CAREER PATH
A HUNGER GAMES STORY
PART 1: Pre-game
The announcers voice flows over the crowd which erupts into cheers and applause. The stage turns bright, and a velvet chair turns to the audience occupied by an energetic man who smiles and greets them all as if each of them is his dearest friend.
"Good evening everyone!" he shouts. "Are you ready for the forty fourth annual Hunger Games to begin?"
The crowd erupts again and I straighten my black t-shirt. It doesn't need to be straighten, but I do it to hid the butterflies in my stomach. Tonight we have the one on one interviews with Cesar, and it's the part of the games I've been looking forward to the least. Porsche, my fellow tribute from District 1, checks her long synthetic eye lashes one last time while her stylist team makes frantic last minute adjustments to her hair and makeup.
She's going to nail this.
Our head stylist, a flamboyant man by the name of Celedien, talks in a hurried voice to her as Cesar finishes his opening monologue. Porsche nods her head slightly, while making last minute adjustments to her leather sleeveless vest and leggings which fit tightly around her lean and finely toned body
"Ok now show me the lips one last time," Celedien says holding his arms out towards her.
Porsche smiles slyly, then slowly runs her tongue over her shiny upper lip while tipping her head back slightly.
"Excellent!" Celedien says clapping his hands together and hopping slightly. "You're absolutely perfect."
"I know," she says with seductive confidence.
Cesar's voice radiates throughout the crowd and the staging area. The interviews go in the order of our districts, and the ladies always go first. So Porsche will be the first tribute everyone will see. She will have their full attention, and doesn't plan to waist a second of it. I'll be going second, which is perfect, because after Porsche they won't know what to expect.
"Now lets give a warm round of applause for our first tribute, Ms Porsche Rossini from district 1!" Cesar booms.
The crowd bursts into applause once more as Porsche leaves the staging area, and struts onto the stage. Watching from a viewing monitor back stage, Celedien and his stylist team come stand behind me as she makes her entrance.
"Ooooh work it girl," Celedien says.
Instead of walking to her chair with a joyful hop in her step, or waving to the crowd, Porsche does something unexpected. Walking slowly, one hand on her hip, the other hanging loosely at her side, she casually puts one fine, leather clad leg in front of the other. Instead of waving to the crowd, she looks into it with smoky eyes, a seductive look on her lips, and making firm eye contact with every man she can before reaching her seat.
The applause continues, but fades slightly. Reaching her chair, she stands in front of it for a moment, and slowly leans forward to sit down, her cleavage on full display. Once sitting, she tosses back her long black hair, and smiles at Cesar, who looks as though he's staring into a headlight.
"Perfect, just perfect," Celedien whispers.
"Indeed," says Elio, our District mentor, who has joined us as well.
"She already has them stirring," Celedien says. "Shouldn't be too hard for you to follow Slade."
"Right," I reply dryly.
"Yes yes," Celedien says putting his hands on my broad shoulders. "Just like that, nice and dry, with just a small hint of emotion."
"I know," I reply.
"Perfect!" Celedien says. "Now lets just straighten you out a bit…"
The stylist team begin looking me over. Starting with my hair, which is black and flops casually over my right eye, to my plain black t-shirt which accentuates my bulging biceps, wide chest, and broad shoulders. I'm wearing plain blue work pants which are common in my district, though they are tight around my waiste and butt, but loose around my calves and ankles. They cover special boots which lace up past my ankle and are heavy and clumsy. I won't be wearing these in the arena.
"Well Porsche," Cesar begins. I watch the screen carefully as the stylist team obsesses over the height of my belt and the thickness of my eyebrows. "You've trained for the Hunger Games your entire life have you not?" he asks.
Porsche smiles confidently.
"Yes Cesar," she replies.
"So how does it feel to finally be here, after preparing so hard and long?"
Porsche smiles and leans her head back slightly.
"It's been fantastic Cesar," she begins. "Everything from the reaping, to our arrival at the capital, the opening ceremonies, just as I imagined it."
