's in this room but me and Jason. I'm settling the score between him and me, and right now I'm nothing but sheer, raw, undeniable power.
Then at last I hear his shrill cries, see him grasping at his face with hands stained red. Blood's smeared all over his chin, running into his teeth. He tries to twist out of my reach, but once I have a decent grip on his arm, I don't let myself let go. There's no saving him now.
The audience is in agreement. "My God!" someone wails. "Crazy," another murmurs.
I respond to Jason's groveling with a hard kick to his side, so he falls in a heap on the floor. Over his fat hands, which cover his nose and cheeks, I meet his eyes. They're lolling back and forth in his head, not quite focused. His blood is so bright against his skin, yet the color satisfies me. I'd like the bastard to know that I did this to him for Eric, and for Mia.
Finally I descend from my post-fight high when Amar's shouts reach my ears. "Abnegation, you won!" he's saying. Like I'd be mistaken about that. "You won. Back off." His strong hands force me back, away from Jason and out of the ring.
Eric is, predictably, the first to offer congratulations. "Impressive, Toby," he says with a grin. "Proved me wrong." The brief embrace he gives me is an indicator that our little feud has ended.
My spirits are running high at the end of the first stage of initiation. I'm feeling good about, well, everything! I'm growing closer to some of the initiates from Dauntless, my friendship with Eric didn't hit a roadblock, and I ended up triumphing over Jason and Marcus.
But even with this big win, the bad thoughts will soon come. Fear is a habitual emotion in me, always lingering no matter how things improve. This fear is not like what I felt at the start of the duel with Jason. It's not aimed at my foe but at myself, at what I'm quickly turning into.
I spare a second to tell Eric, "Thanks, man." Give Amar a smile that I think reflects a hopeful attitude. Then, to everyone's shock, I walk out of the training room without having been dismissed.
AN: Rankings are up next. Will Tobias' win against the once-undefeated Jason be enough to take him to the top spot? Or will someone else be there? Find out in the next installment, coming soon!