There is a mild tension in the air. Today is the last day of training as well as the day before Visiting Day. In a sense it feels like the build before a finale, the swell before the intermission in the plays we studied in school. And while I try my best to maintain a measured sense of indifference, simply facing today as any other day of training, I can't help but feel unsettled by the idea that I have no clue where I stand in the rankings. At least if I knew for certain whether I was destined for failure of if I was riding on the cusp of exile, I could use my time to find peace in my outcome. But instead there is a mild nausea setting in the pit of my stomach in the uncertainty.
But instead of giving myself time to dwell and make myself truly sick, I take a deep breath and try to change and head out the door as quickly as possible. Some of the others, notable Peter and his lackies, are hovering in the corner and whispering with an unpleasant look in their eye and I would rather not be in here whenever they enact whatever scheme they are planning.
It is yet another unsettling reality that I am coming to grips with. People who prey on others exist regardless of where you go. And while it makes sense, I can't help but feel bothered that I hoped to escape that, and while I cannot deny that the abuse that happens here is nothing near to what I faced before, I can't help the yearning to avoid it all. Though maybe wishful thinking like that should have led me to Amity. But I feel that I belong here, in some strange way. While I may not have the urgency to see fear in another person's eyes like some here have, Dauntless has made me stronger, and I relish that fact.
Wandering through the hall to the dining hall leads my mind further, caught on a quandary that I can't quite place, or a few in reality. Peter confuses me, in how he can for a moment seem like a decent person, though possibly insecure and lonely. But in the blink of an eye, suddenly he is the cowardly monster, preying on the smallest animal around. He is someone who has this grandiose sense of self, but is aware there is no substance behind it, choosing to instead let others do the work and in turn take the fall. But I find myself stuck on the moments of humanity. I am stuck on the chase up the stairs. I am stuck on the quips and conversations that are had quietly, side by side during training. The moments where I can look over and see a person. He is not someone who wants to be fixed, nor is he someone who could be fixed by anyone else, but I can't even seem to understand his base instinct. He is not a monster, for his moments of soft humanity. But he also is not a good person, for his moments of pure monstrosity. Instead, he is simply a dilemma, someone as dichotomous as the colors of the faction he left.
I make it into the dining hall and there are few people there, as I expected given the fairly early hour. I grab a few items to shove into my pocket before heading out. I want to get a few laps around the Pit before the sparring begins, feeling the tightness in my body from healing muscle and sore joints. People move out of my way as I run, though I try not to run in highly trafficked paths. And there is a mild sense of warmth that fills me when some other Dauntless members stride in and begin doing laps as well and choose to run alongside me. Nothing is said, but there is a companionable feel to the air and the time passes pleasantly and far too quickly. A glance at the watch I purchased tells me it is time to head to the training room and so with a nod and wave to my companions of the morning, which is kindly returned, I make my way to the training room, arriving just outside the room at the same time as a somewhat distraught looking Tris. We are both caught off-guard, and it is in this moment that I am made deeply aware of how little I have interacted with Tris, which is to say that I haven't spoken to her, only ever interacted through expression or gesture. And while there is a part of me that tells me to mind my own business, to simply walk in and ignore her expression, another quieter part, a part that I find myself listening to less and less, demands I not ignore the pain in her expression. Because I know so well what it looks like to hide pain, and for such a long time, I wanted nothing more than for someone to just reach out. But no one ever did, and there finally came a point where I stopped hoping. And I can't ignore the lump building in my throat, or the cold sweat of my palms at her expression.
"Tris, are you okay?"
Her eyes widen further, brows moving in quickly, furrowing before she can tame her expression. And her mouth opens and closes a few times as she seems to try and decide what to say.
"I'm fine," is what she settles on, though her voice is somewhat soft and unsure. I can't meet her eye, uncomfortable not only for intruding, but also with her expression still. I find myself biting my cheek without realizing after a second, forcing myself to stop and take a breath.
