Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent.
"Initiates, get ready." Amar finishes ascending the stairs and stops in front of a vast prism of a room. Two of its walls are made of stone the color of graphite, the other two are made of glass. Amar points to the by-now-familiar machine sitting next to the entrance. "This time, you'll be aware that it's simulated. But it won't be any less scary. You'll have to face down all your fears, one after the other."
I swallow and feel my nerves rattle inside me. So that's where they got the name "fear landscape." I look at the Dauntless-borns with us to see what they think. Zeke's one of those who're getting anxious, just like I am. "Crap," he mumbles. "I don't wanna know myself anymore."
To everyone's surprise, Amar offers us reassurance instead of upping the ante. "Oh, you won't be seeing your own landscape today. You'll experience my friend Lora's biggest fears." Smoothly gesturing with his hand, he indicates who Lora is. Eric, Shauna, and I already know. She's that orange-haired control room employee.
On her face is a grin of anticipation. She rubs her hands together as she talks. "Alright. So today, we'll be starting off slow. Each of you will only have one fear to face." While I struggle to keep my terror beneath the surface, she starts listing all the fears that used to torment her. Spiders, snakes, rats, deep water, death by suffocation, death by crushing, disembowelment, public speaking, rejection by potential mates, getting ghosted, getting cheated on, forced nakedness, forced pregnancy, giving birth without an anesthetic, and violence by an intimate partner.
It gives me chills, realizing that most people have this many fears. I'm not ready to stare down ten or fifteen fears at once. Well, I can rest easier knowing every initiate's gonna have that special awareness I have. Now no one can know I'm Divergent.
When Lora's done listing off her fears, she motions to the closest initiate. "Zeke, you'll go first," she says. "The fear you'll be facing is…"
All of us initiates take in a collective breath.
"Snakes," Lora announces, and instead of getting scared, some of us break out laughing. Zeke actually loves those reptiles. Lora beckons and Zeke submits, stepping forward. He walks over to Lora, no agitation or reluctance on his face.
I smile, thanking God for what's to come. Today will be a good day, regardless of how many simulation monsters I'll face.
"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I stress the importance of collaboration." Jeanine Matthews holds down one of the buttons on the clicker, and the screen transitions to the next image in her presentation. "Our two factions, Dauntless and Erudite, are stronger when we work together. This experiment was highly successful due to a high number of Dauntless who participated." She gives a warm look to all the Dauntless gathered in the auditorium. "Your soldiers were instrumental in keeping these factionless patients subdued."
The clapping that follows is like a roll of thunder. I'm just sitting, watching, and listening. Unlike all the middle-aged Dauntless here, I don't have much investment in what the Erudite leader's got to say. I just care that she showed up to talk to people outside of her faction.
It was Bernard who delivered the news to me, that Jeanine would arrive in the early afternoon. I was splitting part of my lunch with him when he told me. Now I'm here listening along with a group of older Dauntless. Jeanine's one of the most hypocritical people, I realize. Condemns the Divergent, yet pushes for ongoing relations between two factions. How stupid are the Dauntless leaders to clap her along as she talks?
I think about walking out, but I see something on the screen that makes me pause.
It's the picture showing all the factionless "mental patients" that were a part of the trial for Jeanine's new serum. They've all been starved, are missing teeth, and bleeding from various parts of their bodies. That already disturbs me just by itself, but there's something else, something about one "patient" in the front row. The medium brown hair, the pasty skin, and the tennis ball-sized knees and elbows I recognize. That person is Ysabelle.
Jeanine and her Erudite friends tortured Ysabelle, along with all the others. They aren't only critical of people like the Divergent and the factionless, they'll mangle, scar, disable, and kill them. As my heartbeat fills my ears, I think about my next move. Going to the Dauntless leaders won't help, they won't believe one transfer from Abnegation. And as most people know, the Dauntless dislike Abnegation more than Erudite.
Then what do I do? I know how close Eric and Jeanine still are. I remember how I was suspicious of Jeanine when she came to check out my sim results. What she said at the end made me think I could trust her. Now I'm sure I made a mistake. Has she also been lying to Eric over the course of their long relationship?
