Hollow Body Got a Hold on Me

Four's POV:

I banged on the door for about 10 minutes, before deciding that knocking was going to be useless. Luckily, I have a skill with picking locks.
I shoot the lock off of Eric’s door, with my Dauntless-issued pistol, and stroll right on inside.
I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting to find when I entered his room, but, this was definitely not it.

Eric is a tough-love instructor; he's good at breaking down individual will, to create a stronger soldier.
But he is not destructive.
The scene I find before me, tells a different tale.
I step forward, cautiously.

Broken glass litters the entire floor, and many different colored liquids stain the silver colored carpet.
Curtains have been ripped from their rods, and rest in tatters around the windows, most of which have been shattered.
I see not even one dish in the open cabinets; three doors of which, have been completely separated, and a fourth hangs crooked, by a single hinge. The dishes make a decent pile of ceramic shards in the sink.
All of Eric's beloved books peek out from the shelf that held them, now currently toppled over, on the floor.
I don't notice anything else specific, material wise, because I catch sight of Eric, then.

He's sits on the floor, leaning against the bed staring downwards. He doesn't look at me, or acknowledge my presence in any way, as I approach him. I notice his bloody, and bruising knuckles, as his hands rest on his lap limply.
"Eric?" I ask, the concern evident in my voice.
He exhales a shaky breath, as I sit next to him on the floor, and I notice that tears stain his face.

I fucking hate that.

I know all too well the sort of anguish that brings them.
I can't bring myself to even pretend to hate Eric, right now.
This is some serious shit.
This is some fucking, serious shit.

The arrival of Stormy, and the revelation that she was the girl from the night that changed his life, has shocked him out of denial.
He never grieved, properly. Now, he's in a complicated mix of grief and anger.
You can't deny something, when the proof is in front of your face, or in your arms, or in your heart, every single day.
He hasn't said anything, still, but he turns his head to look at me, too deep in his despair to care about his current appearance; Eric doesn't show emotion in front of people.

"Eric, you might not believe me, but please trust me, it will be okay," I say, as though I was talking to a child whose mother had just died, the way Natalie Prior had to me, instead of to my authority.
I watch as his eyes falls closed, his wet lashes clinging to the skin above his high cheek bones, as he takes another shaky breath.

His voice sounds so broken, it reminds me of myself, when Marcus told me I was never going to leave Abnegation; that I was never going to escape him, and I confided in the woman, Natalie Prior, once again.

"It's not going to be okay," he's speaking so quietly, in his brokenness, that I feel a lump form in my own throat. "I'll never escape this shit."
"You will," I say, boldly reassuring him.
A dark chuckle, which holds no humor, escapes his lips.
"What did you see? In the security footage?"

I'm confused at the reason for the question, but I decide to be truthful.
"I got the gist of what happened; once I saw what was going to happen in your landscape, I switched the monitor over a channel," I reply, softly and truthfully, thinking that maybe he's more upset, because he thinks I saw more than I did. "They had you in your boxers, and I looked away, and then you were screaming... I turned it off."
"So," he begins again, looking me in the eyes. "You're completely aware that I was..." He coughed to clear his throat from the discomfort of the word. "I was raped. Who do you think did the deed?"

Where is this going? I remember what the one called Eddie whispered in his ear, about Samson.
"Samson?" I guess, feeling a chill run up my spine, at the dark chuckle he graces me with, again.
"I get so fucking confused," he states. "I don't like to be confused."
He slides his hands down his face, and laces his fingers together on his lap.

"I mean, why would I want to tell you, Four, any of this shit? You're not gonna understand. You're not-..." Eric sighs, once again, a fresh few tears roll down his cheeks. "I find that I want to tell you about that night, and I don't know why. That's fucking confusing. I mean, I know your dad beat you, and shit, yeah I'm not fucking happy that happened to you, ya' know? It's just-, it's not the same. Stormy, she gets some of it, but she's... a girl. Not saying she wasn't just as affected, but... I don't think girls would understand... I mean, I'm a guy. I'm probably the only guy to get raped by other men in the entire fucking city's history. I don't know if that's a blessing, or a curse. Nobody's gonna understand this..." his voice thick, and cracking, at the end.
Shit.
I felt like that, once.
Did he say, men?
As in, plural?

Eric's POV:

Why am I here? Why did I choose Dauntless?
Because I want to be something that I'm not?
I'm nothing.
I'm worthless.
I'm alone.
What did Four just... hug me for?
Why is he fucking crying, now?

At least the little fucker isn't sobbing, like I usually do.
He's not even really crying.
His eyes are definitely glistening with unshed tears, though.
I'm really confused.
I don't like to be confused.

It was a quick embrace, and not as awkward as I would've thought, but it was still a little awkward.
I open my mouth to speak again, but Four beats me to it.
"Beating me was not the only sin committed against me by Marcus," he says quietly, looking down, and suddenly finding his fingernails very interesting.

I just stare at him, in horror of his implied meaning.
He attempts to glance over at me, but quickly shifts his eyes back down.
"He, uh, he told me that it was for my own good, that he was helping me let go of myself, so I would stop being so selfish, and accept my place in Abnegation. It was about a month before Choosing Day, and I had decided on Dauntless the day I watched my mother die; raped, and beaten at the hands of my 'father'," Four spit the word, like it was poisonous to him.