"Okay, you just-" another pause, another breath, "I know that I have no right to say this, but you don't have to hide everything away."
I can feel the heat in my face, and my ears are burning as I quickly turn and enter the room, unable to wait for any response. Whatever possessed me to say anything was ridiculous, and I am unsure what I thought I could accomplish, so I walk to one of the side walls and simply focus on the board. Out of the corner of my eye I see Tris enter, and I can see her give me a strange look before turning to her friends.
Turning to the far side of the room, I see Four finishing writing on the chalkboard, writing the final matches. Some of the matches are more interesting than others, with more nebulous odds while others are quite obvious.
Christina and Al's match will end quickly with Al only taking a single hit, throwing the match like all his others. Drew and Myra's will end quickly as Myra simply doesn't have the bulk to last.
On the other hand, Peter and Edward's bought has a less clear outcome. While I would foresee Edward ultimately winning, it would be due in large part to his prior practice. Had they started training at the same time, Peter might have the advantage. Molly and Tris's match has a similarly murky outcome. If I were looking at the same match a week ago, I would have readily bet on Molly to win quickly, but now I am less sure. While Tris is smaller, and largely less skilled, she's a thinker and I am coming to realize her quick mind might just get her farther than anything any of us had imagined.
My eyes fall to my name, placed next to Will's. And I am again left without a clear impression of who might win. Will is yet another one who thinks, though more in an intellectual manner, favoring facts and book knowledge over the wit and intuition that Tris uses. But he does have strength, as well as some training that just might give him an edge. It is second on the list, so I guess I won't have to wait too long to find the result.
The first match is Myra and Drew, and the results are just what I imagine. While Myra does last longer than I might have thought, it only takes a few hits for her small frame to crumple, eyes closed. There are a few moments while Four ensures she is okay, and while she begins to wake back up Drew leaves the ring. Four turns to Will and I, offering each of us a nod in turn.
We glance at one another before taking slow steps towards and onto the ring. And it is somewhat odd, facing Will as I realize once again how little I have interacted with several of my fellow initiates. I have nothing against Will, in fact I have no opinion of him at all, and it is odd to be facing him in a ring, holding no animosity and no reason to throw a single punch aside from a sense of survival. And I realize that he is likely experiencing much of the same conflict. Because while some initiates do already have some animosity through foul interactions, such as Tris versus Peter and his lackies, many of us are simply trying to survive this power struggle we have seemingly been arbitrarily placed into.
But while this moral struggle may leave me staggering for a moment, with a hollow coldness behind my ribs, it soon vanishes the moment Four clears his throat. In that moment, it feels almost as if we are both struck, moving forward without thought. In that fraction of a breath, we have gone from a strange sense of lostness, to each throwing a fist at the other. And in a split second I think to duck my head slightly, just enough to displace Will's hit, but he is less lucky. While his fist barely grazes my ear, my knuckles connect solidly with his cheekbones and his head recoils.
I have a second to decide if I should give him the time to recover, to let him regain his bearings, or if I should end the match as quickly as possible, though the tactics may be less than honorable. But I refuse to be one who plays with another in a moment of vulnerability. And I have come to realize that I am not the gentle, sweet, honorable person people believed me to be. And so I quickly bring my knee up, pushing it up under Will's ribs and he folds. Throwing my weight forward, we tumble and I plant my knees to the side, bringing a fist up while placing another on his chest. He responds quickly, jerking up and turning, flipping us over and slamming a fist to my jaw. My brain goes blank, all thoughts seemingly knocked out of my head for a breath. But after years of training myself to fight back at all costs, after running through every possible situation day in and day out, my body responds without thought, and my whole body seems to flail and throw Will off balance and we yet again flip.