A smile slowly spreads across my face. She's playing her role well.
"Has there been anything unexpected that you have enjoyed?" Cesar asks.
Porsche's smile turns into a sly one.
"Well yes Cesar," she says slowly in a low tone. "I must admit, I didn't expect the men from the other districts to be so….handsome."
Her eyes turn to a camera, where she winks slowly while swaying her shoulders slightly. The crowd, including Cesar, all ooh scandalously. Meanwhile, I swallow on the knot in my throat.
"Yes they do appear to all be very good looking," Cesar says. "Is there one you have a particular fondness for?"
I hold my breath and wait. Damn it no. I can't think like that. However, we've known each other our whole lives. Trained together, ran together, bled together, even…no. I take a deep breath, try to push this away, and remind myself she's playing a role.
"Here it comes," Celedien says gleefully.
"Well, to be honest, I've really enjoyed….." Porsche pauses and licks her upper lip slowly and seductively. "….getting to know all of them," she finishes.
The crowd has mixed reactions. Some murmur to themselves, others clap loudly, many whistle, and many more unleash cat calls. Taking it all in, Porsche raises both her eyebrows rapidly and winks once more.
"Perfect, perfect, perfect," Celedien says. "She's a natural. It's like she's not acting at all."
I swallow, and wish he was right.
The role she's playing is part of our strategy this year. Before the reaping, we were visited by Celedien and Elio. This was strange, because even though we are career tributes, which means we train until we're 18 and then volunteer to compete in the Hunger Games, we still follow the same rules as every other district. Usually, you don't meet with your stylist until you arrived at the Capital after the reaping. However, this year was different.
"The President and Game makers wanted us to give you both a special….task," Celedien said to us the morning he came to visit.
They had brought Porsche and I to our Districts Justice Building. They brought us in the middle of the night, and didn't even use peacekeepers. In fact, I noticed as we were rushed in that there were no peacekeepers on duty. It was highly unusual, but with good reason.
"Task?" I asked.
"Yes Slade," Elio said. "Celedien will explain everything, but first, I want to stress to both of you that secrecy is important here."
Porsche and I both nodded.
"Ok here's the deal," Celedien said. He began pacing back and forth in front of us, his hands very animated as he rambled on. "The President and Game makers have noticed the younger demographic of our audience is…waning."
"Waning?" Porsche asked. "That doesn't make sense. I thought they were forced to watch, like we are."
"Umm no," Celedien says uncomfortably. "We don't 'force' anyone to watch the games in the Capital, but we do everything we can to make sure they want watch. Big parties, your opening ceremonies, interviews, basically all the festivities we do on your behalf."
I cock and eyebrow and Porsche crosses her arms tightly.
"Despite all that," Celedien continued, oblivious to our reactions. "We've noticed the younger generations viewer ship has declined considerably. Looking further, we've come to the conclusion that many younger viewers just don't find the games interesting or compelling."
"Imagine that," I say. "They don't enjoy people there own age brutally killing each other."
"I know right?" Celedien says incredulously, again oblivious to the sarcasm in my voice. "President Snow finds this to be a serious problem…"
"Why?" Porsche asks sharply.
"Because uhhh…" Celedien stutters slightly before regaining his composure. "It's just… well we… so much is put into the games, and its such an important tradition to Panem, we naturally want everyone to be enthusiastic about each year."
Porsche and I exchange a pointed glance. I'm not buying it. and neither is she. The truth is, President Snow rose to power only two years ago. In two years, he's managed to look timid, indecisive, and over confident. He doesn't want the younger generation becoming bored with the games because he's afraid they'll begin to sympathize with the districts next. That would mean rebellion, and rebellion could lead to war, and nothing disrupts the career of a young President more than an inconvenient war.
"Anyways," Celedien continues. "We've come up with a way to make the younger audience re-engage themselves in the games. Role playing!"
"Role playing?" Porsche and I say at the same time.
