#he has dark eyebrows and roots and i guess i just figured the dye like. was so strong it entered his dna | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theoreticallyawriter · 5 years

Text

Chapter 11: Coping

Read on Ao3

The five of us skip dinner and head straight back to the dorms, Christina leans against Will for a portion of the walk and then Al scoops her up in his arms and carries her while she cries into his shirt. We stop outside the doors.

“Chris,” I say, “do you want to rinse the blood off you?”

She nods.

“I’ll grab some fresh clothes,” Tris says, walking into the dorm.

“I’ll get dinner,” Will says.

“I’ll talk to the nurse and get some bandages,” Al says.

The boys walk away together and I’m left alone with Christina.

“Don’t leave me alone,” she says weakly as she props herself up against me.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I help her limp into the bathroom and the last I see of her she kneels on the shower floor.

“I’ll be right here,” I say. “I won’t leave.”

The only response I get is her wet clothes being tossed over the curtain and the water turning on. I pick up the clothes and hang them on the hook next to the shower, then hop up on the sinks and wait.

Tris comes in not even a minute later, fresh clothes in her arms.

“Hey Chris,” she says loudly enough to be heard over the water. “I’m back.”

The two of us sit in silence, side by side listening to the water. Right along with the sound of the shower running, I can hear Christina still crying but neither of us can think of anything to say because what difference could it make? How could we possibly even begin to make better what Eric did to her? We can’t; we can only be here for her and offer whatever support that we can.

“Okay,” Christina says after a long time as she turns off the water. “Hand me my clothes.” She’s still sniffling and her voice breaks halfway through her sentence.

She steps out after another minute of silence. This is the quietest we’ve ever been around each other and the tension is palpable. She pulls back the curtain and stands before us in the comfortable training clothes that we were provided with but the t-shirt seems to be oversized for more comfort. She still shivers but I don’t think that it’s because she’s cold anymore.

After a moment of saying and doing nothing, she quickly moves forward and envelopes us both in a crushing hug. I return it after a brief second or so of surprise, putting one hand on Christina’s back and wrapping my other arm around Tris. She takes another second longer (not used to being hugged I guess), but I feel her fingertips bump against mine on Christina’s back and her arm snake around the back of my neck.

We stay like that for a little while, hugging and Christina starts crying again and I try not to cry but fail and I can feel Tris’ shoulders shaking as she begins to cry too.

“Okay,” Christina says finally. “Okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” I agree, pulling back slightly so that I can look at her face.

“You’re okay,” Tris echoes me.

“I’m okay,” Christina repeats and it sounds like she’s more telling herself than she’s telling us. “I’m okay.”

“We’re okay,” Tris says.

Christina nods. “We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” I agree.

We walk back to the dorm room, Tris and I with our arms around Christina protectively, and find the boys waiting for us. Will has enough food for five and Al has ice packs, band-aids, and gauze. They look up when we enter and smile.

“I’ll dress your hands,” Will says to Christina as the three of us kneel down on the concrete floor with them. Christina puts one hand in his and he begins cleaning it with disinfectant that makes her hiss in pain.

“I know,” Will mutters. “Has to be done.” Christina nods weakly.

We lapse into silence again and my gaze is fixed on Christina, on her every little flinch. Will is through, cleaning out the blood and grime that gathered beneath her nails and the bits that stuck on her palms after the shower.

“Talk,” Christina says after a while. “Please talk this is so tense.”

“Uh.” Al glances around the plain room looking for anything of interest to make conversation about. “Mimi still has blood in her hair,” he blurts out.

“I’ll fix it later,” I say softly, more focused on Christina than the conversation.

“When it was fresh it was almost a good look for you,” Will says. “Bright red. You should consider dying your hair that color.”

“Sounds gaudy,” I mutter.

Al snorts. “You and Tris are such prudes.” In a high voice that could either be me or Tris he says he says, “No, I won’t dye my hair; that’s gaudy. No, I won’t get a tattoo. No, I won’t do literally anything adventurous whatsoever.

“Hey,” Tris says indignantly. “I have a tattoo.” She pulls the collar of her shirt down and to the side to expose the three birds in a line just beneath her collar bone.

“For the record, I only said that bright red was gaudy. I haven’t ruled out dying my hair entirely.”

“Semantics.” Al waves his hand as if he’s brushing my statement away. “My point still stands.”

“On what?” I say, barely able to contain my laughter.

I hear Christina give a weak laugh too and internally breathe a sigh of relief.

We’re gonna be just fine.

After dinner, when everyone comes back, we’re all still sitting on the floor chatting. After Will finished dressing her wounds, Christina broke out the nail polish that she’d bought the other day and Tris painted her nails. She’d never done it before, but she wanted to just do something and it eventually turned into everyone getting their nails painted. Because her hands stung so badly, Christina couldn’t do anyone’s but she was happy to critique. Not that the Candor even wear nail polish, that same dishonesty in appearance policy.

I did Al’s and Will did Tris’ and they looked great because of course they did. Erudite is the faction of cosmetics, everyone knows how to do everything. While we were on the subject, we got to have a bit of a laugh over how badly our makeup had gotten messed up, which we’d been ignoring until then.

Peter, Molly, and Drew all ignore us when they come back for the night and go straight to Peter’s bunk to continue the conversation that they were having. But I don’t miss the glances that Molly and Drew both cast in Christina’s direction. They weren’t malicious, but they make me a tad defensive anyways.

A few of the others make passing comments but mostly they help by not saying anything at all. The noise in the room makes it feel full and eases some of the tension that had built when it was just us and Peter’s group.

When Edward and Myra return, they make a beeline for us. Usually they isolate themselves from the rest of us in the corner, only ever occasionally bothering with the other Erudite transfers. Though I guess like Peter and his friends, the need to surround yourself with new people is less pressing when you've already got someone to hang on to.

“Hey,” Edward says, “we just wanted to check up on you, Christina. I, uh, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry. That really sucked. I’m sure it sucked a lot more for you but, uh, yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“We know that you’re not doing great,” Myra says, “but we still felt like we should check up on you.”

Christina offers them a smile. “I’m going to be just fine, you guys. Thanks for thinking of me. I heard you cheering. You didn’t have to do that, but you did and it, uh, it means something to me to know that you two, who I don’t even really know that well, were rooting for me.”

“Of course,” Myra says. “We’re practically family now, being in the same faction and all.”

“Some family,” Christina says, shaking her head.

Edward nods. “Yeah. It, uh, shit sucks.”

“Want to sit down?” Christina offers.

Edward and Myra sit down in between Christina and I. I remember earlier in the week when Edward seemed like he was going to be kind of a dick. Not like Peter, but not really the sort of person to be around. He was pretty rude to Christina back then too and now he’s expressing very genuine concern, though he doesn’t exactly seem like he’s able to put that concern into words. And earlier today when he walked me to the infirmary, joked and kept me propped up. There wasn’t a hint of the overconfident asshat that I met earlier in the week. I think that I might have misjudged Edward, he doesn’t seem like that bad of a guy.

I glance over at Will and he seems as surprised as I am, his head tilted slightly to one side in confusion as he attempts to analyze Edward without saying a word, to pick apart his words to figure out his true intentions.

“And you guys.” Edward gestures to Tris, Will, and I. “I know you three took one hell of a beating. How are you doing now?”

Tris and I share a look that we then turn back on Edward and Myra. Myra blushes and ducks her head while Edward chuckles.

“Sorry,” Myra says quietly.

“Don’t apologize for skill,” Christina says. “No offense, Tris, but she was great. You both were great.” Al and Edward nod in agreement.

“Tris definitely gave me a run for my money,” Myra says. “Thought I was going to lose that fight, honestly.”

“Do you stay after hours?” Tris asks. “Because I don’t remember you being that good in practice.”

“Perks of having a boyfriend trained in hand to hand combat.” Myra pats Edward’s arm affectionately and he kisses her cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I see Will raise his eyebrows at Tris and Tris glares back at him.

“Yeah, I can see that coming in handy,” Tris says, nodding.

“Thanks for checking up on me, you two,” Christina says. “I really, really appreciate it.”

“Like Myra said, we’re like family now.” Edward rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Like a really terrible and dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless.”

We all get up off the floor and retire to our respective bunks, Will lingering by Christina for a second longer and speaking quietly to her. She hugs him and then bids him goodnight.

The lights go out but I stay awake, staring off into space and listening to the sounds of everyone else sleeping. Al and Christina both cry in their sleep and Tris tosses and turns like she’s having a nightmare. I lean back against the wall and stare blankly at the wooden door, which I can only barely make out in the darkness. After a while I grow tired of sitting in the dark and I stand up, the cold stone beneath my bare feet making me shiver. I need to get this blood out of my hair or it will be a serious problem tomorrow morning. It’s probably already dry and even more disgusting and a bitch to clean. I did kind of bring it on myself what with the whole pulling Edward down by his collar, but that does not in any way negate my right to internally complain about it.

