Blinding Shadows. The 78th Hunger Games.
V. Luck Of The Draw.
Stop there and let me correct it
I wanna live a life from a new perspective
You come along because I love your face
And I'll admire your expensive taste and
Who cares? Divine intervention
I wanna be praised from a new perspective
But leaving now would be a good idea
So catch me up on getting out of here
Davidson Zinaro. 16.
District Six Male.
✦✦✦
Davidson Zinaro refuses to sing his sister's requiem.
Furthermore, he refuses to admit that the day his twin Harleigh's name was called at the Reaping for the 77th Hunger Games, the trajectory of his entire life changed... for the better.
No longer is he the gentle-hearted brother of renowned troublemaker Harleigh Zinaro, a rebel without a cause and a minor threat to District Six at large. No longer is he known as a reflection of her vices, but instead, he's finally his own person. For better or for worse, he's just Davidson now. Just Davidson Zinaro, a boy finally living for himself and not the legacy of somebody he can hardly bring himself to mourn.
(Harleigh's Games were a clusterfuck. She fought, hell she fought harder than Davidson even though was capable, yet in the end, she was dead on the ground with the Two boy's spear pierced through her throat, and really... Davidson didn't feel a thing. From the moment her name was called to the moment the last speck of dirt fell on her coffin in the ground, all Davidson felt was stunned.)
Perhaps he's just as stunned nearly a year later, sitting with his legs crossed on the barstool of his kitchen's counter, talking to Avianna before he goes off to school for the day. That's another thing that's changed; Avianna's no longer just Davidson's nanny. In all her grief surrounding Harleigh's death, she admitted to the boy that she's he and Harleigh's mother, and she always has been their mother; she was just too afraid to say it. Their father? Oh, he's dead and gone just like Harleigh said he was, but that doesn't matter now, 'cause he knows that Avianna's not just some lady who's been hired by the dead to raise him but rather a true matriarch, somebody with the same flesh and blood as him. And that's nice to know because Davidson didn't really like thinking about how without Harleigh, he'd have no living relatives. That's simply untrue, thankfully.
Still, Avianna's been taking the loss of her daughter hard. That particular morning as she's pouring Davidson a glass of lavender tea, she remarks, "You know, this was always your sister's favorite type of tea."
Is it wrong that Davidson doesn't really want to talk about her? Not that he blames her for bringing his sister up, of course. He feels like Avianna has more to grieve than anyone else because she has the burden on her shoulders of knowing that Harleigh's dead without knowing that she indeed did have a mother who cared for her. Davidson can't imagine the weight that grief's placed on Avianna's shoulders, but that doesn't mean he wants the same pressure pulling him to the ground.
So he merely hums noncommittally as he takes a sip of the tea.
Avianna continues, "She never liked it when I served her any other sort of tea."
"I remember," Davidson replies, voice barely carrying over his cup's rim.
Avianna smiles slightly as she continues, "She'd always complain that it was too dull."
"Yeah," Davidson chuckles.
"And there'd be so much complaining..." Avianna sighs wistfully.
"Sounds like my sister," Davidson agrees, though only halfheartedly.
He's already talked about Harleigh too much for the day, but he knows that as soon as he's home from school, Avianna'll go on a rant about something his sister used to do, and he'll have no choice but to support her. And Davidson does cherish her presence. He's more than happy to comfort his grieving mother; he just can't help but wish for different circumstances.
Maybe that's because he still doesn't miss her. He again sips the tea in his mug and then sets it back down onto the counter.
Avianna watches him closely.
He sighs quietly and leans his head against his hand as he rests it upon his folded arms. "It's getting late. I'll head off to school if that's alright with you?"
Avianna nods. "Of course, dear."
Davidson stands as he walks to his room, leaving his mug of tea behind on the counter. He pulls on a grey hoodie over his shirt and grabs his backpack from the corner of his room.
He leaves his bedroom, pausing as he looks down the hall to Avianna, who's still seated where he left her in his kitchen.
They exchange a few words before she bids him goodbye for the rest of the morning.
Davidson waves goodbye as he leaves his house.
