Daunted

The rest of the afternoon is exhausting. Eric keeps us on the shooting range for over 3 hours. When we finally run out of ammunition, Four takes us on another run through the part of the city surrounding the Dauntless compound. It feels like it has been the longest day of my life, and my weary muscles surely agree. Two of the initiates start throwing up during the run from the overexertion, and Eric has to lead them back to the compound so they can lie down and get some water. For a split second I am envious that they get to go back and rest while everyone else has to keep running, but then I remember that this will be reflected in their ranking and the feeling vanishes.

The run finishes back inside the halls of Dauntless in front of the dormitory. We all slump against the cool rock walls, chests heaving as we try to catch our breath. Four watches us, not looking even mildly bothered from the run. I wonder how long it will take until I am as fit as the full-fledged Dauntless.

“You can take this time to shower and put on fresh clothes. Dinner is in twenty minutes, so don’t take too long,” Four says, then pauses and gives us a small nod of approval. “Good work today.”

I wait until he is gone before walking into the dormitory with the others. The two initiates who got sick are both curled up on their beds, faces pale. They don’t stir when we walk in, and I wonder if they are already sleeping.

“Shower time!” calls one of the boys as he pulls his sweat-drenched shirt over his head and throws it at the girl closest to him.

“Perv,” she growls, throwing it back.

“You can say what you want, but you have to shower sooner or later,” the boy says with a grin.

I grab a clean set of clothes and head for the showers alongside Charlotte, the wiry Erudite transfer. James gives me an awkward smile as he sidles up to the shower on the other side of me, and then we both promptly turn our backs to each other. I’m not sure what friendships are like in other factions, but even in one as friendly as Amity, seeing each other naked is crossing a boundary. Charlotte starts to strip down, ignoring the taunting jeers of the boys, but I see the way her fingers tremble and her lips quiver.

I take a deep breath and peel off my sweaty clothes, suddenly more nervous than I expected. I find myself regretting the decision to shower next to Charlotte; her frame is skinnier than mine, her body all hard edges and thin torso, the perfect image of sleek and slim. I, meanwhile, bear the standard look of someone from Amity; I am soft, my body all thick thighs and curved hips. I had never seen any problem with my body before, but now, showing everything off like this with no clothes to hide behind, it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

One of the boys – Alex, a Candor transfer – lets out a loud whistle. “Damn, Softie.”

I do my best to keep my expression even, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up to see that James is no longer in the shower next to me, but is standing behind me. He’s still fully clothed apart from his shirt, and he wears a sympathetic smile.

“Here, let me,” he says, before holding up his towel around me like a shield, hiding me from view.

I murmur a quiet “Thank you,” before turning away, trying not to notice how toned and strong James’s chest is. I shower as quickly as I can – it’s much quicker now that my hair is so short – and then grab my own towel and wrap it around myself.

“Do you want me to…” I begin, starting to grab the towel from James’s hands so I can hold it up for him, too.

He shakes his head and laughs. “Nah, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

I notice the way the muscles of his shoulders flex as he turns away from me, reaching over to turn on the water on his own shower, and nod to myself. Of course he doesn’t care if people see him shower; he’s probably happy to show off his body.

I get changed and sit on my bed until James has finished showering and dressing, and then we walk out to the dining hall with a few of the others. I have decided that I will sit with the transfers tonight, if for no other reason than to avoid pushing my luck with Eric, but when I walk into the dining hall I see something that makes me stop dead in my tracks.

Eric is sitting in his usual spot, several rows beyond the transfer’s table with most of the other leaders. He looks to be listening in to the conversation easily, barely looking interested, but what gets me is the way he’s sitting. He’s leaned back against the table so he faces the main entrance to the dining hall where the initiates are shuffling in, his leg propped up on the bench next to him like he’s saving a seat. He happens to look my way just then, and his steely eyes lock with mine, so intense that my stomach fills with nervous butterflies. He just stares at me for a long minute, then raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Well?’

I clear my throat and look at James, who has stopped next to a seat at the transfer’s table and is looking at me with a bewildered look on his face. “Um, I’ll…I’m going to sit over there,” I stammer, starting towards Eric’s table.

“Not without me, you’re not,” James mutters, at my side in just a few strides of his long legs.

I finally come to a stop next to Eric, who hasn’t looked away from me since we first made eye contact.

“Took you long enough,” he says coldly. His gaze finds James, and his eyes narrow. “Though you should know, the invitation didn’t include a plus-one.”

I swallow thickly and sit down on the edge of my seat, leaving just enough room for James to squeeze in beside me. “Oh,” I say simply, picking at my cuticles nervously under the table for a long minute.

Eric just sighs and watches me for a moment longer. Every time I am around him, I feel like some strange specimen under a microscope for him to study. It unnerves me.