I bump into and stub my toes on more than one bunk trying to get to the door. There’s not a single sliver of light so I have to resort to sticking my hands out and fumbling blindly toward the door. The lights in the bathroom are painfully bright and as soon as I turn them on I step back and cover my eyes, staying like that for a minute before slowly taking them away and allowing myself to get used to them. I can almost feel any lingering urge to sleep leaving me body and part of me just wants to give in and shower in the dark, but I don’t like that idea any more than sticking with the bright white lights on that make everything look sterile and bleached. I look at myself in the mirror for the first time since the fight and realize how shit I really look. I have a big black mark in the center of my forehead from where Edward head-butted me, and a bruise blooming in shades of purple and yellow just under my right eye. I sight through my gritted teeth and then get in the shower, grimacing at all of the other bruises littering my body.

The cold water feels good against my bruises but scraping Edward’s blood out of my hair with my bare fingernails is considerably less enjoyable. We’re provided with shampoo and conditioner, which is nice because I go through about half a bottle trying to get it all out. The water turns rusty red and I get the majority of it stuck under my fingernails as I have to literally rake my hands through my hair and scrape it off because I let it dry. I don’t regret putting it off to take care of Christina, but this is not enjoyable.

When the water becomes clear again and I can touch my hair again without coming away with red fingertips, I decide to shut off the water and get dressed again. That’s an ordeal all on its own; I was sore going into this fight from practice and now I’m sore from the fight on top of it. I kind of feel like I’m decomposing between all of the aches, pains, and the blood.

That last one was a joke.

I look at the roots of my hair in the mirror as best I can, combing through and checking for any lingering spots of blood. My hair is so light that even the faintest traces really show up and I have to put my head in the sink and scrub it out.

I hear the bathroom door bang open and I jump, bumping my head on the faucet in the process and swearing under my breath. The door slams shut and I lift my head to see who came in, wringing out my hair while I do.

Christina stands with her back pressed against the door and her eyes wide and afraid. She looks at me but says nothing, as she continues to hyperventilate.

“Christina.” I approach her slowly with my hands spread out before me. She flinches away from me, stepping back into the corner.

“It’s me,” I say gently. “You’re okay. Whatever happened is over now.”

She holds her breath for a few seconds and then lets it out in a shaky sigh. “I – I know. I just had a nightmare. I fell.”

I don’t know what to say, so I hug her instead and though she doesn’t start crying again she trembles in my arms.

“I could have died,” she whispers. “I could have died today.”

“But you didn’t,” I say, running a hand over her hair. “You’re here; you’re alive, you made it through. We all knew that you would.”

“He tried to kill me, Mimi. I…how am I ever supposed to see him again? How am I supposed to get through the rest of initiation knowing that my psychotic instructor might try to kill me at any point, and for what? Not being able to win a fight where I’m clearly outmatched?!”

“Christina, you don’t have to do this alone. I promise you that no matter what happens during the rest of initiation, I’m here for you. We’re all here for you and we’re not going anywhere. We’ll protect you, that’s what friends are for.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she says. “I can’t…I can’t imagine any of you guys having to go through that and I don’t want to. Mimi, what he did to me…I can’t stop thinking about how many ways it could have killed me, and how it could have killed you guys if you were in my place.”

“But it’s okay,” I say. “We’re all okay and so are you.”

“No, I’m not!” she exclaims, burying her face in my shoulder. “I’m not. I almost died today and I don’t know-” She lets out a sob. “I don’t know how cope with that.”

I don’t respond. What could I say to that? She’s right, I don’t know how one is supposed to cope with the fact that their instructor almost killed them; how she’s supposed to see Eric every day for the next fifteen weeks and then for the rest of her life because he’s a Dauntless leader, that is the man running our faction, that is the man responsible for our safety and prosperity.

Excuse the fuck out of me for wondering how the hell he’s qualified for that position. Cruel and brutish as Dauntless is, I suppose I can see him being like a professional fighter or something; but sure as shit not a politician and absolutely the last person that anyone sane would want in charge of initiation. I can’t imagine how that conversation must have gone, “We need someone to take over initiation, who should we pick?” “Oh, how about the guy who looks like he trips toddlers for fun; that sounds like a good idea.”

“Christina,” I say, “I don’t know what to say to make this better. I just want you to know that we’re all behind you a hundred percent; we’re not going to let anything else that’s bad happen to you. Anything that you need, we’re here for you.”

She nods. “I – I…Thank you, Mimi. You’re sweet.”

“What are friends for?”

We walk back into the dorms together with our arms around each other, separating when we reach Christina’s bunk. It takes me a while to fall asleep, but when I do it is peaceful and dreamless.

As late as I went to bed last night, I’m still among the first people up. I try to stay quiet as I grab my clothes for today and slip out of the room. I’m sure that we’ll have to fight again, so I don’t bother with my makeup no matter how odd that feels. I’m really not looking forward to today, I have more aches and pains than I can really describe and I’m sure that I’ll only acquire more. How many times are we going to do this? How many times am I going to get punched before these fifteen weeks are up? I guess I’ll find out.

I didn’t get a chance to tie my hair up before going to bed last night so it’s a total rat’s nest. I can already see it starting to lose its sheen as more time passes between washes using the Erudite products, which are as nice as they come. My hair is really the least of my concerns right now, or at least it should be, but to look good is to feel good and right now I feel like shit.

In the mirror, I see Myra come in behind me looking dead tired. Her auburn curls have lost the spiral that they held on the first day and she’s traded her white bow for a black hair tie.

She stands next to me in front of the mirror and mutters something that sounds like ‘good morning’.

“Sleep well, Myra?”

“Those beds suck,” she mumbles as she begins to run her brush through her hair.

I nod. They’re lumpy, rock hard, probably older than we are, and the room in general is perpetually cold. I guess that’s what happens when you’re at least a couple hundred feet underground.

Molly, Tris, and Christina trickle in, each looking as tired as I am. Molly keeps cutting her eyes and Christina; Tris notices and makes a point of always being between the two of them. We get ready in silence because no one has anything to say and we don’t feel like wasting our time on small talk. The others stream in one after another too, some talking quietly but most just trying to wake up. I notice a few of them casting furtive looks at Christina as we get ready but no one says anything. We’re all apprehensive about what happened yesterday and I think the last thing anyone – especially Christina – wants to do is talk about it.

After we’re done, Christina, Tris, and I go back into the dorm. In her absence, someone had spray painted the word ‘Stiff’ on Tris’ mattress in red and written it all over her the wood of the bunk.

She groans. “Go to breakfast you two, I’ll...” she sighs, “take care of this…this…”

“Shit?” I offer. “I’ll help.”

“Me too.” Christina says.

She shakes her head. “Don’t bother, just go.”

“Nice decorations,” Peter says as he fluffs his pillow. He is the only person in the room besides us, obviously it’s him who did it. Probably got Drew’s help. They’re the only ones this invested in making another person miserable.

Christina and I leave Tris and Peter alone and when the door is shut I turn to her. “You think she’ll be okay?”

“I don’t see why not,” Christina says. “Peter’s an asshole, but this is the girl who has stood up to Four before. I think she’s going to be just fine.”

We meet Will at our usual breakfast table after we get our food. Four hasn’t sat here since the first night and everybody is oddly ridged when it comes to tables. I find myself a little out of my depth here; sure, we ate communally at school but that’s different from being crowded into a room with literally thousands of other people.

“I’ve got a question,” Christina says to Will, propping her chin up on her fist.

“I’ve probably got an answer,” Will says.

“What’s your beef with Edward? I mean, last night he seemed pretty okay.”

Will sighs, glancing off in the direction of the table that he shares with Myra and a few of the other Erudite transfers. “It’s kind of a long story. The short version is that we used to date and then he dumped me for Myra, and honestly I’m a little bitter.”

“Thought so,” Christina says as she takes a bite of her hashbrowns.

“You thought so?” Will raises his eyebrows.

Christina swallows. “Sure. In Candor we’re taught to pick up on little things that most people don’t even notice to discern if a person is lying. The way you talked I figured that there was something else was going on there and I basically narrowed it down to you guys used to be friends or you used to date.”

Will chuckles. “And you’re saying that all of you Candor know how to do this?”

Christina shrugs. “Yeah basically.”

He shakes his head. “Remind me to never cross a Candor. Last thing I need is someone learning all my secrets via a minor twitch in my hand.”

“Be afraid,” Christina laughs. “Be very afraid.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “What ever happened to getting rid of all that old faction stuff, as you said.”

“I don’t see you getting any dumber, book boy.”

Will shrugs. “Touché.”

Tris and Al never join us for breakfast; perhaps I should have stuck around to help her clean up her bed. She said that she was fine but it can’t feel good to know that she has a metaphorical target on her back because of where she comes from.

