Chapter Three

After years of fretting over how I was going to go on living without Mory, I've ended up here. For so long, I wished I would just die, tried to commit suicide even, and now I'm trapped in this oversized deadly terrarium fighting for my life. So far the odds have not been in my favor. And not just in the Games, I've been lucky enough to survive longer than I had thought, but in life. The center of my universe left me when I was young, too young to understand much of it, and his absence has haunted me ever since. My name was drawn at the reaping five years later, leading to my being thrown into this arena today. And now I'm wallowing in a bush, injured and in serious pain, dehydrated but afraid of wasting the little water I have.

I honestly don't know what to do.

I've been lying here, concealed by leaves and branches for at least a few hours. My countless attempts at sleep were all in vain, so I can feel the strong lack of energy and motive in my body. I feel hollow. Completely bereft of any sort of internal substance; food, water, blood, life. I feel like just an empty shell of myself. You could drive a spear right through me and there would be nothing inside. I would just crumble at the touch and drift away with the wind.

My mind seems to have evaporated as well. My judgment, my decision-making skill, my senses; they seem drowsy and distracted. Preoccupied with the wound at hand, my sleeplessness, hunger and thirst. My irrepressible fear. If I were to face a life-or-death decision right now, whether it be my life or another's, I can bet I would choose wrong. But I wouldn't be able to regret it if I were dead, now would I?

The wind seeps in through the leaves of the bush, rustling them slightly and causing me to shiver. I hug my legs close to me and tuck my head between my knees. I try to rearrange the leaves and branches a bit to shield me, but the cold is persistent. The breeze is lessened somewhat, but it doesn't do much to stop the cold from getting to me. I spend most of the night like this, freezing and curled up.

I can see the faint light of day just barely peeking up from the horizon, warning me that I will be much more visible not long from now. What am I going to do when the sun comes up? I can't stay here in full daylight with the looming threat of other tributes finding me. Especially with such a strong need for food and water. What if the Careers were to find me here, vulnerable and alone? They would pick me off like it was nothing; I have no way to defend myself. I do have my spear and knife, but I barely know how to use them. And I stupidly placed them out of reach from where I am now, and I have no intention of moving. The pain is too much and my energy too little.

If I can't even force myself to roll over to reach something only a few feet away from me, how am I going to manage a long journey? How am I even going to stand? I thought leaving it alone was best, that it might miraculously start to heal on its own, but the gash in my side has immobilized me. I have never been in this much pain before, and it amazes me that it's even possible for one thing to hurt so badly.

I think back to the day Mory died. He was whipped forty times, each one no doubt breaking the skin and forcing blood to flow. My wound is no more than a painless paper cut in comparison to his. I can't imagine anything hurting more than the pain at hand. I cannot believe Mory had to feel that pain. That he suffered that much.

I feel like a weakling, a coward. He was always so strong, so brave, never showed any hurt, anger or sadness. No matter what the situation, he always had a smile on his face, could always manage to laugh it off, or at least pretend to. And I'm here, feeling barely one-fortieth of what he felt, already giving up. I am a coward. A good-for-nothing quitter. I am ashamed of myself.

I should be courageous, strong, undaunted. Mory would be proud of me if I got up and kept going. So that's what I need to do. I will find a way to pick myself up, no matter the pain, and I will find food and water. I will fix my wound, get my act together, and try my absolute hardest to win this. I am going to prove that the odds don't have to be in my favor for me to take victory.

New determination coursing through me, I push myself up and try to stand. But I overestimate my strength and do so too quickly, collapsing to the ground with an agonized cry. I wrap my arms around my torso, eyes squeezed shut, and try to hold in the pain, my every in-taken breath sharp and shallow. Mind completely consumed by my current problem, I don't hear the soft footsteps getting closer and closer and the slight crinkle of the leaves around me. But, too little too late, I do notice when the sun's warmth and light is cut off and I am left sitting in a shadow.

As fast as it came, all the fight has left me, and I slowly turn my head to face my fellow tribute and soon-to-be killer. I sigh and try not to look afraid, but I can't hide the obvious pain in my voice. "Just get it ov –"

"Shhh!" A hand clamps over my mouth, but to my surprise I feel neither a knife at my neck, a spear tip pressed to my back, or their other hand closing around my throat. The shadow comes around in front of me and crouches to my level. He keeps his hand firmly in place over my lips so I can only widen my eyes when I see his face. Ross!

