Devotion (Four/Theo Eaton x OC) [COMPLETE]

Chapter 2: Brain over Brawn

Sleep came quickly, though it was not very pleasant or deep. When I woke, it was four o'clock in the morning. This was a habit of mine; I hadn't slept in past four since I was twelve years old. Why? Extra time to train before everyone woke up. As usual, I grabbed my black open palm gloves and headed to the training room.

The walk was quiet and dark except for a few dim lights that lit the way, but I didn't mind. It was strangely peaceful when everyone was still in bed and I had the whole place to myself. A single light flickered ominously when I arrived. Every morning it was the same light bulb that continued to struggle. One morning its fuse would finally break and I'd be swallowed in darkness, but it wasn't today.

I strapped on my gloves and stood in front of a punching bag, letting the memories flood back. Watch your parents die in front of your eyes, all because of you. You won't fit in anywhere. I will not hesitate to cut you from the rankings if you try anything.

I slammed into the bag, punching with all the force my muscles could produce, imagining all the people who had hurt me over the years. One after the other, my fists slammed into the bag until I was so out of breath and energy that I sank down onto my knees.

I sat there for a long time, waiting until my breathing returned to normal. Eventually, the flickering light went out and I was left in darkness. I guess today was the morning the fuse gave up hope after all. The only thing that broke the silence was my breathing and my footsteps across the floor as I walked back to my room. I had the path memorized from traveling it so often that the darkness didn't bother me.

I listened to the quiet stirrings of Dauntless getting ready for the day as I walked through the building. Once back to my room, I took a short shower and dressed, tossing my black gloves onto my desk before leaving the room for breakfast.

A smile briefly lit up my face as I sat down at my table and served myself a pancake from the serving plate. "Hey, can you pass the syrup?" I asked Four when he sat across from me.

He laughed and did as asked, shaking his head. "You know," he said while he stabbed a few of his own pancakes, "I don't see you smile at very many things, but pancakes always seem to work."

I looked up at him, drizzling syrup onto my plate of pancakes with a small smirk. "Do you have training with the initiates this morning?" I asked as I placed a forkful of breakfast in my mouth.

"Yeah," he responded with a sigh, serving himself some bacon and placing a piece on my plate as well. "Some of them look weak, though. I don't think many are likely to make it through all the training."

"Well, even the weak can be smart against the strong. Victory isn't always in brute force."

Four nodded slowly as he considered my words. "You'd better go with the Dauntless-born today," he gave me a bossy look and I groaned.

"Eric couldn't kick me out into the Factionless if he tried," I sneered. "He wouldn't dare."

"I wouldn't test it." Watch me.

I let a moment of silence pass before I relented, "Fine. I'll go with the Dauntless-born, but know that I may start using you for target practice instead of a dummy."

"You already do that," he stated with a deadpan expression which made me laugh.

A short alarm sounded to signal the day to begin and everyone dispersed for their training.

My time with the Dauntless-born was not as strenuous as what I did everyday on my own to build my strength. I felt Eric's eyes on me constantly, watching for mistakes and moves to sneak away from under his watchful gaze. Even when I couldn't see him, I knew he was somewhere watching me very carefully.

For one exercise, we were given guns to practice hitting a target, but it seemed like child's play to me. I ignored how the others struggled with their guns as I hit the target every time; the bullseye had multiple holes in it from my bullets. I didn't care what the other Dauntless-born felt toward me when I excelled to the top of the rankings. I had dealt with hatred toward me and my own anger toward others for most of my life. Animosity didn't bother me. Not anymore.

The next set of training was hand-to-hand combat and I watched as two men fought in the arena, one of them taking a hard blow and falling to the floor, blacking out. The expression on his face as his head hit the ground made me cringe. I averted my eyes to the rankings board, though my mind was not on the scores.

I hated the look of death, the expression of pain right before the loss of consciousness or final heartbeat. I disliked watching people fight during training because they hadn't done anything wrong. No justice was served during these kinds of fights; they were only for the purpose of training the winners to get stronger and the losers to learn from defeat.

"Swift," my attention turned from the board as Eric's voice dashed away my thoughts, "get into the arena."

I looked at the girl waiting for me in the circle. Stacey Jamison was about a foot taller than me and had a strong muscular build, but I entered the arena calmly. She put her fists up in front of her face in the standard defense stance they taught us a few days before. I merely relaxed the tension in my muscles and unbuckled my knees so I could move quickly.

"Remember the rules," Eric said as he crossed his arms over his chest, "the fight is over when one of you can't continue."

And so it began.

Stacey threw the first punch which I easily sidestepped. Having expected to make an impact with my stomach, she lost her balance slightly. I dodged all the attacks that followed, but this angered my opponent more and I saw the fire in her eyes grow. I knew her aggression would only worsen if I didn't end the fight soon.

"What is this, a ballet show?" Eric barked. "Stop dancing, Swift."

The sound of his voice pushed me over the edge and I dropped to the ground on my hands and knees, swinging my feet to kick Stacey's legs out from under her. She fell with a grunt as her head hit the pad. I stood and looked down at her as she lifted her head up groggily. A moment later, she lay limp against the ground, unconscious.

I turned and walked away from the arena, anger fuming in my gut. I could have tackled Eric then and there, but that would only create a different set of problems from the ones I already had. And so I did what I always did: walk in the other direction.

I climbed the steps leading to the roof and slammed the door behind me. Finally reaching a place where I was alone, I released a yell of frustration up to the sky. The sun seemed to burn my eyes, but I almost didn't care if it permanently blinded me. I looked away and walked to the edge of the roof, considering jumping to see if it was all just a nightmare. If I fell, maybe I would wake up.

Something inside me was convincing enough to ignore the impulse, so I sighed and sat down on the concrete. One move. That's all it had taken to defeat Stacey. She looked intimidating, but she didn't take time to learn her opponent's fighting strategy. She used her strength instead of her brain. You had to use both to win. She was slow to react and her balance rested on her legs instead of her whole body as one unit. So, once I tripped her, she was helpless.

I wasn't going back to training that day; I didn't trust myself around Eric after the day's events, so I stayed on the roof until I knew training was over.