We each finish up another cup of coffee, which, like everything here, isn’t nearly as good as what we had in Erudite, before getting up and heading to training. When we arrive, Tris and Al are already there. Tris stares at the board in horror, she’s been put up against Peter. I’m fighting Will.

“Oh no.” Christina turns to Tris. “Are they serious? They’re really going to make you fight him?”

“Maybe you can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious,” Al suggests. “No one would blame you for it.”

“Aim for his eyes,” I say flatly and make a gesture as if I’m poking out his eyes. “He can’t hit what he can’t see.”

Tris is completely out matched; Peter is nearly a foot taller and noticeably stronger. After what he did to Drew yesterday, who is supposedly his friend, I don’t doubt that he’ll snap Tris in half today.

“Maybe,” Tris says without inflection, still staring at the board. “And thanks for the advice, Mimi.”

“Can you even reach his eyes?” Christina says with a snicker. No one responds and she begins to look guilty. “Not the time for humor. Got it.”

“Well, on a lighter note,” Will says, “looks like it’s me against Mimi.”

“Good,” I say. “I’ve been waiting to fight you since day one.”

“Oh the feeling is entirely mutual, Dearie.” He flashes me a saccharine smile.

“Are you two even friends?” Myra basically manifests from thin air next to me and I jump. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“It’s an issue of constant debate,” Will says.

I roll my eyes. “Honestly, we find it hard to tell sometimes.”

“Yes, they’re friends.” Christina shoves her way in between the two of us. “They’re just so used to pretending not to have feelings that they now have no idea how to actually be nice to people.”

Myra snorts. “Yep, that sounds like our old faction.”

Four walks in, coffee in hand.

“You’re late,” I kind of mutter under my breath.

“Laps.” He makes a circle motion with his finger. “And I heard that, Ice Queen. You can take an extra one.”

I shrug. “Worth it.”

After our laps we have target practice. I’ve grown used to the sound and the recoil like everyone else; my aim is starting to get better too. I don’t hit the bullseye every time, or even most of the time, but I get there a few times.

“You would think that after a week or so they’d be halfway decent shots by now.” I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know that Eric just walked in. The asinine comments and annoying voice is clue enough.

“Yep,” Four agrees. “Too bad they seem to be more concerned with getting all buddy-buddy rather than practicing.”

I roll my eyes. What in the hell would Four and Eric know about having friends? We can’t all be bitter, broody man-children who demean and torture teenagers for fun.

I try to block them out and focus on hitting the target, but that’s a little difficult when I can’t make the bullseye no matter how many tweaks I make. I glance around me, checking on how the others are doing. To my great annoyance, Peter seems to be doing the best out of all of us. Goddamn do I want him to fail, to just be shit at something like the rest of us are. Even Edward if struggling to get much closer to the bullseye than the second ring.

“Hey, come on guys,” Peter says as he makes another bullseye. “It’s not that hard.”

“I hope you shoot yourself in the foot,” I snarl and keep trying.

I know that realistically speaking, Tris can’t win her fight this afternoon. But I would give anything just to see him bruised and bloody like the rest of us were yesterday. I’m sure that I’ll get my shot at Peter at some point in these next few weeks, but I want to shut him up so badly. Not that I really could at this current stage in my training. I’m not an idiot, I know that him and Edward are the best in our class; I know that if I tried now, Peter would wipe the floor with me.

We finish at the same time we do every day, the hours of our morning filled with Eric making sarcastic quips about how terrible we are. I swear that if I roll my eyes any harder they’ll just roll straight out of my head.

“Alright,” Eric says, pacing back and forth before us. “I hope that after your abysmal display yesterday, you’ve all learned your lesson.” He skims his eyes over us. “Well?”

We nod, some of us agree verbally but it’s begrudged and tense. No one will risk angering him again, not after yesterday. I see Christina shudder violently in the corner of my vision and I want to wrap my arm around her, but instead I just keep my eyes focused on one of the pillars on the other side of the room.

He smirks. “Good.” He claps his hands and glances back to the board. “Let’s get Molly and Edward up here, two of yesterday’s victors and therefore marginally less of a disappointment than the rest of you.” He jerks his head back at us, but I take notice of how it seems to be very specifically at my four friends and I. All of us but Al lost our fights yesterday, and I’m sure that he expects us all to lose today.

When Molly and Edward step up and Eric walks away from us, we all sit down near the pillars to watch the fight. Not wanting to sit alone I’m sure, Myra joins my group.

“What an asshole,” she whispers.

“I can’t believe that’s our faction leader,” Will whispers back.

“I can,” I say flatly.

And that’s my future boss if I get my way, I think. I want more than anything one day be a part of Dauntless’ leadership. I’d like to serve on the faction council just like half my family does. I find politics terribly exciting, probably because it’s what I’ve grown up around. Even outside of my family, I was raised among Erudite’s upper class and that is all anyone ever talked about; well, that and each other and themselves. I like to think that the way that the other factions see Erudite is just a stereotype born from lack of understanding, but I can’t say that it doesn’t come from nowhere. My family is almost like the eye of the hurricane, mine and a few others, the Malachite family has very, very deep roots in Erudite. We’ve been tied in with the faction for longer than anyone can really remember; it’s something that the twins get to inherit, because the rest of us left. It’s their legacy now, the rest of us are free to do whatever we want.

The idea both thrills and terrifies me. After all, I’d spent a lot of my life basing my wants off of my family’s, all of which hinged on staying in Erudite. Now that I’m gone, I can become whatever I want. I don’t have to do what they wanted me to do.

Doesn’t matter that I kind of am anyways, the point is that it’s not for them anymore. I want to do this for me, because I have a choice and my choice is to lead.

Of course, to do that I’m going to have to do a lot better in initiation than I am currently doing.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of Molly grunting in pain. They’re both strong, but Edward is quick as well, and well trained. She won’t win today.

She peels herself off the mat sometime later, half conscious and mumbling incoherently. As she and Edward clear the mat, Tris begins to tremble and all the color leaches from her face.

“Peter and the Stiff,” Four says without inflection.

Tris stands and staggers to the mat. She wears her terror on her face and as she settles in her fighting stance, her shaking only intensifies.

“Here’s hoping she passes out quick,” Edward says and Myra smacks him on the arm.

“She’s going to be fine,” Will says even though we all know that she’s not going to be.

“You okay there, Stiff?” Peter says, wearing a twisted smirk. “You look like you’re about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry.”

She sneers and kicks him in the side.

“She’s going to be fine,” Will repeats.

I know Tris. She’s brave, she’s our first jumper; she’s living proof that nothing defines you but you. She’s as brave and bold as they come, what does it matter if she can throw a punch? Tris was made for Dauntless; it is simply who she is. I wish that I could be half as brave as her; I wish that I could belong like she does. I would give anything to just fit somewhere like she does, naturally and easily as if she has done this all her life.

Before Tris’ foot can make contact, Peter grabs it and yanks her forward. She falls on her back, but manages to free herself quickly and get back to her feet.

“Stop playing with her,” Eric says. “I don’t have all day.” He just cannot resist commenting on anything and everything, can he? I know that the Dauntless were never exactly ones for tact, but I have only met a few people in my life who are as purely mean-spirited as Eric. Guess I can add another name to that list; right under Peter.

Peter punches Tris in the jaw and she lurches to the side, looking like she’s going to vomit. She tries to move away from him with clumsy and dazed movements, but he follows and kicks her in the stomach. She gasps for air and falls to the ground. When she tries to push herself up, Peter grabs her hair with one hand and punches her in the nose with the other. Her blood splatters on the mat to be cleaned up later, but the stain won’t really go away. I can see where Christina’s blood fell yesterday and I’m sure that mine is there too.

He shoves her back and follows it up with a quick kick to the side that sends her sprawling. But she still tries to get up; she still does get up, and when Peter gets in front of her she swings. She hits him in the stomach and he groans as the wind is knocked out of him. It doesn’t take him off his feet or anything, it doesn’t stop him from smacking her in the ear with the flat of his palm. But the point is made; Peter’s not invincible, and Tris is more resilient than most people thought. Not me though, I figure that anyone who can jump first from a building and sass Four on the first night, has got guts.

I notice Four turn away and walk out without a word, I guess this just isn’t entertaining enough for him. He must prefer it when the fight is more evenly matched so that both parties can injure each other in equal measure.

Tris’ knees give out and she collapses to the mat. Peter kicks her in the stomach and she shrieks, trying to curl into a ball to protect herself. Peter kicks again and again and Tris’ screaming grows louder.

“Enough!” Eric yells. Peter steps back and Tris falls silent. “Christina and Myra, get up here. And someone take care of her.”

Al, Will, and I all go to her while Christina takes her place at one end of the mat. She looks down at Tris with sad eyes, we all do. Al scoops her up in his arms like she weighs nothing at all and looks back at Will and I.