"Yes," Celedien says smiling ear to ear. "Both of you will play a role, a character if you will, with a distinct personality, and compelling back story. Everything you do, from when you volunteer in the reaping, to the opening ceremonies, your interviews, and even your conduct in the Arena, will be consistent with your character."
I frown and sigh slowly. Porsche shakes her head.
"This is stupid," she says.
"I won't do anything that puts victory at risk in the arena," I said.
"Ah ah, hear me out first," Celedien says. "You might find this to be…fun!"
"And keep in mind, President Snow has asked you to do this," Elio says darkly. "It wouldn't be good to say no to the President would it."
We exchange another glance, and lean forward so our elbows rest on our knees. Celedien smiles and claps his hands twice. Bursting through the doors behind him, his stylist team rushes in carrying two tall mannequins covered by white sheets, a large drawing pad on stilts, and several small bags.
They place one mannequin in front of each of us, and Celedien stands next to the one in front of Porsche.
"Porsche," he says her name with a low down and clenches his fist in front of him. "You will be a symbol of strength and desire. Yet no one can just have you. No. Men don't pursue you, you pursue them, and you have as many as you damn well please." He laughs loudly tossing his head back. The stylist team follows suit. "You speak your mind, you take what you want, live by instinct, and fulfill your own urges. You've freed yourself from the binds of societal norms, and do as you well please. Many women will look up to you, many women will despise you. But who cares! Whether they admire or despise you, the point is, they can't help but watch you."
With a flick of his wrist, the stylist team lifted the white sheet of the mannequin to reveal the leather clad outfit she's wearing now. I raised both my eyebrows at how sleek, dangerous, and …well …sexy it is.
Porsche examined the costume. Circling around the mannequin, looking over its tight leather stitching, revealing doublet and generous bustier. Completing her circle, she nods and smiles. She liked the idea, and I'll admit, it made me interested in what he had in store for me.
"Slade," Celedien said turning to me. He pressed his finger tips together in front of his chest and formed a sly smile. "What we have in mind for you, is to be the one everyone hates, yet loves. Loves to hate, yet perhaps hate themselves because they love you. That sounds so avant-garde I just love it, yes?"
Both my eyebrows raise. I have no idea what he means. Loves to hate? What does that even mean?
"Sorry," I say.
"Slade, you will be the villain," Celedien replies, smiling ear to ear.
"Villain?" I ask. "No, if everyone hates me, how am I suppose to get sponsors?"
Celedien tosses his head back and laughs.
"Oh Slade," he says jovially. "Don't you worry about that. A villain you may be on the surface. Strong, tough, mean, vicious, cold hearted, you will be an intimidating force. You are incapable of compassion or mercy, crushing your enemies with no remorse, scoffing at the weakness of others, ignoring rules and gentleman agreements, paying no respect to those who are beneath you. Oh yes, for that they will hate you, and want to see you die."
I stare at him aghast. I'm not exactly thrilled about playing a role which is only going to put a larger target on my back.
"However," he says raising a finger. "You weren't born this way. No. It's not your fault your so disagreeable. See, you were driven to this. Your brother, Saber, died three years ago in the games correct?"
My eyes narrow as I scowl at him. Nodding slowly, my fists clenches.
"Yes, yes," Celedien says. "I see that look in your eye. Do you see it?"
"I see it Celedien," says one stylist in an airy dramatic voice.
"A tortured soul," says another throwing his hand over his forehead and tossing his head back.
"It makes me want to hold him close, yet I fear for my life," says the last stylist.
I stare at them with my mouth wide open.
"Yes it all comes together," Celedien continues. "You two were close. Trained together, he was your blood and you were his. Yet, he was killed, by the female tribute from District eight. Ever since then, you've vowed revenge, and couldn't wait to compete in the games. You see, this is why you are the villain, brotherly love and family honor. Some will still hate you, as outwardly you will be brash, angry, and bothersome. Yet others will love you, for inside they will see a pained soul who grieves for his murdered brother. Either way, like Porsche, they wont' be able to stop watching you."