There is a sort of blind panic that fills me when my fist lands, though I have a split second of lucidity to lower my hit to his jaw, instead of between his eyes. My breathing is loud in my ears as Will's eyes glaze after a second hit, a cold sweat covering my palms. His body goes limp, and I catch myself as my fist hovers over his jaw, my chest heaving. And when I glance up, some of the others don't seem to be paying attention, but others have an almost nervous look in their eyes. And were I a better person, maybe I would have apologized, maybe I would have tried to express some remorse. Instead I just stand up, backing away as Four walks up. He casts me a look that seems almost disturbed as he kneels by Will. It takes a few seconds for him to wake up, but once he does he gives a quiet groan and lifts himself onto his elbows.
My thoughts circle back to the beginning, to the realization that Will is not someone that I have any problem with. He is someone who is in a similar position, just trying to make it. And for the first time, I am filled with a discomfort, and unsettled feeling that maybe I had gone too far. Taking a step forward, Four casts me yet another nervous glance, mouth opening to say something. Will also has an apprehensive look in his eyes, which I can't blame him for. I quickly extend a hand, though keeping a distance, leaving the choice to Will. His expression goes blank, maybe erased by confusion, or maybe just shuttered out of self-preservation or lack of trust. And I stutter, unsure of whether to say anything at all, not sure if my words would mean anything.
"Sorry, I-" my voice sounds weak and I flinch, "I was too rough, I panicked."
Maybe my response raises more questions than it does to actually express any remorse, but Will handles it with a grace I hadn't expected from a Erudite. Or an ex-Erudite I guess. He stares for a second before simply taking my hand and letting me gently pull him up and hold his shoulder to steady him. He gives a nod of thanks, wincing at the action immediately after, then heading over to his friends without another word.
Christina and Al are next, squaring up quickly after Will and I are off the mat, and I think everyone in the room can anticipate how this ends. And I can't bring myself to focus on the match. There is a buzzing between my ears and behind my eyes, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Four watching me with a concerned look knitting his eyebrows together.
I can only bring myself to tune in and out of the match, though I think it only takes a few minutes, as Christina throws a few hits and then Al crumples into a heap, not even attempting to get back up. Movement causes me to look over and Eric is shaking his head with a disgusted look on his face. Quite frankly, I had forgotten Eric was even in the room. He has been unusually quiet thus far, as by this point he would have normally scolded someone, or at least thrown an insult.
But no one goes to help Al up, as Peter and Edward make their way to the ring. Instead Al is alone when he slowly rises up to his feet and shuffles away, heading to the edge of his group. And none of them say a word, and there is something off about his eyes when he glances at the others, like an outsider wanting nothing more than to be a part of something but missing the very thing that would let him be a part of the group. He looks lost, and more importantly, he looks hopeless. And while a part of me feels slightly bad, feels sorry for him, another part of my stomach twists in discomfort. A envious man is a dangerous one, and a hopeless one has nothing to lose. But in a second I am reminded that the man across the ring is not Marcus. Al is big, yes, but he is also soft-hearted, and generally kind.
My nerves quickly turn to guilt, and I bring my attention back to the ring as Edward dodges a hit and swing one back in return and Peter stumbles, pure rage in his expression. Edward is skilled in all the ways that Peter is ruthless, and ultimately, that means there is no true competition. While Peter holds out longer than any other against Edward, he still lands on the mat unmoving after several minutes. The match ends and again, no one goes to help anyone up but instead everyone watches as Peter slowly returns to consciousness, blinking away the confusion and quickly turning to glare at Edward as he stands next to Myra, Edward's expression blank. Drew and Molly finally seem to realize who is down, and start to scramble to help, but he smacks away the hands with a snarl.
"Don't touch me," is hissed out, a lip curled up. The other two seem lost but Drew follows Peter back out of the ring while Molly stands on one end, watching as Tris makes her way up. A sideways glance at either end of the room show the two different dynamics between the authorities in the room. While Four is watching with an appearance of seeming disinterest, there is a tension in his shoulders that show he is ready to spring at any moment. On the other side, Eric's eyes are half-lidded, almost as if he is falling asleep. He is leaning back against the wall, all his weight shifted back. Were anything to happen in any of these fights, Eric is in no rush to help.