“I can get her on my own,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “Just…please…”

“Don’t stay too long,” Eric says snidely. “You three have got the next two fights.” He chuckles to himself and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from snapping at him. I have to be nice to Eric, my whole future career hinges on him at least tolerating me.

We take Tris to the infirmary in silence. We all knew that she was going to get her ass kicked, but I don’t think any one of us thought it would be this bad. After what he did to Drew yesterday, I guess that we should have. But it’s still objectively horrifying.

We drop Tris off with Nurse Phyllis and two others, who when they stand together remind me strongly of the sun and moon. Nurse Phyllis looks down at Tris sadly and sighs.

“This poor girl.” She shakes her head. “I am going to have words with Eric and Four this evening, believe you me.”

Al smiles at her. “Thank you, for taking care of us and for everything.”

Phyllis runs her hand over Tris’ hair. “Of course, young man. It’s what I’m here for.”

“We’ll take care of her from here,” says the man with golden hair and skin, whom vaguely reminds me of the sun. “You kids can head back to training.”

We hover in the room for another moment longer, saying nothing. None of us want to leave Tris, not in this condition. What if we’re not here when she wakes up? She’s going to be in a lot of pain and we can’t possibly just leave her to that.

“Go,” says the woman with white hair and a detailed full moon tattoo. “We’ll take care of her.”

Will is the first one to leave and the two of us follow him silently. We get back to the training room just in time to see the end of Christina and Myra’s fight; just in time to see Myra fall unconscious. Four has reappeared, suddenly deciding that we do interest him after all; or maybe, somewhere in what I can only assume is a shriveled black heart of his, he doesn’t want to leave us alone with Dauntless’ sadistic representative because he knows what Eric will do to us if we happen to displease him.

“Well look who’s taken my lessons to heart,” Eric says to Christina, grinning wildly.

She shrinks away from him and goes to sit down. Edward helps Myra off the mat, speaking quietly to her.

“Ice Queen,” Four says, “and Will. Let’s go.”

The two of us stand across from each other on the mat waiting for Four’s signal to begin.

I flash Will a grin. “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

He smirks back at me. “Oh trust me, Mimi, I’m not going to be the one losing.”

“Begin,” Four says.

I let Will make the first move, going for my legs like I knew he would. It’s what he did with Al. I move around his leg and take a swing at his neck that he blocks. We dance around each other, some blows land and others are blocked or dodged. Will hasn’t gotten a chance to see me fight before today, but I assume that he’s been watching all of us train and learning how we fight to give himself the upper hand before he ever steps up on the mat. Unfortunately for him, I’ve been watching too.

But as well matched as we are, Will is slowly beginning to back me into a corner. I can’t let him, or at least not for another few steps. I continue to concede ground, one step back and then another until I block a punch and look behind me to see that I’m only two more steps from the corner. Will strikes again, thinking that it will press me back another step. Instead, what happens is that I sweep his legs out from him and when he falls I jump over him to put the larger area of the mat to my back so I can back up if need be. I kick him in the side to keep him down and feel a pang of guilt when he wheezes and curls in on himself. I hesitate and he uses that against me; his hand shoots out and he grabs my ankle, wrenching it toward him and pulling me off balance. I gasp and catch myself before my back can hit the ground. He lunges for me and I scramble just out of reach. We both get back to our feet.

“Not as easy to take me down as Al made it look, huh?” He pants.

I shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?” He swings and I move my head away, his fist comes to close that I can hear the air move next to my ear. As he retracts it I grab his wrist.

I twist his arm down and force him to move with it. He uses his other arm to swat helplessly in an attempt to get me to let go. He hits me in the face more than once, but I refuse to loosen my grip. I caught him with my left hand, which leaves the right one free to hit one more time and finish this. I punch him in the temple as hard as I know how and my hand stings from the blow, but it works. Will collapses and I catch him before he can hit the ground, slowly kneeling with him because I can’t hold up his dead weight.

“Well,” Eric says, “it looks like we have two initiates who have found their spines.”

I keep myself from glaring at him by keeping my eyes on Will. Christina helps me move him off the mat as Al steps up; he’s been pitted against Drew. If I had to guess, I would say that Al has this one. Maybe not in the bag, not something totally one-sided like Tris and Peter’s match was, but I think he’ll be able to eke out a win.

Will’s head is beginning to swell and Christina and I have to drag him off to the infirmary before the fight starts. He’s a bit taller than both of us, so we really are dragging him.

“Jesus Christ,” I hear someone mutter behind me a short bit before Will is pulled away from Christina and I. Four throws him over his shoulder and walks away. After a moment of surprise, Christina and I follow Before we’re even out of the training room, Will’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” Christina says.

Will mumbles incoherently and begins to try to walk on his own, which only results in him gently kicking Four in the thigh.

Christina giggles. “How’re you feeling.”

“Bad,” Will says, his voice suddenly clear.

“Aw, poor baby,” I say, patting his cheek.

He grunts. “Remind me again why I like you?”

I shrug. “Don’t know.”

Four all but drops him on the ground next to one of the concrete pillars and walks away.

“He’ll be fine,” he says. “No need to go to the infirmary.”

“You sure that it’s not because you don’t want to get chewed out by Nurse Phyllis again?” I say.

“Ice Queen, be quiet or the next fight you have will be against me.”

I don’t respond; instead, I focus on the fight. Al and Drew are very similar in their fighting styles, both strong but not at all fast and good at taking hits. They exchange blow after blow with not a lot of damage seeming to be done to either side. Then Al gets hit hard in the nose and goes down. Drew stands triumphantly, looking back at our instructors and being met with unimpressed looks.

“Well that was boring,” Eric says.

“Hey, big guy,” Christina says when he comes over to us. “Sorry about your fight.”

“Yeah, I thought you had that one” I say.

Al shrugs. “I don’t know. I just…I just don’t want to hurt anyone. It doesn’t seem right, you know?”

“We have to, though,” Will says. “It’s the only thing that will keep our heads above water.”

“Then maybe it’s just not worth it,” Al says, shaking his head. “You guys are my friends; I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hey.” Will wraps his arm around Al’s shoulders. “You know that I’m not upset about what happened yesterday, right? It was either you or me.”

“But it should have to be.” Al sighs. “Shouldn’t we be like…not be fighting members of our own faction? I mean, we’re supposed to be each other’s family, right?”

“Supposed to be,” Christina says. “But I think this is one of those really dysfunctional families that would sell each other to satan for a corn chip.”

We laugh, but Al’s statement still stands. As long as I can remember I’ve heard that the factions are meant to be like a family to you, a community to belong to, especially for the transfers. It’s why ‘faction before blood’ exists in the first place, because you’re supposed to belong within your faction more than you ever could in your family. I don’t feel that, not really, I am an outsider in Dauntless and I don’t really belong here. But I didn’t belong back in Erudite either and I don’t feel like I deserve to be a part of my family until I can manage to actually do something with my life.

But I look at my friends and I can actually see them being my family; I can see us making it through this and staying friends, simply always being a part of each other’s lives. We’re all different, but I’ve gotten close to them like I was close to my other friends. Initiation may be shit, but at least we have each other.

We slog through the rest of the fights, which are no more exciting than that. I would say that they’re actually more boring simply because I have no stake in who wins or loses. Most of my attention is pulled to Will and Christina, they talk quietly over the sound of skin hitting skin with the topic shifting and jumping back again that I can hardly keep up. Their mad giggles are met with odd looks from a few of their initiates, but largely the conversation fades into the background.

When the last person goes down, Eric stares at them for a moment with a blank look. Then he shrugs and says, “Okay, guess that’s it. Everyone out.”

“Wait,” Four says. “Today’s Saturday, that means you all just completed your first work of training, and you’re all still alive. Congratulations. Tomorrow, we’ll start on a schedule; Sundays and Saturdays will be devoted to combat training all day, weekdays will be target practice in the morning and sparring in the afternoon. So look forward to that. Now you can get out.”

“Wait.” Eric turns back around, stopping us again. “Bright and early next week you’ll all be going on a field trip out to the fence, where most of you will probably wind up after initiation. Be on the train at eight-fifteen. Four will be responsible for all you kiddies.” He flashes us a menacing grin. “Have fun.”

When we get to the infirmary, only the two who were helping her.

“How is she?” Will asks.

“Concussed,” says the man with yellow hair. “She’ll be fine though.”

“She’ll be sore,” says the woman. “Fine isn’t really the right word to be using with someone who was just beaten into unconsciousness.”

“Fine by Dauntless standards.”

The woman rolls her eyes in response. “You kids are welcome to stay until she wakes up. Phyllis already left to go chew out Eric and Four, but I’m Rini and that’s my brother, Sol, and we’ll be around if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” we all say in semi-unison.

