wiress, beetee, and dealing with the pain.
for writing practice, and a repost because it's complicated.
The door groans on rusty hinges before it brushes against the austere walls of the room. "Beetee?"
Beetee turns to the raspy voice, head still bent as he fiddles with the wires on a rusted device. But he soon drags his eyes, weighed down by the dark bags smeared under them, to his friend's frail frame.
"Yes, Wiress? Is everything okay?" He's tired. She tries to nod, but her head refuses to move, refuses to lie. She is definitely not okay.
Her hands tremble but still clasp themselves, as if the rough skin is a lifeline in a bleak ocean. The hairs on her neck rise and clammy legs barely anchor her to the cool floor. Her eyes are wide with the look of death and remembering and before her crack lips open for an explication, he knows why she's here.
"A nightmare?" He ventured, and she nods, breath short with recollection.
"It was bad," she murmurs, tears glistening in her eyes. "They, the- the… careers, were coming with guns and knives, chasing me on a ridge, but all I could hear was the ticking of a clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick..." Her voice stammers to the imaginary clock drumming in her head. Her eyes still wide from the nightmare, so he pulls her into a hug, something he did just after she won her Games.
She melts into his wiry arms and her sobs stain his beige shirt and jolt through his body.
"It's going to be okay, Wiress. I'm here, so everything's fine," he soothes. It's a lie. And he knows it's wrong to lie, but he's already a sinner, hands already stained with children's blood, and one little lie isn't the worse sin he's committed.
Between the muffled Tick. Tocks, Wiress chokes out a word. "Friend."