Ok, so I had this random idea for a story and I am going to see how it goes :P
The room reeks of sweat and blood. My favorite smells. Reeve comes up and stands next to me, one of the other many brave souls who hope to bring glory to our District. The rules state that you're not allowed to train for the Games, but what does the Capitol care? We have them in our pockets.
Reeve is a tall, handsome guy, somewhat lanky in build, blonde hair, and attractive green-gray eyes. We were a matched set up until last year. I've never fallen so hard for someone. But whatever Reeve possesses in looks, he lacks in brains.
When he first broached the subject of being a tribute in the Hunger Games to me, I laughed. Up until then, I'd always been the one who craved the high praise, and most of all, the approval from my parents that a victory in the Games would award me. He knew that. I would've begged him to wait another year if I could've, but we generally wait until we're 18 to volunteer, so we have the best shot at winning. As if it makes a difference. But he was determined. We decided it would be better to go our own separate ways then and there rather than in the Arena, where it could end up as just the two of us. Still, there was the possibility that we wouldn't even be chosen. But even of we weren't, perhaps we've grown too far apart to be together.
Reeve bumps my hip with his, a gesture he used to make all the time. But we've become so estranged that I jump nearly a foot in the air.
"Hey," he says in a seductive tone. When I nod in sort of a greeting, he leans down to my ear and points in the direction of a set of dumb bells. "Look. Elling just dropped that weight on his foot."
It's true. Elling is hopping around on one foot. The other is bent at an awkward angle. I smirk, forgetting for a moment that we're not together anymore. It had seemed so natural, like breathing. But he hasn't forgotten.
"Maybe I'll crush you like that." I think he's teasing, but there is so much malice hiding beneath the surface of the words that I can't tell for sure.
"Not if I do it first," I say, flipping my long, caramel colored hair over my shoulder. I stalk off.
"Enobaria," he calls, but I don't look back. "You can still back out, you know."
Back out? After all the training I've done? After all the time and effort I put into this?
This has me angry. I march right up to him and look him straight in the eye. His eyes are dancing playfully, like he wants to fight. I'll fight him, but not before we have a word.
"I am not backing out," I whisper venomously. "Not for all the riches and fame the Games could offer."
He doesn't back away like I think he will. Instead he inches closer and closer. And then he kisses me. Soft and slow. He tastes like salt and the clam stew they served this afternoon for lunch here in the Training House.
You see, the Training House, or the House, is a small scale version of the Training Center in the Capitol. At the ages of 11, you are able to start training here if you wish to volunteer as a tribute. I love it here. Plus, they serve meals on the weekends.
Reeve pulls away from me abruptly. I'd forgotten I was even kissing him. He nuzzles my neck. "You could at least get a little into it," he says, voice Reverberating through my throat.
But I can't help wondering why. Why is he doing this? Why is he still in love with me? I've never stopped loving him though, so when he starts kissing me again, I don't resist.
"You know- what I said- about backing out-" he says between kisses. "I only said it because I know only one of us can make it out, you know- alive."
He doesn't want me to die. How considerate. The sweet shop man doesn't want me to die either, since I'm his one of his best customers, but he doesn't love me.
I realize, I am Reeve's best customer. Or I was, at least. He is using me. He doesn't love me at all anymore. All he wants is my body. I've seen him on the other girls since the day we split up. He needed another body. He got over me in a instant when it took me weeks to pick up the pieces of my heart that he shattered on the floor. And it will make it all the more satisfying to slit his throat.
"You know I missed you," he whispers.
I push him away disgustedly. "You never missed me. You missed my body, taking advantage of me. You make me sick," I snarl.
He frowns. Like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. "When did I ever take advantage of you?"
The day we met. I bring my knee up to his crotch. He keels over, groaning in pain. I would smile if he hadn't been such a snake.
"I can't believe you!" I punch him in the face. "You should rot. In. Hell! I thought you loved me!"
He wipes his bleeding nose. People in the house are staring by now, taking in the scene. I can feel my face flushing with anger.
"But I do love you!" he exclaims. "I don't want to see you killed!"
See me killed? As if I would let that happen. I will be the toughest contender on the field. I will not lose.
"That's exactly what you want! You want to win yourself!" I scream. "Well, you won't. Because I don't intend to lose." Nor give anyone, especially not you, one tiny smidge of mercy, I almost add. Instead I stamp once on his foot, emitting a squeal from Reeve, turn on my heel, and stomp off to the showers.
The shower room smells like feet, rust, and mold, and most of the showers are currently being altered to being fully automatic-not even any nozzles to turn- so I step into the one of the only operating showers.
I have to turn the traditional handle to turn the water on; the ones everyone says are out of date. The House is over 50 years old, but I've always preferred the older technologies to the newer ones.
I frown as the water pounds me, and flip the large, flat, green shampoo switch up, hard. Too hard, in fact. I've forgotten how good an arm I have, and the switch breaks, leaving a jagged piece of plastic embedded in my hand.