With another flick of his wrist, the stylist team unveils my outfit. It's not as flashy as Porsches, but I'm not suppose to be a sex symbol. It's just a pair of blue work clothes, a plain black t-shirt, and a short jacket made of a leathery material. I examine it as Porsche did hers. I don't understand it, its so… plain.
"Not exactly decorative, and fairly boring to make," Celedien says. "However, it suits your overall image."
I stare at the outfit, and a smile crosses my face as well.
"So Porsche," Cesar says to begin his final question. "As you say, you've enjoyed getting to meet each of the male tributes."
Porsche smiles and nods her head slowly.
"Is there one you're likely to miss once the games are over?"
Porsche shakes her head and laughs innocently.
"Oh Cesar," she says. "I guess I'll miss them all a little bit, in my own special way." The crowd begins to murmur again. "However, they'll always be with me wherever I go." She pauses and places her hands on her knees. Then, she slowly, gently, seductively, runs her hands along her inner thighs towards her waist. "I have a very, vivid, memory," she finishes slowly.
"I ….uh…see," Cesar bumbles. The crown murmurs louder, with the desired mixed reactions. "Well we all wish you good luck, Ms. PORSCHE ROSSINI, DISTRICT ONE!" he bellows.
The crowd applauds loudly, with several men rising from their chairs, clapping and hollering as loud as they can. Celedien see's their reactions and begins running in place with tiny steps while he laughs gleefully.
"Excellent," he says. "Like I said, just a natural. It's like she's not acting at all."
"Yeah," I say to myself as she comes back stage.
They meet her at the curtain, and shower her with praises. She's smiling from ear to ear, her real smile, the one she wears when she's not focused on the games.
"Up next, we have our male tribute from District One," Cesar's voice echoes back stage.
Celedien, Elio, and the stylist team all rush back to me as my heart starts to beat hard. Celedien begins speaking so rapidly I can't understand him, and Elio crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, his signal that its time to focus. The stylist team makes a few frantic last minute adjustments, then push me to the curtain. Along the way I catch a glimpse of Porsche. She gives me a curt nod, her way of wishing me luck.
"Please welcome, Mr. Slade DeLaRosa!"
The crowd erupts and I take a step forward. A hand slaps on my shoulder and holds me firmly in place.
"Give it a moment," Celedien whispers, even his damn whispers are flamboyant. "Remember, you're not suppose to care about rules or traditions."
I nod slightly and wipe all emotion from my face. After a few seconds, and an awkward look from Cesar, I step out onto the stage. The crowd cheers and applauds, and I look around as if I'm surprised they're there. Narrowing my eyes, and frowning pointedly, I make my way to the Tributes' seat, and sit.
" Ahh Mr. Slade," Cesar begins. "Such a strong name. Simple, fierce, easy to say…" he pauses and looks into the crowd with a mischievous look. "…even easier to remember."
The crowd laughs and claps once more.
I listen to Cesar, but act as if I'm not. My eyes wander around the stage, appearing unimpressed and bored. Typically, every tribute takes this time to act proud, brave, and honored to be competing in The Hunger Games. Not me though. I'm suppose to act as indifferent, and not care how important it is to the tradition of the Hunger Games.
Inside I have to laugh a little. My dad is probably going crazy. We didn't tell our parents about our plans this year. The young President Snow thought the fewer people to know the better. Only our stylist, mentor, mayor, and capital escort are privileged enough to know our ploy.
"So tell me Slade," Cesar begins.
I turn to him and blink several times with my lips pierced tight, as if I'm upset he's going to ask me some questions. Seeing my expression, he pauses for a moment, and swallows. He's not expecting this either, but that's good, it'll help sell the performance.
"So...uh…you're a strong young man," he begins. "What's going to be your strategy heading forth?"
