✧∘ଂ ࿐ ཾ
[ i. one ! ]
❛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴛɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ ᴛᴇsᴛ ❜
SHE PLUNGED THE KNIFE INTO the dog's heart, it's teeth sunken deep into her shoulder as a small wail left its mouth, blood streaming down her right hand. There wasn't a single ounce of remorse coursing through her body, only satisfaction, knowing that she had completed the first obstacle of the test.
Chantara stood and clutched her bleeding shoulder — she knew it wasn't real because the bite had hurt, and in real life, pain wasn't nearly as painful. She had learned to swallow it like air, barely feeling it. But this: it hurt. Her eyes trailed the dog's frame, noticing the way its brown fur stopped rising and falling as the dog died, its eyes blank and the noir darkness staring back at her.
Her lips curled into a smirk as her surroundings changed: a morph of color sweeping past her, voices echoing in her ear.
The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a room full of beds lined up against each other. People were screaming and running beneath her, forcing the girl to rise. Heat glazed her face like fresh honey as she saw the flames travel closer to her from across the room. There was a fire. She jumped down from the cot and ran with the others towards the door, her pulse rising immensely as sparks of the flame reached her heels.
There came screams from the fire, alarming her that some had not made it.
Chantara collided with the ground as people pushed past her, her fingers curling around the dirt beneath her, as fresh air entered her smoke-filled lungs. She coughed, a breath of relief escaping her.
"Here," a voice materialized. Black boots were inches from her face and as she looked up, she was met with a hand. Grasping it, she stood and faced the man. He looked her deeply in the eyes, his gaze ice-cold. "Are you alright?" She nodded. "Do you know who did this?" he asked, not letting go of her hand.
She shook her head. "No. I–I don't think so."
"Are you sure?" His grip tightened, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of flinching. "Take a look around."
She obeyed and let her eyes dance around the crowd of shaken teenagers. There were none she recognized. And then she saw him. That same face which had caused her so much horror, that same nose that buckled like no other, and those eyebrows which were thick like caterpillars. A sneer grew on his lips as they locked eyes. She felt fear and hatred coarse through her body as she answered. "On second thought, I think he did it."
"Are you sure?" The man asked, finally letting go of her.
"Yes. Positive," she lied.
He squinted his eyes. "If he isn't the one, you do realize he will be punished as guilty." The man's face was disoriented, almost blurry, and she knew he wasn't real by the look of him. "Death is the penalty, therefore there can't be any hesitation in the accusation, do you understand that?"
"I do," Chantara said coldly. "Good thing he isn't innocent then."
A gasp escaped her lips as she awoke from the simulation, icicles streaming through her veins, sending shivers down her spine and pricking her skin with fair goosebumps. Her stomach somersaulted, she felt as if she was about to throw up, the acid feeling crawling up her throat. But she swallowed it and took a deep breath. She relaxed her hands which had been tightly clenched into fists, turning her knuckles ghostly pale and digging her nails into her skin, blood painting the tips of her fingers.
It was almost a good sensation.
The Abnegation woman administring her aptitude test looked away from the computer screen and squinted her eyes at the girl dressed in blue, her head tilting slightly. "When you were in the simulation," she started with a soft voice, her hands resting on the bridge och Chantara's shoulder. "Were you aware that it wasn't real?"
She felt her heartbeat rising, pounding hard against her eardrums — it was exactly like She had warned. Her mother had said that they might ask her about the simulation, and she also informed her exactly what she would answer.
Yes, a part of her wanted to say. It would mean she'd go against Mother and there was nothing she craved more. But Chantara swallowed her pride and shook her head; like she had practiced countless times. "No... W–what, was I supposed to?" Her voice stuttered weakly as her eyebrows creased in worry.
Pathetic, she thought to herself. But necessary.
The woman's features softened into a smile as she shook her head and turned off the computer. "No, you weren't." She faced her. "It's just a safety precaution. Don't worry, you did well."
"What were my results?" She asked impatiently, although she already knew the answer. She had prepared for it: manipulated the simulation to her advantage. Just like she had been taught her entire life.
"Dauntless, without a doubt."
"Oh..." A triumphant expression fought for dominance over her facial muscles but she pushed them back, still holding on to the act of an innocent and scared little girl from Erudite.
"Are you displeased with your results?" The woman asked. "During the test, you sure seemed to know your decisions, there's no question of your bravery if that's what you're worried about."
