𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒.
chapter five; Going Head To Head
" You're too desperate, you want too much. "

  FIGHTING EACH OTHER. Today, they would be fighting each other. 

  Marlowe was less worried than Persephone— or she was better at hiding it. 

  "I'm just glad I'm not fighting you," Persephone whispered to Marlowe, nervously fiddling with her fingers as Four finished chalking up the matches. 

  "I have a feeling all of us will have to fight each other," Marlowe mumbled, "That's. . ."

  "Sadistic?" Persephone suggested, "God, I can't fight you."

  "We'll worry about it if and when the time comes," Marlowe gently assured, sending a soft smile to Persephone, "For now; beat that Candor's ass."

  Persephone let out an airy laugh, shaking her head as Four began speaking.

  "Today you're fighting in pairs," He announced, clearly not beating around the bush, "Luke and Sam; you're up first."

  Marlowe crossed her arms as two boys made their way to the area. They were about the same height, but Sam had broad shoulders, clear muscles, where Luke was thin— almost sickly thin.

  "Hey," Persephone whispered, nudging Marlowe as the boys lifted their fists, "Eric's here."

  Marlowe couldn't help it as her head whipped around, eyes landing on that familiar boy. He was leaning against a wall, further back than the rest of them, and once her eyes met his he smirked, lifted a brow, and nodded back towards the arena.

  She turned back to the boys, watching as Sam took a heavy swing, one which Luke dodged quickly. 

  It was an interesting match, to be fair. Sam was going for brute force, but Luke was nimble. He dodged almost everything, but where he fell short was the lack of aggression. Within five minutes, Luke had thrown maybe three punches.

  Then it hit Marlowe.

  "He's tiring Sam out," Marlowe whispered, "Holy shit."

  "That's smart," Persephone replied, "I wonder if—"

  Before she could finish her thought, the hope that Luke may come out on top, Sam's frustration materialized into a brutal punch that landed right on Luke's temple. 

  Persephone looked away as Sam continued to pummel helpless Luke and only stopped when Four announced he had won. He was done.

  The matches started going faster and faster. They weren't paired with fair opponents, in Marlowe's mind, but she knew if she were to argue, Four would simply say size had nothing to do with a fight or something frustratingly condescending about how little she knew.

  "Persephone and Erin."

  "You got it," Marlowe whispered as Persephone dried her sweaty palms quickly, approaching the arena.

  Marlowe felt a presence replace Persephone's just as the raven-haired girl lifted her fists, clearly trying to shake nerves.

  "She'll lose."

  "No, she won't."

  Eric cocked a brow, crossing his arms to match Marlowe.

  "Making it through initiation is more important than making friends."

  "I won't be the only one making it into Dauntless," Marlowe mumbled, "She'll make it, too."

  Erin quickly took sloppy attempts to hit Persephone. Marlowe had to hold herself back from cheering as Persephone dodged them— and when one landed, she didn't seem affected.

  "She hasn't proved that she has anything but peace in her," Eric commented, turning to peer at Marlowe when she remained silent, "She won't hit back. So she won't win."

  "We're fighting for our lives," Marlowe said quietly, "This isn't Amity. She'll hit back."

  Persephone and Erin circled the ring a couple of times, Erin continuing to throw punches that Persephone dodged.

  Until Erin attempted to hit Persephone's cheek, and the girl caught her fist. They both looked like deers in headlights for a moment, but quickly Persephone snapped out of it and twisted Erin's arm, earning a yelp from the girl. 

  In a matter of seconds, Erin was on the ground with her arm behind her back, begging to tap out.

  Persephone wanted it to stop almost as much as Erin did.

  "Persephone wins," Four finally announced, noting on the chalkboard almost boredly.

  Erin was released as the syllables left his mouth.

  "She won."

  Eric tilted his head, sucking his teeth.

  "She never hit back."

  Marlowe looked to Eric, who stared at the chalkboard before meeting her eyes.

  "Marlowe and Bishop."

  Eric raised his eyebrows, a smirk on his lips as Marlowe left him behind, making her way to the place Persephone stood moments prior.

  Bishop was a few inches taller than Marlowe, but luckily he seemed to have a medium build. Not too scrawny, not too full of brute force. 

  Though, by the look on his face, he wouldn't go down easy.

  Marlowe lifted her hands, as did Bishop.

  Neither wanted to take the first swing.

  Marlowe raised a brow at the boy, who shrugged lightly.

  So, she did the rational thing. Marlowe sent a punch flying. A calculated one, unlike the sloppy hits Luke had attempted. Bishop blocked it, as she knew he would, but before she had her second arm back and attempted the same thing she just had.

  Marlowe wasn't sure what lucky omen she'd come across, but she decided at the last second instead of trying to block with one arm, she'd simply drop.

  Bishop was clearly surprised by his opponent nearly hitting the floor, but it got her out of his grasp.

  They danced around the arena for far too long. Avoiding the entire purpose they were there. Neither was willing to throw sloppy punches, both wishing their opponent were less thought-oriented.

  "If one of you doesn't throw a punch soon, I'll get up there!"

  Marlowe was shocked by Eric's comment, but it seemed to light a fire beneath Bishop's ass, as the boy was suddenly coming in hot.