He momentarily stops outside his front door to lean against the exterior wall, and he sighs heavily. He turns his head forward to gaze up at the sky. He stares up at the clear blue sky for a while, eyes distant. It's strange to see the sky empty this time of year. The skies are usually filled with the color of summer. Summer, which means that the anniversary of when his life changed is near.
As he stands, he straightens his spine and exhales slowly through his nose before walking down the sidewalk, away from his neighborhood. He turns his head slightly to look behind him, watching the windows of his neighbors' houses light up as they close up their curtains. He's used to seeing the light of his friends' homes lighting up their windows when he wakes up in the morning.
The streets are quiet and peaceful today. There's not a sound in his ears. Even the birds are silent, which is unusual for a bright, sunny day. A few times, he passes by some cars idling on the side of the road, but other than that...
It's almost eerie. Davidson's heart flutters uneasily as he steps through his front gate to campus, sharply exhaling as he sits down at a bench where his friends are waiting for him.
That's another thing that's changed since Harleigh's death. He has friends now. He has Panama, Erie, Joey, and Rileigh, and they all pay attention to him now that he doesn't have his sister in the spotlight. They listen to him instead of ignoring him.
"Top of the morning to you all," Davidson says, greeting the group with a beaming smile.
Joey returns the grin. "Good to see you!"
"Same," Erie adds, grinning and flashing a peace sign in response.
Rileigh gives him a thumbs up and a wave of her arm." Good to see ya!"
A wide grin splits Davidson's face.
His friends are kind to him. His friends don't forget about him. This is why he's grateful for being able to call them his friends. They're his friends, but even more importantly, they've become more like family than Harleigh ever was.
His friends care for him.
And he cares for them.
He looks out across the courtyard, taking note of the trees lining its perimeter, and a slight breeze blows past him, rustling his hair, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin.
A part of Davidson feels a bit cold without Harleigh's jacket around his neck. A part of him feels incomplete without hers draped over his shoulders. But a more significant part of him feels free for the first time in years. A more substantial amount of Davidson isn't burdened by his sister.
Davidson's shoulders feel lighter, lighter than they ever did before. He doesn't mind the chill in the air. He doesn't care that he shivers. He doesn't mind the unnatural cold of June. Because for the first time in years, he's feeling free.
(For a long while after Harleigh died, Davidson tried desperately to find meaning in everything around him. He looked for anything that might help him make sense of everything that had happened but found nothing. After a while, he just gave up searching for anything he could use to comprehend Harleigh's passing. At some point, he realized that he needed a fresh start.)
(He still feels awful for no longer being able to mourn her.)
Davidson turns back towards Joey, Erie, Panama, and Riliegh and gives them a smile, and then speaks aloud to his companions, "Did y'all do anything interesting yesterday after school?"
Joey smiles in return. "Nothing much,"
Riliegh then responds in unison, "Not really, except...uh..." She pauses for a moment, trying to recall a recent memory of what she did that day. Her lips part. As she tries to remember something, she shakes her head sadly in exasperation, "...yeah, I don't remember what I did last."
Erie then laughs softly. "Me neither."
Davidson then gives both Erie and Rileigh a knowing smirk. He asks his two companions, "Anybody wanna guess what it is that I did?"
"What were you doing?" Joey replies curiously.
It's nice to have people who care about his life, who aren't looking for him just to tell him how amazing Harleigh was, or that she was beautiful, or whatever they thought was going to cheer him up today. They genuinely want to know everything about Davidson. They genuinely want to listen. And even if the attention is a bit daunting, he's decided it's best to embrace it.
"I made dinner for my mother," He proclaims, immense gusto in his voice, "I finally remembered her recipe and the ingredients for her pasta, you know... the one with the fancy clam sauce I managed to finesse from the corner store."
"Oh lord," Erie laughs, playfully rolling their eyes, "She's still talking about that clam sauce, isn't she?"
"Yep," Davidson smirks, "I made it for her, and she acted like I was some sort of a messiah."
Erie grins, "You are."
"Well, you're certainly making me into one," He retorts sarcastically.
Erie shrugs. "It's the truth."
Davidson huffs out an amused breath through his nose as he glances over at Rileigh, catching her smiling lightly with her hands clasped together. "Anyway, after that, we went for a walk..."
