Blinding Shadows. The 78th Games.
VII. Broken Homes.
TW: Darling's introduction contains depiction of self injury. Please read with caution.
You say, "Here's lookin' at you, kid"
Thinking I wouldn't understand the reference
You admit you think we're fated
I'll be lucky if I'm your third wife
That's only something you would say in the car
We've been breathing the same air for too long
If the snow wasn't coming down so hard
I would open the door and walk home, it's only a couple miles
What could go wrong if I hitch a ride with a guy in a pickup
Who doesn't know left from right from wrong?
Seth Bartzabel. 18.
District Two Male.
✦✦✦
All Seth Bartzabel sees is red.
His anger at the world seems to bubble in his veins that day as he looks over at Julian Stahl and his pathetic minion Zane Bushido across the Academy floor. There's determination in the two boys' eyes as they vigorously rub planks of wood together in what appears to be a successful attempt at starting a fire, but all Seth feels is spite.
It's always seemed like Julian's always had a problem with him, calling him an entitled brutish pig whenever he had the chance to. He's always seemed to take pleasure out of making his life miserable, whether it was by throwing food in his face or by pushing him into walls. Over the years, it has become abundantly clear that Julian sees Seth as nothing but a piece of shit left out to dry, and he's grown sick and tired of it.
He's shocked that Julian didn't get the message the first time Seth struck at him. It was a sparring match, and Seth had replaced his foam sword with the real thing, taking advantage of the weapon by slicing Julian's wrist and sending him toppling to the ground. Seth hates admitting the joy he felt when he saw the other boy's radial bone peeking out from his skin, a vermillion pool on the floor beneath him. He hates how glad he was to see somebody suffering because of him, 'cause that's exactly what his father would've done.
If Julian's anything, he's resilient, hence his full recovery from the injury and his continued abuse of Seth. He's so fucking sick of it. He hates how happy Julian is whenever he throws Seth's pride in the gutter, and he knows that he deserves better.
And Julian? Oh, he deserves way worse.
With his friend Rand beside him, Seth begins his masquerade over to where Julian and Zane are, the two of them still practicing fire-setting with unsuspecting expressions draped on their faces. Seth cocks his head to the side and tells Rand, "Watch this."
And before the other can respond, Seth leaps at Julian and lands on him with a loud grunt, shoving his face and then the rest of his body into the fire. Seth hears a shriek of pain as he rolls off Julian's body, landing with a thud against the ground.
Everyone pauses their movements, everyone stops breathing. They stand there with jaws dropping, all of them staring at the sight before them. Julian is hunched over in pain as Seth stands before him, one hand pressed against his chest while the other holds a fist up.
"What the fuck?" Julian spits out, glaring at Seth.
Seth doesn't say anything, just stares back at Julian with a blank expression, watching his skin peel from his face.
His cheeks turn a deep orange color, and his eyes widen for a fraction of a second as he realizes Seth isn't backing down. He's still pinning the other boy to the ground, even as he screams while his skin bubbles.
Julian struggles underneath him with no success as more skin patches fall off him until finally, Julian gives up and cries in pain.
Everyone stands silent as they continue to stare at Julian's screaming and melting face in shock, the other students beginning to gather around the pair with looks of shock and fear in their eyes.
Seth notices Zane still standing, so he does the same to him, throwing him into the flames and then flinging him against the ground to watch him burn. Everyone watches as he writhes in agony under Seth's hands and feet, the heat rising and rising and then-
Zane stops moving, frozen in place, while he lays unmoving on the ground in pain. Seth looks down to see Zane looking at him, a look of pure terror on his face. Seth watches as he goes stiff, his eyes wide open and unblinking.
Seth lets go of Zane's body and stands up, turning to face the crowd of students gathered around him.
They separate, making way for Crulus, the Academy's dean, who puts his hand on Seth's shoulder and tells him, "That's it. You're expelled."
Seth can't say he's surprised. He can't say he's disappointed either. He's wanted to get out of the Academy ever since his father forced him to attend. He doesn't feel guilt either, just regret that he didn't entirely kill them.
Of course, his father is less than pleased when Seth arrives home. He sits his son on the couch and explains, "I got a call from the Academy today. Do you have any idea what it was about?"
Seth looks up at his father and says, "Well, they kicked me out, so I'm assuming they told you?"
His father, Kane Bartzabel, stares at his son before shaking his head, muttering, "What did you do that got you expelled?"
Seth shrugs, unsure if he should tell his father about his fight with Julian.
But his father beats him to tell the story, sighing heavily after a moment of hesitation. "I'll be honest with you." He places a hand on Seth's knee. "I'm disappointed with your actions today. Why the actual fuck would you try to set someone on fire?"
Seth shakes his head, knowing very well why he did it. He remembers the feeling he had as he stood over Julian after seeing his bloodied arm after his own kick had sent him crashing into the concrete below. He couldn't help himself.
