Until Death Do Us Apart ➪ 𝔼𝕣𝕚𝕔 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕣

Chapter three: The Fight To Survival

"I'm never gonna make it," I said, holding an ice pack to my cheek.

"Yes, you are," Christina replied confidently.

"I'm the weakest one here," I muttered.

"Then you'll be the most improved," she said with a smile.

I weakly smiled back. "You're a Candor, you aren't supposed to lie."

She sat on her bed, criss-cross applesauce, and looked at me. "I was a Candor, and I'm not lying."

"If they cut me, I think my parents would take me back," I said, glancing at Al.

"No," Will said, shaking his head. "It doesn't work like that. Even if they wanted to, their faction wouldn't allow it."

"Even if they would, I don't belong there anymore."

"This is getting depressing," Christina said, leaning back. "You know what we should do? Get tattoos."

I giggled and nodded, the idea sounding like a fun distraction.

We walked into the tattoo parlor and looked around. I was scanning the room when I spotted Tori—the woman who had administered my test.

I walked over to her. "You remember me, right? I was wondering if you could—"

"No," she cut me off sharply. "I just do tattoos."

I nodded and walked away, a little embarrassed. As I looked around, I picked up a tattoo design—a set of three small butterflies.

I walked back over to her, smiling. "I'd like this one."

She grabbed it from my hand and led me to the station.

She placed a blue pad on my collarbone and began working. "Can I just ask you—"

"You made a mistake choosing Dauntless," she interrupted.

"They'll find out about you here," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

"Who? Who will?" I asked, confused.

"People you're a threat to," she answered cryptically.

"What people? Dauntless?"

"No, people in society," she said, glancing up at me. "You don't fit into a category. They can't control you."

"I don't get it. I'm Dauntless."

"I'm going to be Dauntless. I chose Dauntless," I replied, my voice steady.

"For your sake? I hope so," she said, finishing up the tattoo.

She pulled the blue pad away, showing me the three delicate butterflies on my collarbone.

The next morning, I woke up much earlier than anyone else. I glanced around and grabbed my boots, quickly but quietly slipping out of the room.

I stood in front of the punch bag, trying to remember the position Eric had shown me. I was still a little weak, but that wouldn't stop me. I was determined to make it. I was going to make it.

By mid-day, everyone was up, and we were at the shooting range again, facing the dummies. I shot every one of them, hitting the mark each time.

Back inside, I immediately checked the scoreboard. I was still below the red line, but I was moving up. This was good. A few more and I'd be right up there.

I stood in front of the punching bag again, punching it relentlessly. I looked down at my hands and saw that they were bruised and a little bloody, but I didn't care.