"Where did you get off to?" Riliegh cuts him off abruptly, a puzzled frown upon her face.
"I walked down to that one spot a few blocks from here where all the waste drops off, and then you can swim in it," Davidson replies with a shrug, as though he didn't notice her tone.
"You walked around the waste lake? Isn't it dangerous?" Rileigh questions.
"It wasn't hazardous," Davidson explains as he turns to look at Rileigh.
Rileigh's mouth falls open slightly in astonishment. "You're just as cool as your sister, aren't you?"
"Dare I say, I'm cooler?" He raises a brow and laughs.
"Definitely," Erie agrees.
He chuckles softly as he nods his head slightly. "Thank y'all."
"You're welcome!" Rileigh exclaims cheerfully, "It's good that you're finally taking time to relax and have fun. You know, we worry about you so much! We think you're so stressed out!"
Davidson shakes his head, a small laugh escaping his mouth. "I worry about myself plenty," He assures her.
And it's true, Davidson's thoughts often cross into darkness when he's least expecting it as he finds himself questioning if he can consider himself a good person at this point in time.
(Because he knows what it's like to be tormented by guilt and regret.)
(It's not a good feeling.)
But he decides to put aside those feelings for the sake of enjoying the moments he's shared with his friends. He chooses to enjoy them rather than worrying over things that won't bring him any real benefit.
He smiles warmly to himself.
A part of him always wonders what would have happened if Harleigh was never reaped and he wasn't suddenly thrust back into the leading role of his own life. Still, over time, he's decided that everything happens for a reason, even the worst things imaginable.
Even the worst curses can transform into blessings, and Davidson Zinaro is living proof.
Darcy Devlin. 16.
District Eight Female.
✦✦✦
Darcy Devlin examines the cards in her hands with a smirk, looking up at her future opponent from across the table. Her opponent is a large, bearded man sitting at the bar with several other men who look like they're in their thirties. They seem to be watching Darcy, and judging by the look on their faces, they think she's good.
They'd be right, of course. Darcy Devlin's never lost a game of cards in her entire life (except for that one time, but shh–– it shan't be spoken of), and tonight certainly won't be the night that changes her impressive winning streak.
She walks on over to the man and extends her arm, meeting his hand for a firm shake, "Well, are you ready to lose a game of cards to a sixteen-year-old girl?"
"Confident, aren't you?" The man raises a brow.
"Not particularly," Darcy shrugs her shoulders, "I'm just realistic."
The man smiles, "Well then, let's play."
They both sit at the same table. Darcy sets down the last of her chips and turns her attention towards him, her eyes locked with his. He looks like he's been drinking heavily for hours. She's noticed it before. She's seen it in the past three nights that she's played here, at her father's Casino. His face is red and covered in sweat, and beads of drool hang from the corner of his mouth. His nose is dripping. He seems to be sweating profusely.
Darcy's poker face is pretty good, though. She's mastered it. She can keep herself calm, cool enough that she doesn't even flinch whenever her opponents lose a hand or when their fingers twitch in frustration when the cards fall out of their hands. She's amused whenever she watches the failure of others.
(Darcy is absolutely terrified of failing on her own. Failure is unacceptable.)
She has her poker face on right now; she needs to make sure her face stays neutral. It'll take a while for the man to realize he can't win. She waits patiently; she doesn't look away from him, whispering a subtle, "Well... are you ready or not?"
A grin spreads across his face, his eyes brightening. "As I'll ever be..."
Darcy smirks and reaches forward at her deck of cards,
shuffling them deftly before placing them down on the table.
The man grins, leaning back on his chair, his head propped up by his fist, "Let the games begin, shall we?"
Her hand rests gently atop her cards.
"Alright," she says quietly, "let's play."
At first, the game started off fairly evenly, but slowly they've been getting into the swing of things. Darcy notices how this guy isn't taking any of his losses well as they play through another hand. His face remains flushed. The man is getting increasingly agitated as the game goes on, more so than the other patrons of the place. So many people take their losses to Darcy Devlin with dignity and grace. Why can't this man be the same?
