Pit

Chapter 9

TOBIAS POV

Sometimes, the pain isn't so bad.

Sometimes, I can bite into my hand and the agony from the lashes can be rerouted to something more bearable. Sometimes, it feels as if my father has flayed my back to the point that all the scarred skin is permanently numb.

But not tonight.

Tonight the belt is excruciatingly violent. He might as well be peeling off the most sensitive layers of skin with a knife because I don't know how it could get much worse than this. At this point I can't even recall what I did to make him so unhinged, with my head swimming through fiery torment.

"I will not have a lousy degenerate living under my roof!" my father roars as the belt bites into my back again.

My teeth sink into my tongue to refrain from crying out. Blood leaks into my mouth from the wound, and the metallic taste makes me gag. But I can't vomit; I'm not sure the madness would ever end if I made a mess on his carpet.

Eventually, in the middle of bracing for another blow, I feel nothing. I know better than to let my guard down, so I keep my forehead pressed to the floor as I catch my breath, praying that he is finished for tonight. My eyes slip shut as aftershocks of pain make me shudder.

"One day you will thank me for this," he sneers. "One day you will understand the lengths I would go to to make you a man. One day you will adopt my same habits because you will realize that the world is cruel, and being cruel is the only way to keep up with it."

The belt clinks as it falls next to my face. His footsteps pound as he exits my bedroom, and I curl my fingers into the carpet in relief.

When I am sure his door is shut, I let the tears fall.

I lost control.

That was it, a one-time accident. A fluke. I was livid, but I acted out to abuse the abuser, so it is justified.

Right?

The mist from the chasm's water dots my hands, making my knuckles sting and reminding me of what I did. When I glance down at them, I notice that I wasn't able to scrub all of the blood off from between my fingers.

It wasn't that severe. I stopped before any real damage could be done. This incident doesn't define me because it isn't a common occurrence.

But my false reassurances are just that. How many times did I fight for entertainment in this last year? What about the boy whose face I smashed for his degrading comments toward Shauna? Even further back, what about the way I pummeled Drew for his and Peter's stunt with Tris at the chasm? And even during the war, despite it being primarily political, I found it in me to beat my father in the Candor cafeteria.

And now, this.

My throat tightens when I catch my split knuckles in my peripheral vision. I remember the sound of Bryce choking on blood.

I don't want to be like this. I never wanted to be like this.

With my self-worth plummeting back to worse than its normal state, I can't help but be disappointed when Tris finds me, sinking onto the rock next to me. For some asinine reason she loves me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that she will try to justify and bury yet another violent outburst.

She stays silent, and for a moment we watch the water rush beneath us.

"How long have you been here?" she eventually asks.

"I don't know. How long has it been since..."

"A few hours."

"Then a few hours," I reply.