Turning back to the ring just as Molly finishes laughing at some taunt, Tris's eyes are darting all around, but there is a focus. She takes a breath that I can almost see travel through her, and her eyes stop, solely focused on Molly. And not for the first time I am almost intimidated by Tris. Her mind is working a mile a minute, and I come to the realization as Molly takes her first step that Tris may win. And as Tris manages to slip through Molly's guard, the feeling solidifies as Molly slowly builds to a blinded rage. The fight is controlled but fast, and it feels like only moments before Tris lands a body blow and Molly folds, hitting the mat with a rough thud, clutching her stomach. But Tris doesn't stop, her foot swinging forward and there is a quiet gasp around the room as Tris just doesn't stop.
Movement out of the corner of my eye is like a blur as Four rushed to the ring, grabbing a hold of Tris. Eric is standing at attention at the opposite end, suddenly very awake. Molly is groaning, looking like a child curled on the mat, and for possibly the first time I am left with a slightly sick twist of my stomach. Four and Tris are muttering in an argument before she shakes his hand off and walks back to her group. Each of them looks uneasy as she stands next to them, each glancing at her out of the corner of their eyes.
Four helps Molly up, supporting her as helping her walk. They head to the door and Four mutters something that sounds like "infirmary," as he passes Eric. Eric simply nods.
There is silence once they are gone, only broken when Eric gives a couple of loud claps.
"Good job today."
And with that he turns and leaves, and we are left to our own devices. Some grasp at wounds, wincing in pain. Others are still watching Tris. I turn and head to the training room. My mind is racing. I need a distraction. I can hear footsteps behind me but I elect to ignore them as I enter the room and make my way to a bag. I don't even take the time to wrap my hands. We don't have any more fights after today, and while I realize there is something wrong about taking the risk of injury, I feel a buzzing beneath my skin and behind my eyes that I just want to leave.
After only a couple of hits I hear the footsteps enter the room, and so with a deep breath, I turn to see who is behind me. Peter is walking up, and to my surprise he is alone. Turning back to the bag, I throw a few more hits as he comes to stand next to me.
"Where are your lacky?"
He is silent for a period, simply watching as I continue.
"Drew has gone to see Molly in the infirmary." There is a stutter in my hit, unable to stop the display of surprise. But I really don't know why I am so shocked, they are friends after all. But the thought of someone in Peter's crew displaying such a blatant act of kindness throws me off. But it also raises another question.
"And why aren't you with them?" Initially his only response is to shrug his shoulders, but after a moment there is a second response.
"They can be suffocating," is what he whispers, almost absent-mindedly. There is no appropriate response to an admission like that, so after a brief pause, to let the words settle into silence, I simply shift my stance and run through different drills. After a few minutes of simply watching in silence, he finally seems to fidget before clearing his throat. I complete my drill before turning to look at him, waiting for whatever he was planning to say. And he still hesitates for a moment, as if he is contemplating whether he truly wants to say what is on his mind.
"Would you be willing to show me some of those drills?" The question hangs silently in the air for a moment. Peter turns away slightly, his face flushing and he refuses to look at me as I process the request. And I can't seem to stop the response that falls from my mouth.
"Why?"
He looks up suddenly, expression confused and he is without words for a period.
"What do you mean?"
"Surely there are better people to teach you. Besides, we're done with the sparring stage of initiation anyways."
He is yet again silent for a stretch of time. Each of us is left fidgeting in the pause, unsure of how to speak. Peter is picking at a fingernail when he finally responds.
"Maybe. But you've learned quick, and without all that much background knowledge, which means that you've got a knack for this. Besides, you're good."
A barking sort of laugh rips from my chest before I can stop it, and Peter's face gets quickly more flushed.
"Sorry," I say with a wave of my hand as Peter starts to open his mouth with a retort of some sort, "but how could you possibly know that? You've never even gone against me in a fight. It could just be that the people I fight are bad."
