Devious | Eric Coulter

1

Charlie

Marcus isn't a man of many words. Like my brother and I, he rarely ever speaks. All he does is glare and punch and bruise. That is all he is good at, especially behind closed doors and prying eyes.

"You won't follow your brother, will you?"

His sentence makes me freeze in fear. My fingers shake as I quickly think of an answer that will not anger him. Of course he'd ask that. Just imagine the rumors that will erupt if I fled the faction like Tobias did. Pathetic.

"No," My answer is clipped and final; the answer that he liked to hear.

Marcus grunts, drumming his fingers on the table. It's yet another habit both my brother and I inherited from this brutish man. "Good."

I lick my dry lips and resume frying the eggs for our breakfast. The sizzling sound it makes against the pan is the only sound I can hear, and it does nothing to fight the tension that clouds the room.

Just three more days, I think to myself, looking at Marcus from the corner of my eye, Three days, Charlie.

* * *

I keep playing with the bracelet tied around my wrist. The strings are so worn out, the thin threads starting to separate from their bonds.  I'm fiddling with it too much, and that is probably the main reason why it's in such a delicate state.

I pull out a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. I always carry it around since it comes from Tobias. The jerk left me six years ago, back when I was twelve, only leaving this letter as a form of goodbye.

My eyes narrow upon reading the words written on it. My brother was always the dramatic type. The letter contains 'his feelings of guilt and remorse' and how he wants me to defect to Amity when I reach eighteen.

"He isn't expecting me to follow this stupid letter, is he?" I mumble to myself, making sure to keep my voice down. Marcus is asleep in the next room and will surely give me hell if I disturb him. "He doesn't know me at all."

I fold the paper and place it back in my pocket. My fingers immediately find their way back to the bracelet on my wrist. In a way, it calms me. It belonged to my late mother, my only reminder of the presence that once made this house a true home.

* * *

Walking towards the school was definitely a bad idea.

I lower my eyes upon passing by a group of Dauntless boys. I hear one whistle a cat call. My hands clench into tight fists.

"Hey, Abnegation!" I purse my lips, forcing myself to walk faster when I hear footsteps behind me. I try to increase my speed, but immediately get brought back by a grip on my arm. The grip is so tight I'm sure it will leave a bruise.

I pull my arm back roughly, glaring at the boy who had touched me. He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back as if to say he means no harm.

The boy, a dark skinned male of average height, holds out something towards me. My eyes widens upon looking at it, and I quickly grab it before another second is wasted.

"Chill," The boy says as he watches me hurriedly stuff my mother's bracelet inside my jacket. His friends remain behind him, silently watching our exchange, "No one's going to steal that from you."

I nod slowly. I'm about to turn my back on him when he holds out his hand with a gentle grin, "I'm Uriah."

A few seconds pass with my eyes glued to his outstretched hand. One of his friends lets out a loud laugh, "She looks scared of you, Uriah."

I wasn't scared of him. I just didn't want to touch his hands. They were bruised and scarred and beaten.

They remind me of Marcus.

Biting back a reply, I avert my gaze and walk away like a good Abnegation girl.

* * *

"Tomorrow is your Aptitude test." Mrs. Rosal, our Faction History teacher, announces with her hands behind her back to support her rigid posture, "You all know what to do, so be at the Hub early. Testing starts at seven in the morning. We will do the process alphabetically. Any questions?"

When no one raised a hand for clarification, she nods stiffly.  "The best of luck to all of you. You may go."

It's really happening, I think as I walk out of the room, hiking my bag further up my shoulder, I'm a step closer to getting away from Marcus.

"Wait! Hey!" I stop and look back hesitantly, seeing Uriah bump shoulders with practically everyone in the hallway just to reach me. By the time he does, he sports a smile, "I didn't catch your name."

I almost stutter my reply, disbelief clear in my expression. He ran through all those students to know my name?  "C-Charlie. My name's Charlie."

Uriah beams. My eyes immediately darts to the dimple on his cheek, an anomaly that's strangely considered beautiful. "Nice to meet you, Charlie."

The words melt on the tip of my tongue. Quickly, I turn and walk away before he can object.

I hear a shocked mutter from him, one that paints a small smile on my face, "No reply? Well, that's kinda rude."

* * *

The spoon makes a screeching sound against my bowl when I try to scrape off the remaining rice. Marcus stops eating and I freeze, wondering if he'll beat me for the stupid, irrelevant noise.

Fortunately, he sighs and resumes shoveling food into his mouth. I resume eating as well, albeit a little more carefully now.

Tobias knew it. I knew it. Hell, even Marcus knew it- that he had a soft spot for me. When Tobias was still here, he'd take all his frustrations out on him. He never laid a hand on me, not until I reached 16 years. From then on, his method of abusing were beer bottles and belts. He always aimed at my torso, though. Never the face.

That'll be bad, especially for an accused abuser's reputation. 

Two years of abuse landed me tons of bruises and scars, a couple of broken ribs, and a glass shard buried in my stomach. I don't know if it's still there. It doesn't hurt anymore, anyway.

I wait silently as Marcus finishes his food. I can't help but notice how his hands shake when he holds his utensils. It's obvious that there's something suffocating him. He probably knows that this is his last meal with his daughter. He knows I lied. 

I am going to leave him, like Tobias and Evelyn had, and he is going to rot by himself in this house. The rumours will make him crazy, it will ruin his life. He knows all of this, and yet he doesn't do anything.

The food on my mouth turns tasteless.

I pity Marcus Eaton, and that makes me sick to my stomach.