She takes a breath, she tries to remember everything her dad taught her about poker; what he said was:
'Never let them see you sweat,' which explains why he'd made her wear so much black. He always thought of it as an indicator that she needed to be more challenging.
So, Darcy focuses and thinks. She remembers how her dad always stressed that he wanted her to be the best. That was the most important thing he'd said when she was young, even if she didn't quite believe him.
So, Darcy does the only thing she knows how to do; she focuses on the game. On him. On her. On how she might possibly embarrass him tonight.
She concentrates on making sure she keeps her poker face on. Not giving the man a single glance. Not letting him know where exactly he stood.
He must have been distracted, too, because he makes no move, either to collect the money he owes or to stop playing. Darcy stares straight ahead. Not blinking.
She stares until her opponent loses another hand to her. He sighs loudly. Loud enough that she can feel him staring into her, but she doesn't look back. It'd be embarrassing if he saw the real reason she hasn't blinked once. Darcy stares and stares until he finally decides he's had enough and stands up. He grabs the stack of money and shuffles it angrily. His handshakes slightly as he places it next to his beer bottle. Without turning around, he leaves the room.
Darcy breathes deeply again. Once she realizes there won't be anyone left to watch over her table, she lets her head drop. She's not really surprised; it's not exactly her fault that she couldn't get her hands dirty yet.
She glances towards the door. A few minutes later, the door opens. Another man enters. This one is older than the previous one. His beard isn't long, and he walks with a slight limp. He wears a brown suit and looks very tired. He sits down beside Darcy, and she glances up.
This is going to be difficult.
"So, you play poker," his voice is hoarse, "I don't see how that could be possible considering your age."
Darcy chuckles lightly, "Oh yes, I play poker. How else would I earn money to buy new shoes every week?"
The man raises an eyebrow, "And you do pretty well at it too?."
Darcy nods, "Yes, sir, you are correct."
"That's alright then," he reaches into his coat pocket, "if you can't beat me, you better quit. Because I am not going to continue to gamble after I lose my temper to you, and if that happens, I won't stop myself from hurting you or leaving you bruised and bloody outside of this club for everyone to gawk at." He pulls out some bills.
Darcy looks at him wide-eyed, "You would actually leave a bleeding woman outside of this club for everyone to gawk at?"
He glares at her, "Why wouldn't I?"
Darcy laughs, her hand coming to rest over her heart dramatically, "Because I'd think you'd know better than to act like human filth all the time, but then again, maybe I don't know anything. I'm just a child, right?"
The man's lips thin out as he glares at her, and Darcy giggles. She reaches over and takes his money. She pockets it and leans forward conspiratorially. She lowers her voice, her smile growing into a mischievous grin, "Let me deal you a hand."
She moves the money and lays it in front of her with her hands flat on the wooden table.
"Now, how about that?"
She gestures to the table.
He huffs loudly and picks up the top card. When he places it next to the other two, it immediately comes apart and falls into pieces across the table.
Darcy laughs, "See? You can't even hold a card properly."
The man glares at her, "I can hold a card just fine."
Darcy rolls her eyes, "Sure you can."
He glares at her, "I can."
Darcy smirks, "Then prove it."
"Fine," he grabs a new card and slams it on the table, causing Darcy to chuckle slightly. Darcy smiles at her and picks up a new card. He stares at her for a moment, waiting for her to draw, which Darcy eventually does with the same flourish. Darcy slides the second card over, smiling softly. The man stares at her with narrowed eyes before picking up the card and putting it on the table. The man then proceeds to pick up both of the cards.
Darcy's smile widens, "It's a bluff. You're bluffing!"
He shakes his head, "No, I'm not."
She scoffs, "Yes, you are!."
"No, I'm not, "
"Yes, you are-" she starts laughing as she lifts the third card from the bottom of the pile, "Ha!"
The man laughs harshly, throwing his cards onto the table. Then he pushes himself from his chair, grabbing for his coat. "You're cheating; you've got to be."
Darcy smiles up at him innocently, shaking her head in mock disappointment, "How can a little girl cheat at poker? I mean, you should know by now, sir.
The man shakes his head and storms out of the room.
