A/N: Hey! I'm so sorry it's taken me a whole month to update this - this chapter rained hell on me. The CWB was major. After all, there's only so many ways I can describe fear before it becomes repetitive. Anyhow, small life update: I'm waiting for the results of my third exam - I think it went okay, but not great.
By the way, THANK YOU ALL for 3k reads! Marching season has started for a while now, and I've been spending close to 8 hours a week marching in the heat. It's completely exhausting, so this major milestone was a wonderful surprise to come home to. Thank you so much, all of you, for reading my story. I really hope that you've enjoyed reading about Cammi's adventures in Dauntless as much as I've enjoyed writing about it!
So, in the Divergent book, Tris seemed to get through her fear simulation relatively easily, but Tobias seemed to somewhat struggle with his fears when he took Tris through them, despite having done it multiple times. I tried to strike a nice balance between those for Cammi - she got through some of them easily enough, but she really struggled on others.
Well, I hope you enjoy the chapter! It probably isn't the best, but it's here, at least.
As I step into the simulation room, my heart begins to pound in my ears. But it's not with fear, but adrenaline.
You know how to do this.
The first fear takes only a second to appear. Grass abruptly rises from where there was only cold, gray concrete before. The exposed pipes hanging above my head morph into an orange sky.
The first sign of them comes in the form of shrill whines that send shivers down my spine.
And then, they begin crawling out of the grass, all around me; bugs. Cicadas, grasshoppers, crickets, ants, beetles, a few arachnids, and so many more that I can't identify. All I know is that they are all coming for me.
My breathing picks up at the sight, and I try to back away, only to find my feet stuck to the ground.
Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. I can feel my heart start to race, my stomach start to coil at the thought of all these bugs crawling all over me.
This is a simulation. This isn't real. There are no bugs, there is no grass field, there is no setting sun.
When I got this fear in stage 2, I tried slapping all the bugs off, until I got it into my head that it was a simulation. But I had to keep up pretenses, continuing my slapping until I found a pool of water to submerge myself in.
I have no pretenses to keep up here.
Just breathe, and everything will be okay.
I take a deep breath, interrupting my rapid breathing pattern, and think, trying to ignore the sounds of the bugs as they inch closer.
I am not afraid.
I crouch down and rummage around in the grass, keeping the image of the two things I need in my mind. The first bugs reach my shoes, and I can feel a lump rise in my throat.
Not real. Not real.
After what feels like forever, but is probably only a few seconds, my left hand hits something wooden. Yes!
I lift the tree branch out of the grass, hurriedly brushing off the few stray bugs that have found their way onto my hand, and keep rummaging for the other thing I need with my right hand. After another second, I find a small box.
I shoot up out of my crouch like a rocket. The bugs are up to my knees, now, and I swallow my scream as hundreds of their tiny legs crawl over me.
I raise the branch over my head, and, in one motion, bring it down so it brushes my insect-ridden legs, knocking many of the insects off.
I repeat the action until most of the insects are off my legs. As soon as they are, I feel a lot lighter.
But there are still more insects in the grass around me. Already, they are starting to ascend my shoes again.
I fumble with the small box, my throat dry. After a moment, it opens, and I yank one of its contents out, practically bashing it against the side of the box. It doesn't work, so I try again, a bit more gently.
The top of the match bursts into flame, and I waste no time pushing the lit end to the far end of the branch in my hand. The flames begin to lick the top of the branch, and I drop the match, uncaring if it catches the area around me on fire. It'll help get rid of the bugs, anyway.
And then, I swing my makeshift torch at the insects, watching them and the grass around them disintegrate into ashes. I can feel my heart dropping out of my throat as the number of insects dwindles. Again, and again, and again I swing, until I have a ring of burning grass all around me.
And then, the field and the burning branch all fall away, leaving me in darkness.
It doesn't stay that way for long, unfortunately. All too soon, the sound of a rushing river begins to fill the void. I try to shift my feet, and sure enough, I can't. A wet sound, as well as a glance downwards, confirms that my feet are covered with a wet, tan substance. Quicksand.
I feel my heart resume its fast pace as I stare down at the substance trapping me.
I am not afraid of quicksand. I am afraid that I won't be able to escape it. I am afraid that I'm not in control of this situation.