That's it. I have to tell Eric what I saw during Jeanine's presentation. I have to force him to see who she actually is. No, we aren't friends anymore, but I won't be doing it for him, or even for me. I'll do it for Ysabelle and Bernard and the other factionless who were rounded up and tortured. If they aren't vindicated, none of us will be.
Well, I went to Eric with the truth about Jeanine, and he didn't believe me.
He played the victim card instead, pulled it out on her behalf. Alleged that I had a bias against her. Said that I'm biased because of "Abnegation indoctrination." At this, I felt a shiver of fear that he knows about my Divergence. I'd put my life at risk. I walked away from him, and I didn't go back.
More on that, though. Eric didn't just talk to me. He was talking at me. He denigrated me, beat me verbally, but what pained me wasn't even that. It was knowing that I should've answered with my own barrage of shots. I should've shown Eric that his energy could be matched. Instead I just kept quiet.
How I'd describe myself? Coward. I'm being rough on myself, but I need to be. My ancestor, who lived in the mid-twentieth century, would be shaking his head at me.
I got to look upon his face for the first time today. The image was part of the collection of photos that "E" sent me. The ones she put in a separate folder seem to be notable images from history, showing a world that spans the entire United States. The pictures taken in Chicago that were isolated seem more intimate. They show a tighter world, in which only a few are centered.
The photo I looked at earlier showed a male elder in the center. His expression was a challenge to read, but I still saw, in his eyes, his unbending will and pride. One of his brown hands was resting on the shoulder of the boy in front of him. He was the father of the family, possibly the grandfather. He was someone who'd worked hard for decades, and sacrificed a ton for the sake of the child.
I thought I was projecting, wanting this man to have been a better father than Marcus was. But why was my enemy's name the first to come to me? Another look at the photo, and the similarities between Marcus and the elder got really noticeable. Same face shape. Same nose. Same jawline. My breath was stolen from me. I was looking at the face of a direct ancestor of mine.
My family lived in Chicago at that time, in the neighborhood where King stayed before he wrote the book, and I never was aware of it till today. I thank the Lord for my broadened perspective. I know who the members of my family were. They were survivors, all of them. They had to be if they wanted to live, and not just stay alive. They stood proud in their power, and had a self-esteem that I don't have. I should be more like them.
I shouldn't try to appease the same people who never stopped seeing me as inferior. While Eric was still sounding off, I heard him almost say the S-word. His tongue and teeth formed the first half of that derogatory syllable, but then he stopped just in time. But not soon enough. He just told me indirectly what he always thought about me. Is taking the high road again going to work for me?
No. I'm my forefather's son. Someday I'll take back my power, and I'll let God take care of the rest.
We didn't know Nicole was so afraid of bees.
It's her fear landscape we're watching, and she's pretty much gone insane. She frantically bats at the nothingness around her, screaming, shaking her head like a dog drying its fur. The apprehensive looks from the faces in the crowd turn to anxious whispers, which then join in a chorus of distress. I glance at Amar and Lauren to see their reaction, but they're too focused on the Dauntless-born going through her landscape.
She's moving around inside the room with the glass walls, but she's reaching her limit. Her legs might give out if she doesn't sit or crouch down. Her eyes are filled with tears, but she won't be let out until her heart rate slows down. Finally, her back hits the ground. She continues twitching where she lies, but gradually, her heart rate falls. Thank God, the program will free her soon.
When this last fear's out of the way, the program terminates. Amar opens the door, releasing the poor scared girl. "Great work, Nicole," he says loudly. "Your final fear count is thirteen."
Nicole doesn't respond. She limps out of the room and goes to join her Dauntless-born friends. Amar makes a pathetic show of patting her on the back, then he starts to reach out toward me. I don't know why. I won't make eye contact, though. I keep looking away, till he decides to target someone else.
Sean, one of the Candor transfers, eyes me. "Why'd you do that to him?"
Not wanting my disgust to be visible, I lean in close to the boy and whisper next to his ear. "Yesterday," I say, indicating Amar, "I heard him say he has a bit of a crush on me."