“Let’s get you kids some ice for those bruises,” Nurse Sol says. He and Nurse Rini walk over to a giant freezer and begin scooping ice into plastic bags. I hold the one that they hand me to my face, letting the cold seep into my skin and take some of the pain away.

The four of us manage to share the two chairs by Tris’ bed; Christina and Al half hanging off of either end and Will and I packed in the middle.

“Is her eye already black?” Will says, leaning over Tris.

“Shut up,” Christina says. Tris groans and opens one eye, the other stays almost completely shut. She looks at each of us with a dazed expression and then settles on Christina, who’s face is beginning to bruise from the hits that Myra got before Christina beat her.

“What happened to your face?” she mumbles and her words come out a little slurred.

Christina laughs. “Look who’s talking. Should we get you an eyepatch?”

“Well I know what happened to my face,” she says. “I was there…sort of.”

“Did you just make a joke, Tris?” Will says, grinning. “We should get you on painkillers more often if you’re going to start cracking jokes. Oh and to answer your question, Myra happened.”

“I won, though,” Christina says. “Gotta say, she’s a lot better than I would have imagined. Also, Tris, you missed Will and Mimi kick the shit out of each other.”

“We should have placed bets,” Al says.

“I would I have won,” Christina says. “I knew Mimi had had one in the bag.”

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re only saying that because you constantly want me to lose.”

“Yeah, but I’m always right.” Christina smirks and Will grumbles.

“How are you feeling, Tris?” Al says, his eyes are wide with concern.

“Okay,” she says. “I just wish that I could stay here forever so that I never have to see Peter again.”

“Don’t worry about Peter,” Will says. “Edward will beat him tomorrow.”

“How can you be so sure?” she replies.

“They’ve been matching up people based on who wins their fights,” he says.

“Well that’s good,” Christina says and then looks down to check her watch. “I think that we’re missing dinner. Do you want us to stay, Tris, or bring you back something?”

Tris shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” I say. “We can just eat in here.” I turn back to look at Sol and Rini. “Right, is that okay?”

“That’s fine,” Rini says.

“No,” Tris says. “I just…I’m tired. Don’t worry.”

Christina, Will, and I stand but Al stays right where he is, shifting more onto the chair now the rest of us have vacated the space.

“I’ll be right behind you guys,” he says, “Go on ahead.”

The three of us leave.

“She’ll be fine,” Christina says. It sounds more like she’s trying to assure herself than us.

Will and I nod anyways. Tris is strong, maybe not physically but she’s Dauntless on the inside. She doesn’t have to act like Four or Eric for us to know how tough she is. It’s just something that we all know.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Al said,” Will says. “I mean, he’s right; we’re supposed to be a family and stuff.”

“Tell that to Peter,” Christina says. “He doesn’t exactly seem like a family man to me. Neither does Eric for that matter.”

“Yeah but…” Will frowns. “but isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Like, isn’t that what people always tell you.” I nod along with him.

“It’s just something that people say,” Christina says. “Sure I heard that from, like, the teachers and stuff; but people never sugarcoated stuff like that in Candor. It’s a place that you live, and your life there is what you make it. Candor wasn’t really one big happy family either, everyone had their own little packs and we all just lived together.”

Oddly enough, this is the first I’ve heard of Candor in any sort of specifics. My sister lives there but she never talks about it, not really. She always says that she loves it there, but she never says very much beyond that.

“I guess that makes sense.” Will shakes his head. “Right, I guess it’s a little idealistic.”

“A little idealistic,” I repeat. I guess if I wanted my faction to be one big happy family I should have gone to Amity. I know Erudite, and I know that it’s nothing like that. Why would I expect anything more out of Dauntless?

“But we’re gonna be fine,” Christina says. “We’ve all got each other, the five of us. Who needs the rest of them?”

“Right,” I say flatly. “Who needs them?”

September 13th, Year 499

Tris got matched up against Peter, it went about as well as anyone would have imagined. I mean, we all kept saying that she would be just fine because we all know just how strong she is but she got her ass kicked. Because of course she did. I don’t know who decided that was a good idea, pitting the second best fighter (though I write that very begrudgingly) against the tiny girl with virtually no muscle mass. Most of Tris’ strength resides inside of her, it’s the kind that propelled her off the roof and can’t quite be measured by tests of strength or speed.

Me, well I went up against Will and won; though it wasn’t easy. But as much as I would like to stay ahead in the rankings, part of me would much rather be like her. She can’t quite live up to Eric’s ridiculous standards, but there’s no denying that she’s Dauntless on the inside. I would give anything to belong like she does because I just can’t. I don’t know how to let go of the parts of me that are Erudite like she has let go of the parts of her that are Abnegation. Who have I ever been without Erudite, without their principles and values as my guiding force and what I compared myself against? I don’t know how to just be Dauntless, I hardly know what it really looks like and I certainly don’t know how to mimic it. Part of me still wants to be what everyone wants me to be, and part of me wants to do the exact opposite of that but I don’t know how. I can’t exactly do both; I guess the path of least resistance would be to just do neither, just keep moving forward and see where life takes me. But I am so sick of just coasting through life with no direction or purpose; I just want to be someone and be that knowing that I chose to be that way for myself and not because it was the path of least resistance, or because it was the only think that I felt like I could do, or because it was something that someone else wanted for me.

Theoretically, my existential crisis should wait until I’m done with initiation; provided I make it out of this alive and still a part of the faction, then I’ll have all the time in the world to stress about the fact that I don’t really know what I want for myself beyond the goals I’ve always felt was expected of me. My interest in politics is kind of complicated, I guess; it’s genuine in the sense that I’ve grown up watching from the sidelines and knowing just how important it all is and how much the Faction Council does for the city but I’ve also felt that it was just what I was sort of fated for because that’s what almost my entire family does. I know that I’ve said that I don’t believe in fate, and I don’t; I think that it’s a half-assed excuse for hardly exercising any autonomy within one’s own life. But I have always wanted to uphold my family’s legacy, that is something that I am very keenly aware of how important it is. The best way to do that, I think, would be to rise as high as I can in Dauntless and that just so happens to be a leadership position; and not just any leadership position, I want to take over for Max one day. My entire family leads and I feel like I should to, because it’s just what I’ve always wanted to do. Still, now that I have the chance to change that I’m scared to. I don’t know of a better way to be like them, and maybe I shouldn’t try because ‘faction before blood’ or whatever, but I hate that phrase. I don’t want to be a total disappointment, I mean my parents have never really been very keen on Dauntless and so I’m sure my transferring here was not something that they approve of; but there has to be something that I can do that might help that. After all, Dauntless can’t possibly be all Fours and Erics; brainless, heartless muscle. After all, every faction has something beautiful and worthwhile about it; and this was once Kira’s home, how bad could it possibly be if it produced someone as wonderful as her?

I wonder how they’re all doing, my friends. I’m sure that they’re all just fine, they always knew exactly where they belonged in a way that I never did and refused to let any sort of fear stand in their way. I’m sure that Casey’s loving Amity, I’m sure that she’s happy; I just sometimes wish that I could be there with her. She is my oldest and closest friend, we share a bond that makes us practically family but now I have to come to terms with the fact that years from now we’re going to begin to forget about each other. I have to face the fact that we’re never going to be as close as we were, we probably won’t ever even see each other again except for maybe in City Center in passing when we don’t speak because she’s just another Amity and I’m just another Dauntless. This girl who was my dearest friend, who knew every secret about me but one is nothing more than a stranger now. I’m supposed to make new friends, and I have, but I don’t know if I’ll ever really share a bond with Tris and the others that I did with Casey. There’s just something special about growing up with someone that nothing can ever replace.

Eliza, I know, is going to be just fine. Eliza is strong and capable, she has more drive in her pinky than I have in my whole body. She belongs in Erudite just like she has always known and, in part, because she has always known. I wouldn’t be surprised if Eliza became a department head or took on some other prestigious position. She’s going to be great, and I’m never going to see it. Years from now I won’t even care, it won’t be any of my business whether I’m Dauntless or factionless because I’m not Erudite and most other factions don’t give a shit about each other’s in house politics. I’m as guilty of this as anyone else; I can’t name the other three Dauntless leaders who are basically irrelevant outside of Dauntless’ own government, I can’t name any of the justices Minerva works with, or even the Abnegation Council members. I can name every Erudite department head and most of their family members though, however that second bit is really only because I’ve met them in person more than once. Most of them are friends (the word ‘friends’ is used in the loosest possible sense here) of my parents and in my sixteen years of life I have been dragged to many, many social events held by Erudite’s rich and powerful. Those events are how I met Eliza, actually; her parents aren’t department heads, but they’re well respected in their field and also incredibly wealthy. For her, those events will finally become interesting as she rises to prominence and becomes both a part of the conversations and a topic of it.

