Stay Away | Eric Coulter [1]

one

    "Vanessa!" The sound of my father's enraged voice jerks me out of my haze, "Listen to me when I speak to you!"

As I stare at the man standing before me, glaring daggers at me with his bloodshot eyes and a bottle of beer in his hand, it makes me question what possessed me to even look up to him once upon a time. I guess I was young and naive back then. But not anymore.

"Yes, sir." I gritted out.

Returning my gaze to the cutting board, I continue cutting up the vegetables in preparation for dinner.

"What was your result?"

"Abnegation," I answered, keeping my gaze down.

And Dauntless.
And Erudite.

Divergent. That's what the lady who administered my test had called it.

"You can't tell anyone," She had warned, "Not your friends, not even your family. Trust no one. It's not safe."

Marcus is none of those things, and so, he's probably the last person on this Earth I should be disclosing a secret like that to.

"What did I tell you?" He lets out a deep belly laugh like this was the best news he'd received in his life, "I told you this was where you were meant to be, didn't I?"

I steel myself as I notice Marcus moving towards me from the corner of my eye. The smell of acrid alcohol assaults my senses and the sound of my quickening heartbeat fills my ears when he reaches over, wrapping his hand around my wrist in a vice grip.

"You listen to me, Vanessa." Just like a switch being flicked on, his voice takes on a threatening tone once again. "You better not be planning on following that useless brother of yours." He scoffs, "Dauntless! Can you believe it? He chose Dauntless!"

I steady my voice, "You're hurting me. Let go."

Nothing good ever comes out of talking back to Marcus, but it gives me satisfaction knowing that I'm not cowering down to his every whim and fancy.

His grip tightens instead and he gives my arm a sharp tug, making my shoulder feel like it's about to pop out of its socket- a wordless warning to keep my mouth shut- as he continues to drone on.

"I pray to god that he's suffering in that dump every day." He slurs, "You, on the other hand, it's guaranteed that won't be your life. You have a roof over your head, food, and a nice bed. What more can ask you ask for?"

A sane father, maybe?

"I treat you well, don't I?"

The logical part of my brain knows to tell him what he wants to hear, but another part of me wants to speak the truth just to piss him off.

Eventually, self-preservation wins out. But as I open my mouth to answer him, the words get lodged in my throat as if my body was forbidding me from lying.

I watch as Marcus's face falls, darkening like the sky when clouds start to roll in just before it starts to rain.

His free hand reaches up and chokes me around my neck as takes a step forward, getting up in my face. "Answer the question, you ungrateful bitch."