“Well? Aren’t you going to eat?” Eric asks. I blink a few times and realize that James has already piled his plate high with food, and I nod before grabbing the bowl closest to me. I don’t know if it’s the exhaustion after such a long day, or if I’m still shaken up from having to shower in front of a room full of near-strangers, but I am off my game tonight.

Though my stomach feels nervous and queasy, as soon as I start to eat I find myself unable to stop. The full day of exercise creeps up on my, and before I know it I’ve finished my third plate of food and am polishing off a large slice of chocolate cake.

“Done?” Eric asks as I pop the last forkful of cake into my mouth.

I meet his gaze and nod. I’m happy to be chewing so I have an excuse not to speak.

He nods once, like he has been waiting for this, and wraps his large hand around my elbow, pulling me to my feet firmly but not painfully. “Come with me.”

James stands up too, looking to me with an almost panicked look in his eyes. “Wait, Valerie, are you okay?” he asks, looking back and forth between Eric and I, like he thinks I am in danger.

I start to nod my head, then pause. I’m not entirely unsure that I’m not in danger, now that I think about it; with Eric, he could have anything up his sleeve.

“You’d do well to mind your own business, initiate,” Eric says to him, voice a low growl as he pulls me with him without so much as meeting James’s gaze.

“That was rude,” I say as soon as I’ve swallowed my mouthful of cake.

Eric stops short and turns to me, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

My stomach flutters nervously, but I press on. “You were rude. To James.”

He watches me a moment longer, like he’s giving me the chance to back down. I do not.

“Yeah, I was. He doesn’t know his place. Initiates don’t speak to leaders that way – not in Dauntless,” Eric says, then pauses. “It wouldn’t hurt you to learn some respect, too,” he adds. He turns and walks out of the dining hall without another word.

I’m unsure if he wants me to follow him, but I catch up to him anyway. “I do have respect.”

Eric scoffs – a harsh, dry sound. “Do you now?” he says, voice mocking.

“Just because you equate respect to fear does not mean that I do the same,” I say.

He looks at me over his shoulder, and for the first time there is something in his eyes beyond cold, calculating steel – confusion. He looks puzzled as his eyes run over my face, then frustrated, like he can’t quite figure something out. After a moment, he turns back to face forward and keeps moving. “You’d better hurry up if you want to get that tattoo before the parlour closes.”

I obediently quicken my pace to match his, following his lead as he takes me through the winding tunnels. We emerge into the pit and climb up carved rock stairs to an upper balcony-style area, where all kinds of shops and parlours and markets are swarmed with black-clad Dauntless.

Eric leads me into one of the tattoo parlours, and I subconsciously find myself keeping closer to his side. The parlour is small but busy, and everyone here looks so powerful and intimidating. These are the Dauntless who guard the fence, the soldiers who protect us from all threats. And yet, they all make way for Eric, clearing a path and giving him a small nod of recognition. Perhaps this is why Eric feels I do not respect Dauntless leaders; if this is how everyone here treats their superiors, then I cannot blame him for thinking I am disrespectful.

“Do you know what you want?” Eric asks, glancing up at the glass panels on the walls filled with stencils and examples. They glitter in the odd blue light of the parlour, giving off an eerie effect.

I see it immediately – a small, simple flower, nothing more than a black outline, but it reminds me of the buttercups woven into my hair by Hannah just yesterday morning before I left. A lump rises in my throat, but I force myself to swallow it down and nod. “Yeah. That one.”

I half-expect Eric to say something sarcastic about my choice – it’s probably the girliest tattoo on display – but he just nods and takes the glass panel off the wall. “Tori, get this girl set up,” he calls to one of the artists.

A woman who I can only assume must be Tori nods, comes over to me and takes the glass display from Eric before ushering me over to one of the station chairs. She starts getting to work immediately and without a word, pulling over and cleaning off one of the machines. I have never seen a thing like this before, and I find myself so fascinated watching her that I barely even notice Eric sit down next to me.

“Where do you want it?” Tori asks, and I point to the inside of my right wrist – the hand that, today alone, fired a gun and blocked punches. I want my reminder of home to be there, of all places.

“I’ve got a few questions for you,” Eric says suddenly, and there’s a hardness to his voice that suggests I have no choice but to answer him.

“I’ve got some questions for you, too,” I reply, trying to keep my voice cool and even as Tori starts to clean off the skin of my wrist.

Eric quirks an eyebrow, making his piercing catch the light. “Ladies first, then,” he says.

I blink a few times, taken aback that he would not insist on going first himself. “Um. Why did you want to come with me to get this tattoo?” I don’t miss the way Tori’s eyes flicker up to Eric at this, like she too is curious of the answer. Judging by her reaction, plus what little I know about Eric, I am certain that hanging around initiates and lower-ranking Dauntless like this is not something of which he makes a habit.