Sean slaps his hand over his mouth. "What the…"
"Abnegation! Candor!" Amar looks at us threateningly, then he pretends to zip his mouth closed with a finger. Telling us we'd better shut it. We do, though I want to tell Sean more.
The Dauntless have many taboos, and what they call "effeminate" behavior in males is one of them. I know better, having spent time with mentors from Amity, where they see men getting married to other men all the time, and no one thinks it'll hurt anyone. I can say it's none of my business what two consenting adults do in their bedroom. But the Dauntless leaders think differently, and I can't change their minds. That's why I'm not going to go to Max and incriminate Amar. I know how severe the penalty is for "effeminate" behavior. Sean's from a faction that doesn't approve of such punishments, so he knows this, too. Neither of us are telling on Amar.
Yet I'm disgusted. Amar's my instructor, the person who's supposed to mentor his initiates, not form romantic attachments to them. If I were in Abnegation and the council member supervising me tried to have an affair with me, he'd get thrown in prison immediately.
Best to steer clear of my instructor till his feelings die down. Amar points to one of the other transfers. "Eric," he says, "you're next in line."
My former best friend looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. He stands there until Amar calls to him again. "Come now," our instructor says. "You can do it."
Eric's expression sours. But he approaches Amar, who's already preparing a syringe. Amar gives Eric the jab, then he leads him toward the glass room. When Eric's locked inside, Amar puts on the electrodes that come with the simulation machine. He activates the program using the computer, and the sim flares to life once more.
For twenty minutes I stood and watched as Eric battled his fears, all twelve of them. He stood in one place the whole time, screaming into teeth clenched tight, lowering his heart rate through willpower alone. When he got done, I thought I saw him smirk at the glass window. He's emerging from the prism-like room now, and Amar's right next to him.
"Nice. You got even better," Amar tells him with a grin.
A foot or so away, Lauren's scratching at her pierced eyebrow with her fingernail. She glances at Eric. "How'd his friend do?" she asks casually, jerking her thumb at me.
Amar's suddenly hesitant. He consults the computer screen, closes his eyes, and shakes his head. Then he looks at the screen again. "Well…" he starts. He looks like he just saw a ghost. "We're ruling out the possibility of a system error. But our friend from Abnegation appears to have just… four fears."
Every set of eyes hangs on me, Eric's included. Lauren stops in the middle of her eyebrow-scratching. "Four? That's it?" She looks again at Amar. Amar nods.
The other initiates continue to stare. Before they got to know me, I was just that Abnegation kid they could step on. Then our dynamic changed slightly, and they got around to accepting me as their equal, their friend. This, though? This is different. I'm now someone who could cut in front of them in the ranks.
"Everybody listen up!" Amar hollers, cupping his mouth with both hands. He motions to me. "Who here thinks they might rank higher than Abnegation?"
A few Dauntless-borns dare to raise their hands. They're snickering a little, but Amar silences them. "Well, you guessed wrong. His number of fears is less than half the average. You might think you're good, but you'll get murdered by Four here."
Four. I love it. It's a much better name than Thomas. Anytime the other initiates hear it, they'll be reminded of why I've got a number for a name. They'll never be able to overlook my greatest strength.
Amar just gave me more than a new name. He gave me power.
"Dang," Zeke says, his arms snaring me in a hug. "I'm calling you Four from now on."
I get a bunch of high-fives from the Dauntless-born initiates, and I'm loving it. Since I have a new name, I can once again declare myself a new person. I've become someone who won't ever devalue himself. Someone who'll respond to Erudite condescension, not with silence, but with shots of his own. I've become a fighter. I'll fight for myself and for my principles, but most of all, I'll fight for the place that God carved out for me.
Four. Yeah, it fits.
I make my way over to a quiet spot in the transfer dorm, then I kneel down to pray. I need to hear God's voice now more than ever. With every prayer that's been answered, I find myself facing yet another barrier, another steep hill to climb. My thoughts are still stuck on what I heard Jeanine say, what I saw on the screen during her presentation. I've got to stop her, but I have no idea where I'd begin.
God, why can't I ever hear from You? How do I know You're still there?
