Truth (a Divergent Fanfic)

Chapter Sixteen

Hey guys!

I'm just here to warn you that some of the content in this chapter may be found disturbing - it is meant to be. This topic (which I am furiously trying not to give away) is deadly serious and has harmed, both mentally and physically, a great many people, so it would do everyone good to be more aware of it.

Due to the fact that I have not experiences (and ferverently hope to never experience) the events of this fothcoming chapter, it may be innaccurate, but I have tried my level best to do it justice.

Please point out any mistakes, as I am still without editor. I have edited previous chapters and will hopfully upload the finished versions soon (no changes, just better grammar and spelling).

Thank you so much for reading, I love you all.

Rae x

*****

“There's so much sad gonna flood the ocean

We're all in tears for a world that's broken” ~ The Script, We Cry

*****

There is not enough space between us for me to feel comfortable anymore, so I push out with my hands and they make contact, but with the wrong things. Instead of allowing himself to be gently prized off and away from me, my shaking hands are encased in his own sweaty ones – anxiously, I try to pull away but the Candor trainer holds me fast and spreads out my fingers, one by one, to place my palms on his chest.

I should have known, I should have known. I should have told someone how every training session, his eyes were always locked onto me. I should have taken more notice, noticed what those intimate looks could have meant, but I was way too occupied in trying to first get Callie to notice me, and then to forget about me so I could sink back to what we used to be without her realizing my feelings. And now this.

I don’t even really know what to do anymore. But I know that I can’t give up, for Callie’s sake; I don’t want her to lose her best friend any more than I want to be lost. Callie. I can call out – I can shout out for help, for her.

“Callie!” I shriek, because I need someone to rescue me, and who better than the person who has become my knight in shining armour these past few weeks of training. One hand is released and seizing this opportunity, I call out again: “Callie!” But it’s too little too late because his hand is on my face and it’s muffling my voice, which is fast becoming my only hope – when I attempt to scream again, the sound is muted so much that even I can’t really hear it. My captor’s breathing is heavy with want, as is mine, but he wants me and I want out, not that I’m really getting a choice in the matter.

Using my hands, encased in his own, he pulls me up, fast, so that my lips are even closer to his. And I find myself hoping and wishing in everything I’ve ever believed in that he won’t do anything really, that the trainer will have the self-control to stop.

But he doesn’t. And I know that. But when I try to protest, to kick out, he wraps his leg around mine, pushing me closer against both himself and the wall. And it’s disgusting – I can feel his throbbing… thing, against the inside of my thigh. Callie, I love you. Callie, make it stop, make him go.

But the only thing I can see standing at the end of the corridor is my courage, which is too far away for me to reach it.

The Candor trainer’s fingers are shaking, I can see it as he unbuttons the top button of my blouse with one hand, while keeping the other over my mouth. And yet somehow I don’t think the action is prompted by fear, as mine are. Just get away from me. Get away!

These thoughts are made of pure fear, which triggers my eyes to well up. He looks up when one of these distraught tears finds its way down to where his hand is clamped over my voice and takes action, but not in the way I would want. He does not back away; he moves closer. He kisses me right on the bloody mouth.

I can’t scream, I can’t kick or hit him, I can’t run – what’s left? I don’t know, I don’t know! His lips move around mine and he slowly fingers the hem of my skirt – why does it have to be today that I picked the shortest one? He rubs his fingers in sensual circles on my bare thighs as he hitches the black fabric up and I start to breathe faster. Surely… no. No!

And then suddenly all the buttons on my white chemise are undone, leaving him staring perversely at my chest. As he swoops in for another lip wrestle, I’m screaming inside; roughly, he shoves his tongue in between my lips and the only thing I can think to get it out is to bite down on it hard, but if anything that just makes it worse. He groans against my mouth and the bulge against my thigh pushes further into my leg.

I’ve studied the human reproductive system enough times to know what must come next, and sure enough, his trousers are released at the waist so they fall in a pile to the ground and I have never seen anything less sexy than the turned on man in front of me who is inevitably going to… to rape me. So I’m almost thankful when his mouth dives back onto mine as though the two pairs of lips are north and south magnets, because at least his face is blocking the view.

My bra is unclipped and off and I’ve tried everything – hitting, screaming, biting, kicking – and by now I’ve succumbed to my fate. I try, in a last resort, to do what any respected Erudite would do and think my way out, but even that needs time and the end is fast approaching. The Candor trainer is all over me, touching and kissing and moaning with pleasure, and my terror and his groaning sounds are really disrupting my ability to reason.

And when the final moment comes, I turn my head away as pain shoots through my lower body. He takes his hand off my mouth while the pleasure I am unwillingly giving him sends him into spasms of delight and I scream and I scream and I scream.

Help, I shout, although I am unsure to whom I am shouting for. I am about to lose consciousness, I can tell, but I don’t mind – I never want to see the man who stands naked in front of me again. So I don’t mind if my eyes close, because nothing could possibly be worse than this here experience. Still, I shout and scream for all I am worth, until my voice is hoarse and croaky, but even then I keep going, because he is still going, still touching.

My vision is blurry with tears from the pain, and I am fighting hard against the wave of insanity that threatens to take me away from the tide. But before I give up, before I surrender to it all, I have to try just one more time.

I put my all into this final scream, and at this last shot, someone hears. My ears catch the sounds of footsteps, as fast as my heartbeat, and I can tell someone is coming, and whoever they are, I know I will be safer than I am now. I am scooped up, princess style into warm, strong and somehow familiar arms. I pathetically puke over their shoulder and it splatters all down their back but they don’t seem to notice and if they do they don’t care.

The jolting up and down that I am feeling as they sprint with me through the corridors, my still uncovered chest pressed against their body, is strangely calming, and it effectively rocks me to sleep. I welcome it – I am tired, vulnerable and hurting in more ways and more places than one and my heart aches to enter the dream-world, where nothing can hurt me.