Darcy laughs again, her head thrown backward, her eyes closed, enjoying the laughter that escapes from deep inside her belly. She laughs louder. Her head pounds slightly. She feels warm all over. She's never been happier. She doesn't care what anyone thinks anymore.
As usual, Darcy Devlin's come out on top.
Yet, as she sits back on the velvet chair in the corner of the club, she begins to worry that her luck could someday run out. Life's not always like a game of cards; that much is true. And just because she's good at cards doesn't mean she's good at everything.
Luck is a mysterious, fickle force to play with.
Darcy's still chuckling as she closes her eyes, her head falling back. Everything about tonight seems to be perfect. It's almost too good to be accurate; the ideal night to play with strangers and win money, the perfect night to win at something, to laugh, to be alive. To live.
But Darcy can't seem to focus on that, though. Instead, her mind wanders, her gaze falling to where the man sat earlier. Her smile fades away instantly.
She can't help but think about that encounter and what it meant. What she learned about her father's words about luck and the consequences of being careless. How, while he had warned her to be careful, how, sometimes, it pays to take risks anyway. It means that maybe, just maybe, Darcy hadn't learned that lesson quite yet. Perhaps it had gotten to the point where she'd started taking those chances without thinking twice about it.
The truth is, maybe this wasn't about winning money anymore. Perhaps this was about being reckless. Maybe it was about feeling alive, about loving life more than anything else. About feeling happy.
Maybe it was about being herself.
And the worst part? Maybe Darcy wasn't ready to accept all of that just yet.
All she wants is to win. She doesn't want to fail; she can never ever fail.
Her stomach growls, and she groans at the thought, rubbing her belly gently. As soon as the noise escapes her mouth, she jumps up.
"Hey," the old man at the counter says, "Where ya headed to so late?"
"Just going home," Darcy smiles.
She heads quickly out of the bar, ignoring the curious stares of the people who were watching her. She ignores the way her heart ached at the sight of the man. She ignores the way her stomach churned at the thought of him. She ignores the way her chest felt tight and heavy. She ignores the way her throat tightened and her eyes burned.
She ignores everything.
Because it was all worth it anyway. Darcy had fun, so much fun. She wouldn't trade it for anything. Not for anything.
She didn't care if tomorrow was just another day. Today was her favorite day, and she wouldn't let another chance slip through her fingers, no matter what she said or did.
Velenka van Doren. 18.
District Three Female.
✦✦✦
Azura's knock on Velenka van Doren's window couldn't have come at a better time.
Her best friend (or whatever the hell their relationship can be described as) taps against the double-paned sheets of glass on her decadent two-story home and gestures for Velenka to open the door. The District Three girl obliges, but she's still confused and asks, "What exactly are you doing here?"
"Run away with me," Azura offers, flopping her arm over the window side to reveal a large bottle of vodka, "Not actually. Just for tonight, Velenka. You deserve to have a fun time after you've been so––"
"So what?" She snaps in response, "So fucking miserable because my entire family hates me for breathing and existing?"
Speechless, Azura cocks open her jaw and blinks several times before saying, "...well, I was just going to say distant, but all that you just said is even more proof you need a drink or several."
She's... not wrong, Velenka thinks. She could use something, anything to drown out the sorrows of the past week's screaming from her parents, yelling about how she's deficient, her sister Xanthe's deficient, everybody's fucking deficient in this house, good lord.
They say it's her fault, Velenka's fault that Xanthe left... not their own fault for making a big fucking deal out of everything and anything, acting like the heir to their massive fortune is the most critical thing in the world. Velenka actually agreed with them about that for a while, but now she's just exasperated. She's exhausted of her family, of Three, and of the world itself.
(Nights are hard for Velenka. Nights mean hiding in pillows to drown out the screams of her parents, crying to make herself feel better when she doesn't want to cry and hiding from people who aren't scared of her. Nights mean being yelled at by her mother and father, the two of them always angry for no reason she can figure out, especially when the yelling gets louder than usual when Xanthe's name comes up in the midst of one of her tirades.)
The sound of the vodka bottle hitting the windowsill draws Velenka back to the present and to reality. The reality is: it's late at night, and she has a long way to go until morning, and she really would enjoy herself more if there was alcohol pumping in her veins instead of blood.