There are just so many questions I have. Am I expected to solve this enormous problem all by myself? If so, how can I get started? On top of that, how can I make sure my new mission doesn't interfere with initiation? And, oh yeah, how do I keep the commandment that tells me to honor my father, when said father doesn't deserve it? So many questions, and next to no answers.
Yet I vowed to trust in Him no matter what, and a promise is a promise. After I've said amen, I rise and leave the dormitory. One particular Bible verse just entered my mind, seemingly at random. Proverbs, chapter 19, verse 20. One that my mom recited often. "Listen to advice and accept discipline, and at the end you will be counted among the wise."
Lord, I promise I will, I think. I'm now headed to the control room. I think I've put together a smart enough plan to thwart Jeanine Matthews. Eric's already ruled out as a person I can work with, which leaves the one witness I have. Ysabelle.
I'm mapping it all out in my head. I'll find a way to fool Lora, get her to shut the cameras off so I can sneak out and go to the factionless sector. Then I'll search the area till I find Ysabelle. The final step? Transport Ysabelle back to the compound with me, and keep her stowed away somewhere. Yeah, she and I will be in heaps of danger. But she's gotta be the one to bear witness, so the authorities will listen.
I pray to God, begging Him to hear me. Let this plan be carried out without anything going wrong. Let everything go smoothly, and let the work be completed in time. Above all, let it lead to justice, if that be Your will. In Jesus' name, amen.
My plan just got so much more complicated.
Here's what happened. I walked all the way to the control room, then I cornered Lora where she sat. I made up some half-assed story about how I forgot something of mine in the factionless sector. Lora was about to do what I wanted, then the worst possible thing that could've happened, happened.
Eric showed up out of nowhere and said he'd go to the factionless sector with me.
I protested. Yelled some really rude words. Started a big argument right in front of Lora. In hindsight that was very foolish of me, because Lora changed her mind after that. She flat out told me she wouldn't let me go unless I let Eric tag along. She said I needed to learn how to be a team player.
I was in the same position as a fly in a spider's web. But I had to trust that God would work it all out. Proverbs, chapter 19, verse 20. Lora was giving me advice and discipline, and I needed to listen. So I reluctantly agreed. I trudged back to the dorm to get my stuff prepared.
Now Eric and I are on the path that'll lead us to the factionless sector. I have with me a large black backpack that's crammed with supplies, including a medical kit, a blanket, and a water bottle. I didn't tell Eric, but I also made sure to pack a handgun. I remember what "E" said in her letter, that plenty of the factionless know my face and hate it. I actually could get jumped right here in the streets, but that thought doesn't deter me. I'll stop at nothing to get the evidence that's required for a conviction. I'll give a tiny measure of peace to the victims. Then I'll pay "E" back for all that she gifted me. It's the least these factionless are owed, after the torment those of us in the factions put them through.
Solemnly I walk up to the door that leads into Ysabelle's home. It's the same rust-brown, decomposed structure in which Shauna and I made out. I knock on the door once, then twice. It starts to creak and moan within seconds. Someone's opening it for me, and I'm stunned but elated.
Now it's occurring to me that if I'm going to take Ysabelle back with me, I can't not make my plans known to Eric. Earlier I told him we should split up, just so I could buy time to talk to Ysabelle without him. I swallow hard. How do I do this without revealing too much?
I'll take it one step at a time, I think. First task at hand is making sure Ysabelle's healthy. Lord, I pray that You keep us both safe while I get this done.
When the door's open all the way, I take a step inside. I turn my flashlight on and wave it around till the circle of light lands on Ysabelle. A grease-colored pus drips from the holes in her skin, surrounding the slash marks on her body. She collapses against the wall and lowers herself passively to the floor. I may need help right now, but she needs it so much more.
"Ysabelle," I say plainly. It's inconsiderate, but I can think of nothing else to say.
She lifts her gaze so she's looking at me. "You," she greets me.
I'd reach down to help her up, but I wouldn't want to coerce her into moving again. "What happened here?" I question her, trying to keep my mind calm.