But I am. This is my fear landscape - I am inside my own head. And here, I can do anything.
Bracing myself on my left leg, I tug with all my might at my other leg. I can feel the quicksand give a little, and my leg moves a few inches.
Come on, Cammi. Come on.
Another tug. Another few inches.
But, I notice, with a sinking heart, putting all my weight on my left leg pushes that leg deeper.
I have no choice, though, so continue that way, yanking my right leg out of the quicksand, inch by inch. It takes me a couple more rounds of tugging, but I finally, finally free it.
Exhilaration overcomes me, at least until I search for the edge of the quicksand pit. It is several feet away from me still, meaning that it's a much bigger quicksand pit than the one I saw in my stage 2 simulation. And tugging each foot out by force will take too long.
Think. Think. Think.
Quicksand is a lot like mud - not quite liquid, but not solid, either. It takes time to sink into quicksand, unlike a liquid. Maybe, if I lay my quicksand-free body back in it and move quickly, I could get out before I sink too deep into the quicksand.
Other than spending agonizingly long pulling each foot out, it's my only choice. So, with one last inhale, I drop.
I quickly situate myself on my back, ignoring the feeling of cold quicksand seeping into my shirt, and use all of my leg strength to pull my feet up from the bottom. And it works like a dream - my feet are "floating" in the quicksand before I know it.
Before it's too late, I push myself into a side roll, making one, two, three revolutions, and then, I feel dry ground under my body. My tense muscles relax almost instantly.
By the time I push myself to my feet, the quicksand pit is gone.
I stare into the darkness, waiting for the next fear, when a voice booms in my ear. "Out!"
I flinch away from the loud voice, spinning around to try and find its owner.
Max stands behind me, arms crossed over his chest, looking stern. From where I'm at, I have a very clear view of the large gun slung over his back.
He takes a step closer, voice dropping. "You aren't good enough for us. You have an hour to pack up and get out."
My breath lodges in my throat at the harsh words.
Out of nowhere, Eric appears behind Max. "Your brother will be here in a minute to say goodbye."
Tobias.
I frown. Something isn't right here.
And if you do fail initiation - which won't happen, by the way - then I'll come with you.
I know my brother - if he's truly made up his mind about something, then it's close to impossible for me to change it. And he sounded so sure when he said that to me, in the Chasm, weeks ago.
You matter more to me than my place among the Dauntless. If it comes down to it, I'll gladly become factionless with you.
My frown slowly turns into a smile. "You're wrong, Max."
"What did you say?" Max growls, stepping even closer. He's hardly three feet in front of me - the proximity is starting to make me uncomfortable. But backing away is not an option, even if it is just a simulation.
"I haven't failed. Not yet."
And everything is gone. I am alone.
"Cammi." I whip around, my arms falling instinctively into a fighting stance. But it isn't a threat - instead, it is Lavender, Ethan, Julia, Juniper, Kian, and Chloe that stand in front of me, frowning. Apparently, I'm not as alone as I thought.
I mentally run through the list of fears that I know. The only one that included my friends was the one in which I was forced to kill them, but I'm still in control of my body, and I'm not holding a weapon.
This must be a new one, then. But what is it about? I'm not afraid of my friends.
"Stay away from us." The words come from Lavender's mouth, and I can feel my brow furrow in confusion. What?
"You're a horrible friend." Ethan chimes in. "You wouldn't even tell us how you did so well in initiation."
"We don't want to be friends with a former Stiff, anyways." That one is Juniper.
I stare at them, my brain struggling to process the implications of their words. Abruptly, they turn around, and begin walking away.
This isn't real. Stop this.
My mouth feels like it's full of sand, but, somehow, I manage to croak out, "Wait."
Any words I might have said die on my tongue as Julia twists her head around, shooting me a venomous look. "What part of 'stay away' do you not understand?"
I think being stabbed with a thousand knives would have been worse than watching them walk away.
"You." I swivel around again, this time coming face-to-face with Tobias. Only this isn't the brother I know. This Tobias stares at me with nothing but contempt, hatred written into every bit of his body language. "You let him."
"Let who do what?" I gasp out, feeling tears collect in my eyes at the way he's looking at me. As though I am a despicable human being. As though I am Marcus.
This is a simulation. He wouldn't look at you like that.
