Love, Lies, Secrets and Manipulation (Divergent/Eric OC)

67. Desolation

(Natalie's POV)

Betrayal.

The sad thing about it is the fact that it never comes from your enemies. No. It comes from those closest to you.

You can walk days, weeks, months, beside those who you love, those who you trust with your entire life, never once imagining they'd go so far as ripping your whole world apart. And when that betrayal does happen, when you begin to feel that pain—that feeling like it's actually tearing you apart from the inside—you begin to wonder if any of that was real before. The love, the laughs, the feelings, the memories... You start to mentally comb through every second of your time together, wondering when the exact moment was when they became the enemy.

It has been three days. No one has come for me. Not even him.

If destroying me completely was what Eric intended to do to me, he succeeded outstandingly. Forget having enough strength to continue to stand up for what's right; he didn't even leave me enough strength to fight for my own freedom.

Keeping me locked up in solitary confinement with absolutely no human interaction for three whole days was the way for them to go. They have won; I won't even deny that. If you ever thought slavery was the only form of punishment, you've never been locked away in a prison cell, alone, with nothing but time and torturous silence passing you by.

And the silence is what kills you; it can make you go fucking insane. You are left alone with your thoughts, every single one of your past mistakes and regrettable choices haunting the hell out of you. Especially in the dark.

The only thing that seems to settle me lately is sleep. It comes easy to me. All I have to do is crawl into the small bed and pull the blanket over my face, then silently cry myself into darkness. It has become a natural routine. You would think that I'd have no tears left by now, but that isn't the case. I seem to have a lifetime supply of them.

He ruined me. Broke me. Shattered me. Again, destroyed me. I may be in a cell, but he left me in a dark hole, in a state of complete anguish and desolation, draining me of even the slightest ounce of energy.

And hope. I have been stripped of all possible hope, accepting the fact that I most likely will never make it out of this place alive.

I am a prisoner.

I am in a cell that is no larger than fifteen by fifteen feet, a small bathroom connected to the left. Every morning at seven o'clock, the dim lights above turn on, and they shut completely off at nine p.m.. I know this because of the digital clock that is above the bathroom door. It now reads twelve-twenty-one p.m..

There are no windows here in the cell, so I have no idea what has gone on outside these walls in the past three days. But those keeping me captive are certainly able to see what has been going on in here—there is a large camera lens right above the thick, bulletproof glass doors, watching my every move. And it seems like no one else is on the same floor as I am—I haven't seen anyone pass by or walk down the outside hallway since they dragged me in here.

The city could be in complete ruin at this time. Abnegation could be a complete loss. I fear that all members are nothing but piles of ashes by now, nothing but scattered dust in the cool breeze. And the children... God, the children... Jeanine never even intended on following through her plan to wipe their memories and let them live out the rest of their innocent lives in Amity. She could have spared them, but she chose otherwise. All those poor, innocent people... I failed them. I failed this city.

And who knows of the fate of those I still care about? My sister, my team of people who I convinced to put their trust and faith in me... Hell, even my father.