Ambivalence [p.h.] - EDITING

chapter 12 || promise you won't stab me?

I lost count of how many times I had tossed in my cot that night, but sleep continued to devilishly toy with me until it was five o'clock in the morning. If I just laid very, very still, I might be able to salvage another hour's worth of rest — but, alas, fifteen minutes later I lay on sheets that were very much crumbled while I was still very much awake.  With a sigh, I flopped out of my cot into the sharp morning coldness, dragging my feet to the showers to clean up. 

The mirror above the sink revealed a ghoul looking back at me —with deep bags under my eyes that could have been bruises that clashed against my pallid skin, I sure felt like a ghoul.  Ignoring the urge to scowl at myself until I actually turned into a ghoul, I slapped an unpleasant splash of freezing water onto my face once I had brushed my teeth. That was as presentable as I was going to be that day.

Seeing as most Dauntless were sane enough to still be asleep ungodly hours like this, the first breakfast plates would not be out for at least an hour. Luckily, my stomach was pleasantly pacified — leaving me the chance to sneak out of the dormitory and explore. 

But of course, having followed my feet while my mind was still hazy, I found myself turning the handle on the door to the training room.

It was only once it had creaked open that I realized I was not alone.  I rubbed my eyes. No, he was still there: Eric, with all his piercings — plus a few, maybe — stood, shifting his weight every so often, as he organized a line of small trays on a faded wooden table.

Maybe I was tired. That seemed like a good enough excuse for the gall, the audacity that I had to interrupt him.  

Maybe he was tired too. That might explain how he had been oblivious to the soft taps of my feet as I padded over to him from the entrance. Truly, I thought he would have noticed — I shouldn't have assumed. Now I had to make an awkward introduction that made me seem less like a stalker and more like a coincidental occupant of the same room at the same time.

"Er. Hi Eric."

In that moment, I saw my life flash before my eyes. Eric's neck tensed up — and it's a good thing I noticed, otherwise I would not have ducked out of the way and he would have broken my face. The both of us cursed.

"Jax," he said, visibly relaxing.  "Sorry."

"No, it's my fault. I should have said something when I came in, I'm just a little out of it."

"Makes sense. We're up early," he mused. He seemed to be as victimized by the morning as I was; he shared my deep purple under eyes and kept swallowing back yawns, but miraculously he didn't look like a ghoul (far from it actually, but that's beside the point). 

"Couldn't sleep."

Without looking at me, he nodded in solidarity, shuffling over to the next tray of... materials. He flipped around pieces of metallic chrome that gleamed when they caught the light creeping in from the sparse, cramped, and high positioned windows — they could only be blades.

"Target practice?"

"You know it," he smirked.  "Just so you're not standing there watching me while I fiddle with these, I can leave a bag up for you if you wanted to split another one open. Call it quality control."  I figured he was probably kidding, but you could never tell with Eric. Just thinking about the hook kick disaster made my cheeks heat up.  

"Ha ha," I deadpanned. Eric scoffed (but not in the mean way he always did. That's how I knew he was kidding - and that I wouldn't actually get my face broken). "I might as well make myself useful.  I can help you set up if you want?"

Eric's head perked up. He studied me for a moment, which felt more like a vulnerable eternity to me, but then he gave a gracious nod. "I'll take the bags off while you can arrange the knife tables," he instructed. "Two initiates share one knife table, so we'll need four more.  You can get them from the next room over.  All the knives are here already."