"You know exactly who I'm talking about, Cam!" He sneers. "You let him torture me while you sat out safely on the sidelines."
"I-" I can't even get a word out of my rapidly closing throat. "I-"
Tobias shakes his head. "You ruined my life. I will never understand why I decided to protect someone as worthless as you." And with that, he, too, turns and walks away.
I reach my arm towards him, a thousand things I want to say on my lips. Wait. Come back. Please don't leave. I love you. But none of them come out.
Before I have the chance to gather my thoughts, the next voice sounds.
"I hate you." It's Rowan, standing almost directly opposite where Tobias was. His eyes catch my attention the most - those hazel eyes, which have always sparkled with warmth, are flat as they look at me.
"Rowan, please-"
"I hate you!" He reiterates, stepping closer, fists clenched. "I hate having to put up with you. I hate that I have to be the one to deal with all of your stupid baggage. And I hate watching you develop your stupid crush over me when I could never, ever feel the same!"
By the time he's done, his chest heaves, trying to recover from his increasingly loud yells.
The tears I've been holding back overflow, tumbling over my cheeks and hanging onto the underside of my chin. I search his face with a desperation I don't think I've ever felt before, looking for the Rowan who laughs with me and comforts me when I'm on the verge of falling down.
But there's nothing there - nothing except for pure loathing. It makes my heart twist. And yet, I can't take my gaze off of him as he, too, turns around and walks away.
Logically, I know that I'm in my fear landscape, that what I'm seeing, what I'm hearing, isn't real. But real or not, every sentence my simulated friends and family say drives a new, very real shard of glass into my heart.
But I have to get up, have to slow my breathing and heart rate so I can move on. I can't afford to fail this, for the sake of the very same friends and brother that just left me in this simulation.
This one fear has made me feel like I've fallen down to the deepest depths of the planet. But if there's one thing I'm good at, it's always getting back up.
So, I force myself to pull in as much air as I can, through my mucus-clogged nose and throat, and try to make myself believe.
My friends wouldn't do that. They wouldn't. Not kind Lavender, cheeky Ethan, compassionate Julia, considerate Juniper, smart Kian and Chloe. Not my brother, not after everything we've gone through. Not Rowan, after learning some of my darkest secrets. None of them. They wouldn't do that. They wouldn't.
Despite the echoes of their voices in my head, yelling hateful things at me, I somehow manage to pick up the pieces, enough for the landscape to move on.
As the next obstacle begins to fade in, I take one final, shaky deep breath. I can deal with the emotional aftermath of that particular fear later. For now, I need to keep moving.
I wish I was as fearless as my brother. Then, I would already be done. But I'm not.
My next fear completely fades in, and I inhale sharply.
This fear looks almost identical to Tobias' second one - gray metal walls surround me on six sides, forming a box that's just large enough to hold me.
I force myself to breathe in again, trying to push the memories of the closet out of my head. It doesn't work.
Gray walls, a locked door, just let me out, please-
With a small cry, I launch my fist at the wall. Maybe I can get it to break, or at least stop moving closer every time I shift.
Anything to get out of here, out of this small, wretched place.
Nothing. All I'm rewarded with is a perfectly solid wall and one throbbing hand. Of course that wouldn't work, you idiot.
My breathing picks up, despite my best efforts to stay calm. I can't get out of here. I can't get out of here. I can't, I can't, the door is locked, I can't-
Sudden fury bubbles up in my stomach, thankfully halting my train of thought before it spirals completely out of control. I grind my teeth together.
While I was in that closet, I was helpless. I couldn't do anything to get out.
But I'm in my fear landscape, going through Dauntless initiation. And the Dauntless are not helpless.
I hate these stupid metal walls, for taking my breath away and making my heart jump into my throat. I hate Marcus, for giving me this phobia. I hate myself, for being scared of a dumb closet.
In the spur of the moment, out of pure spite, I hunch down so I'm crouched in a ball, allowing the ceiling of my little metal box to slam down until the box is roughly a third of the size it was before.
My stomach turns at the tiny space. This is definitely worse.
Recognizing the signs of fear seeping into my demeanor again, I close my eyes and reach back, grasping onto my unexpected urge of anger again. I need something to keep me from panicking, and anger seems to work. I won't have time to panic if I'm angry.
