RC + MW

That's what we carve into the bark of the pine tree I'm lying in, awaiting my death. Ryley Castor and Malachi Wilson. Me and him. He's sitting close to me, warmth radiating from his lean body. His arms are curled around me and I'm snuggled close to his chest. He's asleep. I'm wide awake, watching the gray dawn succumb to the bright daylight. Strangely enough, I feel more comfortable in the dark. Sure, I can't see if anyone is about to kill me, but I also can't see the horrors that the arena brings. The darkness pushes away the nightmares.

We are so different, Malachi and I, starting first and foremost with our families. He is bathed in riches and has been for his entire life. His mother, father, and brothers are all victors. When — if — when he wins the Games, he will be, too. He's Career, strong and agile, beautiful and envied. I'm alone, for the most part, except for Zoe. My other siblings take care of each other, but Zoe needs me and I need her. Malachi is unique and friendly, quick to smile and actively kind. Me, I'm more of a watch-them-die kind of person. Like the rest of the befaller families, I'm the shoulders that the world rests upon. My siblings depend on me, but they don't need me for any reason other than to take the tesserae.

Malachi is good. He's a perfect person. I'm the opposite, and still we manage to fit together perfectly, the way I fit in his arms and he in mine. We're completely different. The most important difference being that he's going to win and I'm going to die.

I wince slightly as I sit up slowly, bringing my injured leg close to my chest. Carefully, as not to start the bleeding again, I unwrap it from the double layer of thin jackets. It's stopped dripping blood finally, after nearly seven or so hours of nonstop bleeding. I can see exactly where the fangs met my flesh, six huge puncture holes that are easily as big in width as my palm. Giant gouges of my skin and muscle, torn away. I can see right down to the bone, the pearly white turned pink with crimson blood. A drop of the stuff leaks out and drops to the ground, staining another patch of pale silvery grass reddish. The ground is practically bleeding itself now.

I frown. The wounds are healing better than I expected. They should be still dripping blood, but they've healed some and are slowly closing up, new skin forming around the edges where there was nothing last night. I didn't take the pill from Taylor, so there's no way it could be from that. Maybe the jackets have something in them that promotes skin growth? Or, I think, examining the new green-tinged skin, did something in the air help it? I shrug, mystified.

I know what will happen to me. I'm going to die, and I don't care. I would never in a trillion years eat a pill from Taylor, even one that will save my life, not even for Malachi. I'm far, far, too stubborn for that. I smile wryly, a half-grin spreading over my face. Hysteria takes over and I take several deep breaths to calm down, rewrapping my leg and fetching the water bottle from the crook of Malachi's arm. He won't mind. As I pull it carefully from his arm, as not to disturb him, a slip of paper slides loose as well. Frowning, I pick it up.

Try again. Don't tell her it's from me. Good luck. Finnick.

I stare at the paper, confused and worried. Did something happen to Malachi while I was sleeping? Is he okay? I read the note again.

And again.

And it sinks in.

Try again. Try again to get me to take pills. Try again to get me to depend on the Capitol brats that haunt my dreams far more than any tribute ever does. Try again. Malachi's fine, for now, but when he wakes up I'm going to—

"Ryley?" He says, blinking open his sea green eyes, so similar to the sea of anger rising behind my own brown eyes. Malachi glances at the paper in my hands and instantly looks guilty. "I'm sor —"

I whip around not caring if he's sorry or not. Climbing swiftly and launching quickly into another tree, then another, then another, I hear sounds of muffled pursuits and drop to the ground, running fast and as hard as I can with my leg. I don't care if he did something to help me. I don't care that it was for my own good. I don't care that I love — loved, past tense — him. He did something unforgivable. So why should I forgive him?

I have returned bearing the gift of stubbornness, dearest Ryley. I'm sorry I've made you fall out of love with Malachi, but you and I both know that I made him spell something you'd hate so that when—

Oops. Almost spoiled the ending. It's been a long journey with y'all and I'm glad that I did this, but I will probably(definitely) rewrite this sometime in the foreseeable future because the beginning kind of sucked. Also I'M SERIOUSLY SO PSYCHED FOR THE END! Y'all are quite possibly going to either love or hate me. We'll see which! As always, stay safe and I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review!

Love, Ally