I instantly relax and all fear of death vanishes. I almost start laughing because I'm so relieved, but I can't make sound beneath his strong hand. Did he come to find me because he wanted us to join forces? A tiny light flares inside of me, something I could only call hope. Maybe, if we became allies, he could help me find water, fix me up, and I would have a better chance of surviving. Maybe then I could make it to the final eight. Maybe I could even win.

I mentally shake my head. This is the Hunger Games. I can't go getting all happy-go-lucky because I may or may not now have an ally. He might just be here to gain my trust and then finish me off. I am already pretty close to death. I would be easy pickings, especially for someone of his strength and skill. I can't afford to let my guard down; it would only win me a spot in the afterlife. I have to stay alert and not lose focus.

My eyes narrow at the form before me and his face takes on a confused look. I bring my hand to his and wrench it from my mouth, catching him off guard, and scoot back as far as the little shrub will allow to create some distance between us. "Why are you here?" I whisper harshly.

His bright violet eyes search my face, puzzled at my reaction. "What's the matter? I thought you'd be happy to see me," he says. He sounds truly hurt by my coldness, and it takes a tremendous effort not to reach out and hug him and tell him that I miss him.

I stand my ground and put on my best grimace, ignoring the strange tingling in my gut. "You didn't answer my question. What do you want?" I ask.

"I wanted to ask you if you would be my ally. I figure we're stronger together than apart. And you're the only one I know I can trust. If you feel the same," he says, and I have to push away the guilt I feel at his words. How can he still trust me so openly, while I won't even touch him? I thought he was the smarter of the two of us. But then again, I would never be able to hurt him, let alone kill him, so is he right to trust me? How can he be so sure? "Will you be my ally, Roia?"

I bite my lip. My first instinct is to say yes. After all, he is strong and clever and could be a useful partner. But another part of me can't trust him yet. Not in a place like this. The strange thing is it feels like he just proposed to me. He's kneeling before me, asking me to be his ally, and I have yet to accept or decline. And I know I will probably never marry, because my chances of making it out of this arena are slim, so I pretend. I picture myself, the man of my dreams before me, screaming and laughing and crying and saying yes over and over and over again, hugging and kissing him and already trying to imagine the silken white dress I will wear when I walk down the aisle. It's odd, thinking of something so happy and unattainable at a time like this. When I have such an important decision to make.

Why was I able to trust Ross instantly when we first met, but now I won't even allow him a kind word? That's what the Hunger Games does to you. You are so afraid for your own life that you won't trust anybody, won't do anything that could even possibly endanger you. And I am turning into one of them. What can I do about it? Paranoia isn't something you can just choose to get rid of. It stays with you until you're out of the arena. I've heard rumors that for some victors, it's as if they never left. They still live in fear and think that everyone they see is another tribute who's out to get them.

"How do I know I can trust you?" I ask. And that's probably the worst thing I could have said because it means that I'm considering his offer. My desire to team up with Ross has by now taken the edge out of my voice and I no longer sound reluctant when I say, "Prove it to me."

"A challenge, eh?" he says with a slight smile. My stomach makes a weird twinge that I don't have time to analyze. He looks up and thinks for a moment. Then his eyes lower to meet mine. He reaches for my hand, as he did freely during our week of preparation, but rethinks it and lets his arm fall back to his side. "Do you remember what I said the other night? When we were walking back from dinner?" He pauses and my mind rushes back to that moment, the night before we entered the arena.

We had just had one of the Capitol's delicious multi-course meals. Potatoes over rice hidden by a layer of some thick, salty sauce; a foamy, white soup filled with bright berries; tiny squares of breaded chicken stuffed with steaming vegetables; a light, clear green broth; three perfectly round scoops of Italian ice the color of the Capitol people with thin slices of sugar cane balanced delicately on top. I ate every crumb my stomach could hold; the rice and potatoes were absolutely amazing.

We walked slowly, our bellies about to burst, my hand in his.

