He was still in shock over his failure, but more than that, he was frustrated that his failure had been brought about by her. The fucking Stiff who had should have been nothing during her initiation, should have died early on, shouldn't have even made it to the compound, much less as far as she had. And to add insult to injury, she had been a goddamn Divergent the whole time. She didn't even belong, and yet she had always been there, fucking things up.
And now he was in a Candor prison because she had gotten the better of him. He knew it would not be long before he was returned to Jeanine in one way or another, but that did not matter. He had still failed, and he was still completely at the mercy of this faction and the riffraff refugees from his. He could see no way out that wouldn't end terribly for him. He was stuck.
It went without saying that he was beyond enraged about his current position. He did not like feeling trapped or helpless, and he did not like knowing that somewhere beyond the walls he was trapped in, his least favorite Stiff couple walked about freely, probably laughing at his expense. Each hour he spent drug on, and with nothing better to do, his mind became overrun with scenarios of all he was missing out on, all that went on without him.
Despite his upbringing, he had never been the fondest of reading, and yet he would kill for some sort of book if it might help take his mind off of things. If they kept him like this for too long, he knew he would lose his mind, and that would be a worse loss for him than death.
His living conditions were bad, which was to be expected of a prison, but if he had to guess, he would say that this was bad even for a prison. He had nothing but a hard bed, having to be lead by a guard just to use the bathroom. He hated that part in particular as far as feelings of helplessness went. He had been stripped of all privacy, and was left completely vulnerable to whoever guarded him. He could, he supposed, at least be grateful that it was never Four.
With his situation in mind, he only allowed himself to be taken to the bathroom once a day. It was not worth it to him to be subjected to that humiliation any more than that, and he was more than just a grown man. He was a Dauntless leader, damn it all, and he could hold it any other time of day.
Throughout the day, he would be visited by a guard periodically and given meals, asked questions, and offered a bathroom break. He would always wait until the last visit of the day before he took said bathroom break, and this was only on days he felt it necessary to drink enough to need to go in the first place.
His plan had worked well enough in the past, but on one day of his imprisonment, it did not. Perhaps it was because he hadn't felt like he needed to go the night before, or perhaps he had had a bit too much to drink in the morning. Whatever it was, it didn't matter now; all that mattered was that he had to piss. Badly. And it was at least an hour until his next meal.
He sat on his bed, overly aware of the dull ache in his bladder. At last, there was something to take his mind off of the scenarios that constantly played, but this was not the sort of distraction he welcomed. Really, he could not remember having to piss this badly in ages, and he wondered why the urge was so strong this time.
Every time he shifted, the bed would creak and he would feel heat rush to his face. It was ridiculous that he was showing his need at all, but if he sat stock still, he felt as if he could leak, and that would be worse than if someone happened to hear him shuffle and happened to figure out his problem just from that.
Still, he hated this. Even if no one else was around to hear him or see him, he still knew exactly what was wrong with him, and that was bad enough. He had to piss to the point that he couldn't sit still, to the point that he was resisting the desire to squirm like a child with everything he had. He was actually beginning to question the capabilities of his bladder, after years of perfect control.
I am not giving in to this , he told himself, tapping a foot on the ground as he waited. At this point, he did not care about the vulnerability created by his guarded bathroom breaks. He would have had almost anyone present, as long as it meant he could piss somewhere other than his pants.
But as time ticked on, nobody came. He was sure that it had been an hour, and that this was the time he was given his afternoon meal every day, but there was nobody there and he could not hear anything at all. There was no sign of anybody, and the ache in his bladder had evolved into a sharp throb. His occasional squirming had become nearly constant, and he had given up tapping his foot in favor of crossing his legs at the ankles. He hoped that if he heard someone coming, he would be able to regain and maintain his composure in front of them.
And still, no one came by. The constant pulsing in his abdomen was stronger than he had ever experienced, and he felt that he could burst at any moment. There was a part of him that longed to shout for someone, but he knew that, even if it was possible for someone to hear him, his pride would not allow for something like that. He would simply have to hold it.
A sudden, sharp pain shot through him, the wave of desperation rolling over him so powerfully that he grabbed his crotch without a second thought.
When his mind cleared and he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hand in a flash, snarling a bit as he did so. This was not happening. There was no way this was actually happening. It was some hallucination, some interrogation tactic, or something like that.
He knew it wasn't. He knew that they were done interrogating him and that they had taken all the information from him that they could. This situation, no matter how unfathomable, was real, and he was really on the brink of pissing himself.
Eric clenched his fists tight, pressing them into his thighs, trying to use this pain to take his mind off the pain in his bladder. He bounced his knees and grit his teeth, his breathing growing short and labored. His bladder ached for relief, and he stood up, trying to take some pressure off of it.
For a moment, he felt a bit better, but he was hit by another pang, this one strong enough to make him double over, his hand once more between his legs. He let out a low growl, and thought about various ways to make the late guard on duty suffer for putting him in this position.
The first time he thought he wasn't going to make it, he promptly tried to push that thought out of his mind. He was not pathetic, he was not weak, he was not going to lose to something as simple as a full bladder. Again, he reminded himself that he was a grown man and a Dauntless leader, and that holding it should never be a challenge for him.
But, Jesus Christ, he had to piss. He had to piss right the fuck now, but there was nobody to unlock his damn cell door, and there was nowhere for him to do it that wouldn't be noticeable, and he would never live it down if it got out that he hadn't been able to wait for the bathroom.