I breathe in. Stupid metal walls.
And out. Dumb gray-walled closet.
In. Stupid Marcus.
Out. Dumb me.
I continue that pattern, mentally stating something I'm angry at every time I breathe in or out. After I can't think of any more things related to the closet, my list turns a bit more playful, including times where Tobias or one of my friends have made me mad. And, slowly, my small frown turns upwards into a small smile.
Only a handful of seconds after I begin the list, I feel wind whoosh past my face. I open my eyes.
The walls are gone.
I slowly get to my feet, eyeing the dark space in front of me warily. I have an idea of what fears could appear, but no idea what order they'll appear in, so I have to be prepared for anything.
"Cammi."
I whirl around, only to find all my friends and my brother, illuminated by an unseen spotlight, staring back at me with an unquenchable sadness in their expressions.
And suddenly, I realize that there is cold metal in my palm. The feel of it seems to radiate outwards, from my hand to my arms, and then my chest and legs and head, until a cold chill has swallowed me whole.
My breath catches as I remember this fear. My other hand moves of its own volition, situating itself comfortably on the gun's handle. My index finger moves to the trigger.
And my arms inch upwards.
No.
To be honest, I probably should have thought of a strategy for this fear. But this fear is one of my worst, and certainly the most painful, and I think I knew that any strategy I created would go out the window the second I saw the all-too-lifelike eyes of Tobias, and Lavender, and Ethan, and Julia, and Rowan and Kian and Chloe and Juniper.
"Stop." I whimper quietly, staring intently at my arms, as though the desperation in my words could stop them. "Stop."
As expected, they don't listen.
I suck in a breath, letting my eyes briefly flutter closed. The quickest way to end this is to let the simulation run its course. It would be over in a few seconds, and then I could move on.
But am I really willing to let my friends and brother, simulation or not, die, so I can move on in this sim quickly?
There isn't any hesitation in my answer - no. They're all I've got left, and I don't think I'd be able to live with myself, if I had to watch my gun, my finger, kill them, again. Not when the first time it happened, in the fear simulations, already haunts me.
Great, so that moral dilemma is resolved. Unfortunately, when I open my eyes again, only a second or two after I closed them, my arms are still raising at an excruciatingly slow pace, lifting the muzzle of the gun to face the very people I would do anything to protect.
Now I just have to stop it from happening.
I don't bother with yelling or using physical strength - it didn't work in stage two, and I doubt it's going to work here.
No, what I have to do is manipulate the fear.
I won't do it. I won't do it. I WON'T DO IT.
I repeat the words in my head, over and over, each time just a little louder, hoping against hope that my arms will stop moving.
They don't.
I won't do it. I will never hurt them. I won't. I won't-
"It's okay, Cam." Tobias' words draw my attention away from my thoughts. He stands there, watching my every move, eyes glassy. "No matter what you do, we'll still love you."
The words bring fresh tears to my own eyes. God, what are they seeing? Are they seeing a murderer? Me, their friend, their sister, someone they trust, about to kill them and violate that?
Can they see my desperation to not do it?
I won't do it. I won't do it I won't do it Iwon'tdoitIwon'tdoitIwon'tdoit-
The muzzle is almost level with Julia's head now. She watches me lift it, making no move to get out of the way.
I want to yell, scream, at all of them, to tell them to run, as far and as fast as they can, before my finger, even if it's not by my will, fires the shot that will end them. But it's pointless - they won't run, and the outcome will be the same - blood, smeared on the spotless floor, shining in the spotlight. My fault.
No. It won't happen.
I won't let it happen.
The gun lines up with Julia's head.
No. No. No, no, no, please.
My finger starts squeezing the trigger.
With one final, desperate cry, I wrench my body to the side, right as a shot rings out. Please, please, please.
It works.
I find myself facing to the left of the line of my loved ones, gun still smoking, but pointing in the same direction I'm facing. Looking to my right, I can see that all of them look fine, and very relieved.
I close my eyes and let my muscles sag, letting out a half-hysterical, half-relieved laugh.
How in the world does Tobias do this again and again?
"Well, well, Camilla."
With those three words, spoken in that all-too-familiar leer, my last vestiges of laughter evaporate. My eyes snap open, and immediately land on one person I'd hoped I'd never have to see again.