I curse and stagger out of the shower, shampoo still in my hair, blood streaming down my arm, completely naked. No one takes any notice of this, except for the youngest ones who have just begun training here. I snarl at a little one who glances in my direction for a split second.
After wrapping a towel around myself, I tear upon the first aid kit over the sink and wrap my hand in a cloth bandage, neglecting to pull out the piece of plastic. I'll do it when I get home. I also leave the shampoo in my hair. Perhaps the upgraded showers could be an improvement.
I pull on my clothes and shoes, sweep through the sparsely furnished lobby, and step out into the street.
The air is warm. Cars zoom past me on the walk. The air smells like summer, a change from the sweaty must of the House. I feel a bit light headed, and when I look down I see blood flowing in a red river from my hand to the side walk. The cut must be deep. I ignore it.
As I glance back, I see the outside of the House has become a bit neglected. The paint is chipping off the unmarked building, and the paving stones directly outside of it are cracked. I remind myself to invest in fixing up this place when I become a victor.
The House is my second home, where I really belonged, not like where I really live. It hasn't been the same since my brother left. Of course he went to the Games. We were exactly the same, best friends. The only difference between us is that I will not be out-smarted by an idiot of a tribute.
When he was first killed, I was in shock and denial. He did not just collapse. That scrawny little bitch of a girl did not just obliterate every single one of the three remaining tributes with throwing knives. My mother, who never, ever cries is not burying her face in my father's arm. My father, who is never, ever scared, who nothing ever surprises, let alone shocked, did not just go pale.
He was supposed to win, my brother Aden, but he had a soft spot. He did not kill the little girl at the Cornucopia, or when he saw her slinking through the tall grasses that were in the arena that year. And he paid. He paid dearly.
But I learn from other's mistakes. I am cunning. I am strong. And now I am learning to have no soft spot. No mercy.
I had been considering this before, but what happened this evening has sealed the deal. Soft spots always damage you, sometimes beyond repair. Kill you or break your heart.
From now on, my heart will as hard as ice. My parents won't miss my love- they've shut me out since my brother died- and I haven't been close to anyone since Reeve. I have some friends, but they'll survive my absence until I return. My life will be devoted to winning the Games in a few weeks.
I consider staying at the House well into the night, like I usually do when I'm hacked off, but I rule out the idea since my hand is paining me so badly. It must be the plastic. Besides, Reeve is still in there.
Stumbling along the streets and clutching my hand- I am a bit worried about it, I've never had such a minor wound bleed so much- a car passes me. I can see through the windows my wealthy friend Cat. I wave to her and she waves back and smiles, leans forward to say something to the driver. Then the car comes to a screeching halt at the corner. The door opens.
"Enobaria!" Cat tumbles out of the car, clad in a dress and high heels.
"What are you wearing?" I ask her.
"Oh, it's wonderful isn't it?" she gushes. "I went to the Capitol to get it!" She this like she were saying she went to the moon, and that's far from possible. "I just know Jet is going to ask me to marry him! We're going to dinner tonight." Marry her? They've only just met. They hardly no each other. Is this same guy Cat was telling me about only weeks ago? The "wonderful man"? Perhaps it's me, moving too slow. Things would have played out much differently if Reeve had asked me to marry him before we split. We could've then. We should've...
"Hello? Enobaria?" Cat is speaking to me as if I'm a mile away, underwater. I've probably missed a month's worth of gossip at the rate Cat talks.
I shake my head to clear it. "Hmm?"
She wrinkles her nose, as if she's smelled something bad. Or is taking in a bad outfit, it's hard to tell with Cat. "What happened to your hand?"
"Nothing," I mutter. "I'd better get home."
Cat flings her arms out in front of me. "Get in the car," she tells me. When she opens the door, a blast of cold air washes over me. It does look inviting.
I start to climb in when she stops me. "I thought you wanted me to ride with you!"
Cat scowls. "My father will kill me if there's blood all over the seats!" Please, ignore the fact that I am on the edge of fainting.
"Just give me something to wrap around it!" I snap, wondering why I am even friends with someone as preppy as Cat. The only reason, really, is that she was probably the first friend I ever had. We've been through it all together; we grew up by each other's sides. We stuck together even when our personalities changed- Cat's classical dinner party, mine to tough, willing to kill for acknowledgement that I deserve love.
That's why I'm fighting. Because I deserve love. Not the kind that makes you delusional and so crazy you'll do anything. The kind that you should be entitled to, but aren't. Love from your parents. Finding someone who truly cares about you. Having close friends. When I am a victor, no one will be able to deny that of me. My parents will shower me with adoration and compliments. I'll be able to pick up any guy I find desirable- I've seen some of the girl victors do it in the past-. My friends will want to be seen with me. And most of all, the girl who skipped school to go to the House, the girl whose muscles are abnormally large, the one who always seems to have some sort of injury, will be gone. Gone forever. Disappeared, never to be seen again as soon as the new girl is air-lifted from the Arena, only player alive.
Cat finally appears from the front seat of the car with a wad of napkins, and by this time there is a pool of blood forming at my at my feet and I am struggling to keep conscious. My vision blurs and I have to completely depend on Cat to get me into the car. This is difficult since Cat is so determined to keep blood off of her Capitol dress. If I had the energy, I would roll my eyes.
