Rampant: A Divergent FanFiction (Book Two) ©

Chapter 4

                The bar wasn’t full when I walked in, and so it was easy for me to head over to the spot I usually occupied. I took the seat farthest from everyone, and then threw my jacket over the chair beside me to discourage anyone who might think I needed company.

                “Hey, what can I get you?” A voice I didn’t recognize asked.

                I looked up, and raised a brow; the bartender must’ve been new, because I was in here constantly and I’d never seen him before. I was about to tell him I just wanted a beer when his eyes suddenly widened and his mouth dropped open with a small gasp.

                “Dude, you’re the Monster!” He exclaimed. “I’ve been to all of your Lockdown fights. I’m a huge fan!”

                My subconscious groaned loudly, annoyed, but outwardly I just nodded. “That’s me.”

                “Your battle last month, the one where everyone had to fight with those spiked brass knuckles, was sick!” He continued; oblivious to my bored expression. “When that guy had you on the floor and kept punching you, I thought your winning streak might be over. I seriously don’t know how you kept going. God, and your shoulder, it looked like hamburger meat afterwards.”

                 “Yeah, about my drink–” I tried to interrupt.

                “Oh, but my favorite has to be the one where you fought with Dane the Devil Rogers. Do you remember?

                “Well, I was there,” I reminded him flatly, but again he seemed completely unaware of my tone.

                 “That was killer! All my friends said you were going to lose, but I knew better. Wow. And after he hit you with that thick chain, the one with the metal ball at the end, you had thee most gnarly bruises on your back for weeks! That must’ve hurt like hell.”

                “No. It was super pleasant and enjoyable–” I answered wryly; at this rate I was going to have to leave empty handed.

                As if in answer to my prayers; Tanner, the manager of the bar, walked over and saved me. Giving the new kid a single cautionary look, he nudged him out of the way. Then without having to ask, he opened and handed me a chilled bottle of beer.

               “Thanks,” I said gratefully.

               He nodded, wiped the counter a little, and then left. I liked him. He was a discreet man of few words, with thick serious eyebrows, a squared-off chin, and a no-nonsense attitude. I never had to worry about idle chit-chat with him around. I drank slowly, first one bottle, then two, then more, and as the familiar haze of apathy softened the edges of reality, I felt my tense muscles slowly uncoil.

               I both hated and loved the sensation.

               Everything was obscure; as if seen through a wall of thick mist. I could feel the unnatural warmness in my stomach. The quiet hum, it grew louder in my head; first annoying like an insect, then softer and softer. All the noises around me felt far away, distant, as if I were underwater and could only hear the echoes.

               I was detached from my body, like a ghost, and for an instant I wondered if there had been a breeze, would I have just disappeared like a wisp of smoke? I was a husk, a body without thoughts or emotions, and that was all I could see in my distant future. But what kind of life would that be? Was this as good as it was ever going to get? And if so, what was the point?