Here it is! The final chapter. I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
After Sterling and Quinn finally leave, Jared gives me a tour of my new home.
Like the kitchen, the rest of the home is simple and clean. It's a stark contrast from my old house, which was made to look decorative; my mom always had big business names over for meetings, and our house said something about our family. That it was big, grand, formal. It was a lie.
But this place… it's me. It's all I've been reduced to. Set apart, clean, simple. I like it.
The only thing I don't like is the colors. The light blue color of the exterior is fine, but the inside… everything is so dull. Most is the furniture is white, which I like, but every single wall is beige.
"I'm painting every wall," I say immediately after I walk into the living room.
Jared simply shrugs. "I did, too."
"What color are yours now?"
"Forest green and navy blue. It works well with the white furniture."
"I was thinking more… red. And lavender."
"Whatever works for you," he responds. "I'll help you paint it, if you want."
I smile. "I'd like that."
The living room is simple and modern. A white couch, two white chairs, a glass coffee table, a huge TV on the wall.
"What do they expect me to watch on that?" I ask, pointing to it.
"The games," he says with a grimace. "When you're not mentoring them."
I groan and quickly pull him into the next room on the tour, which happens to be the dining room.
The floor is a dark wood. The table is made of stained white wood, which I really like, and white leather chairs. There's a big vase of fake black orchids on the table.
"Real flowers would be better," I mutter, reaching out and touching a cotton petal.
"We'll get you some," Jared promises. "Now, let me show you around upstairs."
"There's five bedrooms?" I ask, surprised. "The house didn't look this big from the outside."
"Technically, you'll have four," Jared tells me. "They'll have people come in and set up the fifth one as a room dedicated to your hobby. "
"That's cool," I reply. "What does yours look like?"
"Mine is literally a bare room with a piano in it," he says, rolling his eyes.
I laugh. "Show me the master."
"It's at the end of the hall," Jared responds, pointing to the door on the other side of the carpeted hall. We walk towards it together.
As we go by, I glance into each of the other bedrooms. They're all the same, with white carpet on the floors and a full-sized bed taking up most of the room. There's also a wooden chest of drawers, and a large window on one wall.
Then Jared leads me into the master bedroom, and I gasp.
"This color scheme…" I say, running up to the bed and dragging my hand across the plush comforter. The bedset is white, and so are the walls. This might the only room whose wall color I don't change. The floors are made of a dark wood, as is the bedframe, the nightstand, and the wardrobe. "It's perfect."
Jared laughs. "What?" I ask, looking back at him and feeling confused.
"Nothing. I just wouldn't put you down as the type of girl who cared about stuff like that."
I put a hand on my hip. "Can't I appreciate the aesthetically pleasing layout of this room without being judged?"
"Yes."
I throw myself down onto the bed. It's a huge bed, with four dark wooden posts. At the sides, curtains are held back, ready to be pulled around the bed. "I've always wanted a bed like this. That way, when people are being assholes, I can just close the curtains around myself and they won't be able to talk to me anymore."
Jared comes to a standing halt next to the bed. "Why would people even be in your bedroom?"
I reach back and pull the curtain between us.
"Hey!" he exclaims, swatting it away. "That's not fair. It was just a joke."
"I know," I insist. "And I was joking back."
"Ah, you're the 'joking back' type." He shrugs and sits down next to me. This is so big that we're almost two feet away from each other, even though I'm spread-eagled on the bed. "Good, because I am the 'joking back' type. We'll get along famously."
"You say that like we've just met," I reply.
"Well, not that you're not in danger of dying or recuperating from almost dying, we're really just meeting for the first time."
"That's true."
"Hi, I'm Jared Evans." He holds out his hand, and I shake it. "And you'll be dealing with my bullshit for a long, long time."
For the next few days, all I do is sleep most of the day and eat in small increments.
Finally, after four days, Jared decides that he's bored, so he comes over to my house and makes me waffles. I didn't even know he had a key. Not that I'm complaining. He makes amazing waffles. Like, they're the best breakfast food I've ever had, including the breakfast in the Capitol.
"What am I supposed to do now?" I ask, dipping a piece of my waffle in syrup.
"What do you mean?" he asks, pouring syrup all over his.
"That's disgusting," I point out. "And I mean, I don't have to work now, so what do I do?"
He shrugs. "Well, you have the victory tour in a few months." He shoves a forkful of waffle into his mouth, which makes me shake my head in exasperation. "I'll be helping you prepare for that."