Kira is going to be amazing; that’s hardly even speculation, it’s almost just fact. She’s so legitimately and unapologetically fascinated by anything and everything that it makes her a textbook Erudite. She could do practically anything and she’ll probably try pretty much everything. Her passion isn’t for one specific subject, she doesn’t have one singular talent, she doesn’t have a ‘niche’; Kira’s passion is for learning as a whole. As long as there are things left in the world to learn about, you can bet that she’ll always be right there studying them. She’s the perfect Erudite, learning more simply because she can learn more and not out of any want for power or anything else. Kira is a near and dear friend of mine who I do wish that I’d gotten to have more time with. We met when we were thirteen and it was like a piece of a puzzle falling into place. Dauntless or not, she belonged with us; Casey, Eliza, and I. We might not have been the friends she spent the most time around or even the ones that she was supposed to have, but we understood her and she fit with us. And we knew her, I knew her and I cared about her; I wasn’t allowed to bring her over to my house to hang out or even bring her into the Erudite sector because there were rules against that, but we hung out where we could and managed to be close without constant contact. Kira never spoke much of her experience with Dauntless; I don’t really know why, maybe she just didn’t think that we cared all that much especially the way that Erudite as a whole has a tendency to look down on the Dauntless in a way that I’m totally guilty of doing myself and feel genuinely bad for. Whatever her reasons, she didn’t; though we sort of drew our own conclusions anyways. I assume, from the genuine and down to earth way that Kira had acted with us from day one, that she didn’t really feel a lot or pressure to conform to that sort of Dauntless mold that all the other factions see.

That’s what makes me think that there has to be something deeper; that it can’t all be brutes and daredevils. I mean, there’s the medical staff so that’s something, right? I know that every faction is different, hell, haven’t I said before that Erudite is far more complex than the emotionless machines that we’re they’re made out to be? People are complicated, groups of people even more so, and I think that on some level we all know that we’re wrong about all the other factions. I don’t really like Candor, I find their demeanor just generally kind of irritating, but I know that they’re not all like that because I know Candor and former Candor who aren’t. Christina and Al are both genuinely fun people to be around and not just a constant stream of drivel that’s barely intelligible because they don’t really bother to take the time to think about their words before they say them. I actually find a lot of their commentary to be funny rather than annoying. It’s all just sort of complicated. I guess I should have figured that out by now; in retrospect it’s sort of obvious. After all, both because of my brain thing (I still don’t like even writing the word) and because I’m a person, I contain multitudes and contradictions. I am smart, and brave, and kind; I have all the benefits and probably most of the drawbacks of being those three things. I can’t just be shoved into a single box because I’m going to do things in my life that will contradict those labels; I’m going to be afraid, I’m going to make stupid mistakes, I’m going to be mean to some people. It’s just a thing that happens to me, I suppose I should just go ahead and get comfortable with it. God knows I’ve written about the issue enough, danced around it and treated the actual label with more caution than I have any swear word ever.

Part of me feels like I’m being a little overdramatic about this, part of me feels like I am being exactly dramatic as I deserve to be given the fact that I’ve only very recently been informed that I have an anomaly that makes me separate from pretty much everyone else. Maybe that should make me feel special or unique or something, but it doesn’t. Instead, I just feel like a pariah waiting to happen or like some sort of freak; I feel like an outsider because I am an outsider, because I can’t fit like anyone else does. Those goddamn labels and boxes that no one can really fit into completely I extra cannot fit into. I saw the chart, Maria explained to me how aptitudes work; I know that there’s supposed to be a single majority in the brain that rises a considerable amount above the rest and that brings with it all sorts of benefits and drawbacks, but they’re common and understandable benefits and drawbacks. Me, I’m a grab-bag of who-the-hell-knows-what; maybe only some of the flaws and maybe all of them at once. I don’t know what I am beyond just…undefinable. But I don’t know how to convince myself that’s a good thing, I don’t think it is a good thing. I just want to live up to all of this potential that I’m supposed to have, I just want to be the best person that I can be, I just want to belong somewhere.

Initiation can check maybe two of those three boxes. No amount of target practice or sparring will ever make me purely Dauntless, will ever magically get rid of this thing that I’m going to have to deal with for the rest of my life because of some mutation in my genetic code or something. All it can do is give me a little boost up that ladder to the top that I so desperately want to climb. My biggest competition right now are Peter and Edward, they’re the best of us (no matter how much I hate admitting that in Peter’s case, trust me it’s a lot). They’re stronger than me, faster than me, larger than me, better fighters than me, better shots than me. Basically all that I have going for me is that I’m smarter than them. However, my intelligence isn’t going to stop me from getting punched in the face. I guess that I’ll just have to want it more than they do too; I’ll have to practice until I can’t get it wrong, I’ll have to just keep practicing no matter how frustrating it all becomes. If only because it’s a step toward my ambitions, if only because it will keep me from becoming factionless, if only because I’ve already decided that I want to be Dauntless more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

Four said that initiation will push us to our breaking point; well I refuse to be broken, not after only a week and a half of training. I’m sure that things will only become more difficult for us the longer that my class collectively refuses to break down. I’m sure that Four and Eric will only think of more devious shit to throw our way just because they can. But I have to just keep trying to keep my head down around Eric, because he’s really the worse of the two, and survive. I’ll have to get my shit together and quick, because I’ll have to fight Peter eventually and I’m not sure that my pride will survive if I lose that fight. I’ll just have to do the best that I can, because that’s all I can do, and because there’s no getting around the fact that I absolutely have to.

#divergent #The Anthem Series #update day #fanfic

5 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[HR] Entry 37

9 August 2041

There’s someone else on this boat. It wouldn’t work otherwise. Someone needs to take care of it. Always in shifts. We waited at the port for as long as we could before leaving. No one else showed up. So we simply ran on and crewed it ourselves. The only details I know about her are that she has pale skin and straight hair swishing past her waist like a dark waterfall. So we take shifts. We have to. This won’t work otherwise. It won’t work. And we need it to. We can’t have this boat sinking. Not now. Not when someone always needs to be asleep. Not when someone always needs to be awake for the ship.

I’ve always wanted to talk to her, but never seem to get the chance. I wonder what her voice sounds like. We rushed so quickly to get the boat started. It’s too large for two people. Sometimes we never even see each other. We just trust that the other stranger will do their job and when we wake up alive, we know. We know we’ve survived. For now.

10 August 2041

I saw his eyes today. They were blue. I don’t think he saw mine. I might have glanced away too quickly. He gave me a smile. It felt natural. Not forced. I smiled back as best as I could. I wanted to talk to him. But we have to continue the shifts. So it’s best not to get distracted with conversation. He seems to know that too. And we continued our tasks.

Even though I wanted to rush over and ruffle his short black hair. I want to be playful with someone again. Before I forget how to. I feel like I’ll forget how to.

I think he’s a little younger than me. Not by much though. If I’m twenty-five, he must be about twenty-three. I might be an inch taller than him too. Can’t really tell since I tend to slouch a bit when I walk. I can’t tell who’s paler either.

I’m sighing now. Not that anyone can tell. Not sure why I wrote that. These journals are the only thing we have to do before we go to sleep. There’s no TV, no radio, no video games, and no books. Just empty journals, probably for coordinates. We have no use for directions though. Not on this boat.

I want need to talk to someone. I don’t do well with loneliness. I hate it. I can’t tolerate this endless quiet. I find myself straining my ears just to hear if he burps somewhere. Just to hear anything. I don’t like it out here. It’s not a good ocean. It’s calm. But it’s not good. The waves should be against us. Crashing. But it’s always calm. Like our sleep.

11 August 2041

Her eyes might be green. I couldn’t properly tell with the sunlight glinting off them. What could her name be? Should I ask? Or would that ruin the mystery? Would that make things too personal? Would we become too distracted to keep the boat going? We’re already distracted. I know that. I can tell. I think she likes me. Even though she knows nothing about me. I like her too.

Actually, maybe we do know more about each other than I thought. We’re both determined and diligent. We’d have to be to keep this ship afloat. So those are two things we have in common already. Two things we need. What else can I tell? I have no idea if she’s shy or not. Who could tell with our responsibilities? No one could. There’s so much to take care of. So much that we can’t repair ourselves. That’s what needs maintenance. But we don’t have the time for each other. That singular fact is somewhat unbearable. Almost. It’s better than the alternative.

12 August 2041

He coughed today.

Not in front of me, but somewhere else on the ship. While working on something. Probably repairing a leak. Or an engine. Maybe a boiler. Or something innocuous like a coffee machine. His cough sounded scratchy. I think that means he has a deep voice. That would be nice to hear.

I’ll settle for the cough for now.

Ha. How dumb is that? Settling for a cough.

I’m worried about asking what his name is. What if I don’t like it? What if it’s annoying? That would bother me to be stuck on a boat with someone who has an annoying name. What if he doesn’t like mine? I don’t like mine. Not really. I guess it’s not so bad. But it doesn’t have meaning with heritage. That comes with not knowing your parents. And having someone make up a name for you.

