Title: All That We Are
Summary: From the moment you met, you've been slowly killing each other. But that's how it's always been, how it'll always be. And you'll never change.
Author's Notes: I've been meaning to do this forever, and I'm so excited! I'm basically gonna do the 100 drabble prompt challenge using these two lovelies 3 Comments and reviews would be appreciated!
Scars
Nobody knows this, but she scarred you long before the games.
You were ten, she was nine. First day at the "residential community center" (bullshit for, essentially, an "illegal" training center), you were both young and fiery and passionate to finally become the monsters you were bred to be.
In District Two, however, the monsters were called Careers, and it was the greatest honor being able to train to become one.
Even at such a young age, you outshone every single student, and impressed everyone who saw you fight. You were absolutely unyielding, an impenetrable wall, and you were only a child. More than a few mentors were impressed.
On that first day, after you'd beaten all the other boys in your age group, they decided to put you against a girl.
Clove Reos, they called her. You vaguely remember seeing her accompanying her father, a popular blacksmith, on his rounds around the Victor's Village.
You didn't bother to protest; if they wanted to see if you had trouble hurting a girl, they were in for a surprise.
You immediately lunged at her, reaching a hand out for her throat…and missed. She'd sidestepped too quick for you to realize. The mat was there to catch your fall. The hot blood of embarrassment rushed to your face.
A sudden chuckle broke out behind you. You couldn't believe it. She was laughing. At you.
Without a second's hesitation, you pulled yourself back up and ran towards her, arm outstretched and a fist pulled back into a punch.
The feeling of sweet victory surged when it connected with the side of her face. She groaned in pain as she fell back but didn't scream like you hoped she would. Instead, as she lay there, she started grinning.
And then you felt the pain of the dagger embedded in the same arm you'd clocked her with. Blood was beginning to drop from the cut in large, fat drops. When you tried pulling it out, you realized how deep she'd plunged it in, and sank to the floor as the pain coarsed through your body, whitehot and pulsing.
Later, at the infirmary where they were stitching you up, they informed you that they had partnered you with Clove. It seemed you were a perfect match, training wise at least, because you were the only ones who could bring each other down.
Now, everytime you touch the scar on your right arm or catch it in the mirror when you're changing, you're reminded of the only person who brought you to your knees.
And who will never let you forget.