Stay Away | Eric Coulter [1]

twenty-one

ERIC

    As I pull the door to my room- which is big enough to be a whole-ass apartment- shut, I hear the similar slam of the door coming from the room across from mine.

"Ah, fuck," I curse under my breath, turning to bring myself face-to-face with fucking Four.

As fate would have it, I had been assigned the room right across from the little shit-head after initiation. I've never been a religious person. But if there is really a god up there, they sure as fuck aren't earning any brownie points from me since they've been making me put up with having to look at his ugly mug for years now. Just my fucking luck, I guess.

"Damn, it's like you get more hideous every fucking time I see you," I say when he glares back at me.

The guy remains as stoic as ever, reminding me of why I hated him so much in the first place. Four was one uptight fucker that never could take a joke. At least in my experience.

He doesn't bother to spare me a reply and I roll my eyes, turning to leave when his voice stops me mid-step.

"Why her?" He growls. Four doesn't have to mention her name for me to know who he was referring to. "You could have anyone you'd like. Why her?"

"I don't want anyone else," I simply reply.

"You can't have her."

"Now, now, Four." I drawl patronisingly. "It's not really your call to make, is it?"

"If you touch a hair on her head-"

My laughter cuts Four's warning short and I take a threatening step towards him, bringing up toe-to-toe as we stared down at each other.

"You think you can stop me from getting what I want?" I scoff, "The only person who has a say in this is her. If she wants me to fuck off, then fine. I will. But she's never said that. Unless she does, there is nothing in this world that is going to keep me away from her. Least of all you."

I reach up, tapping him on the cheek twice tauntingly. As always, he doesn't react. But if the tick in his jaw is anything to go by, I'd say he's pissed as fuck.

As I strolled down the hallway away from him, I flip him off over my shoulder without so much as a backward glance. Judging by the glare I could feel against the back of my head, he'd seen it and just the thought of that brings a smile to my face.

As I cut through the Pit, the sound of skin slapping against leather draws my attention to the hideous orange punching bags.

Like temptation in the flesh, Nessa stands before the bag with her brows drawn together in concentration and her hair piled up on top of her head in a bun that she pulls off effortlessly.

Even from where I'm standing, I could tell that she was exhausted. My suspicions are backed up even further by the heavy bags under her eyes.

Derailing off my intended path, I make my way toward her instead. I never could resist being in her presence.

"What are you still doing up?" I demand when I draw closer, "It's late. Go to bed."

I know for a fact that she'd been on the roof training with her Dauntless-born friends for several nights in a row now, including earlier tonight. I'd overheard them making plans about it a couple of nights ago and had seen them hauling some sparring mats up to the roof.

She's been overworking herself in preparation for her final fight, but I suspect the anxiousness of potential getting her ass kicked isn't what's eating at her.