Orphan problems.

Things that I need to talk about. How I don’t know who I am. In terms of where my parents came from. The origin of why they abandoned me.

13 August 2041

Only one thing truly matters to me. Killing the dream. Kill the dream. That’s what I need. I need to kill the dream. Some delusions need to die. Delusions aren’t helpful for me. They keep me in a daze. Routines are necessary for this boat, but dangerous for living. I could pretend life is mundane here. I really, really could. But I won’t. I refuse. It’s too dangerous to swim through delusions. You can get lost that way. And even though we don’t know where we are, we know enough of how we are. That’s more important for survival right now.

But a growing part of me wants to toss survival overboard just so I can hear her voice. Desperation isn’t healthy for us out here. Not when there’re so many vital systems that need upkeep. Thankfully, they don’t fail often. So much of our time is devoted to regulating, steering and…keeping watch. It’s hard to look at someone when your eyes always have to worry about the space below the horizon.

14 August 2041

I was in a bad mood while having to fix some loose bolts in the boiler room. But I smiled when I found a cute little drawing scratched into the metal. He probably did that. It looked fresh. There were some shavings on the floor. He kicked them under the boiler rather than sweeping them up. Heh. Lazy.

Anyway, it was an etching of some tiny creature with a round face, simple oval body and arms and legs to match the curving high horns. The feet were like little clogs. And the round hands had three tiny triangular fingers. Heh. And the face. It was a devious expression of downcast eyes and eyebrows, but with a smile full of fangs. No nose. I like it better that way. Noses seem to limit something’s inherent cuteness.

I added my own drawing next to his. With her right hand reaching out to him. Mine was only a stick figure. But that’s the best I can do with an old flathead screwdriver. I gave her five fingers though. And hair like vines. I added little teardrop leaves on each strand. Heh. I gave her a thin tail too.

Just because.

15 August 2041

I woke up to a brilliant orange sunset. I actually got so excited that I ran outside and tightly gripped the front railing. It changed the water to look different. Obscuring any unseemly patterns. Things we don’t want to see. I wanted to share this with her. But I couldn’t risk waking her. She needs her sleep. She needs to sleep. She’ll have to enjoy a different one, on a different day. Without me.

I didn’t stay at the helm. I just stood there at the bow and enjoyed the scenery. The clouds mostly. Not much else around. But it was enough for me. Painting their undersides auburn like a woman who decided she didn’t like her hair dye halfway through. I wonder if she colors hers black. Probably not. The strands that I’ve found lying around aren’t different at the roots. They’re all the same. It would be weird if I collected enough loose hairs from her to make a wig. Heh. That’s weird though. I’m not that bored yet.

16 August 2041

I enjoyed the warm sun on my face. Felt a little stronger coming through the glass of our cockpit, but it was nice either way. I found myself wiping my hands along the wheel as if trying to feel where he gripped it. Almost like I was trying to see if it was still warm from him. It wasn’t. I was just desperate for it to be. I need some warmth in my life. From a person. From him. I think we’d be able to get along. He seems nice. I wonder if he’s as strange as I am. Heh. Gotta work up to that though. If we ever get to meet.

I sigh heavily now. Because I…hmmm…how do I write this? Because I don’t like how little time we have to write in these journals. It helps us go to sleep, which is necessary I know, but I…we don’t have enough…anything.

I’m tired of eating sick fish. I’m tired of the canned food. I’m tired of going to bed alone. I want someone next to me. We sleep for as long as we can, but I’m so tired of everything.

I feel like we’re not who we’re supposed to be.

17 August 2041

During a thunder storm, I stood at the helm and pretended the lightning bolts striking the sea were a series of climbing cords being thrown down from the sky. I wanted one of them to hit our boat and freeze. So we could run up the lightning. Or cling on at least. To be pulled up into the sky. Living on a cloud, thundering or not, would be preferable to this task. I do appreciate the novelty to our situation though. Not many people get to experience something like what we have. Never meeting even though we have the same routine in the same spots. It’s like we’re ghosts of each other.

I’m tired of not being able to interact with her. I know we always have to keep the shifts running smoothly, one awake, one asleep, but I’ve decided. I’m going to leave her a present.

18 August 2041

When I returned to my cabin, I found his journal outside my door. Duh. I should have thought of that. I want to think of something now. I write on his next clean page, “Let’s start a new book together.” I don’t want to say anything more. I want to see how he’ll respond. Give him the first step. Hopefully, he’ll write something flirty. It’s been too long since I’ve had any fun. I want to be engaged with life again. I need to be. I was never meant for isolation. Even if we only ever get longer moments with each other through these journals, that’ll be enough. That’ll be enough.

19 August 2041

Heh. I found my journal on top of hers and a fresh one. I read through yours. You’re kind of adorable. Okay. Let’s talk for the first time. We’ll make a new book together.

“Hi. My name is Emit. I’m twenty-three. How old are you? I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now. But…the task had to come first. I know you understand. You’ve put in as much work as me. Need to keep the ship afloat. I don’t know if it had a name. Why don’t you give it one?”

(That’s a suggestion, not an accusation. It’s so strange speaking like this. The tones get lost. The subtleties drown.)

“I’ll defer to you for that. I’d like to see what you come up with. Also, what does your voice sound like? It feels like we’ve avoided talking so we don’t…get distracted.”

“I’m going to leave our journal near your door. Leave it by mine when you’re ready.”

20 August 2041

Here’s my first entry into our joint journal. Emit. That’s an okay name. I don’t really like it, but I don’t dislike it. (Heh. Sorry.)

I’m Traveline. A dumb name, I know. The caretakers at my orphanage gave it to me because they wanted me to travel one day.

Oh. And I’m two years older than you.

What’s your favorite color? Is that too juvenile to ask? I feel like it says a lot about someone no matter how old they are. Or maybe we should guess each other’s favorites? Eh. That would be more fun if we had phones. Or if we could talk in person. Gah! I hate that we can’t get the time to talk. We’re on the same damn boat. Sorry. I had a little freakout just then. I’m pissed that our timeframe is so tight. Anyway. I’m just going to tell you my favorite. It’s green. Like my eyes. I’ve always wanted to get married in a green dress. I feel like I’m rambling. But I also feel like that’s fine. I want this to feel fine. I want this to feel real. Like we’re just talking to each other. I’m glad one of us thought of this. I really needed this.

So names. I should give our vessel a cool one? Or maybe a silly one? I’m not sure. Maybe Harvey. Heh. Nah. Or…I don’t know. I kind of like it for what it means. But it doesn’t sound much like a boat’s title. Give me some time to think about that one.

Someone once described my name voice as metal nails filled with helium and stuck in my throat. I always thought that didn’t make sense. Maybe it wasn’t meant to. I think I sound like the field mouse with the deepest voice. Hah. Big fish so to speak. Big fish in a little field. Still hasn’t drowned in the grass. Still haven’t lost my breath in the sea.

21 August 2041

“Hi again. I missed you again today.”

“My favorite color is red. I sometimes dream of a bleeding tree, but it’s not scary. It brings me a lot of comfort. Unnervingly so sometimes.”

“That’s a strange description for your voice. Heh. Sounds like something I might say. I think mine sounds like I got a wolverine pawing around in my throat.”

“Do you have a favorite movie? I think mine is Mandy. It’s really trippy. A horror movie for horror movies.”

“Also, I don’t think your name is dumb. It’s odd, sure, but not stupid. Sounds like travel the line. And that could have any number of meanings.”

(Hmmm…I don’t like the way I formatted this. Makes it look like I’m talking to myself. I’m going to write longer paragraphs even though they might be a little compacted.)

22 August 2041

Awww. You missed me? Heh. I know what you mean, but it’s still nice to hear. (I caught a glimpse of you putting my our journal down. It was just your fingertips, but still. Saw you.)

I didn’t get to eat much today. Guh.

My favorite movie is Harvey. It’s about a Pooka. The rabbit that no one else can see. I’m a classic girl at heart. I didn’t expect your favorite to be a horror movie. I was hoping you’d be more of the romantic type.

Thanks about my name. I like the way you described it. I didn’t think about it like that before. You know, that’s weird how people will live their whole lives and not realize what other worlds words are hidden in their names.

23 August 2041

“Oh. So that’s why you wanted to name the boat Harvey. Heh. Are we riding a ghost rabbit? Also, Mandy is a romance. Technically. It’s weird. I saw your little drawing. I like it. She’s a fitting match for him. Hey. I don’t want this to sound too forward, but I’d like to hug you. I’m…I’m a person who needs affection. I don’t know if I look it, but I really, really do. Life feels worse without someone close to hug.

Anyway, I don’t want to bring down the crew’s morale. Heh. I saw some weird floating shells today. If you want, I can teleport some food to your stomach. It’s half-digested, but still, it’s from me. I don’t know if you mind that. I flirt weird. I hope you don’t mind.”