"He deserved it," Seth mumbles.
His father raises a brow. "What? Because he picked a fight with you?"
Seth scoffs, "No, because he was berating me. He didn't get the message when I sent him flying the first time, but now I'll assure you, he knows not to mess with me."
Kane looks at his son with narrowed eyes before saying, "Seth." He sighs and shakes his head. "What did I tell you about controlling your anger issues?"
Seth's lips press together tightly in annoyance at that word before he glares up at his father with a scowl. He's never liked being called "angry." He prefers to call himself somebody who reacts appropriately in the face of conflict. If anything, Kane is the "angry" one because he's all violent for no reason. Seth's always had methods to his madness.
"You're going to have to learn to control your temper, Seth." His father continues. "Not let it rule everything. Not let your anger drive you. You're going to ruin my business if you keep this up!"
"Oh, come on! I don't think I'm that bad," Seth snaps, breaking his effort to hide his irritation, "If anything, your business would love a guy like me."
Kane runs an illicit fight club in the ghettos of Two, and Seth's expected to take it over someday. That's not particularly something he wants, though. He's got no desire to be under his father's thumb for the rest of his life.
Really, Seth just wants to getaway. He wants to grab his siblings, Elias and Rodhe, and just leave.
Yet he's unable to do it, especially when he knows he won't survive on his own, and there's an unfortunate part of him that just wants his father's approval. And so he stands, refusing to budge, refusing to give up.
His father stares at Seth with disgust, his eyebrows rising in disbelief at the fact his son will dare defy him.
"How could you?" Kane asks quietly, his voice dripping with venom. "How could you even think of doing such a thing?"
He's disappointed his father, and he hates himself for it. But, he thinks he deserves better than for his father to treat him like a child. After all, he's been behaving the way his father wants him to act towards him for ten years, hasn't he? He's been working diligently in his studies for nearly four, and he hadn't made any until he met Julian and his friends. It's their fault, not Seth's. It's all their fault.
It's just the fact that he doesn't want them or anyone else's approval, that Seth's afraid that's what he's become.
He shakes his head, denying the notion. He doesn't deserve his father's praise, and maybe the last thing Seth wants is for it to be given. So instead, he tells his father, "Because it worked."
The tension between him and his father grows and grows until it's unbearable, and Seth doesn't know what to do next. What can he possibly say without pissing off the man who put him here?
"What do you mean, it worked?" His father asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
Seth swallows thickly, trying to calm his nerves. He takes a deep breath and says, "When you taught me about fighting." He pauses, searching for words that aren't too insulting. "I started practicing my techniques by beating up Julian and the others who fought me."
His father frowns.
"You're a hypocrite," Seth hisses through gritted teeth, "You're the reason I'm like this, you know?"
Kane doesn't answer, but his gaze darkens, and his jaw clenches.
Seth continues, "And you've taught me how to hurt people, to make them pay. How are you supposed to lecture me about not using violence when you abuse your authority every single day to achieve your goals?"
"Seth..." He sighs wearily.
"No! You've been abusing your power for years, and you know it!" Seth snaps. "You've used everyone to gain power over your shitty fighting, you understand? You're a fucking hypocrite!"
Kane stands up abruptly and grabs Seth's shoulders roughly, shaking him violently. Seth winces, gripping his father's arms in his own.
"Stop it!" Seth screams at his father as he pushes him away and shoves him against the wall harshly, so hard his father falls back down to the ground. He holds onto his dad's arms and presses hard, glaring up at him with tears in his eyes and anger burning in his veins as he shouts, "Don't touch me! Please! I'm sorry!"
The rage inside of Seth suddenly subsides as he realizes how angry he truly is, his heart sinking and his chest tightening as a lump forms in his throat. Seth quickly wipes at the tears in his eyes as he lowers his forehead to his father's shoulder and whispers softly, "I'm sorry...Father..."
But it appears that he's not forgiven. Kane pushes his son off him and scoffs,
"Get out. I'm done with you."
Seth turns and saunters away from his father, his feet heavy on the floor as he makes his way back to his room. As he opens the door and slips inside, he feels empty. He sends his fist flying at the wall beside him with a grunt. It hits the wall, shattering a hole in the plaster, and he watches as it splatters on the carpet, the sound echoing around the empty room. Seth drops down to his knees and pulls a piece of the wall out, holding it tight in his hand. Tears fall freely from his eyes, and Seth buries his face in his hands as his chest aches. A sob escapes from his lips, and he tries to hold it in.
The sad truth is, Seth doesn't know who he is, but he knows that he'll never be enough. He doesn't belong.
As Seth falls to the floor with a thud, he lets out a quiet scream and clutches his bruised fingers close to his chest, an angry sob ripping through his throat. Seth sits still for a few minutes before getting up, looking down at his bruised hands, wiping the tear streaks on his cheeks. Seth looks around his room in disgust.