"I doubt it. I mean, maybe, but at that point, it's my loss. And if you're going to be practicing anyways, what's to lose from showing me?"
This time the laugh is gentler, and I shrug before turning back to my bag and taking the stance for one of my warm-ups.
And the times passes quickly as we work through drills with me offering occasional corrections or tips to help him understand the moves and stances. And I find myself losing track of time, as hours pass in what feels like mere moments. Peter is finally managing to complete a rather long and complex drill when we notice another presence in the doorway and both turn. Drew is in the doorway, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, Molly standing slightly behind him. Both seem unsure of what to say.
"What do you want?" Peter's tone isn't inherently rude or curt, but his words feel more harsh than one might consider fair. Drew's head ducks a little, and Molly begins mimicking the shifting behind him.
"It's dinner time," is all Drew offers in response.
Both Peter and I turn to the single clock in the room and I am surprised to note that Drew is right. It genuinely did not feel like we were practicing that long. And I am unsure whether that is a good or bad thing. Peter makes a slightly surprised sound before shaking his hands out and flexing them slightly, likely to loosen them after having held them in fists for such a long time. Turning to me, he takes a somewhat deep breath and offers a quick nod.
"Well, thanks for the practice."
"Yeah, no problem," is all I say in response as Peter has already turned and is headed out the door. He doesn't pause to acknowledge the other two, simply keeps going and the others follow.
While a part of me knows it is silly to skip dinner, another part of me simply doesn't want to deal with the bustle of all the people in the dinning hall. I look down at my own hands and realize they are cramping, being held just as tightly for just as long. I take a moment to simply stretch them out as much as possible and savor in the tightness and then release of the muscles.
"Some people would consider it foolish to help out their competition."
While the basic part of me is frightened by the sudden voice, another part of me is simply not surprised at all. With a glance over my shoulder I see Eric striding into the room. His face is either guarded or conflicted, and I can't quite gauge which it is.
"I don't know what you're talking about. The sparring is over, Peter isn't really my competition."
He lets out a barking laugh, short and aggressive.
"Until you're a full member of Dauntless, all of the initiatives are your competition."
I turn this time, facing him fully. He is directly behind me, face angled slightly down to meet my eyes. Now his expression is more humorous, though with a sense of condescension. I take a moment, giving myself the time to choose my words wisely, as I am realizing that Eric's temper and pride are not to be messed with.
"Well, as I said, the sparring is over, so I'm not really helping him out. I was practicing anyways, so I figured it could do no harm to let him play along."
"Well let me reword it then, some might consider it foolish to fraternize with the competition."
I can only stare at him for a moment. I am not quite sure why he is making such a large deal out of this, or why it even matters in the first place. It isn't something that really matters to him, nor does it involve him in the slightest.
"Why does it matter who I spend my time with? If it really is foolish, then it is simply my loss. No one loses anything except me. So I am not entirely sure why you are turning this into an ordeal."
Thinking the conversation done, I turn back to my punching bag and throw a hit, but as my fist connects to the bag, a hand reaches around me and grabs my wrist. Suddenly there is a body at my back, and I feel mildly caged in. My body tenses in response, still not reacting well to another person being so close, even after being separated from the single major threat for this long.
"A word of advice: when people are invested in your success, listen to them. And when someone trains you, don't train others until you are sure you are securely in a spot to do so."
And then without another word, he is gone.
Howdy! A quick thank you for checking in again and reading. And an apology for how long it has taken. Quite frankly I wasn't sure how to fill this chapter as the equivalent in the book is very focused on Tris's fight, and also I had not realized how short some of the chapters in Divergent are. Also a little reminder, I have changed the ages of the characters, making the initiates 18, making everything feel a little less… Shall we say uncomfortable in terms of relationships all around.
But thank you to everyone who is sticking it through with me, I really do appreciate you all. And I hope I can bring at least a little fun to you all. Hopefully it won't be too long until you hear from me again! Stay Fierce!
~ChildOfLupus