J.
And suddenly, I realize that he isn't just in front of me; somehow, he's on top of me, holding me down, like he did that night. The same way-
No. Stop. Don't think about it.
But, staring at one of the reminders of it in the face, it's hard not to.
Instinctively, I push against his hold on my arms, trying to get him off of me, as futile as it might be. His hold on me is slightly different than it was the last time; he holds my wrists so they sit to either side of and slightly above my head, forcing my elbows into ninety-degree angles. And, instead of pinning my legs down with his own, he's positioned so he's nearly sitting on my lower body, his folded knees touching my sides. All in all, it's a much more secure position, and eliminates any chance of me pulling off a maneuver similar to the one I did before.
I can feel myself trembling as this disgusting man stares down at me. And suddenly, his face starts shifting, stretching and becoming lighter, his hair growing more gray-
Now it's Marcus pinning me down, wearing the exact same expression as J did.
My throat is closing rapidly, and my exhales are stunted and shaky.
Marcus leans forward, eyes glinting. For a second, his eyes flash icy blue, and his hair looks brown, and he's almost J again.
"We're going to try something new today, Camilla."
He leans forward a bit more, and his features start shifting again, back into J's, only with a distinct stripe of gray hair. That's the only sign that Marcus was ever there.
I stare into those eyes, those distinct light blue eyes, trying to calm my racing mind enough to come up with a plan.
A wisp of a memory comes to me without warning- those same eyes, blankly staring up at me, framed by sharp rocks and shiny shards of glass.
J is dead.
With that thought, my world seems to snap into focus.
I'm in a simulation. This isn't real. J isn't real - he's just ashes in the Chasm. For a few, terrifying seconds, I forgot.
J isn't real. And Marcus - he isn't real either. The thought sends a bolt of courage through me. And it's that courage that spurs me into action, using a mix of improvisation and techniques I learned during initiation.
I can't use my original plan, but if I could knock him off balance-
When J's face is only an inch or two away from mine, I move. In one motion, I push my hips upwards, sending his body flying forwards, and move my arms down towards my legs at the same time. He catches himself on his arms, but before he can do more than that, I wrap my arms around his torso, using him to pull myself upwards.
I want to let go as soon as I wrap my arms around him - the position feels way too intimate - but Tobias' voice rings in my ear, urging me to not let go. You want to get in as close as you can to an opponent that's bigger than you. The closer you are, the harder it is for them to hit you.
It only takes me a second to pull myself as far as I need to go. J still hasn't moved, probably still shocked at my move. Taking advantage of his distraction, I ensnare his right arm with my left, using it as leverage to roll him over, until I'm the one on top of him.
By this point, J has regained some of his senses, and his face twists into a snarl, eyes flashing dark blue, hair turning a bit more gray. The change almost makes me falter.
But I don't. Because I've already committed to this.
The sound of J's nose breaking as my elbow makes contact is almost satisfying.
As I'm raising my arm for another hit, J suddenly dematerializes from underneath me.
I stare, for a second, at where he was, before standing up, still breathing heavily.
The agonizing, but not new, pain of being struck with a belt, on my cheek, interrupts my moment of peace, sending me staggering.
I touch a hand to my cheek, and it comes away with blood. Quickly, I straighten and turn around, my eyes only confirming what I know to be true. Marcus stands a few yards behind me, illuminated by a dim light.
A belt rests in his right hand.
"Shirt off, Camilla." The familiar words seem to ring in the quiet space, with no other sounds there to interrupt.
Some invisible force - muscle memory, perhaps - makes me turn and do exactly that.
I don't know why I'm sweating, why I'm shaking, why I can't seem to take in enough air all of a sudden. I don't know why I can't seem to recall the plan I made for this fear. I was ready to attack J, while he looked a little like Marcus, in the last simulation - why should this one be any different?
But somehow, staring at Marcus' eyes, which look every bit as black, every bit as cruel as the real Marcus', I can't bring myself to stop what's about to happen.
Marcus' arm raises, and the belt flies over to rest behind his shoulder. I instinctively shrink back, waiting for the pain of the hit.
It comes sooner than I expected - pain explodes across my back, and I can't stop myself from holding in a cry. It's been so long since I experienced this, and I've grown weaker in that time.