He tried to pull his hand away, but then he felt a warm spurt leak into his pants and his eyes widened. No . When he felt another spurt, he grabbed himself without hesitation, rocking back and forth in place. He was actually losing control, little by little, and he had actually been pushed to the point of grabbing himself. He clenched his eyes shut and grit his teeth again, groaning.
“I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,” he chanted quietly to himself, tuning out the world around him as he concentrated only on keeping the contents of his bladder within his bladder and not on the floor. There had to be someone coming soon, they couldn't really skip his meal. This damn faction was too dedicated to honest treatment of prisoners to let even him go without basic accommodations. And right now, he really needed one of those basic accommodations.
He was standing there, a hand between his legs and the other hand in a tight fist, alternating between bouncing and rocking back and forth, with his eyes shut, chanting to himself so quietly it sounded like a dull buzz, when she entered the room. Of course, he was so caught up in his own actions that he did not notice at first, but it did not take him long to realize he was not alone and that, at last, he would be let out of his cell.
Or maybe not.
His eyes locked with those of none other than Tris Prior, the young woman who had caused him to end up in this mess in the first place. And she could see, quite plainly, exactly the mess he was in.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in a strained voice, trying to sound like his old, cocky self, despite the obvious. “I would think they'd be afraid you'd be too unstable to be allowed around me.”
She ignored him and went straight to the topic he was hoping to avoid. “What's going on?” As if she didn't already know.
“I'd think that was fucking obvious,” he snapped, baring his teeth a bit as he said this. He knew that there was no hope of intimidating her in his current position, but still, he put on a show. Another spasm rocked his bladder and he hissed, doubling over and tightening his grip.
He heard a small giggle from the girl and shot her an icy glare. “The fuck is so funny?”
“I'd think that was obvious,” she replied in a mocking tone. “Imagine what everyone would say if they could see the almighty Eric now, about to piss himself like some little kid.”
He felt his face grow hot from both shame and rage at her remark. He was already on edge enough from his situation, and her snippiness did nothing to help. “You'd better shut your mouth or-”
“Or what, Eric?” She gave him a smirk. “What are you going to do to me from in there?”
“When I get out of here-”
“If you could get out of there so easily, then why haven't you gone to the bathroom already? Forgive me for not being too intimidated.”
She was right. He knew she was right about that, and he knew that he had to find some way out soon, or else the unthinkable would happen. And he also knew that the only way to do that was to do the second worst option to pissing himself. He was going to have to beg Tris.
“You're right,” he said, barely able to speak as he felt his legs tremble. He was so incredibly close to losing it. “I can't get out, and the fucking guard was supposed to be here by now. Can you please get someone who can help me?”
“No,” she said simply.
“Tris. I'm really not in the mood to play-”
“I'm not playing,” she said, giving him a wicked a grin. There was something off about her voice that he could not place, his mind too focused on the struggle he was presently faced with. “There is absolutely no good reason for me to do anything to help you.”
He paused. She was right, of course, and he knew that he would probably deny someone who had done nothing to harm him just for kicks, so of course she was justified, but she was his last hope. “Please,” he said, with complete and utter sincerity. “ Please .”
“No,” she said again, this time with as much sincerity as him. She simply stood there, watching him as he squirmed and shook, both already knowing that it was much too late for him.
The first jet of piss that soaked through his pants did not show very well on the black fabric, but he could feel it against his hand. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Damn it.” Another jet burst free, and another, until it turned into a stream, and he let out a long breath as the piss ran down a leg, quickly soaking through his pants and hitting the floor with a loud hissing sound. He was pissing himself.
He dropped his hand and let his head roll back, moaning a bit. He could not deny that the relief was incredible, and he could almost forget that the circumstances were the absolute worst as he reveled in the sensation of finally emptying his bladder. There was a sizable puddle at his feet and his pants were so wet that they stuck to his legs when at last the stream trickled to a stop.
The only sound to be heard in the room now was his heavy breathing, and after a moment, that struck him as odd. First, it struck him as odd because he expected to be met with laughter from Tris, and then, after another moment, it struck him as odd because he realized he was not the only one breathing heavily.
He turned his attention to the girl in the room and saw that her face was flushed, her chest was rising and falling rapidly with each breath, and she shifted a bit, biting her lip. It was so obvious what was wrong with her that he almost burst out laughing himself, and he knew now why she had seemed so off this whole time.
She was enjoying this. She was enjoying this not as some form of revenge- though he figured that had a hand in it too- but as a turn on. Four's Stiff little girlfriend was turned on watching him wet himself.
“Well, if I knew you were denying me for your own pleasure, I might not have fought so hard,” he said with a smirk. “I might have even put on a better show.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked. She was so flustered she could not even manage a decent comeback! This was rich.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he said in an all-too-casual voice. “But, the real question is, does Four know you're into that kind of stuff?”
“I'm not!” she said, horrified, but most definitely lying.
“Really, I didn't know Stiffs got freaky like that,” he continued. “Wanna come over here and let me take care of that for you?” He gave her a toothy, menacing grin.
“You're disgusting,” she spat, turning and striding out of the room. He had gotten such a rise out of her that there was no way she hadn't been into it. He had really hit the nail on the head.
And the best part was, he was not going to be hearing any more from her on the subject. Sure, the guard might spill the beans, and his reputation still might be in the trash, but he had something on Tris that would ensure she would never bring up this incident ever again.
So, in the end, Eric was indescribably angry that he had been put in a position where he would have to piss himself, but his brief encounter with Tris almost made up for it. Almost, but not quite.