I tilt my head and squint my eyes. Then I lean backwards in my chair, roll my eyes, and shake my head furiously.
"Cesar," I say sharply. "What's my strategy? Do you really expect me to answer that?" He opens his mouth to respond, but I roll right over him. "There are twenty three other tributes just behind that curtain, and you want me to tell you my strategy, in front of all of Panem. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"Well no Slade…" he tries to say.
"I'm not stupid, got it." I turn to the audience. "But if you all really want to know, I'll tell you this." Back to Cesar. "You want my strategy. Here's my strategy, kill everybody. Nuff said."
The crowd is deathly silent, and Cesar sits still with his mouth partly open and eyes wide. They're not used to seeing a tribute be hostile with Cesar. I glare at him until he stirs uncomfortably and looks back out to the audience. This should cause a lot people to hate me, if they didn't already.
"Well then," Cesar says awkwardly. "Let's talk about you a bit."
"Whatever," I say disinterested.
"Well, you're from District one, and you volunteered, which means you've trained for these games most of your life," he said. "Sounds like you're following in someone's footsteps. We all remember your brother Saber three years ago."
Saber. We counted on them bringing him up. It's another part of the strategy. The standoffishness and crudeness will get them to hate me. Make them think I'm scum. However, now's the time to plant a little seed in each of them. If the seed grows right, they'll feel conflicted, not sure what to think of me. Then, they might have some compassion for me, believe I've been driven to be this monster, maybe even like me a little.
Slowly, I turn my head to Cesar, and give him my full attention for the first time. The audience becomes still, picking up on my cue, giving me their full attention.
"I do too," I say darkly.
Cesar take a slow breath, and covers himself with a forlorn look. We counted on this too. Cesar's role is to make the tributes look as likable as possible. Once he saw I wasn't charismatic or friendly, he'd try another route, pity.
"He came so close," Cesar said. "So very close indeed, and died with a knife to his back yes?"
I nod slowly, never taking my eyes off Cesar.
Celedien had gone on and on about how taping into my brother would get the crowd to love me, even though they couldn't stand me. At first, I didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't anybody's business, and its not right to use the memory of him like that. Saber was good. Not just in the arena, but as my brother.
"Has your brothers death motivated you in some way Slade?" Cesar asks.
I stare at him coldly. My eyes narrowed, my jaw tight, my fists clenched. A few moments pass, and I perform my own little trick. Just as Porsche had her licking lips, I have my little gesture as well. Slowly, my eyes begin to widen, my jaw relaxes, and my fist calms. Slouching my shoulder and taking a deep breath, I look sorrowful.
"Yeah Cesar," I reply softly. "My brother meant the world to me."
It comes across natural and lovingly, and that's because it is. Cesar nods solemnly, turns to the crowd with a sympathetic look, then puts a hand on my thigh.
"Family is so important to all of us isn't it?" he says.
"Yeah," I reply.
This is the part I dreaded, but it would be for the best. Back in District one, Porsche and I were taking our daily fifteen mile jog after our meeting with Celedien. We discussed her role, and ways she might pull it off. We always gave each other suggestions, that's what friends did. However, I wasn't eager to talk about my role .
"So what are you going to do?" she asked as we jogged over a hill.
"I don't know," I reply. "It seems to complicated, first get them to hate me, then to like me?"
"What about Celedien idea? About Saber?"
"How could talking about Saber be any help?" I asked.
"That should be easy," she replied. "Just tell them the truth.
She was right. At first I didn't see that, but now that I'm in front of Cesar, and aware all of Panem is watching, I know she was right.
"How did you respond to his death?" Cesar asks.
I lower my head, close my eyes, and tell the truth.
"I grew up thinking he was invincible," I say softly. "Admired him, idolized him, and I always thought if I could be just part the man he was, I'd do pretty good in my life."
"Mmm yes," Cesar says nodding his head sadly. "Your brother sure made an impression on all of us. He was a very talented young man, I think we all felt something when he was defeated."