"That's probably the best meal we've had since we got here," said Ross. "They must really be trying to fatten us up for the Games."

"No kidding. I feel sick to my stomach I ate so much. That first course was so good I couldn't stop until my plate was sparkling clean," I said.

"The one with the really salty gravy? My favorite was the sweet berry soup. Mmm… I would bring home buckets of that stuff if I could." He licked his lips and rubbed his stomach for show.

I released a small giggle. "I know you would." We both sighed and Ross squeezed my hand.

"Ross, what are we going to do when we're in the arena?" I asked suddenly.

"I don't know," he said sadly. "I just want to spend as much time with you now as I can. Because I know both of us can't win."

"But what if we end up having to face each other in the arena? What if we become the final two? What would we do then?"

"There are a lot of things that could go wrong in there. We both know it. But wouldn't you rather savor the time we have left than waste it worrying about what may happen in the future?" he said.

"But what if –"

"Stop worrying," he said with a chuckle. The future doesn't matter now; we're still in the present." By then we were at the door to my room, and Ross was leaning against the doorframe. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye, all humor gone. "Listen to me," he said, and I had no choice to but to meet his gaze. "No matter what, know that I am here for you. I would never hurt you; even in the arena, I wouldn't dare. Remember that. I may be your only friend once we leave those metal circles." Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. His lips were warm and soft on my skin, softer than I expected, and he just held them there for a while. Then he pulled away and walked off to his room without another word.

To be honest, I was baffled. I was tingling all over and for the first few minutes, I could swear I was in love. Did he mean it? Would I be able to go to him for help in the arena? It seemed unreal, that he cared about me so much, that he would go to such lengths to prove it. I was in some sort of a trance for a while, but that disappeared as soon as I entered the arena.* It's too dangerous to think about love right now, here. Even friendship isn't a good idea; it would only lead to betrayal or heartbreak. And where would that get me?

So, instead of launching myself into Ross' arms like my body is telling me to, I say brusquely, "Yeah. I remember."

But he remains cool and patient and only looks deeper into me. "Well I meant it. Every word. I want to help you, protect you, lo…" he stops himself, then continues, "Be your friend; you just have to let me," says Ross. "I understand why you're so reluctant to team up with me. People change in the arena, I know that, but I don't plan on being one of them. I will never hurt you." He looks at me expectantly with the face of a puppy eagerly awaiting a treat.

"I'm not convinced," I say, crossing my arms. But it sounds like I'm only messing with him. I wish I were able to appear fierce, intimidating, but my tone seems more playful. I don't want him to think this is a game.

Ross sighs and says, "I didn't think you would be so difficult," and takes my hands without hesitation. But I don't pull away in time to stop his kiss. It's so unexpected that I literally don't know what to do. So I don't do anything. I let my arms hang at my sides and sit there, frozen by surprise. I do nothing to encourage the kiss, but much worse, I do nothing to try to stop it. I can feel him smile on my lips just before he pulls back. He chuckles as I stare at him, wide-eyed, dumbfounded and unable to move. "Was that proof enough for you?" he asks with a smile. Then more to himself than me, "I've been waiting for a reason to do that."

My heart is beating faster than it ever has before; faster than when I was running madly away from the boy from District 5, and I wonder if Ross can hear it. I try to calm it down in case he can. I know he's waiting for me to say something, but I don't think I would be able to speak if I tried. He raises his eyebrows and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I guess it really is possible to leave someone speechless. I used to think it was just an inaccurate expression.

My head is a little dizzy and I see little black spots before me that come and disappear. I suddenly feel very tired and just want to go to sleep. But my wound is numb now; I can't feel it at all, so I take that as a good thing.

"Roia?" Ross says, slightly concerned. "Are you alright?"

Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be alright? I've only lost the ability to speak temporarily, and because of you. I would be yelling at you right now if I could. But his face is growing more concerned with each thought I direct towards him. What's the matter with him? Is he hallucinating?

Then he gasps almost silently, the color in his face draining fast, and I see that his eyes are locked on my side. I'm about to tell him it's no big deal, it's not that deep a cut and it doesn't even hurt anymore, when I look down myself.

Then the world fades out tainted deep red.