'Since all of you are transfers who aren't used to the physical aspect of Dauntless - two of you will get the day of every time,' says Four. I can't help but smile noticing I have no fights - and neither does Tris.
I look at Will beside me, who's sweating profusely. My eyes follow his, and land on his name. He's facing Al.
Al who is built like a tank. Will is definitely not winning this fight.
'What flowers will you like for your funeral,' I ask, turning to Will. 'Roses or tulips. To be honest, you seem like the type of guy who loves a bunch of exotic flowers.'
'Stop rambling,' says Will, and he looks very sick. 'It's making me feel worse.' I smile, patting him on the back.
'Don't worry Willie, you'll do great.' He stares at me; with the nickname I had given him - I don't particularly blame him.
'Willie?' I nod. He looked like he was on the verge of laughing. Or having a nervous breakdown. I'm not too good at reading people. 'Okay.'
That was surprisingly calm. Nodding, I move away from him - allowing him to question his life choices by himself, as I join the girls. And by join, I mean scared the living daylights out of them.
'I hope you burn in hell,' is what Tris says, as I laugh at their horrified expressions. I grin at her, flipping her off, before turning to follow their eyes.
They're looking at Peter, and his minions, Drew and Molly.
'Peter is pure evil,' says Christina, glaring scrutinizingly at the trio. I raise an eyebrow. 'Where we were kids, he would pick fights with people from other factions and then, when an adult came to break it up, he'd cry and make up some story about how the other kid started it. And of course, they believed him, because we were Candor and we couldn't lie. Ha ha.'
'Noted.' I look at the arena where the fight between Al and Will is taking place.
I'll say this in the nicest way possible - but Will's getting his butt handed to him by Al. I think this may be the last time I tease Al.
'And his evil minions?'
'Drew is just his sidekick. I doubt he has an independent thought in his brain. And Molly... she's the kind of person who fries ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them flail around.'
I scrunch up my nose. I hope when Christina fights Molly - she gives her a good beating. Hope. Molly's probably going to beat her up, but Christina's pretty determined. And brave.
In the arena, Al punches Will hard in the jaw. I wince. That must hurt. Across the room, Eric smirks at Al, and turns one of the rings in his eyebrow.
He's a sadist.
Simple.
Will stumbles to the side, one hand pressed to his face, and blocks Al's next punch with his free hand. Judging by his grimace, blocking the punch is as painful as taking the blow would have been.
Al might be slow, but he's powerful. He could he not be - every time he touches me, I'm afraid I'll break.
'I think they know we're talking about them,' whispers Tris. I follow her gaze once more to the evil trio of Candors, all of their heads together as they whisper like a bunch of gossiping girls.
'I think I'll have a talk to them,' I say, licking my lips.
'No, don't do that,' says Tris, sounding panicked.
I grin, and stride over to them. They stare at me as I walk over. I can feel Tris's worried gaze on me. She probably thinks I'm stupid. And sometimes, I may be.
'Hiya Petey,' I say, with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
He stares at me like I've grown an extra arm, making me frown in mock-disappointment.
'No, 'hey Ari, how are you doing on this fine day?' for me?' I asked, mimicking him, with a mockingly deep and gruff voice.
'How did you survive in Abnegation?'
'Very good acting. It's kind of why I transferred, that and the food,' I add as an afterthought. Peter stares at me.
'Why are you even talking to me?' he asks, completely ignoring his friends behind him.
'I want to hear the gossip,' I say, putting my arm on the shoulder of a very uncomfortable Peter. 'You seem to have a lot to say - why don't I listen?'
I turn to him, my grin gone to be replaced with a cold look. He swallows, and I see his Adam's apple bob as he does, before he smirks.
'I was just saying how good your a -' Nope. '- looks in that skirt.'
I turn red. Okay, Tris was right. I'll never admit it to her, but she was. I shouldn't have come. I try to walk away, but Peter grabs my arm, pulling him close to me.
'Aw, not so brave anymore?' tease Peter.
I push him away from me, perhaps not hard enough because he's still pretty close to me. Uncomfortably so.
'I think you should leave me alone,' I say quietly. 'Or I will permanently end your bloodline.' I lower my eyes, and I notice him back away.
With that I left, returning to Tris. Tris who is no longer with Christina, and seeing Four drag away Will's unconscious body, I think I have a hint as to why.
I look into the arena, where Christina is facing Molly, her eyes sparkling with determination. I look at Tris, who's staring blankly into the arena - not really watching the fight.