"Don't talk with food in your mouth," I say, wrinkling my nose.
He rolls his eyes and swallows his food. "Yes, ma'am."
"What will I do once the victory tour is over?" I ask, sipping my glass of milk.
"You could teach classes at the Academy, like I do," he says. "Dior's the boss. She's strict and a little pretentious, but she's pretty nice."
I shake my head. "I'm never going back to that place ever again."
"Fine by me. I didn't want to either, because I was so hated there, but after a while I got so bored that I accepted a job there."
"I'm not doing that," I insist. "What else is there?"
"Your talent," he says.
"I don't have any talents," I say, shaking my head.
He laughs so hard milk almost comes out his nose. "You're kidding, right?"
"No." I throw my napkin at him. "Wipe your face. That's disgusting."
He wipes his face like I tell him to. "You have lots of talents, Kallie."
"Oh, really?"
"Well, for one, you're really compassionate."
"Oh, really?" I ask sarcastically. "Well, maybe my talent will be helping those in need. Could you just point me to a homeless shelter? Here, in District 1?"
He coughs. "Point taken. What else are you good at?"
I sigh, feeling frustrated. "I don't know."
"Oh, come on. There's gotta be something." He points to my plate, which still has half a waffle left. "Are you going to eat that?"
I pull the plate towards me defensively. "Yes!"
"Okay, okay. Do you have any hobbies?"
"I've done nothing but train for the past ten years!" I say angrily. "You know that!"
He holds his hands up in surrender. "Chill, Kallie. Just asking a question. So, we're starting from scratch."
"Why do I even have to have a talent?" I grumble.
He grins. "I have no idea. It probably makes us do more than just sit and look pretty for the Capitol people. Is there something you've thought about taking up as a job in the past?"
"No really," I admit. "I always just assumed I'd work for my mother's company."
"On what level?"
"Corporate. Like, handling money and stuff. Not all the gritty work."
"So you want something that will be clean?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"Do you like art?"
I raise and eyebrow. "Are there people who don't like art?"
"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"
"What is the point of this again?"
He takes another bite of waffle. "Photography."
My brow furrows. "What?"
"Photography," he repeats. "That could be your hobby."
"What orifice of your body did you pull that out of?" I ask. "Your ass?"
He smirks. "You wish, but no. I'd say my ears, because they're closest to my brain."
"Oh, really? And why did your brain go straight to photography?"
"You like art, but don't you don't want to get messy. There's singing, too, if you don't like the gritty work that gets you covered in paint or glitter or something worse."
"How do you know I wouldn't like singing?" I ask indignantly.
"I don't know. Would you?"
I shake my head. "Not really."
"Why do you have to be so difficult, Kallie?" he asks, tilting his head. "I was right."
"You were. I just like being an asshole sometimes."
He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. "Sometimes?"
"Oh, shut up, Jared," I reply, wrinkling my nose and throwing the rest of my waffle at him.
He snatches out of thin air the second before it hits his face. "You lose," he brags, taking a bite out of it.
"Damn it," I whine.
"So, photography," he says. "Yeah or nah?"
"Yeah," I sigh. "But not right now. The victory tour, remember?"
His smile fades a little. "Yeah, I remember." He grabs our plates and places them in the sink, the rest of my waffle still in my mouth. Then he picks up the milk and puts it back into the refrigerator, before spitting the waffle out into the trash can.
"Why would you do that?" I cry out, my heart breaking a little. "I could've eaten that!"
"Glad to see you wanting to eat again," he says warmly, grabbing my hand and pulling my up from my spot at my kitchen table. "But there's no time. We've got a hobby to develop, dresses to choose, and speeches to write. There's no time to waste."
I hope you liked this story! I'm glad so many of you want a sequel, so maybe I'll try to write one in my free time this year. I'll start publishing it at the beginning of next summer. Again, it's a maybe. I'm very busy this year; I'm taking four honors classes, an AP class, and I'm involved in six clubs; I'll also be acting as lighting and sound manager in two plays. But be warned that if I do write one, it will probably have a heavy foundation in Jared and Kal's relationship and how it develops after her victory. So you don't have to read it if you don't like that kind of stuff.
Anyway, I'm glad I got to go on this journey with you guys. I hope you liked this story! If you did, please remember to review (AND BE NICE). Tell me what you liked about it, who your favorite tribute besides Kal was, your favorite scene, etc. I love feedback, and I love you guys!