This time when she looks at me, she seems angry. She points a twig-like finger at my face and asks, in a sharp voice, if I wasn't the one who got her tortured. Apparently the Dauntless police returned several days after she gave me the book. They had weapons not meant to cause death, only pain. They whipped, stabbed, clubbed, and trampled Ysabelle till she lay inert and bleeding. Then they left, but not without promising to come back.
Ysabelle thinks I was the one who gave the police a tip. She speculates that I used the intel "E" gave me against the factionless. She tells me she can't not harbor some suspicion, after a lifetime of abuse at the hands of faction members.
Frustration blossoms inside me. But I gotta keep my patience with me. Like I acknowledged once before, this is Ysabelle's movement, not mine. If she's gonna participate in my plan, it's gotta be her autonomous choice.
I remember the time Bernard came to tell me about Jeanine's presentation. I transferred to him all the credits I had left on my Dauntless-issued card, and I've still got those receipts. Ysabelle might visit Bernard later, and that's when she'll learn the truth, that even then, I was the rebels' ally. Only problem is, the evidence is in my backpack. Earlier my shoulders were hurting, so I left the bag on the ground outside the warehouse.
I tell Ysabelle to wait, then I sprint for the bag. When I reach it, I unzip the front flap and shove my hands inside. Turning the backpack upside down, I watch as the supplies scatter on the ground, like leaves shed by a tree in the fall. I run a hand through the pile till I finally find the papers. Thank God, now Ysabelle will know I'm…
My train of thought gets cut short, when I hear a skull-shattering bang.
Fear's already piercing through my heart, but what I feel for myself isn't half as strong as what I feel for Ysabelle. I run back inside the warehouse. Ysabelle lies very still, even more so than when I first went near her. Her face is on the ground, and that lets me see the bullet hole oozing blood from the back of her head.
I already know who I'll see when I look up. Guess I should've known he'd have the same idea as me about bringing a gun.
"I know what this looks like," says Eric. "But trust me. It's better for her." After a long pause, I finally initiate eye contact with him. The look I give him says, How could you?
He doubles down, gesturing with the barrel of the gun to Ysabelle's blood-covered corpse. "Could you keep living like this?" he asks me, implying that Ysabelle's tortured life was worth less than a dead girl's.
I feel like screaming at him. No, I feel like hurting him. More than that, I feel like screaming at God. Why did things have to turn out this way? I obeyed Him, did just what He instructed, and still my plan fell through. Eric did more than commit a crime of the highest caliber, he took away my last hope. My body and brain need to cope with this loss, so I let the numbness in my fingers and face spread to my other parts. I'm just so devastated. I don't even have the strength to ask God how to make sense of this. All I know is, I failed Ysabelle. My hyper-fixation on my plan to expose Jeanine meant I didn't watch Eric closely enough.
All I'm able to do next is cough out a few words in Ysabelle's defense. Those words I won't remember two minutes from now. And then, before I can even send a prayer up for Ysabelle, I'm following Eric out the door.
Back to the Dauntless compound I go, empty-handed, and empty of all hope.
"Ah, just the two I wanted to see." Amar lobs a ring of keys at us, and I catch it neatly in one hand. "You're on laundry duty," our instructor says. "Get to it."
"Yes, sir," Eric and I recite together. I pocket the key to the laundromat, then I start to follow Eric there. I could refuse to go with him, but I still feel numb from Ysabelle's death. I don't even like doing the initiates' laundry. I'd much rather hand this job off to Amy, the one transfer who actually enjoys it. But Eric and I just got back from the factionless sector, and we've no idea where the other transfers are.
With little else to do, I unlock the laundromat. Eric says he'll be the one to get the clothes basket from the dorm. But my anger at him is starting to surface, and I want him to know it's there. I snap at him to stay put, that I'll be the one to get the basket. He obeys, and I run back to the dorm to collect the dirty clothes.
An idea sprouts in my mind. It won't make up for the murder of Ysabelle, but it'll be satisfying to see the look on Eric's face. I enter the laundromat with the basket in my arms, then I tell Eric I'll be forming two piles of clothing, one for him to manage, and one for me. I make sure all of Eric's clothes end up in my pile. Then, while I'm hard at work, I think about how I might tamper with his clothing, to embarrass him in the worst way possible. I'm flipping his pockets inside out when I suddenly feel something smooth and shiny.