"Yeah, I know I sure did," I say lifting my head. "My fathers belt!"
Cesar's eyes grow wide and gasp is uttered from the crowd.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Cesar says with a shocked look.
"Yeah," I say shaking my head. "Get this, Saber and I were both pushed into the Career program by our dad at the age of five. He'll never admit it, but the pathetic SOB had hopes one of us would win and he could spend the rest of his life living on victors row with all the money and food he could ever want."
"Oh," Cesar said. "That doesn't seem…."
"It gets better," I interrupt. "You see, he entered the career program himself as a kid, but didn't make the cut after fourteen. So we were bred to fulfill his dreams for him. That's right, I said bred.
"As soon as we could walk, he began training us. Simple stuff at first like running and jumping, but by the age of five we could both run faster, leap higher, swim longer, and lift more than anyone our age. We both made the cut easily when we each turned five."
"Well at least you had each other," Cesar says quickly, smiling to the crowd.
They remain silent, hanging on every word I say.
"Yeah you're right," I reply. "Without him, I'm not sure I would have made it far. What he learned, he taught me as so I could have an advantage at each cut. Plus, it helped me avoid the beatings from dad."
"Beatings!" Cesar says. I guess he hoped we'd moved on from that.
"Yes, beatings," I say slowly and angrily. "It happens, you probably know someone who either beats their kids, or was beaten themselves. Pull your head out of the sand and you might notice. But I digress." "Uh huh," Cesar says with a blank stare.
"Anyways," I continue. "Each day we were pushed to our physical peak at the career center, and then even more when we got home. Everything we did was designed around making us the best possible tributes we could be. We were always on a strict diet and sleep schedule. Our playtime consisted of sparring with each other. Even our school lessons were based on in game training, like when we learned to read with written play by play's of past games.
"Dad pushed us to our limits, but not gently. If our progression goals weren't met, we were met with the belt. If someone beat us in a foot race, we would do laps until we collapsed and puked. If we lost a sparing match, he spared us with his fist."
I pause and let this part sink in. Meanwhile, I can feel my fathers anger reaching all the way from District one. I can also feel his belt across my back.
"But…" Cesar begins. He has to shake his head first before he can continue. Searching for words, he starts several times, but stops himself. Finally, he lets it loose.
"Why would he do that to his sons?" he asks.
I sit still for a moment, and simply shrug.
"He would say a lot of different things, all meant to be reasons," I said. "Like, loosing today means you get the belt! But loosing out there means you die. This is for your own good!"
"My goodness," Cesar gasps.
"Hey, Fear is a powerful motivator," I say shrugging again.
"Yes I'm sure it is," Cesar says. "But, but, back to your brother. What was he like to you?"
I raise an eyebrow. Then I take short breath, relax my shoulders, and reply.
"He was a good older brother, and took his time to watch out for me," I said. "Saber was encouraging, kind, and helpful when I really needed it."
It feels good to be talking about Saber, and I'm glad people remember him as a good person. Saber tried his hardest, hoping he'd win not just to appease our dad, but so I wouldn't have to compete my self. For a while, I lived in ignorant bliss of what the Hunger Games really is. It's easy to in District one, since everyone else is.
I've watched reapings of other districts. They're terrified. To them, getting your name drawn is a death sentence. It's not like that in District one. Kids don't live in fear their name will be drawn, because there's always someone to volunteer for them. So it wasn't until my brother was killed I realized I could actually die in the arena. Die!
"So tell me," Cesar continues, his composure regained, and the comforting tone returned. "What did you feel when you saw him die?"
Now's the time where I add another sprinkle of confusion to them.
"Angry," I begin.
"Angry?" Cesar asked.
"Yeah," I reply. "You've said yourself how he made an impression on you, how you knew he was good person. So tell me, why does the good people always have to die?"
The audience is silent, but I can feel their sorrow. I've struck a cord, appealed to sense of empathy by making them wonder what it would be like to loose a close family member, especially someone they loved dearly. However, I told them I felt angry when he died, time to say why. Sitting forward, my teeth and fist clench, I look at Cesar and glare.
