Tris POV:

"You think I don't see what you're doing, Stiff?" He sneers at me, the shadows of his piercings clouding his already black eyes. "You think you're going to rank highly in Dauntless by fucking one of the instructors?"

I wince, "It's not... I'm not..." I can barely speak, his forearm that was jammed against my throat has slowly moved higher, scraping my head against the stone of the training room until my toes barely touch the ground.

"You forget who has the authority here," he growls as he jerks me against the harsh rocky wall once more. I feel droplets of blood beading on my back, and the corners of my vision start to become cloudy and dim. I think I'm going to pass out soon, but I'm not scared. This isn't the first beating I've taken since I became Dauntless. Then things take a turn for the worse.

His other hand clasps around my thigh, his fingernails piercing my skin just under the hem of my dress, and a shudder runs through me. Now I'm scared. He grins and it makes my stomach turn. "Perhaps it's time you found out what you get for acting like a whore."

I have to act before I lose the ability to think. I have to do something before I lose my strength or I know what will happen. My eyes start to blur and I almost lose hope, until something inside me explodes. I scream as I jab my knee into his stomach, with as much force as I can muster. Four always told me to use my elbows so I figured it was a good enough plan. Eric reflexively bends in half, cradling himself, but before I can bring my fist to the back of his head he's already risen and back-hands me to the floor. He's stronger than I am. My face smarts. On your feet or he'll keep you down. I drag myself to my feet. He's already waiting for me. He grins as he kicks me precisely in the chest, with an almost lazy demeanour. He's enjoying this. I crash to the floor; a loud crack resounds from my ribcage, and the breath is knocked out of me. I cough and feel blood on my lips; I can taste iron.

Before I can catch my breath he has me pinned to the floor – it's over. His hands crush my wrists into the dirt, and his bony knees skewer my thighs as he raises himself above me.

"What did you expect to happen? Hmm?" He's inching my dress up to my ribcage, slowly, mocking me. "When I caught you sneaking out of his room to go to breakfast..." He leans back to inspect me and I want to die. I'd rather die. He grabs a knife from his boot and slides it under the hem of my knickers, leaving a trickle of blood on my hip and the fabric in tatters. I shut my eyes tight as he sneers at me: "Shame I didn't get to you first, I don't normally do sloppy seconds..." I hear shuffling, and I wish I didn't know what it meant.

I can barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. "...It wasn't like that... Four was... Peter, Drew and Al... They..." Even to my own ears I sounded weak. He shifted his weight and I couldn't help but yelp in pain. My last boost of adrenaline hit and I shouted in his face. "Four and I are none of your business. It's got nothing to do with initiation, and even less to do with you. Leave us alone!"

Then there was a searing pain that I've never felt before, and I wish I could scream or cry or do anything, but my strength has abandoned me. My last act of defiance is to spit in his face. His eyes darken further still and his rage becomes unfathomable. He stills his movements, and fiercely grabs a fist-full of my hair, using it to slam my head against the floor. Then the weight is lifted. I'm either unconscious or dead. At that moment, I don't really mind which. The last thing I remember is the sound of a door slamming into the wall. Oh no, please not Four, I think, Not like this...

Four POV:

The North door swings shut just as I burst through the South one. I think about going after whoever it was I saw on the monitor in the control room, but then I see her and my heart leaps into my throat. Tris, my Tris, is almost unrecognisable. And she's too still. I run closer and see the state of her dress, her underwear. The blood boils in my veins and I can't calm down, I want to run after the bastard and... But she needs me. I pray it's not what it looks like. It's naive of me to think such things, but I wish it just the same. I cover her with my shirt and lightly touch her face. No response.

After several moments of my pleading, her eyes flutter open and the breath I didn't realise I'd been holding leaves me. She looks like a fallen angel, laying so peacefully in a halo of her own blood. Now that I know she's alive, I can calm slightly, and it occurs to me to take a damage assessment. I start with her head: her scalp is bleeding into her eyebrows so I don't touch her, and she's been hit across the face. Her neck is bruised and she can hardly breathe. My blood goes cold. No initiate could have caused this much damage. I know exactly who did this.

