She's Mine
She was a young, foolish teen in love, but then again, so was I. We were just a couple of kids with nothing in the bank, blistered hands stuffed in our dirty, hand-sewn pockets, and not a care left in the world. We didn't have much left to lose. All we had were each other, and so we went about our lives like normal with this very thought humming through our minds at every waking moment. Neither one of us suspected that the "us" would be lost, that we'd be torn apart by the Capitol and their Games. We just assumed that the odds were in our favor; we were kids, damn it, we thought we would live forever.
Our families knew nothing about us. They thought they knew who we were but all they knew were the color of our eyes, hair and skin. They were absolute good for nothing geezers who didn't know what it was like to be a teenager anymore. But see, me and my girl knew each other like the back of our hands. I still remember the traces of her skin. I could chart her topography, map out every single cell and nerve if my memory serves me right. My fingers would skim across her silky skin, and the whole action would be routine to me; I was fluent in her body language. I knew her. I knew her well. I knew her better than I know myself.
You see, I don't remember much. I don't remember how I met her, or what we ever said to each other. Even her face escapes me at times. Her name is lost in decades of drowning in gin and whiskey, and I can't bring myself to remember the way her syllables curled against my tongue. I'm thinking she was just a first love, probably just a teenage dream spiraled out of control and lost under the circumstances of my stupidity in the Hunger Games, but I don't know any else. I've never loved another girl the way I loved her. And I reckon I never will.
But I remember how I felt when I was with her. How my heartbeat fluttered when she walked by, how my day was a little better whenever I slept with her — you know, just napping on the couch after watching those stupid Capitol movies she really loved. My arms around her waist, her head against my chest. Oh, how I memorized the secrecy her body moved with, a silent rhythm she danced to with each step she took. How fluid and eloquent her words were — she was a better orator than Effie is, but I'd never say that out loud cause that stupid woman would beat my head in if I dared to.
Oh, that girl I loved, she was remarkable. She made me feel remarkable. And that's saying something.
I'd like to think the girl and I would've married eventually if things went along normally. Maybe have those two kids she wanted, that stupid toy dog I would never agree to but love anyway. Or maybe we would've broken up sooner or later and I'd be a coal miner married to another Seam girl with some Seam children, possibly dead by now or at the point where i would rather be dead. I don't know. Things all fucked up the second I found the end of the Arena.
But because I don't know what could've happened and what would've, I owe it to myself to think positive. So she's mine. And I'm hers. There's no question about it — the girl and I, yeah, we pretty much belonged to each other. That is the only thing I'm sure of at the moment.
A/N: A drabble inspired by memories between me and my ex. I don't know why I was feeling nostalgic then. But this piece...God, it made me cry when I wrote it. Idk if it's just me though and my memories though. Oh, well. It's a nice break from my Effie-centrics. Lol. Review and make my pretty shitty week please. :)