'Why are you red?' She suddenly asks, turning to face me. I gulp, but luckily, I am spared from answering as Christina kicks Molly in the side, resulting in a high-pitched shriek escaping her mouth. The fight has started.
Molly smirks at Christina, and without warning, dives, hands outstretched, at Christina's midsection. She hits her hard, knocking her down, and pins her to the ground. Christina thrashes, but Molly is heavy and doesn't budge.
She punches, and Christina moves her head out of the way, but Molly just punches again, and again, until her fist hits Christina's jaw, her nose, her mouth. I'm biting my nails, and they will probably be in ruins tomorrow, but that is not my concern.
Blood runs down the side of Christina's face and splatters on the ground next to her cheek. This is the first time I have ever prayed for someone to fall unconscious.
But she doesn't. Christina screams and drags one of her arms free. She punches Molly in the ear, knocking her off-balance, and wriggles free. She comes to her knees, holding her face with one hand.
The blood streaming from her nose is thick and dark and covers her fingers in seconds. She screams again and crawls away from Molly. I can tell by the heaving of her shoulders that she's sobbing, but I can barely hear her over the throbbing in my ears.
Please go unconscious.
Molly kicks Christina's side, sending her sprawling on her back. Tears are filling my green eyes - and Tris is hugging Al, in a desperate attempt to stop herself from seeing the horrific sight. Looking at Christina clutching her rib cage makes me want to stand between her and Molly.
'Stop!' wails Christina as Molly pulls her foot back to kick again. She holds out a hand. 'Stop! I'm...' She coughs. 'I'm done.'
Molly smiles, and I sigh with relief. Both Al and Tris seem a lot happier. But Eric, he is a different case.
Eric walks toward the centre of the arena, his movements slow, and stands over Christina with his arms folded. He speaks quietly, and his voice sends shivers down my spine.
'I'm sorry, what did you say? You're done?'
Christina pushes herself to her knees. When she takes her hand from the ground, it leaves a red handprint behind. She pinches her nose to stop the bleeding and nods.
'Get up,' he says.
If he had yelled, I might not have felt like everything inside my stomach was about to come out of it. If he had yelled, I would have known that the yelling was the worst he planned to do. But his voice is quiet and his words precise. He grabs Christina's arm, yanks her to her feet, and drags her out the door.
'Follow me,' he says to the rest of us.
And we do.
I feel the roar of the river in my chest, and it fills me with fear for what the sadist, otherwise known as Eric, has planned.
We stand near the railing. The Pit is almost empty; it is the middle of the afternoon, though it feels like it's been night for days.
If there were people around, I doubt any of them would help Christina. We are with Eric, for one thing, and for another, the Dauntless have different rules - rules that brutality does not violate.
Eric shoves Christina against the railing, almost making her topple over it.
'Climb over it,' he says.
'What?' She says it like she expects him to relent, but her wide eyes and ashen face suggest otherwise. Eric will not back down.
'Climb over the railing,' says Eric again, pronouncing each word slowly. 'If you can hang over the chasm for five minutes, I will forget your cowardice. If you can't, I will not allow you to continue initiation.'
The railing is narrow and made of metal. The spray from the river coats it, making it slippery and cold. Even if Christina is brave enough to hang from the railing for five minutes, she may not be able to hold on. Either she decides to be factionless, or she risks death.
When I close my eyes, I imagine her falling onto the jagged rocks below and shudder. I know what she's picking though.
I know, because if given the choice - I will pick the same.
'Fine,' she says, her voice shaking.
She is tall enough to swing her leg over the railing. Her foot shakes. She puts her toe on the ledge as she lifts her other leg over. Facing us, she wipes her hands on her pants and holds onto the railing so hard her knuckles turn white. Then she takes one foot off the ledge. And the other. I see her face between the bars of the barrier, determined, her lips pressed together.
Next to me, Al sets his watch, while I bite my lip. Biting it so hard, I can taste the blood in my mouth.
I couldn't care less.
For the first minute and a half, Christina is fine. Her hands stay firm around the railing and her arms don't shake. I start to think she might make it and show Eric how foolish he was to doubt her.
But then the river hits the wall, and white-water sprays against Christina's back. Her face strikes the barrier, and she cries out. Her hands slip so she's just holding on by her fingertips. She tries to get a better grip, but now her hands are wet.
If I help her, Eric will make my fate the same as hers. Will I let her fall to her death, or will I resign myself to being factionless? What's worse: to be idle while someone dies, or to be exiled and empty-handed?