Yes. "No — Well, I don't know..." Chantara sat up and rubbed her palms against her trousers, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. "I wasn't really thinking while I was doing it, it just sort of happened... I guess it wasn't what I was expecting." The lies were seeping through her lips like air: effortless. "But I don't think my mom will be so pleased."
The Abnegation woman helped her up from the chair and looked deeply into her eyes. "This isn't about her, it's about you." She led her towards the door and patted her shoulder before opening it. "Only you can know what your heart truly desires."
"Thanks," Chantara muttered as she stepped out into the hall, the fluorescent light bouncing off her head. "For the advice, I mean."
"My pleasure," she replied. She closed the door but let her face poke out in the last second as she whispered: "Good luck."
She shot her a forced smile and as soon as the echo of the door closing bounced off the walls, it faltered. Chantara turned around and made her way back to the cafeteria where the others were sitting. Her usual expression finally lacing her features as she thought about what had just happened.
She had succeeded.
All her life Mother had told her about the Aptitude Test, and the way the simulation functioned (working for the Erudite government certainly gave her some advantages), and ever since she had turned eleven, Chantara had been trained. She had been preparing for the test; how to get through each obstacle to reach a clear result as Erudite; to act like a helpless little girl who didn't know better. And today, as she stood there at the age of sixteen, she had completed both tasks. But, little did Mother know that whilst she had been preparing her for Erudite, the girl had been creating her own path. A path to Dauntless. A path to freedom.
Her eyes travel around the faces of her peers as she entered the cafeteria, the way they were all divided in colors made her frown. She never understood why it was necessary to force people to act a certain way, and to look a certain way. It didn't feel right. She made her way over to the table filled with blue teenagers reading books and sat down next to a blonde, muscular boy with a sharp jaw.
Edward shut his book immediately. "How did it go?" he asked, anticipation in his voice. They weren't exactly friends, at least not in her eyes (but he often referred to her as one of his). Chantara used to say that she didn't need friends, that they weren't necessary, and therefore he was the closest thing she had to one.
But still: not a friend.
"Alright," she bluntly replied, not facing him.
"C'mon! Can't you tell me anything?" He pressed, bumping her shoulder, to which she sent him a glare and bumped him even harder back. Edward laughed at her stiffness, it had always amused him in a certain way (and also scared him; not that he would admit to it though).
The expression on her face was impossible for him to read: was she angry, sad, happy, disappointed? He didn't know. Chantara leaned over and rested her elbows on her knees, watching the boy in the corner of her eyes. "I guess you'll have to see tomorrow, at the ceremony."
Edward frowned. "Okay... Okay fine." He leaned in a little closer, and she leaned farther away from him. "All I'm gonna say is that our years of studying martial arts, will pay off, I think," he whispered.
Oh, she thought. It will.
She nodded but didn't reply, not wanting to drag out the conversation longer than necessary. He returned to his book with a small smile tugging at his lips, as she continued to stare at the other tables divided in colors, her usual, dead expression painting her features. If she understood what he said, Edward had gotten a similar result as her: Dauntless. She didn't know what she felt about it, maybe it would be nice to (kind of) know someone, or maybe that's the last thing she wanted.
Chantara looked at the people dressed in black from across the room, and the only thing repeating in her mind was: tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
✧∘ଂ ࿐ ཾ
HIS SHOES WERE STILL standing in the hallway just beside the entrance on the black rug just beneath the door; his coats still hung on the left wall and grazed her shoulder as she passed by; his hats still resting atop of the shelf. It smelled of him, the mixture of cigarette smoke and the men's 2-in-1 soap which still stood in the shower. Chantara had always hated that smell, wanting to light everything he had owned on fire to get rid of him.
It seemed, that killing him hadn't removed his presence from her entirely, and she hated him for it. The way he clung to her like a tick; impossible to remove without it leaving some kind of residue.
Her mother was standing with her arms folded over her chest, leaning against the doorframe as she watched her daughter untie her shoes. Her brown hair was neatly cut in bob right below her chin, her sharp jaw and nose prominent under the dim light, cascading a hollow shadow over her features. Her lips were painted a nude color as she smacked them together.
She wore the same expression she always wore: a slight raise to her eyebrows to hide her hooded eyelids (which she hated), and her lips pressed in a thin line. There had only been three occasions in which Chantara had witnessed a different expression on Mother's face; the first being when her brother chose Erudite on his Choosing Ceremony all those years ago; second, the day her brother died; and third, last week, when her husband died.