  Marlowe was furiously blocking, dodging— it was a fury of flying fists, and she was simply in self-preservation mode. At some point, she felt a fist land in her stomach, but it seemed to hurt Bishop just as much as it hurt her. This was her opportunity.

  It was her turn to switch from defense to offense, her turn to show that she could do more than just avoid.

  She landed a punch, as it seemed he was avoiding the use of his right hand. So after burrowing a punch in his abdomen, Marlowe grabbed his hand and twisted his thumb. 

  Bishop let out a cry of pain, but Marlowe didn't falter. In fact, once the girl let herself steal a glance at Eric, she decided this wasn't enough. 

  In a style far more like Luke than Persephone, Marlowe kicked Bishop's feet from beneath him, lacking the grace of a trained fighter, and managed to sneak an arm beneath his chin, pulling tightly on his neck.

  Bishop's gasps for help faded into nothing but background noise as Marlowe's eyes met Four's— he was nothing short of shocked.

  A boy who had previously seemed so much more Dauntless than the girl who wandered in cloaked in gray, gasping for air right beneath Marlowe's stony face.

  "Marlowe wins."

  The brunette let Bishop go quickly, almost shoving him off of her as she stepped down from the makeshift arena. 

  "That's it for today," Four announced evenly, "Some of you weren't an embarrassment. The rest of you should've stayed where you came from."

  Marlowe raised an eyebrow at his speech.

  "Report to the train tracks at 6 AM tomorrow," He continued, "If you're late, you're left behind."

  Four clapped once, silently dismissing the initiates, and most of them quickly dispersed— the ones still standing, at least.

  "Hey, Lowe, do you want to—"

  "You're dismissed," Four told Persephone, sidling up to Marlowe, "She's not."

  Persephone's face melted, worriedly looking to Marlowe who held a stone stare.

  "It's fine, Perse," Marlowe assured, mustering all of her courage to cover up the worry building in her stomach, "I'll meet you and East later, 'kay? Maybe we'll finally get a stupid tattoo or something."

  Persephone let out a weak smile, nervously looking between her friend and Four before dipping her head and scurrying out of the room.

  "You were going to knock him out, if not worse."

  "You called it before anything happened, what's the problem?" Marlowe questioned seriously, subconsciously running her fingers over her knuckles— shockingly, the ones on her right hand had become wounded, split open, stinging as her fingertips grazed over them.

  "The aim is to win, not kill."

  Maybe it'd happened when she hit Bishop's stomach— though, that didn't make much sense.

  "I wasn't going to kill him."

  Was it when he caught her hand? Maybe he'd dug his fingernails into her knuckles so deeply blood sprung from them.

  "You seemed like you were."

  Marlowe's eyes left Four's, dipping down to her fists. Four watched as she attempted to brush away blood, the girl sucked her teeth as she saw four crescent-shaped cuts on her knuckles, confirming her theory.

  "You should've wrapped your hands."

  "Why am I here?"

  "Because you're my initiate, not Eric's," Four spoke bluntly, turning around and crossing the room to open a small cabinet, "If him being here is going to turn you into a lunatic who tries to kill an initiate who has decent potential—"

  "Geez, I didn't know you were such a softie," Marlowe muttered, allowing Four to pull her hand open, inspecting the bloodied area.

  "I'm not."

  She winced as he carelessly poured what she assumed to be alcohol on the cuts, quickly dabbing it with a paper towel.

  "I can tell."

  Four glared, securing gauze around her wrist before wrapping each finger individually.

  "Look, you're strong," Four admitted, crossing his arms once he was finished, "But you're too. . ."

  "Too what?"

  "You're too desperate," He said bluntly, "You want too much."

  "Careful, your Abnegation is showing."

  The panic on Four's face went as quickly as it came.

  "Focus on getting through initiation without making enemies," He advised, "Trust me."

  Marlowe studied him for a moment. How his eyes seemed genuine, his posture wasn't so rigid anymore, his lips were tight but not in a way of anger— in the way her father's often sat when he asked her to be more selfless.

  "You want us to be brave. Strong. No weaknesses."

  "It's not about no weaknesses," Four said honestly, letting his arms fall to his sides, "It's about overcoming them. Just like bravery isn't about not having fear, it's about not letting fear stop you."

  Marlowe nodded slowly, watching Four turn around—it seemed he was done with the conversation, as he began erasing the chalkboard.

  "Can I ask you something, Four?"

  "Is it about who I am?"

  "No."

  He tilted his head, "Sure."

  "Is Eric a bad person?"

  Four turned his head, inspecting her change in behavior— nerves overcame her, they bubbled to the surface so instantly.

  "I don't think anything I say will change what you decide to get yourself into," Four said, shrugging lightly, "Just know, it'll be really hard to get out of."

  Marlowe nodded, thanking Four quietly before turning on her heel to leave. She faltered in the doorway, and for a brief moment, he thought she may turn around. That she would ask more about Eric— that she would listen.

  But she kept walking, and Four was left alone in the training room.

  And he didn't quite know why, but a deep-rooted part of Four only wanted to shelter Marlowe Prior from what Eric may bring to her life.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
AHHH I miss writing this so
much! I will just say one
thing, spoiler (kinda), Four and
Lowe will not have any romantic
feelings or relationships with/
towards one another!! Tris and
Four's relationship is so
integral to the whole story,
that I won't ruin that--
PLUS Lowe and Four work
together as friends so
well !!