"So, he came in that evening, and everything was just like usual... usual for my household, anyway. It was never good, but I never went against him before... I held my tongue like a "good little Abnegation boy"; I always, always did everything he asked of me. I was perfectly behaved, because I was scared of what would happen if I took one step, or breath, of my own accord. But, that evening, during dinner, he was complaining about everything, like usual, and I was so tired of his shit; getting so impatient for Choosing Day... I told him to shut up. But..." his eyes looked distant, now. "He shut me up, instead; locked me in the cellar, after he-... ya' know?"

He sighed deeply, then continued, "I don't like to be confused either, Eric. I want to know what's going on, I don't have to be in control, but I have to be well-informed. It's why I took the job in the control room. And it's why, when I turned down Leadership, you took the spot. Leadership gets to know what's going on, during drills, during factionless riots... Nobody messes with a leader. I. Under. Stand. So, if you feel like you want to tell me what happened, I'll listen, and I hope you know I won't judge you, or think differently of you... Wait, that's not entirely true. I already think differently of you; I can't bring myself to hate you, anymore. Don't look at me like that; I tried really hard to hate you again, but after tonight, that's not possible. So, maybe we don't have to be rivals, anymore. I mean, we're not competing for ranks, or jobs, anymore. Maybe, we could just kinda hang out with another person, who kinda understands us. Until I knew about what happened to you, I thought I was the only one, too. So, just talk; whatever you want to say, say it."

Well, fuck.
Fuck.
He doesn't know.
He didn't watch it.
Good.

"I-, I actually think I'm good, now. I mean, just-, I think I just, maybe, needed a friend," I say, speaking partial truth.
I'm definitely not "good".
I could use a friend.
And knowing that I'm not the only one, at least, in some sick way, it makes me feel less alone.
"I just… really need to find Stormy. Apologize, or something, ya' know?" I add.

Four smiles at me then, and I realize, that this is the first time that I have seen him smile like that; directed at me, anyway.
It makes me smile, too.

******************************************************************************

Stormy is asleep when I find her in the dormitory, curled up in the corner of her bed, dry tear streaks on her delicate face.
I hate that I'm the reason for this.
I just lost it.
I mean, shit.
I'm an asshole.
I lean against her bed on the floor by the wall, and fall asleep.
**************************************************************

I wake up suddenly, a few hours later.
It's still dark, and everybody is still asleep.
"No!" Stormy sobs, from her corner.
"No, no, no, no..."
Shit.
She gets those, too.
"No, please! Stop!"
Her voice gets louder, and hysterical in her sleep, and I turn to look at the other sleeping dorm mates.
They are sleeping soundly; they must be used to this.
Fuck.

She's sobbing in her sleep, now.
I want to wake her up, but after earlier...
I don't know how she'd respond.
"Get off of me!" she screams. "Please, I don't want this! I don't want this!"
She's thrashing around, fighting an invisible assailant.
I decide to wake her up.

"Stormy? Stormy, it's okay. It's a nightmare, you're safe," I say gently, as she halts her movements, and her eyes shoot open, her breath coming in heavy pants.
She sits upright, and pulls her knees to her chest, and cries.
Shit.
I hesitantly crawl up on the bed beside her, pushing her gently down so she's curled up in a fetal position, facing away from me.
She's still crying, and in so much pain, I allow a few tears to slide down my face as well, as I curl up behind her, the way she did for me when I was in the infirmary.
I wrap one arm around her waist, and with my free hand, I reach up to twirl and pet her hair.
After about five minutes, she's calmed down considerably, and turns on her other side to face me.
She doesn't look angry.

"I'm so sorry, for earli-," I begin, but she cuts in, then.
"It's okay, I think maybe you needed to fall apart," she says, honesty and gentleness in her puffy eyes.
"Maybe, but I still-," I try again.
Stormy cuts me off by pressing her lips to mine, gently.
It ends too soon.
She pulls back a bit, and gazes into my eyes, my own being wide and full of longing, I'm sure.

"You don't have to stop, if you don't want to," I say lowly, as I see her eyes travel down to my lips, and back to my eyes.
She moves in, again, hesitating momentarily, inches from my face.
I close the distance, pressing my lips to hers, relishing in how sweet this feels.
It feel safe.
It feels soft.
It feels right.
I move my lips against hers gently, bringing my hand up to the back of her neck to pull her in deeper.
I crave to deepen the kiss; I crave her love.
She allows me to do so, sliding her tongue along my bottom lip, and I open my mouth, allowing her entry as our tongues slide together.
It ends too soon, still.
We smile at each other, and she cuddles close to me as I wrap both my arms around her, in a protective embrace, placing a light kiss on the top of her head.

I'm in love.

The realization isn't as weird as I would've thought it to be.
I just never saw that kind of thing happening for somebody like me.
I feel Stormy's breath even out, rising and falling steadily, and I know she's asleep.
I close my eyes and drift off as well, and, for the first time since that horrible night over a year ago, I sleep peacefully, with no nightmares.