"Clove, that's a tough, tough thing to do, probably tougher than you can understand right now," my mother said to me, across our dinner. Her eyes were lifeless, her voice seemingly devoid of emotion.
I hadn't expected anything else from my silly, soft-hearted mother. I looked deftly at our food - avocados, red and yellow sauteed peppers, and whole-grain pasta with pesto sauce, a gourmet meal, by our standards. My cheeks were hot, palms sweaty, my usual reactions to anything remotely stressful.
Not having it in me to speak or even look at Mom, I turned and gave Rhea an expectant look, she returned it with her classic "don't look at me, I've done nothing" glare. I wanted to scream, wanted to hit my sister. I had been almost certain that she would support me, not concentrate all of her efforts into self-preservation. Self-absorbed little bitch...
Thus far, this was definitely going worse than I had anticipated. A deadly silence settled over our pocket-sized dining room, only punctuated by the dull, electric hum of the refrigerator and the far-off roar of traffic 13 stories below. Shit, what do I do.
"So..uh.." I said tentatively, "how do you feel about it, Mom?" She was glassy eyed, staring at me, but seeing nothing, completely lost in thought, and shock too, I guessed. I scowled and gave her my best, most venomous look. It worked.
"Sweetheart," she said, "it's an honorable and selfless thing to do. But I refuse to send you to you death. I won't do that willingly."
Her soft words were like a blade to the heart. It took everything I had to not cry, to not throw the closest thing to me, but no.. I would regret it later. I was not a child, and I was not weak enough to allow my emotions to control me. Losing my temper now would do no good.
"She's right," Rhea said, deftly. I gave her an incredulous look, seething with anger at both my mother and sister.
"Clove, don't look at me like that," she continued, "Mom's right. Why the hell would you want this? It's sick. We're already pawns, and you wantto become like-like an animal raised for slaughter..?! You have your whole life ahead of you, and you just want to give it all up for what? A couple weeks of fame ending in death?"
I felt betrayed. It wasn't like Rhea to rant like this. Mom didn't like yelling or harsh words, but then again Mom clearly didn't want this for me so I understood Rhea's logic. My absolutely saintlike older sister was all about making Mom happy. For as long as I could remember, that's what home life had revolved around.
My sister had opted out of school at thirteen to work, and I had to hand it to her for being so selfless. Mom couldn't have a job, and while she received checks from the Capitol to compensate, they weren't enough. Rhea's job was taxing, but it brought us enough money to live comfortably, albeit modestly.
And, while we had never, ever discussed it, I knew it was expected of me to do the same. I was nearing the end of primary school, and I would soon have to make a choice - continue my education and become the selfish, hated member of our family or follow in my "noble" fair-haired sister's steps, guaranteeing a miserable working life, but nonetheless doing what Rhea and Mom saw as the right thing.
But I had already made my choice. I knew that what my family saw as my only choices, in reality, weren't my only options. I would not wake up every morning knowing that Rhea and my mother viewed me as a selfish burden, and I refused to accept being a worthless worker as my lot in life.
I wanted to go down fighting. I refused to surrender to an ordinary life. If that choice meant death at eighteen, I would take it. At least the world would know who I was when I met my end - they would remember me, I would make sure of that.
Rhea and my mother would influence no one and be remembered by few when they finally died. I, on the other hand, would not settle for a life of mediocrity.
It was in that moment that I realized I didn't need their approval. My security would come from within.
I would begin my journey as a Career with or without my family's support.