Everyone in Abnegation already knows the answer - but I have proven many times, I am not for Abnegation.
As far as I know, Christina hasn't cried since we got here, but now her face crumples and she lets out a sob that is louder than the river. Another wave hits the wall, and the spray coats her body. One of the droplets hits my cheek.
Her hands slip again, and this time, one of them falls from the railing, so she's hanging by four fingertips.
'Come on, Christina,' says Al, his low voice surprisingly loud. She looks at him. He claps. 'Come on, grab it again. You can do it. Grab it.'
Would I even be strong enough to hold on to her? Probably - but will I? No. Because I am selfish. And disgusted by myself, but I won't.
I can't be factionless.
Not alone.
Christina swings her arm, fumbling for the railing. No one else cheers her on, but Al brings his big hands together and shouts, his eyes holding hers. I wish I could be brave like him - but I'm not. I'm a coward. A selfish coward who cares about no one but herself.
I stare at Al's watch. Four minutes have passed. He elbows me hard in the shoulder.
'One more minute!' I don't know what possessed me to say this, but I had to do something to assure Christina. Prove I am brave. That I do care. 'You can do it.'
'Come on Christina!' says Al, his voice now surprisingly joined by my own and Tris's. No one else is speaking - but we are. And I let that feeling of bravery surge through me. If she slips, I will help her - and Eric? He can go kiss my -
But if I help her, Eric would make my fate the same as hers. Will I let her fall to her death, or will I resign myself to being factionless? What's worse: to be idle while someone dies, or to be exiled and empty-handed?
My parents would have no problem answering that question.
But I am not my parents.
As far as I know, Christina hasn't cried since we got here, but now her face crumples and she lets out a sob that is louder than the river. Another wave hits the wall and the spray coats her body. One of the droplets hits my cheek. Her hands slip again, and this time, one of them falls from the railing, so she's hanging by four fingertips.
'Come on, Christina,' says Al, his low voice surprisingly loud. She looks at him. He claps. 'Come on, grab it again. You can do it. Grab it.'
Would I even be strong enough to hold on to her? Would it be worth my effort to try to help her if I know I'm too weak to do any good?
I know what those questions are: excuses. Human reason can excuse any evil; that is why it's so important that we don't rely on it. The words of my dead father. Words I should remember.
Christina swings her arm, fumbling for the railing. No one else cheers her on, but Al brings his big hands together and shouts, his eyes holding hers.
I wish I could; I wish I could move, but I just stare at her and wonder how long I have been this disgustingly selfish.
I stare at Al's watch. Four minutes have passed. He elbows me hard in the shoulder again, making me grunt in pain.
'Come on,' I say. My voice is a whisper. I clear my throat. 'One minute left,' I say, louder this time.
Christina's other hand finds the railing again. Her arms shake so hard I wonder if the earth is quaking beneath me, jiggling my vision, and I just didn't notice.
'Yeah, come on, Christina,' Al and I say, and as our voices join, I believe I might be strong enough to help her.
I will help her. If she slips again, I will.
Another wave of water splashes against Christina's back, and she shrieks as both her hands slip off the railing. A scream launches from my mouth. It sounds like it belongs to someone else.
But she doesn't fall. She grabs the bars of the barrier. Her fingers slide down the metal until I can't see her head anymore; they are all I see.
Al's watch reads 5:00.
'Five minutes are up,' he says, almost spitting the words at Eric. Eric checks his own watch. Taking his time, tilting his wrist, all while my stomach twists and I can't breathe. When I blink, I see Rita's sister on the pavement below the train tracks, limbs bent at strange angles; I see Rita screaming and sobbing; I see myself turning away.
'Fine,' Eric says, finally relenting. 'You can come up, Christina.' Al walks toward the railing, and I follow after him. 'No,' Eric says. 'She has to do it on her own.'
'No, she doesn't,' Al growls. 'She did what you said. She's not a coward. She did what you said.'
I've never admired Al more.
Eric doesn't respond. Al reaches over the railing, and he's so tall that he can reach Christina's wrist. She grabs his forearm. Al pulls her up, his face red with frustration, and I run forward to help. I grasp her hand and help Al haul her over the railing.
She drops to the ground, her face still blood-smeared from the fight, her back soaking wet, her body quivering. All of us kneel next to her. I'm still holding her hand.
'I'm sorry,' I whisper.
Christina gives me a weak smile.