Sighing deeply, Velenka opens her bedroom window and peers out into the night; she only sees darkness and the moonlight glinting off of the lake in front of her house. She looks down at Azura's rosy-pale skin and gives in, "Fine. Let's go."
She drapes herself over the windowsill and plops herself down on the ground by her house, "Where exactly are we going?" Velenka adds on.
"I got us a room at a hotel," Azura remarks, biting her lip and winking, "It'll be fun, I promise." She says with a shrug.
"Fun?" Velenka scoffs, raising a disbelieving brow, "You're joking, right? Whatever hotel you've booked is going to be a complete shithole."
She knows Azura will take offense at that, and it makes Velenka feel terrible for implying such a terrible thing—she's just been in a bad mood all day, her nerves frayed beyond repair. Every time she thinks her life will finally calm, she goes through this.
Maybe Velenka's a bit of an elitist, a bit of a prick, but she hardly faults herself for enjoying the finer things in life, and she doubts a scholarship kid like Azura could afford an actual nice hotel...
"Actually, I've booked us the presidential suite," She beams with the utmost pride, "So I don't think it'll be a 'shithole.' Does that make you less worried?"
"Very much so," Velenka nods, then takes an upright behind Azura on her bicycle, so they can head off to this hotel she's been raving about.
Velenka finds she likes Azura. Not enough to stay with her long-term but enough, so she feels comfortable around her. Enough to trust she won't turn out to be a total shithead, like everyone else in her life.
And honestly, for a girl she barely talks to—the girl she's known since childhood—Azura is pretty damn easy to talk to.
When they get close enough to the resort, they see lights flashing from windows, some kind of party going on in one of the rooms that looks rather luxurious, but Velenka guesses that's not their scene.
"Oh! It's the hotel!" Azura exclaims excitedly, jumping off of her bike, "Come on, this is our chance to relax and have a good time without worrying what other people are thinking."
"Yeah yeah," Velenka agrees, following Azura with her own bike in tow, rolling the handlebars along to keep up.
They hop off onto the paved driveway and walk up to the main building, "This is great!" Azura cheers, throwing her hand up high into the air.
The woman behind the reception desk, probably a few years older than them, smiles and waves at them from behind a computer, "Hello! Welcome to—"
"—The Plaza Hotel!" Azura interrupts enthusiastically, cutting the young lady off with a smile, "Great place for a break."
"Well, we do try to provide our guests with whatever they want whenever possible," The girl responds, smiling back warmly and nodding, "Enjoy your stay... wait, you're the van Doren's daughter, aren't you?" She stares Velenka directly in the eyes.
At that moment, she wants to cry because she knows that she'll never be enough to truly be her parent's daughter, the heir to their fame and fortune. She'll never be her.
She'll always be... deficient.
Deficient. The word is enough to cut through Velenka's throat like a knife. It slices her heart open. Tears prick in her eyes as her hands tighten into fists by her sides, and she feels her nails bite deep enough into her palms that she starts to taste blood.
Before she can begin hyperventilating, however, Azura steps forward with an enthusiastic smile, extending her free hand towards the lady, "Yeah, but tonight she's just my friend Velenka! Let's get going!"
With Velenka's hand in hers, she walks over to the elevator and chirps, "See how much fun we're having!"
"Sure..."
The elevator ride to their floor is quiet and tense, and Velenka can hear Velena's heart beating loudly in her chest, loud enough that it makes her flinch.
Her hand trembles, and she squeezes it tighter, trying desperately to ground herself in the present. She's fine, and everything will be okay—there's nothing wrong. They're just friends.
Nothing to be afraid of... except that Velena's shaking. That, at least, is a problem she can fix with vodka. With alcohol. With the sweet substance to numb her mind and her thoughts. To forget.
The doors open. Azura and Velenka step out into the suite together, their fingers still intertwined. "Now, you can still drink with your sickle cell––"
A quick pull and the cap comes off easily, and Velenka pours out a generous amount into two glasses. With one glass in her hand, she offers a toast, "To no longer giving a fuck!"
(She hates that there's a part of her deep down that'll always care. She wants to be loved by her parents, yearns to be loved by the world. She'd do absolutely anything to have parents love her, even if they hate her)
Azura grins widely at her words, clinking her glass against Velenka's, then downing it all in a single gulp.
