❝ I knew, from that moment on,
that nobody could ever confess,
they love me, without the splintered thought of you
running through my mind.
Consciously or not, my soul will always be tangled
with you. ❝
Aurora Matthews, the daughter of Jeanine Matt...
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From the fight I had yesterday and my conversation with Tori yesterday, I knew I needed to get my name above the red line to keep myself safe for the meantime, no one can know. No one.
Quietly, slipping out of my bed, I grabbed my boots and silently ran out of the room. Wearing a revealing white tank top and combat trousers, I ran out of the district into the town. It was still dark with some lights gleaming. I started running around the path we had taken from the day before.
Across the street the factionless were asleep in their insulated sheets, the city was almost deserted and only the thumps from my feet were to be heard. My breathing got deeper as I struggled to maintain a pace. I wasn't use to running but, I needed to be. Sometimes I forget that I'm not only up against initiates, I'm up against Dauntless born, and all of us equally want to be above the line.
Coming back before seven I walked into the training arena. I stared at the orange bags as I tied my hair back. I made an attempt to lightly hit the bag. A burning sensation filled my knuckles, I can already feel the raw bruises beginning to form. I was tired, but i kept telling myself to keep going. Tori's words echoed in the room. They can't find out about me, I need to blend in, I need to be tough and if being tough means to keep fighting and punching until I scar then I will have to do that.
My arm rose up to brush the sweat off my forehead as I continued to punch the bag. My wandering thoughts stopped as faint steps stormed behind me. Whoever had walked in they didn't stop me from punching the bag again.
Later in the day when the remaining members awoke from their sleep and into the room with mats and punching bags, Eric and Four gathered us round and explained that in the morning we will stick to training and, in the afternoon, we will resume with the fights. Everyone then branched off to their own place and began practicing, working on what they learnt from the day before.
Four wanders through the crowd of initiates, watching us as we go through the movements again. I was back at the orange punching bag from earlier that morning. I notice him from the corner of my eye as he slowly walks down the room and he stops in front of me, my insides twist like someone's stirring them with a fork. He stares at me, his eyes following my body from my head to my feet, not lingering anywhere—a practical, scientific gaze.
I hit the bag twice out of frustration as my hands are bruised purple.
"You're weak. You don't have much muscle," he says. I try to ignore him by continuing with the punches, but he walks over to the other side of me.
"Don't you think I'm aware that I'm not the strongest?" I bluntly spoke, keeping my eyes on the punching bag.
"You're never going to win. Not like that." He states, focussing on my movements.
"Well, that's good to know."
"You're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."
