Break Down the Walls (Divergent Story)

Chapter 9

Oops! I posted the wrong chapter.... hahaha! Okay here's chapter nine lol sorry :)

CHAPTER 9

I’m still at it in the early hours of the morning. Today is the last day so it’s a half day—no fights. We just find out our rankings then go to lunch. Pretty simple, really. I found where they stashed the knives a few hours ago, so I used all of them, one by one: they still stick, three handles sticking out of every target. I didn’t eat breakfast, or dinner, for that fact. But I don’t care. I’ll eat after. With my real friends: Clarke, Miles and Patch. At least they’ll stick with me. At least I can count on them.

I don’t know at what point the footsteps or voices come, but at some point they do, and I’m still beating myself against the punching bag. My knuckles split a while ago, the blood smeared over the top of my hands, but it’s mostly dried up. Nothing serious. The conversation sputters and dies when the people see me, but I never stop. I just keep going. Pretend like they aren’t there. That’s the secret to ignoring people. Probably most of the initiates have arrived when I’m crouched over, breathless, my hands on my thighs to support me. I wipe the thick pearls of sweat away from my face and lug the bag back to its stop, in the back of the room, then step over to the targets and pull the knives out of them. You can see my progress as I move from target to target, the knives getting closer and closer to the middle with each throw. Once those are away, I slip into my shoes and pull on my jacket. I weave through the crowd of people, propping myself up against the back wall. I have no one to talk to. They’re all in a different room.

“Jesus Carter, we we’re looking for you everywhere,” Tris says as she spots me, walking into the room. My head snaps where my name is said and I shrug.
“What the hell happened to you?” Four asks when he sees me. I narrow my eyes.

“This isn’t show and tell. Now get on with it,”

He rolls his eyes but still complies. The chalk board sits on the floor. Four clears his throat and stands across from us.

“Before we ‘get on with things’,” Four begins, “I’d like to explain to you how you are ranked.

“The whole thing is on a total of a hundred.  Thirty points for each fight you win, zero for each fight you lose. If you weren’t matched up, you get an automatic fifteen points.

“Knife throwing is worth five points, as well as target practice. The highest rank—”

He’s interrupted by Eric walking in the room.

My first instinct is to walk up to him and punch him, boundlessly, just to see how he likes it. Give him a taste of his own medicine. To watch the blood drip away from his face.

But my second, strong instinct is to run and hide away, to cower in the corner where he can’t find me. Where he can’t get me again. It’s just like with Marcus—one moment I thought I could strike back, the next I was hugging a pillow to my chest with tears streaming down my face. My eyes widen a bit and I shift my weight from foot to foot, ready to bolt if I need to.

“What are you doing here,” Tris hisses. Eric’s signature smirk appears as he gets closer and closer to them. I shrink farther and farther into the wall, hoping I could fall into it and escape.

“Just checking on the initiates. As usual,” he says like nothing happened. It makes me want to wrap my fingers around his throat.

“Leave,” Four demands. His face his hard and strict—I know I would bolt if I were Eric. But I’m not.
“I don’t have to,” Eric says, stepping closer to Four’s face. They are only inches apart, and the tension between them is almost electrifying. It is a thunderstorm waiting to happen.