Never had that stone-cold expression faltered when she looked at her daughter. Not even once. Not even when she would watch Father push her against the furniture, Chantara being a small, helpless girl who cried for help. Not even when Father would punch her relentlessly for the smallest of things, like forgetting to do the dishes or not putting her shoes aligned with the others in the hall.
Chantara hadn't only inherited her emotionlessness from her years of beating, but also from her mother.
"Well?" The woman dressed in blue asked.
Chantara didn't meet her stare as she removed her shoes and placed them next to His. "What?" she spat, instantly regretting it.
"Don't use that tone with me," her mother scolded, disappointment seeping through her lips. "You should know better by now." She exhaled. "Tell me about your aptitude test."
"I got Erudite," Chantara lied, pocketing her hands in her dark blue trousers. "It was like you told me, everything worked out as planned. So it wasn't really a surprise." She hated the innocence in her voice, lighter than usual, and wavier than it should be. Chantara had to force herself to speak like that, because there were three people she didn't dare to use her usual tone with, her mother being one of them.
"And, did you get anything more than that?"
"No."
"Were you aware that you were in a simulation, like I told you might be?"
Yes. "No."
"Very well," Mother said approvingly. She turned on her heel and made her way to the kitchen, her feet clicking on the wooden floor. "You know which chores you have, might as well get right on with them," she called over her shoulder. "Oh, and I've ironed your dress for this weekend, remember the funeral starts at twelve."
Chantara's face turned pale. "Oh, thanks."
"Thank you!" Mother corrected.
"Thank you..."
She entered the living room and made her way to one of the bookshelves covering the wall. Her fingers slipped around a book about anatomy and she took it before making her way up the stairs. A breath escaped her as she reached the top, she had an hour of peace before she had to engage in the soul-crushing conversation about her Father's funeral.
Chantara hadn't planned on attending his funeral, partly because she had never like funerals, watching people cry and talk about the dead, and partly because she didn't want to show respect to a man who had not earned hers. She refused to buy him flowers, to place them on his grave and fake cry. She refused to pretend to be a daughter who loved her father.
She wouldn't have done it if she respected him; she wouldn't have done it if she had loved him like a real father.
Chantara clutched the book to her chest as she walked past her brother Frederick's room. It had been empty for more than three years now, and Mother still folded his clothes, made his bed and dusted his shelves every Sunday, like he would one day return.
But people don't come back from the dead.
Frederick had been three years and eleven months older than her, but he still used to make her feel incredibly small when she stood beside him. His hair was just as dark as hers, the siblings sharing the same strong jaw and pointed nose which they had inherited from both parents. Despite the age difference, they could easily pass off as twins due to her early maturity and his late one.
There wasn't a single ounce in her body which missed her bother, just like there wasn't a single one missing her father. In her eyes, they were the same.
Her reflection stared back at her as she entered her own room at the very end of the hall, the tall mirror placed on the wall opposite of the door staring back at her. The bags under her eyes were prominent from where she was standing, and as she made her way closer to it, the bruise on her left cheekbone materialized. It was fresh, the tint a pale yellow, which she knew would turn darker with time. Her hands grazed it, the pain sending shocks through her body — a delightful pain.
She placed the book on her desk next to the mirror, taking our a post-it pad and a black pen. The tip hovered above the surface of the paper for a few moments as she contemplated on what to write — she wanted it to be short but informative. She wanted it to feel like a knife to the chest, a knife that kept twisting deeper and deeper. She wanted it so be soul-crushing.
I want you to know it was me.
Chantara wrote the words on the yellow post-it, removing it and sticking it in the center of her mirror, for her mother to see when the time was right. She knew that Mother would understand exactly what it meant and that was the whole point. She was also aware that there was nothing Mother could do to punish her once she was gone, since her reputation in the Erudite government was too important, and something like this would disrupt it (also because she would be in another Faction, becoming someone else's responsibility)
Chantara had Mother twirled around her little finger, and it felt like a surge of power. She smiled deviously and looked herself in the eyes, her head lowering in a small nod. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
✧∘ଂ ࿐ ཾ
[ i. ali's note ! ]
oh... you're in for an angsty and dark ride
with chantara. she's one the verge on being
called a psychopath, because she lacks remorse
and legit blocks out pain. her journey is going
to be long and tough, but i promise you it'll be
worth it, because she is lovable, even though
she thinks she isn't
thank you for reading the first chapter!!
i really hope you liked it, and if u did please
don't hesitate to vote and leave a comment
ilyyyyyy <3