"That's why I'm here," I say angrily.
Cesar's eye's become wide.
"To win right? In his honor?" he asks.
I laugh slightly and shake my head.
"No," I reply. "I look forward to winning yes, but first, I'm gonna make sure my brother's death is avenged."
"Avenged?" Cesar says carefully, unable to hide his discomfort. "But the tribute who killed your brother…."
"Won!" I snap.
"Yes yes, she won," Cesar says quickly. "But, she's not going to be in the arena."
He's flustered. Good. If he's flustered, so is the audience. All that tugging at their heartstrings momentarily forgotten. The brotherly love, the abusive dad, the lifetime of training, out of sight out of mind. Now, they only see the driven monster. They'll remember the rest later.
"No, she's not," I say sitting back and glaring. "But there's a female tribute from eight, right?"
"Uh, yes," Cesar says.
"Exactly," I reply pointing my finger at his chest. "And I'm going to kill her. I'm going to hunt her down, drag her to the cornucopia, and kill her there for all to see. And who knows which way she'll die, I know over 200 ways to kill someone, even more ways to inflict pain. Guess we'll see which one I'm in the mood for, but I'll promise you this, it won't be a quick knife to the back. No, no, I won't make it that quick."
The audience begins to murmur after a few gasps radiate throughout. My cold stare never leaves Cesar as he swallows uncomfortably and quickly shifts his gaze between me and the crowd. Little by little the murmuring and whispering begins to grow louder. With one final look at the clock Cesar seizes my hand and yanks me to my feet.
"Ladies and Gentleman, Slade DeLaRosa, District One!" he shouts.
The audience begins to clap politely, as their suppose to do. I glare out at them, slowly moving my eyes left to right, as if I'm daring anyone to judge me. Cesar holds my hand high for a moment, but then releases it as quickly as possible and showing me the way off stage.
Turning, I give one last blank stare to the crowd. The look is suppose have a different effect on everyone. Some will see nothing but a psychotic killer, others will see a tortured soul who can't help the inner demons who posses his soul. I only hope I've done enough.
A moment later I get my answer. As I'm just about to exit, I hear the faintest cheer. It's followed by the faintest boo. Then the cheers multiply, as well as the boos. Soon the applause is drowned out by the competing chorus' of cheers and boos which continue long after I've disappeared behind the stage.
"Excellent!" Celedien shouts as I greet them behind the curtain. "Listen to that!"
He holds his hands high above his head, his eyes closed, listening to the cheers and boos. Elio is next to him, nodding his head and smiling.
"Perfect, both of you, just perfect!" Celedien says again.
I sit down and take a drink, legs and hands shaking. Celedien and Elio congratulate me a few more times before turning back the viewing screen to watch the rest of the interviews. I tune them out, and replay my interview in my mind, and thankful its over.
I get lost in the thoughts of my father, who is no doubt raging at the TV, perhaps even beating my mother. Our towns mayor, who is probably equally upset, and planning the unpleasant conversation he's sure to have with Elio. To Saber, lying in his grave, wondering how I became like this. If only I could tell them all the truth.
My head stops spinning when I feel Porsche sit next to me. We sit silently for a few moments, she staring ahead at the viewing screen, me at the floor in between sips of water. We steal short glances at each other, a thousand words unsaid with each.
"You did good," she says after a few moments.
"It was your idea," I reply.
"I know," she said. "I'm sorry, I know that was hard."
I look up to her, and she looks at me with her big brown eyes, the same brown eyes I've stared into countless times before. While my brother was my protector, Porsche was my friend, or as close to one as I could have.
"Thanks," I mutter.
She takes my hand and gives it a tight squeeze before leaving. My eyes follow her, my hand still remembering her touch. Closing my eyes, I take another drink, and remind myself only one of us can win.
Fear is a powerful motivator.