He smirks – the closest thing I have ever seen on his expression to an actual smile. “Curiosity.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” I grumble petulantly. I feel a stinging, prickly sensation in my wrist, but I don’t let myself look over to see what Tori is doing.

Eric just shrugs, his smirk widening.

I grit my teeth, wishing I weren’t so powerless to drag the truth from him. Perhaps I should have gone into Candor instead – surely I wouldn’t face this kind of problem there.

“My turn. Why did you leave Amity?” he asks, the smirk fading from his face and a sharp glint in his eyes.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about our old factions.” I say, though my voice is shaky.

Eric’s expression doesn’t change; he just keeps watching me, waiting for an answer.

After a few moments, I realize that he will not back down, so I simply give up with a sigh. “I found out that they were putting something in the bread. Some kind of drug to make everyone happy and carefree all the time. My whole faction – their beliefs, their way of life – everything was a lie.”

Eric’s eyebrows raise a hairsbreadth and he leans forward in his chair, closer to me. “So you chose Dauntless? You got pissed off at your old faction, and this is where you chose to come?”

I ball my hands into fists, wincing as the motion pulls at the skin of my wrist where Tori is still working. “It took courage to leave my faction, my family. And I know I’m cut out for this – you said it yourself, I’m one of the top initiates.”

“And yet—” he begins.

“I’m not done,” I say fiercely, anger running like fire through my veins. Tori freezes at my side, eyes trained carefully on Eric to watch his reaction, but he just looks oddly amused. “My decision to leave wasn’t based on a temper tantrum. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life living in a faction that deceived my friends and family. I am positive I made the right decision.”

Eric waits a few long seconds, still smirking. “You done?”

I breathe in a shaky breath. “Yes,” I say matter-of-factly.

“What I meant was, why the hell would you choose Dauntless? If you’re that upset that you were lied to, then choose Candor. You wanna think things through before you transfer, then choose Erudite. Hell, Abnegation would have probably been the closest thing to Amity.”

“You don’t think I’m cut out to be here,” I say. It is not a question; he has already made it very clear.

“I really don’t,” Eric says, pauses, then quirks his lips in a half-smile. “Then again, you’ve proved me wrong thus far.”

I furrow my brow at him. “Is that a compliment?”

“I thought you’d be more familiar with them, coming from Amity,” Eric says simply, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands behind his head. He flexes his arms as he does so, making the muscles in his biceps stand out, and I do not know why, but the sight makes my mouth go dry.

“Amity and Dauntless aren’t so different,” I say, looking down at my shoes, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “You cannot have kindness without bravery, and bravery without kindness is just cruelty.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, so I let myself steal a peek at him out of the corner of my eye. He is still staring at me, the same half-smile on his lips, but for the first time it seems to be a genuine smile – not one meant to mock or belittle or intimidate.

“Okay, done,” Tori says, taking a step away from my arm to let me see.

I let myself marvel over the design etched into my arm, sharp striking black in an intricate flower that looks so bold against the thin, frail skin of my wrist. I wiggle my fingers and clench my hand into a fist, watching the way the tattoo moves with my skin.

A hand is suddenly laid across the arm of my chair, and I turn to see Eric looking at me with raised eyebrows, a silent question in his expression. It takes me a moment to realize that he wants a closer look at the tattoo.

I nod and place my wrist in his hand, palm-up. His fingers are rough and calloused, but his touch is surprisingly soft; he moves my wrist closer to him gently, eyes running over the dark ink. I can’t take my eyes off his face; there is something different about him here, in the way he is so gentle with me, in the way he studies the tattoo so carefully. I remember what James had said, about Eric being Erudite born, and suddenly I can see him as a doctor – carefully examining patients, administering precise sutures, using his firm demeanour to direct a team of surgeons.

“Looks nice,” he says finally, setting my wrist down in my lap. I see something in his eyes, but I just can’t quite figure it out – curiosity? Scrutiny? For once there is no coldness there, but there is still no kindness either.

I am about to ask him what he’s thinking (a decision which I later realize I would have probably regretted anyways) when I’m cut off by a quiet beeping.

Eric pulls a small black radio out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear. I only manage to hear snippets of the message over the noise of the tattoo parlour – something about needing him in the Pit to report on training statistics, I think. He puts the radio back in his pocket and stands, pressing his lips into a tight line.

“I trust you know your way back?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. My throat tightens as I try to figure out whether or not he’s mocking me.

“Yes. I’ll be fine,” I say, and he starts to leave but before he’s out of earshot I call out, “Thank you for coming with me.”

He stops in the doorway of the tattoo shop and looks over his shoulder, not quite meeting my gaze, and gives me a small nod before turning and walking away. All I can do is sit there, the skin of my wrist still tingling where he touched it, as I try to figure out what could possibly have been going through his mind.