No. Not weaker. Someone that sounds distinctly like my brother whispers in my head. Stronger.
But if I've grown stronger, then why am I not strong enough to face my father yet?
Tobias' voice has no answer to that.
Marcus tsks. "Sounds like someone has missed a few lessons." The belt strikes again, in the exact same spot as the first hit, and a tear escapes my eyes. "Remember, this is for your own good, daughter." Hit. Pain. I grit my teeth together. "Your brother didn't understand that. And look what happened to him. It was better for all of us, anyways."
The belt collides with my back yet again, but I don't register the pain this time. My attention is on Marcus' words. "Tobias?" My voice is bordering on hysterical, but I can't find it in myself to care. "What did you do to him?!"
Smack. I wince at the harder-than-normal hit. Marcus' angry voice accompanies it. "That's not how you talk to me, girl."
I swallow. "What happened to him, sir?" The falsely polite tone makes me want to vomit - Marcus doesn't deserve any semblance of respect from me, and never will - but I would endure anything for my brother.
"That's better." Hit. Pain. "But Tobias is none of your concern."
I feel like screaming, like turning to him, like forcing him into a chokehold and making him tell me. Because Tobias is my brother - if something happened to him- if Marcus did something to him - then it is my concern.
But the ever-present pain in my back reminds me why I can't do any of those things. If I do, Marcus will get mad, and then he'll hit harder, and then I'll bleed more, and I can't find Tobias, can't help him, if I'm dead.
It doesn't matter that Marcus is a simulation here - he's still alive, and as long as he is, he'll keep hurting us both, each and every single day, just with the thought of him.
Until we can escape his mental hold on us, we'll never truly be free.
Suddenly, I can empathize with Tobias and his continued entrance into the fear landscape a lot more. He keeps going in to check on his last fear, willing to brave the rest just to see if Marcus is still there. Because the day that Marcus disappears from my brother's fear landscape, that's the day Tobias will really be free.
My muscles are growing slack, as though they can't hold me up anymore. When I flinch at the next hit, my hand brushes the skin of my other arm. It feels cold, like I've just been outside in the snow.
But it isn't winter yet, is it? I can't remember...
My eyelids droop, and I suddenly have the urge to go to sleep, despite the pain still radiating from my back.
All of this should concern me, but, somehow, it doesn't. In some distant part of my mind, I can feel something wet dripping down my face and back, can recognize the symptoms of hypovolemic shock. It doesn't happen often, but after a few particularly brutal beatings, Tobias has nearly had to resort to taking me to the emergency room, because I'd lost so much blood. I've nearly had to do the same for him several times, too.
But this - this is a more severe case than any I've ever experienced before. And there's no Tobias to help me. There's nobody but me and Marcus, who continues his relentless assault on my back, unnoticing or uncaring of my state.
Another hit from the belt is the last thing I feel before my world goes black.
A/N: Our girl knows the symptoms of hypovolemic shock from experience. :( Nobody should have to know that...
But 8 fears! That's damn impressive. What do you guys think her time will be?
I don't think I described the technique that Cammi used to get J off of her in her second-to-last fear very well. I would recommend finding the video 'Women's Self-defense Technique - Man Pinning Both Wrists in Mount Position' by GracieBreakdown in YouTube if you want to see a visual representation of the technique. The video is very thorough, and I was glad to learn of this technique, so I could have it in my arsenal. And I'm assuming that Cammi knew enough about fighting to make this up on the spot, although that's probably a bit unrealistic. Whatever - it's not the first slightly unrealistic thing I've written.
Book time! I bring you...
The Princess and the Foal! (By Stacy Gregg)
This was the first real novel that I read, when I was very young, and I remember that I loved it. It's a novel about the real life princess and equestrienne Haya of Jordan, who receives a foal after the death of her beloved mother, the Queen of Jordan. And that foal ends up changing her life completely. I would really recommend you to read it!
Link to the author's page (the title for this one won't show, for some reason): http://stacygregg.co.uk/the-books/
As far as I'm aware, this book has no sequels.
Next chapter, Cammi spends some time with her friends, and deals with the slightly traumatic aftermath of the fear landscape.
Adios, mi increible lectores! Te veo pronto!