Cat pushes the bandages into my hand and orders me into the car. The streets filled with people and other cars sweep by in a sort of circular motion. Maybe it's just my hand.
"Drive fast," she tells the chauffeur, then turns to me. "Enobaria, I haven't seen you uninjured since... Since... You know." She means when my brother died.
I shrug. "I know. I just have a lot on my mind."
"No you don't!" She chides. "You've had one thing on your mind for practically as long as I can remember." She means the Games. I sometimes think Cat knows me better than I know myself. She sighs. "Maybe you should give yourself a break."
A break? Now? So close to the Games? "A break?" I repeat. "I couldn't, not now."
Cat's face brightens, the way it always does when she has a horrid idea. Horrid in my opinion. To her it may well be the best idea she's ever had.
"How about," she says, "you go to dinner with Jet and me? I bet he won't mind."
"But you said he was going to propose to you tonight." I honestly don't wish to ruin Cat's night with my sour mood. "Besides, I have nothing to wear."
Cat smiles slyly. "Forget Enobaria's house," she leans up front to the driver. "Just go home."
"Cat," I start to say, but she interrupts me.
"I have tons of clothes," she smiles. "I know just the thing for you! And I'll get my mother to bandage your hand. Oh, get it over your lap, it's dripping!"
By the time we get to Cat's house, my pants are close to soaked in blood.
"Why is it bleeding so much?" Cat muses. "Oh well."
"Cat," I say dizzily, "I need to sit down. I think I lost a lot of blood."
Cat waves her hand. "Okay, okay. There are some chairs in the back-" she gestures to the back lawn- "that you could sit in."
I stagger around the house and into the fragrant back yard. I smell pine needles. I sway on the spot and squeeze my eyes together just before everything goes black.
I wake to the sound of Cat's voice and the wailing of a siren.
"Oh, you're awake!" Cat says, relieved. She immediately starts filling me in on the details. I've only been out for about five minutes- the ambulance came extraordinarily fast- and was stirring when they put me in here.
"You cut your hand really deep and the gash was really long," she prattles on.
"Cat," I interrupt, "when we get to the hospital, I want you to go on your date with Jet."
Cat pales. "No," she says. "When I saw you on the ground I told myself I wouldn't leave you, no matter how bad it got. Jet and I can reschedule."
"But you said he was going to ask you to marry him," I say.
Cat looks down. "I was just trying to get your attention," she says. "You looked about a million miles away." That I was.
"Sorry," I say, guilty. Then I try to sit up. My head spins, and Cat pushes me back gently.
"They said you lost a lot of blood," she tells me. "It seems curious that your hand would bleed so much."
I just shrug.
When we reach the hospital, I drift in and out of consciousness while they give me more blood. I notice a lot of people staring at Cat, clad in her fancy dress, but she just smiles at them. The one thing I could never understand about Cat was how she could possibly be so friendly. Especially when so many guys are looking at her like that.
But she stays with ne the whole time, asking me how I'm doing every five seconds or so. I keep telling her to go on her date, but she won't budge.
A few hours later, my hand freshly stitched and bandaged a wiped look on Cat's face; we stand out side waiter for her car.
"You'll join me and Jet on our rain checker, won't you?" she asks wearily.
A rush of gratitude fills me. For Cat being such a good friend, still needing me. "Of course," I tell her. "When is it?"
"Two weeks from today."
Two weeks from today? "But that's the first day of the Games."
Cat's voice is pleading. "Enobaria, please, come with me! We can watch the Games in the restaurant and you'll be safe. I couldn't stand it if you were in there, fighting for your life while I was having the time of my life on a date!" She's crying now.
I wrap my good arm around her shoulder awkwardly. "Cat, don't worry. I'll come back. For you," I add as a second thought, because Cat is the only person I'm living for. "You're more than a friend to me," I confide. "You're like the sister I never had." I can hardly keep back the tears, but I do. I would never cry in public.
Cat lifts her head. "Sisters," she says, and then she pulls a mirror from her hand bag. "I look like a wreck!" she cries, then ducks into the car that's just pulled up, dragging me behind her.
"But Cat," I say once we're seated comfortably, "I'm still going to volunteer for the Games."
She purses her lips but says nothing.
"It's kind of like asking you not to marry Jet even though you want to," I continue.
"But I would do it," she says. "For you." Using my own words against me.
I grab her hands. "But I have to do this," I says feverishly.
"Please don't," she whispers, eyes brimming again with tears.
"I will come back," I say urgently. The car stops at my house and I swing open the door.
"So you're going." It's not a question.
I nod and jump out of the car. I expect Cat to make some sort of threat about no longer associating with me if I go as she leans over to shut my door. But that's all she does. Shuts the door and looks as if her best friend has just been sentenced to death. Perhaps in her mind, I have been. But I think otherwise.
I didn't realize how much Cat's name sounded like Katniss until I finished this chapter. I feel stupid. But I hope you liked it anyway.
Thanks.