She lets go of Velenka's hand and throws her arms around Velenka, hugging her close to her body, "I'm glad you came, Velenka," Azura murmurs quietly into her shoulder, "I was so scared you wouldn't want to come. But I thought maybe we were too different, you know? Like... you know, you were born rich and I wasn't, but maybe that's why we didn't connect or something," Azura says sadly.
It's the truth. Velenka isn't sure whether Azura is talking about her background or her status in society, but she does know what Azura means; they couldn't find common ground because neither one of them had much of anything to compare it to in life besides themselves. They couldn't understand each other because neither of them was interested in those things, either.
It's strange to think that despite the differences between them, they're so similar in a lot of ways that they could have fit together almost perfectly.
That realization doesn't sit well with Velenka. It makes her feel hollow inside and makes her ache for something, anything— between the two of them. Because she knows she'll never fully be able to give into Azura, and this is the alcohol thinking, not her.
She'll always be... just deficient.
She takes another swig of vodka and yawns.
Azura notices her yawning immediately, "Didn't sleep much last night, huh?" She questions sympathetically, rubbing Velenka's arm to comfort her.
"Hard to sleep when your parents are fighting a civil war with each other," Velenka responds with a chuckle, "I fucking hate being related to them, you know?"
There's a brief pause before Azura offers the suggestion that would soon change the course of Velenka's life forever, "I mean, my parents manufacture DNA testing kits, and it would be pretty funny if you did one now and learned they're not your real parents."
Like an idiot, Velenka tilts back her head and laughs, "Why the fuck not? What could go wrong?"
(So much. So much could go wrong.)
Giddy, Azura reaches into her bag and grabs a set of DNA testing strips, "Let's do this!"
Velenka doesn't remember what happens next, just that she awakes the following day in a hungover frenzy, bags under her eyes when she looks at herself in the mirror.
She tries to remember what happened the day before. She remembers seeing Azura again, and they had shared drinks—had been sharing drinks at a hotel room where she didn't belong—and...
Right before it all started happening, exactly before she lost control of herself and tried to drown herself in booze... she remembers crying. Crying while she drank and cried while she laughed and cried while she danced and sobbed and screamed until she was hoarse and exhausted.
But...
Why does she still remember that?
After a minute of trying to recall, Velenka gives up, burying her face in her hands, and sighs deeply.
What the fuck was going on last night? What the fuck had she been drinking? Was she sober enough to remember that? Were her memories still there? What else hadn't she remembered?
Did she do the test? Did she remember doing the test?
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Velenka doesn't know anymore. All she knows is, she wishes she hadn't done the test last night.
If only she'd kept it to herself. If only she'd just stayed home, she wouldn't have drunk as much as she had last night.
Wouldn't be feeling the way she's feeling now.
Wouldn't be feeling like such a failure.
She's pathetic. She's miserable.
She shouldn't exist. She should disappear from existence entirely like everyone else. She should be gone because she's useless and has nothing to offer.
(She doesn't deserve to live anyways. She deserves to die.)
"Oh crap. Oh shit, shit, shi- Velenka?! What the hell happened?!" Azura shouts frantically, breaking Velenka out of her spiraling train of thought.
She jerks slightly in shock and lifts her head slightly to see Azura, who looks more concerned and worried than anything, standing over her with her face filled with worry.
Velenka's eyebrows scrunch, tears beginning to form in her eyes, "I don't... I don't know what happened-"
"What the fuck were you drinking?" Azura asks slowly, clearly angry.
It's as if all of her walls are crumbling apart, and she can feel them crumbling and breaking away, falling to pieces and scattering all across the pavement, "I... I don't know what happened... I-" Her voice cracks, "I... I don't know what I was doing!"
And there's no time for her to dwell on it anyway. She has a Reaping to attend.
New Perspective - Panic! At The Disco
Finally, an introduction chapter where absolutely zero weird shit transpires! Well… Velenka didn't have a great time but compared to the last two sets, this was a welcome change of pace, HA! As always, thoughts are greatly appreciated, and I'll see you soon with the fourth set of intros!