I yank it out of Eric's jeans and study it carefully. It's a glossy silver card, not made in Dauntless. My eyes skim the inscription on the card. The words "Pass to Access Erudite Headquarters" tell me everything I need to know.
A cold dread courses through my body. How'd I never figure this out before?
As I continue to stand there, staring at Eric's card, the cold feeling gives way to a steaming rage. It should not have been this easy for Eric to trick me. But it was, and he's tricked me twice now. I let my fury propel me closer to my former friend. When he happens to look up from his work, I let him have it. "I think it's time we had a little talk." I hold the card up, so he'll know I have it. "You've been secretly working with Jeanine Matthews, haven't you?"
It looks like somebody hit a pause button on Eric. His hands fall uselessly to his sides. His face is wiped of all emotion. After maybe five seconds, he opens his mouth. "Give that back," he hisses.
"No." I turn him down flat, and it feels so good. "Not till you explain yourself. I defended you against those rumors, then they turned out to be real. You know how shitty I feel now?" Of course I can't prove Eric's Divergent, but I do know he's been conspiring with the Erudite.
Eric's anger at me defying him bubbles over. "Of course, you're making this about you," he accuses. "Ever since we came here, your ego's been bigger than normal." He stands up, stepping on the clothes he was handling.
"That's not true," I say evenly.
"Just give it back," Eric demands, eyeing the card in my hand. He takes another step toward me, and I see an unhinged look in his eyes. Still I bide my time.
"I'm not gonna," I say tauntingly. Then I hold his card behind my back, so he can no longer see it.
Eric looks immensely stressed, like I finally got the better of him. He walks away and leans against the closest wall, his hands sinking into his pockets. He shuts his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. "Oh, you think I got no leverage against you?" he challenges. He looks me dead in the eye. "You think I don't know you're Divergent?"
It's my turn to go frozen. My head and torso feel like they got dipped in ice water.
After maybe five seconds, I open my mouth. "Who told you?" I stammer.
"So you never planned on telling me." Eric smiles wryly and withdraws his hands from his pockets. One of them is clenched in a fist. "You never trusted your friend from Erudite, did you?"
"Answer the question!" I practically scream at him. "How do you know I'm Divergent?" Eric says nothing back. He just keeps smiling, like someone who's sick in the head. At this rate I'll get nowhere. I sigh and let my hand, the one holding Eric's card, drop to my side. "Well," I say, faking a casual attitude, "you have no proof I am, so…" I don't finish. Eric decides to catch me off guard once again.
He uncurls his fist, revealing a tiny black gadget nested inside it. I know immediately what it's used for, to record and save audio files. My anger returns all of a sudden. "Hand that over," I snap.
"No," he snaps back.
What to do? I try bargaining. Again I hold Eric's card up, making sure the light catches on its shiny surface. "We'll trade," I propose, "then we can walk away peacefully."
Eric responds after a couple seconds. "I'm not gonna," he says mockingly, echoing what I just told him. He holds the recording device behind his back, so I can't see it.
I angrily thrust my hand down in surrender, and the card almost falls on the floor. I turn around, because if I have to look at Eric for longer than this, I'll end up doing time for homicide. "Knew you wouldn't compromise," I say, disgustedly. "Typical Erudite."
I've still got my back to him when he speaks next, but his words are clearer than the whistle of an oncoming train. "Funny you'd say that, you're just a typical…"
I whirl on him so quickly, he ceases to talk out of surprise. "A typical what?"
The pin's been pulled from the grenade in the room. Of course, I already heard what he said. I'm just hoping he has the backbone to confirm it. "What were you gonna say?" I keep pressing him. He won't answer. "Go on, say it," I continue, taking a few steps toward him.
Eric shakes his head. "You'll only use it against me," he claims.
"No, I won't." I start to close the gap between us. "Say it," I command. Eric doesn't say it. But my fear of him has now evaporated. I turn my volume up to max for this next accusation. "You always wanted to say it, am I right?" This makes Eric look uncomfortable, and he actually takes a step back. But as he does, he folds his arms and keeps his mouth tightly shut.