Then I remember the dress and I can't think straight. There's finger-print bruises on her thigh and my vision burns, my jaw tightening. What happened to you, Tris?

"Tris?" I try to speak calmly. I don't know if she can hear me, her eyes are glassy as she looks blankly at the ceiling. Not a good sign. "Tris, I can't take you to the infirmary, it's not safe. I'll look after you in my apartment, is that okay?" I intend to do it anyway, but I need to know she recognises me. She agrees and my heart hammers rapidly against my ribcage. As carefully as I can I slip one arm under her head, and another behind her knees. I cradle her to my chest and she winces. When she hides her face against my shoulder tears brim at the bottom of my eyes, but I blink them away, I have to be strong for her sake. I have to be brave.

I lay her carefully on my bed and go to the bathroom to fetch a towel and some water, once I've washed away the caked-on blood maybe she won't look like death. A chill runs down my spine. That was too close. I sit with her, cleaning the wounds I can see, and helping her drink water. I don't touch her clothes, I can't bring myself to. It's an hour before she can speak to me, and I still don't want to ask her any questions.

Tris POV:

My throat is still on fire, but I can't bear the silence any longer. I'm laying on top of Four's bed, he sits patiently beside me, cross-legged, gazing at the blank wall.

"Four..."I croak. I don't know what to say, I just have to say something. I have to apologise for being so stupid, so weak, I hate myself for needing him to save me. And I'm angry, so angry that he was just too late. But no matter how I feel, I owe him my life.

I can't look him in the eyes... "I... thank you." It's all that needs to be said.

A tear rolls down his cheek and I sit up, wincing when I remember my cracked ribs, to wipe it away with my thumb. There's no need for both of us to feel my pain.

"What on earth happened to you, Tris?" he sounds as though he's scared of the answer. I look down at my hands and sigh, I was dreading this part. I almost don't tell him, but he's seen enough anyway. I can see it on his face: he already knows; he just wishes he didn't.

"Eric saw me leave here... The night after Peter and Al... And you helped me..." I don't want to go into details; I know he remembers it just as well as I do. "He said if I was sleeping with you to get a good ranking then I didn't realise..." I choke again, as I'm starting to relive it all. Four puts his hand on my shoulder and I wearily look up at him. "He said... I didn't realise who had the proper authority."

Four's eyes harden. His angelic face is distorted into a mask of hatred and bitterness. He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again and looks down. I'm thankful for this. I don't think I could bare it if he said anything in my defence. It occurs to me then how clearly visible it is where Eric had his filthy hands on me, and a trickle of blood emerges from my inner thigh on its path to my knee. I gasp. It shouldn't have surprised me, but being nearly unconscious at the time meant it felt to me as though it could well have been a nightmare. I wasn't prepared to see the evidence of my failures as a Dauntless.

Four's vision snaps back to my eyes and I yank his sheet over the cuts and bruises "Four, I... I'm so sorry." My voice breaks and I begin to cry. He tentatively moves closer to me on the bed and puts his arm around me. I flinch at first without meaning to, and he goes to move away, but I don't want him to. I shove my face into his chest and cry. He soothes me. He tells me I have nothing to be sorry for, that it is the world which should apologise to me. I wish for the world to swallow me whole. I wish to drown in my own tears so that I never have to leave this room. I wish for him not to know anything about what's happened... I wish for the wounded look in his eyes to go away.

In reality, it takes three or four hours for the tears to run dry, and then I don't know what to do.

I sit back, and Four releases me from his arms. The moment they're gone I feel cold. Dead inside. I look at him for a few seconds, straight in the eyes, and he looks back. It's almost as if there's another world there now, swirling in their dark blue depths. Without a word I get up and walk slowly, painfully, to the shower. I sit fully clothed under the stream of water for a further hour, hoping it will wash everything away.