The Mentor

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Day Five; Part Three

Damon Marx (D9)

I roll my eyes at Blossom. "I don't care."

I really do care about what they're saying though. I just don't care about them saying it's Blossom. But even them saying it's her, is one step closer to them saying it's Quinn.

"I just didn't want you to think that I encouraged it," she tells me with a smile. "I don't think Hope will see it, though."

I'm really tired of acting like I can stand her. "Thanks for coming to tell me, but I want you to leave now."

Her expression is hurt, but I wave her out.

I lean back in a chair that I got some Capitolite that was freaking out over me to pull in here. I might have betrayed Hope, ruined my friendship with Quinn, and told the worst person I could possibly tell, but right now, in this chair, I am happy.

And then the moment is over.

Quinn charges into the room, looking murderous. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

I stand up. "What are you talking about?"

Seeing her, right in front of me, golden-brown eyes like daggers brings the attraction right back.

Shit.

"You fucking told Dara!" she screams. This is the angriest I've ever seen Quinn. She looks like she wants to strangle someone. "How could you?"

My mouth opens and closes, the room is too silent. "I . . . I'm sorry?"

"You hate Dara!" she exclaims. "Why would you tell her that? Why would you do that to me?"

"I didn't want to tell her!" I explode, anger hitting me like a punch. "There was a rumor going around that I was cheating on Hope and she clued me in on it. She figured it out herself, Quinn. Stop acting like you're a victim."

"I am a victim!" she yells. "You're the one that was going to cheat on you're fiancee! I did nothing, but you know who they're going to blame if this gets out? Me!"

Her words hit me like a punch, and I breathe slowly, though I see red. She just told me the cruel truth and I'm mad at her for it. I think I have problems. "Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Room."

She seems shocked at my hostility. "What?"

"You heard me," I hiss. "Go."

"But . . ."

"You weren't done chewing me out?" I supply. "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this but I don't give a shit what you have to say anymore. I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to look at you. Leave."

She gives me a confused look, and I scowl. She finally gets that I'm being serious about leaving and slowly walks out the door. I sigh in relief and I sit back down.

I start to see that all I just said to Quinn was out of unjustified anger. I run a hand through my hair. What did I just do?

Staring at the ceiling, I sigh in frustration. Should I go and apologize..? I stand up but then slowly sit back down. She'll be furious with me . . . but maybe that's okay. It's probably better this way, if she doesn't speak to me.

I'm so mad at myself but also relieved that I won't see Quinn again. Just a few more days and then I won't see her for a year or two at the least. Next year Delta will mentor, hopefully.

I hate the way she makes me feel. I hate everything about her, but I also love everything about her.

Shit.

I hate this. I hate how she's turned my fucking life upside down. I hate that I can't ever be the same.

I grimace, and glare at the ground for a few seconds. I close my eyes, wishing I could just stop agonizing over every decision I've made since I stepped up to the stage when I was only fifteen.

I decide I'll get through this, I'll try to go on exactly as before, even if there's a possibility it won't work.

I look back up, hoping all of this was just a dream, but of course wishful thinking is no help. I sigh before glancing at the TV screen.

I then groan. I've been neglecting my mentoring duties. I check my mentoring device. The polls are saying Anneliese will win, but everyone's favorites are the Elevens.

What. A. Shocker.

"I hate them," I grumble. It's not that I hate them, per say, but I hate what they represent. The represent the Capitol winning, yet again, and I can't stand it.

I check Miles' funds and he, of course, doesn't even have enough to buy the smallest canteen of water. Hell, he couldn't even afford an empty canteen.

I look back up, frowning at the TV. I see the bright red hair of Fern Carver, the District Ten girl. She looks frustrated with her lack of weapons. I would be too, this late in the Games. I long to see Miles instead.

I have to fight to keep my eyes open. It seems like I haven't slept in days. Which now that I think of it . . . I probably haven't slept but five hours in the last three days. If I don't sleep soon, I'll be paying a visit to that lovely little "hospital" they set up for us.