"You're too scared to say it." I wield his refusal as a weapon, using it against him, ensuring that what goes around comes around. Then I laugh loudly in his face.
Eric's affected, but his proud front stays up. "Damn," he mutters, putting both hands up by his head, maybe so he can pretend to be a victim of my abuse. "Are a couple of your screws loose?" He pauses, and I think he's thinking better of what he's saying, but then he shows me I'm wrong. "Maybe not, you're a little too stiff…"
He never finishes. One strong dose of adrenaline inside me, and suddenly he's on his back on the floor.
I let out a calm exhale before I look at him again. His mouth's wet with his own blood, and some of it's on the back of my hand. I did that. I acted on the desires I'd been holding underneath the surface, and punched my former friend so hard he fell. I start laughing all over again. The noises coming from my mouth sound a little maniacal. "Shit," I manage to say between guffaws. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."
Then, all of a sudden, I'm the one on his back on the ground.
For ten seconds I lie there, like a flipped-on-its-back turtle, letting Eric out-wrestle me. Then, after breathing in once, I send as many counter-punches in Eric's direction as I can. I feel bone bash against cartilage, see blood spew from my opponent's nose. "You little piece of…" he starts to say. I don't let him finish. I clock him in the eyelid next, and he gasps, his hand moving from his nose to his eye.
This is giving me euphoria. I said that too soon, though, because a second later, Eric knees me forcefully in the crotch. An embarrassingly high-pitched half-whine, half-groan exits my mouth. Now I can do nothing as Eric reaches down and grabs ahold of my hand, the one that's still got a grip on his card.
Aw, man. I forgot I still had it.
Eric forces the card out of my hand, then I remember he has a recording of me saying I'm Divergent. It's on that device of his. He dropped it after my first punch to his face. I scramble upright and let the thought of Eric's card leave my mind. There's the recording device, it's three feet away from where my shoes are. Like a cat going for the mouse, I lurch toward it.
It's too bad Eric has the same idea. We knock each other down and roll, each one topping the other for a brief second before getting submerged again. While we're grappling, our hands fight for Eric's device. "Give it to me!" I gasp out. Eric squeezes the device with his hand, his arm retracting so it's completely out of reach. That does it. High risk, high reward.
I stand up shakily and take two steps backward. Then I run head-on at Eric like an angry bull. My arms stretch outward to their maximum length, my palms bulldozing Eric's chest. He goes down instantly. A second later, his head's smashing the hard tile. Blood pools around the impact site.
Eric's moaning in pain. He's still coherent, but badly hurt. I'm still straddling him, so I hurry to roll off of him. Then I start to rip both the card and his device from his grasp.
"Hey! On your feet, now!"
Shit. It's Amar.
I follow his order as soon as he walks in. Eric tries to as well, but he doesn't manage to stand up all the way, only making it to his knees. Amar gives both of us the same judgmental look. "Stand up straight," he commands. "Look me in the eye." We both do, Eric with a lot more effort. "What's the meaning of all this?" Amar inquires.
We just keep our lips sealed. I'm not sure what I'd say, anyway.
"On second thought," snaps Amar, "shut up." He's glaring at us so fiercely, I fear we'll be killed if we reply to him now. He raises a hand like he wants to hit us, and we flinch, but he just points with his thumb in one particular direction. "We'll deal with this at my office," he says.
We all walk in a slow procession. I think both Eric and I dread the outcome of this meeting, but Eric's much too proud to confess it. I'm not. Yet I don't think Eric will implicate me. Though we now hate each other, we still know each other inside out, enough for us both to understand that neither will tell on the other. Whichever one of us manages to keep his secret the longest, that's for God to decide.
A whole hour goes by, faster than I expect.
Eric and I are seated side by side, our elbows touching, the big desk standing between us and Amar. We're right where he originally seated us. In the background, the wall clock's second hand tick-tocks quietly, not noticeable till now, when it's silent. Before, there was frenzied shouting and angry fingers pointing in every direction. We were making the biggest racket in Amar's little office. But we've cooled down now, and I feel relieved.
