AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This is my first fanfiction, so I'm sorry if it's not great. Constructive criticism is welcome! (And if you've seen this on Facebook or somewhere else, I did write it first. I promise.)

If you'd like to request a one-shot, feel free to ask. I write for Divergent, Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, The Mortal Instruments/Infernal Devices, and Avengers.
Happy Reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent or any place/character associated with it. All rights go to Veronica Roth.

I cowered as he brought back his belt, that deadly whip. Sixteen years. He's done this for sixteen years. And I'm sick of it. I live every day in constant fear of that man. That monster I call my father.

CRACK! I fall to my knees, my vision blurring with pain, suffering, and tears. I can't take it. It's too much. It always has been.

CRACK! There it goes again. I scream out in pain but no one seems to ever hear me. Or no one cares. No one cares to rescue the poor, motherless boy being abused by his father.

"Please. Please. Please. Stop. Just please!" I cry out, knowing it would do nothing. I get the same response.

"This is for your own good," I hear him say right before the belt comes down. I bite my tongue to keep from crying out. I bite so hard that I soon taste blood. But I can't give him that satisfaction of hearing me cry twice in one go. I just can't.

I know it will come again. And I brace for impact. For the sting. But it never helps.

The whips comes down again. I slouch over, clenching in pain. My fists clench and unclench in anger, but even that takes energy I don't have. Every movement causes more pain.

Once more. Just one more crack. He never hits me more than five times. He doesn't want to leave a true mark.

The belt cracks across my back once more. Then he leaves. Leaves me to my pain and suffering. I curl up into a ball and shiver even though the air is warm. I think about the next day. When I'll leave.

TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE TE

I cut my hand and thrust it over the coals. My blood sizzles against the rocks.

I look at my father and see the look of hate and betrayal on his face. For the first time since my mother died, I smiled.

I am no longer the poor, abused son of Marcus Eaton. I am strong. I am brave. I am courageous. I am Dauntless. I am free.