I hear a sputter on the TV and quickly look up, wondering what's happening for there to be any other noise than bugs buzzing. It's Fern.

Strangling Miles. I gasp. Fern is smiling, happy to be killing. Happy to be taking away a life.

My breathing is ragged, as Miles' face turns a deep purple. He is struggling hard, but Fern is much stronger. He seems . . . resigned to his fate, but also looks defiant. With his remaining energy, he spits on her. She snarls and knees him in the stomach. He blows out most of his dwindling supply of air in shock.

Soon- too soon in my opinion- his cannon fires and Fern climbs off his body with a self-satisfied smirk. She wipes the spit off her face and gathers all her supplies. I stare at the screen in disbelief.

Miles is really dead.

I fear that it's all my fault.

Ronny Pied (D5)

I wish Kallen was here . . . but yet I'm happy he's not.

I'm terrified about telling him. I have an irrational fear that he will realize that he's much too good for me and leave. But the more sensible part of me knows he will only be upset.

Ivo shoots me a concerned look. I notice that I'm breathing much too heavily. I calm myself down and then arch an eyebrow. "What?"

He shrugs, smiling blandly. I try to smile back, but fail miserably. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

He shrugs again and I chuckle at his nonchalance. "You act so bored."

He rolls his eyes. I bet if he could speak, he would say "I am" or some other sarcastic comment. I don't know for sure, but I have a feeling he's funny. Most victors have some sort of cynical humor.

"You know, I've never had a friend that could only answer yes or no questions." He rolls his eyes, smiling slightly. I wonder if he can laugh . . . I also wonder why he can't speak . . . I decide to ask.

"Ivo?" I ask. He looks up with an expectant expression. "Why can't you talk?"

He stares at me for a long time before pulling out a piece of paper and pencil he always keeps handy when I'm around. He hesitates before writing it all down.

He then hands me the paper. I read it slowly, a horrible grimace on my face. He saw his father murdered . . . and then the murderer . . . oh, gosh. The murderer tried to strangle him, but someone showed up and he ran away. But when the murderer tried to kill him, he damaged his vocal cords. It's not that he won't speak. It's that he can't.

"Oh my . . ." I can't even finish my sentence. "I . . . I'm so sorry."

He just shrugs, pretty much saying "I've heard it all before."

"But . . . it's just so horrible."

He sighs and shakes his head, with a rueful smile.

"Of course you were right to have told me!" I exclaim. "Don't you dare think anything differently."

He sighs again and rolls his eyes, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" I ask with an indignant expression. "That's not nice."

He chuckles. I again wonder if that is all the laugh he can manage. He raises his eyebrows at my quizzical expression.

"It's nothing." He gives me a doubtful look. "Really, nothing at all."

He gives me a frustrated expression and I decide to switch to a new subject. Quickly.

"You know, I hate people," I tell him. "They just annoy me. I like you, but I still think it's because you can't speak."

He shakes his head slowly, with a huge grin. I smile back.

"You shouldn't take that offensively." I roll my eyes. "At least I like you."

He chuckles again, smiling at me once more.

"So, how do you get to know people?" I ask. "Because, personally, I ask questions."

He rolls his eyes, grabs his sheet of paper and begins to write again. I watch as his pencil dances across the paper. He's actually got really good handwriting, something I envy. I used to hate school because my mean ass of a teacher always commented on my messy style. She counted off on tests, because "I can't read this." She made me re-write almost all of my assignments. Because she was a bitch.

An old bitch, at that.

People like her make me think everyone sucks.

I only know few people I truly like. Kallen and Ivo, two of the best people I know. My brother, Jude, even if he's a bit selfish. And my parents, who hated me at one point in my life.

He gives me his sheet of paper and I read over it quickly. He says he watches people's facial expressions mostly. He can tell if they are lying and some aspects of their personality. He informs me that I'm very perceptive because I can tell what he would say, even if he can't say it.

Perceptive? I like the sound of that.

Quinn McKinney (D8)

I'm attracted to him sure, I mean, we all knew that. But I hate him. So fucking much.