24 August 2041

Oh. That’s cool. I mean that Mandy has some romance in it. Ha. It’s weird that I’m writing as if I’m talking directly to you and you can understand what I’m referring to. Gotta get used to clarifying these things. Hah. Mandy would be a creepy name for the boat. But I don’t want that. I’m going to think of something else that fits our situation better.

I’m glad you like my stick figure. It’s not good art, but she’s all I could draw.

I’ll take the food. : ) That sounds fun in a weird way. So hungry.

I could really use a hug too. I’ll take one through the journal since we can’t do it physically. Or as many as you wanna give. (And I really don’t mind weird flirting. : ) ) (That’s not a double smile. It’s the other part of the parenthesis, but you can probably figure that out so I don’t know why I’m writing all this.)

Oooh. One last question before I curl up in bed. If you could meet any famous person, who would you pick? I’d probably go for Jimmy Stewart. Because of Harvey. That man seemed to have an impossible whimsy in his eyes. I’d like to have that in mine. Goodnight for now.

Oh. No. One more question. What does your room look like? And what color blanket do you have?

25 August 2041

“My room is a boring rectangle. You already know where it is. On the starboard side. Like yours. The inside is a peeling sky-blue. I moved my bed against the far wall so I can jam my feet against the left one. I have an old floral blanket. White with pink and yellow flowers. It has a nice weight. Heavy, but not too much. I usually write with my back to the wall. Either one. Or sometimes against the bedframe. What about yours? Your room I mean. Do you have a favorite food? (I don’t like that phrasing. Most people have one.) What’s your favorite food? I like shish kabobs with red wine. Sometimes I dip them in the glass. I never really had the desire to meet anyone famous. But when I was watching an episode of Doctor Who, I thought about what I’d say if someone asked me something like that. It would probably be interesting to meet civil rights leaders. They’d have some stories to tell. But it’s done now. I can’t find them anymore. I can only find myself.”

26 August 2041

That’s kind of sad. You can find me too, you know.

Tsk. You have a sky-blue room? Mine’s a dismal faded white. Don’t like it. Trade me. ; )

My bed is against the right wall. I write my journal on it. My bed I mean. Sometimes on the wall though.

My blanket is…not as fluffy as I would like. It’s an old white one that has a tiny hole at the bottom. Every morning, I realize it lost a few more feathers. Probably from me rolling around. I know how to sew, but I don’t have anything for that. The blanket. Hah. Not me rolling. Or maybe that would help too. Hmmm.

I like burgers with avocado and red onion. I’m simple like that. : ) Damn. Now I’m missing burgs. : (

27 August 2041

“Heh. True. I could find you. If we weren’t on this boat. If we didn’t have to maintain the sea. What’s your favorite animal? Actually, let’s make it more interesting. What animal would you want to be if you could reincarnate? I’d pick crocodile or shark. Also, I made a needle out of an old strip of metal from the wall. It’s right there in the middle of your new page. I hope it didn’t fall out and get lost. It took me a while to sharpen and bend it right. You can use some extra thread from the blanket to seal the hold hole. I’d make you a burger if we had any ground meat, but…you know. Anyway, maybe I’ll try to make a snack and leave it outside your door. Do you have a favorite show? Something you can binge-watch no matter what?”

28 August 2041

Awww. Thanks. I lost a bunch of feathers, but I won’t lose any more now.

Ha. Both your animals are predators. And aquatic. Hmmm. I’d probably be a predator too, but a furry kind. Like a wolf or a bat.

Hey. Here’s a random thought. Have you ever held a pen with holes in the cap up to a cat’s nose? When they sniff it, it makes a little whistling song sound like wind through trees. Or as if they’re playing a flute. (So I guess my type typo works after all.)

Oh. And the shish kabob was nice. (For what it was. Ha. Sorry. The vegetables were kind of soggy, but I know that’s not your fault. You’re just working with what you have. And we don’t have much. So I appreciate the effort either way. It’s been a long time since someone cooked for me.)

I think my favorite show might be Disenchantment. I wanna be gross like Bean, but don’t have it in me. Not usually. ; ) What’s yours? You didn’t say.

29 August 2041

“I think my favorite show might be…the Mighty Boosh. The weirder the better and that comedy is as weird as it gets. Sigh. I wish we had a working phone here. I wanna hear your voice. It’s fun talking with you through these journals, but it’s not the same as hearing. I want to just lay down next to you in a dark room so we can talk and fall asleep at the same time for once. It’s been so long since I’ve looked into someone’s eyes. You don’t realize how commonplace that is until you can’t anymore. Too many people take that for granted. They feel it’s awkward or rude to stare. They’re worried they’ll get into fights over eye contact. But they’re missing out. We’re missing out.”

30 August 2041

I love Boosh! What’s your favorite episode? I might have to go classic and say Old Greg for mine. It’s how I found out about the show.

And I’d like to cuddle and hear your voice too. ; ) : ( : ) (Heh. I put all three because I was feeling all of them at once.) If we had a tape recorder even, that could be something. But all we have are these journals before dreams.

Do you remember your dreams? I don’t mean usually (I usually remember them), but I mean out here. On the ocean. Do you remember?

31 August 2041

“That’s kind of how most people found out about it. I’m not sure if I have a favorite episode, but the one line I always think about is: ‘Where’s my frog?’ ‘You smoked it.’ ‘Oh, yeah.’ That always makes me smile. Oh. Maybe the eel episode. Or the one with the fox. I feel like those were the most memorable for me. Or the one with the sandpaper guy.

I usually remember most of my dreams. Especially the ones with someone watching. It’s a little unnerving. But not as much as you might think. I had one where I was standing inside a bloody house with the outline of a man waiting outside. Uncertain. Composed of static almost, but not. More than static. As if life itself was demanding to obscure him.”

1 September 2041

Emit? I don’t want to do this anymore. I need to be in front of you. I…can’t deal with distance. Can we meet??? I need to meet. I can’t remember how long we’ve been here. Can you? It doesn’t feel all that long and yet it does. All at once.

I’m…scared. Of those dreams. Mine I mean. I keep planting body parts and waiting for them to grow. But they never do. They never grow and I’m stuck there struggling to make these limbs thrive. I feel so defeated just being alive.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rip the mood down. I love our flirty conversations. I need them. But I also need company in person. I need you here. Not wherever you are.

I sometimes feel like a half-feral dog.

Someone the world wanted to euthanize.

I refused.

I don’t want to sleep anymore.

I don’t want to shift anymore.

Come find me. I’ll be waiting at the bow.

Together 2041

“You’re finally here.”

“Finally here.”

“Let’s make good on that hug.”

“Yes.”

“Mmmm. That’s nice. So many days spent in no one’s arms.”

“Should we look into the water?”

“To see his face?”

“No one’s asleep on the water anymore. No more pacifying dreams. He’s going to rise soon anyway. Might as well glimpse him while we can.”

“Are you afraid?”

“A little.”

“I am. I don’t want to look. But I will if you do.”

“We don’t have much time. The shift would have ended by now.”

“Okay. Let’s look together.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Whoa.”

“How do you even describe something like that?”

“It’s like a giant…face, right?”

“I guess. Kind of looks like an armless octopus with a teardrop-shaped head. With the wider part for a chin.”

“And a lot of eyes. A least a hundred from here.”

“Maybe a thousand.”

“How could something become so massive?”

“Wonder what he eats.”

“If he eats.”

“You know his name, right?”

“Yeah. Durdugamet.”

“What do you think he is?”

“Don’t know. Maybe a teardrop that grew too big after someone flushed it down the drain.”

“Piff. He’s not a mutant goldfish.”

“Or is he?”

“Heh. Stop.”

“Could be. We might never know. We don’t even know what happens when he wakes.”

“People were just so afraid that they…couldn’t bare it.”

“Eh. We kept him asleep for as long as we could.”

“Yeah. As long as we needed to.”

“Every shift must end.”

“Do you think he took away most of the people?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I think they took themselves away. Hmmm. Wouldn’t that be sad?”

“What?”

“So many gone or missing and the giant sleeping face gets blamed.”

“Oh. Ha. That’s silly.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Hugs.”

“Yes. Hugs.”

“You smell briny.”

“Heh. You smell skunky.”

“Yeah. No proper showers for a long time.”

“We don’t have much left.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“So what should we name the boat?”

“Oh. Heheheheh. I never decided.”

“Well, now’s your last chance.”

“Hah. What about Last Chance?”

“Nah.”

“Oooh. Let’s call it Ocean’s End.”

“The end?”

“For now.”

“Heh. For now?”

“Yeah. For now.”

As we stand here, hand in hand, with something below our surface, we wait as it rises, content with whatever happens next. Whether we sleep or wake.

submitted by /u/spawnoftyphon [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2Z3n7kQ

#Blogger #Story

0 notes