Divergent: Before We Chose

Page Twenty-Four

Beatrice

My first night sleeping in the factionless camp is strange and lonely. I sleep on a crate - it's wooden, hard and uncomfortable. More than once I find myself imagining the gray sheets from my bed at home surrounding me, keeping me warm and safe. But I'm not safe - not here. There is a continous stream of noise in the warehouse - spluttered coughs, grumbling, snoring, and even the sound of the coal in the fire shifting. This is the worst night's sleep I've ever had.

I doze off for a couple of minutes at a time, but by the time sunlight begins to stream through the windows, I know it is too late to sleep. I'm just about to turn over again on the crate when someone grabs my shoulder.

"Ssh!" Tobias says just before I scream. I glare and him at sit up, pulling away harshly from his grip. I still don't trust him fully.

"What are you doing up so early?" I ask, faking a yawn, but he gives me an unamused look.

"I saw you tossing and turning all night - don't pretend I woke you."

"You were watching me sleep?"

That seems to catch him out, and he pauses for a second, rolling back on his heels and clasping his hands together. He dodges the question, and part of me smiles coyly. "Today, we're training."

"Training for what?" I ask as he stands up. I'm getting kind of sick of him not answering my questions.

Then, he looks at me and grins, and says. "The war."

We go to a secluded spot in the connecting warehouse where the factionless do not sleep. It is a bigger area, more well lit, though there are shadowy corners here and there that make me nervous.

"In Abnegation, we're taught that strength comes from selflessness. We're taught that we're our strongest when we're helping someone else and not serving ourselves," he says as he pull dusty equipment from the corner. An assortment of large leather bags lie on the floor. They resemble punching bags or the sort of equipment used in a sport called boxing long ago. From what I know, only the Dauntless practice a variation of this sport nowadays. So why does Tobias have them?

"In a war, being selfless will not help you. If your enemy runs out of ammunition, handing them bullets will not give you strength," he continues his monologue. "This is just the belief of our faction. In Erudite, knowledge gives strength. In Amnity, it's love and acceptance. In Candor, it's the truth."

He grabs a pile of bandages from the ground and begins to wrap his knuckles in a way I've never seen before. He obviously knows what he's doing - he doesn't even have to look as he wraps his hands. "War is only natural. It's human nature. You read any history book and you'll see that there has always been evidence of war. It's inevitable. That doesn't mean we agree with it, but when there's a war on your doorstep, you can't tell it to come back later. You have to be prepared."

Tobias steps over one bag and with both his hands he launches it at me with a force that almost knocks me over. It hits me hard in the stomach and I am winded and angry. He gestures to me to hold it up in front of my torso like I'm holding a mirror for him to look into. I do so, scowling.

"When it comes down to it, there's only one faction that would really be able to handle the physical combat of war - Dauntless."

"Is that why you chose it?" I ask. Something flickers across his face, an emotion that is secret, but he doesn't answer me. "What does this have to do with me?" I try again.

"I'm training you so that when war comes, you're ready," he explains, holding up his fists.

"Ready for what?"

Tobias grins, and it's a ghost of a smile, ominous. "Anything."

With that, he launches himself at me, beating the punching bag I'm holding with a skill and precision that almost knocks me over. After only a couple of moments I'm breathing hard and my arms are aching from clinging onto the bag.

"Good work," he smiles, panting a little, though he's barely broken a sweat. He was only with Dauntless for a couple of days, but already I can see the glint in his eye, the adrenaline he gets from physical exertion. 

I drop the bag and stare at my hands. They are red and some of my nails are bloody from holding on, but I did it. I look up just as Tobias flings the bandages at me, and I assume it's to wrap my wounds.

"Tie it around your knuckles," he intructs, holding up his hands to give me an example.

"Why?" I ask, but then I realise why. He bends down, picking up the bag with one graceful swoop, and holds it up.

'Your turn."

I really wish I had gotten sleep last night.