I've never been this mad, ever.

I'm always the happy one, the mellow McKinney, but whenever I'm angry- even at the smallest of things- I keep it all bottled up. Until it gets too much for me and it all spills out for a few days.

And then I'm like this. A big bitch who snaps at everything that is said. I can't wait for all this shit to be over and to be back in District Eight. I need to get away from all this freaking drama.

I see Miles' death and sigh, but I get a small twinge of pleasure, knowing it will hurt Damon.

I shudder at what I'm thinking. Disgust and guilt wash over me. I don't think I'd be able to look at myself in the mirror right now after that horrible thought.

I really can't help but feel sad, too. He was so rude. How could he be that rude to me? I'm one of his best friends. I'm his . . . what exactly am I? From his anger, I'm probably none of those things now.

A deep pain in my chest throbs at the thought. I scowl at the pain, wishing it would go away. Wishing my feelings would go away, like apparently his have.

I lay on my bed, wishing all the pain would go away. But it doesn't. It only intensifies and I find myself crying into my pillow. A small knock comes at the door. I turn quickly, excitement and dread warring through me. Could it be..?

It isn't.

Garl stands in the doorway, a huge grin on his face. When he sees my tear-stained face, it turns to a grimace. He comes and sits by me. "Everything okay?"

I know I should lie, but I can't help myself. Garl is so understanding. He would understand, wouldn't he? "No."

"What is it then?"

"I hate them," I mutter.

"I know you do, sweetie."

I already know who he thinks I'm speaking of. The Capitol, of course. That doesn't stop me from plowing on though. "I didn't do anything. Why do I deserve this?"

He pats me on the back softly. "You don't deserve anything, no one does."

Speaking of the tributes, I presume.

"I know that," I concede. "But I can't hold it against them! I shouldn't have done anything to begin with. It's all my fault."

Confusion is all I can see on his face now. I want to hit myself. The stupid part of my brain wants to let it all out, the smarter part is telling the stupid one to shut the fuck up.

"Um. I sense that this isn't about the Capitol."

"No." I look down. "No, it's not."

"Then who is it about?" he questions.

"Dara?" I supply. That's part of the truth at least.

Garl sighs. "Of course. You really shouldn't take anything she says serious."

"I know."

His confusion has dimmed, but is not all the way gone. "You said 'they'. Who's the other person that's been giving you a hard time?"

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit.

"Um . . ."

"It's okay. I won't tell a soul, Quinn."

I look down, wondering if I should tell him, or lie. Should I say she's the only one, or just admit to it being Damon. Keep all this anger and sadness I have inside, or for once let it out to someone who actually cares.

I make my decision. "It's Damon."

"Damon?" he asks, a grimace in place. "I thought you two were friends . . ."

I give him a small frown. "Yes."

He still looks confused. "So what do you two have to fight about?"

I look at him, and in my expression he sees all the answer he needs.

"Oh, Quinn," he whispers. "You didn't..?"

I shake my head wildly. "No! He . . . wanted to. I told him no."

"Is that why you're fighting?" he exclaims, outraged. "That asshole!"

"No, no, no!" Why am I telling him this? I must be an idiot. "He told Dara and she said something about it to me and I confronted him and he yelled at me. It all just . . . a really big mess."

"Why would he yell at you? You've done nothing wrong!" he hisses. "And Dara? He's an idiot."

"Don't say that," I whisper.

He shouldn't be talking about Damon like this.

He gives me a startled look. Then, slowly, realization dawns on his features. "You love him?"

Deny.

Deny it, Quinn.

"Maybe."

"But you said . . . no?"

"He loves Hope." I shake my head. "Not me. So I shouldn't mess that up for him."

"You aren't messing it up." He frowns. "He is."

"You really think so?" I ask hopefully. Maybe if Garl thinks so everyone else will. Maybe it's not my fault. "Thank you for thinking that."

He smiles. "There isn't any reason to thank me."

I erupt into a laugh over what I'm about to say. "I just like knowing that someone has my back."