I glance at Amar. The veins are popping on his forehead, and the sweat coating his skin won't dry up. As he taps the end of his fountain pen against the surface of his desk, he ogles me and Eric. "And everything you just stated is the truth?" he asks us.
"No room for interpretation, sir," Eric says steadily. He gestures to me without looking at me. "Like he said, I was mad 'cause he used my device."
Amar's eyes move to me. I nod quickly.
Hopefully the discussion's over. Amar scoffs a little, then to our shock, he's suddenly chuckling. "All this over a voice recorder?" He slaps his own face with his palm, and Eric winces. "For an Erudite, you're awfully childish," Amar continues to tear into Eric.
I want to start laughing as well. But Amar's looking to get me punished, too. He puts his laughter on pause and swivels in his chair, so his stare's aimed my way. "Now to you." He points his fountain pen at me. "Look into anger management."
"I will, sir," I reply.
"You're both dismissed," Amar tells us. With that, Eric and I are shooed away from his office. We only regard each other briefly before we head our separate ways.
So as of now, Eric's secret is safe with me, and mine with him. It's like we've returned to being the best of friends. But we know better. This strained peace between us can only be temporary, and the tensions will simmer for only so long, before we blow up again.
I close the dormitory door tight. The other initiates are in the cafeteria, so I'm all alone. I sit down on my bunk, my mind racing. I don't recall the last time I was this angry at God.
There were times in my childhood when I would question His goodness and love. At that age, I felt like He'd left me to fend for myself. He'd taken my mom away, and I was at the mercy of my abuser. He hadn't softened Marcus' heart. He hadn't magically made the abuse go away. My faith was tested during that time, and I was barely nine years old.
I eventually got around to understanding what makes God good, despite evil in the world. I had to accept that God is not a genie, He doesn't grant wishes left and right. Answered prayers won't always mean a "yes," like how a dad with his child can't always say "yes." Sometimes children need a "no," even if they don't understand why.
I get that now. But today, the situation's different. Today, I feel justified in getting mad at God. As much as I hate to say it, I feel justified in cursing God. I thought He'd given me wisdom and guidance, but following that guidance led to destruction and despair. It led to my mission failing, an innocent person dying, and my hopes breaking.
Why, God? Why? Why did I have to fail?
I feel betrayed. I'm in anguish. I'm closer than I've ever been to abandoning God. But a small seed of faith still lingers in me. I decide that one last-ditch attempt can't hurt, so I get on one knee to pray.
I pray that Ysabelle's soul is at peace and that a breakthrough occurs for the factionless. I pray for Bernard, for "E," and even for Eric and Jeanine. I'm confused and hurting in my soul, and maybe I'll never be ready to understand God's ways. Yet I continue to pray, as I always did in my childhood. After I've said amen, I rise. I don't feel any different. I can't detect the presence of the Holy Spirit.
But I'd be telling a lie if I said I'm ready to go off on my own, without Him.
In the silence, I bow my head. I keep my eyes low to the ground. Finally, I close my eyes all the way. I have to think better of this. Before, I wasn't able to think straight, I was too hurt and confused. I believe I understand now. I was stupid. I was arrogant, overconfident, and shortsighted. Who was I to blame my own failures on God? He gave me my new wisdom, but I was the one who squandered it, by neglecting Ysabelle and not being there to protect her from Eric.
And who was I to assume that God had abandoned me? It's not "my will be done," it's "Your will be done." Job's loyalty was called into question, because he praised God at a time when things were right in his life. It took the loss of all his possessions for him to prove that he truly was loyal, because he went on to trust God regardless.
That's what I should learn to do. I should go on trusting God even in the darkest of times. I still don't understand why He had to take Ysabelle's life, but it's not for me to understand. As a child, I didn't understand why I had to get my shots, but Mom handed me over to the doctor regardless.
I keep my head bowed and my eyes shut. I try reaching out to God again. I've been humbled and I'm going to let Him know. He's changed my heart and restored my faith, and so I repent, and ask for His mercy and grace.