He can't show emotions. He can't be weak like this. He can't be so utterly pathetic. He hates that this is what he's become, and he'll never admit it to anybody, least of all his father.
Seth just wants to be respected. He's learned from Kane that the best way to be respected is to be feared, and so he'll just keep up with the intimidation factor.
Just until he becomes strong enough to protect his feelings, right?
(He'll always be his father's mirror image.)
Above all else, he'll become strong enough to be himself.
(He can never be anything but the ghost of Kane's abuse. It's about time he embraces it.)
Ridge Katsaros. 18.
District Four Male.
✦✦✦
According to Ridge Katsaros, every day is just another blank canvas waiting to be covered in paint.
Today's no different. Ridge awakes on a hammock on his father's porch, his eyes fixated on the ocean in front of him. Like most things in this world, he finds the sea beautiful. The gentle waves lapping at the shoreline make it hard for him not to smile; something about the way they call out to each other makes Ridge want to run down there to join them. But instead, he stands and walks towards the railing, his bare feet sinking into the sand as he approaches the barrier. From where Ridge leans, he can see the horizon and watch as the sky turns from orange to pink to blue.
He wants to paint a picture of it. It is a view of the sea, of what it looks like when somebody is close enough to see through all its waves. His fingers itch with the need to start painting, so he pivots on his heel and walks back to the house. Once inside, he grabs his palette and begins mixing colors. A few minutes later, Ridge hears the door close behind him, his father walking into the kitchen.
"Hey, kiddo." His voice is hoarse, but it fills Ridge with relief. He prefers Sergios Katsaros' temperament over his mother's any day.
"Morning, dad." Ridge smiles, turning around. He sets aside his palette and paints and heads back outside.
"Where you headed?" Sergios asks, following Ridge outside.
"I'm going to paint." Ridge pauses on the porch steps. "Care to join me?"
His father grins. "Of course."
"Thanks, dad."
Ridge picks up a brush and dips it in white paint before mixing two shades; blues and greens. They are easy enough to work with, but Ridge doesn't know exactly how he wants the color. Maybe purple, or perhaps he should try to capture how the sun glints off the water. He takes a deep breath and starts painting, the strokes becoming smoother as time goes on. After a moment, Ridge glances up at his father, staring straight ahead at the surf.
"You okay?" Ridge calls out.
Sergios jumps slightly and nods. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just trying to take in everything new around here." His face softens into a smile, and his gaze falls onto Ridge. "You're a good son Ridge. The best I could ever ask for."
His father's words mean everything to him. And yet, Ridge has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying. Not because his father means nothing less to him, but because Ridge feels selfish. Because while Ridge knows his father cares deeply for him, there is little Ridge could ever do to deserve the love he always sees on Sergios's face.
That's the sort of attitude his mother Gianna has drilled into his head; that he's worthless. That he'll never amount to anything; he's a weak kid who should be training instead of working on stupid art projects. Ridge can feel tears stinging his eyes as he sets his brush down, and he rubs at the dampness gathering beneath his lashes.
He doesn't want to think about her, though. According to the custody agreement, this week is his father's thoughts of his mother shan't ruin it.
Ridge looks back at his canvas and smirks. To himself. The ocean looks like heaven compared to his own life. He thinks he'd rather spend the rest of his life surrounded by the sea than ever dream about his reality.
He takes another deep breath and gets back to work on the piece. The colors of the ocean seem to blend together as Ridge works. Blue blending with green merging, orange, and red blending into yellows and whites until finally, the sea is almost black. When Ridge turns around to show the finished work, he lets out a sigh of awe. He's painted a beautiful image. The sunset and the waves, all of it. It's perfect. Ridge looks to his left, only to find that Sergios intently looks at him. "Dad..." Ridge breathes, unsure if he's dreaming or not. "It's..."
"Beautiful?" Sergios finishes for him. Ridge swallows thickly. The look on his father's face, it seems unreal. Ridge looks back down to the canvas. His hands tremble as he traces the edges of the painting. "Yes Dad." Ridge mumbles. He reaches forward and places his paintbrush carefully down. "Thank you."
Sergios laughs lightly. "No problem."
For a moment, they stand in silence. As their gazes drift across the water, neither man says anything. Then...
"Do you think that Mom will be mad?" Ridge whispers, breaking the silence.
Sergios furrows his brow. "Mad?"
Ridge shakes his head. "At me. For painting."
"Well," Sergios smiles, reaching out to ruffle the pink half of Ridge's hair affectionately. "She loves you kiddo, I just don't know if she knows how to express it."
Unfortunately, Sergios' words weren't true. That morning wasn't real either. It was just a dream, a glimpse of the life Ridge wishes he was living.
But instead, Ridge Katsaros awakes to a world that's as dull and bleak as his mind. He'll be better next week when his father has custody of him, but today he wakes up to see his mother hunched over him with a wicked grin on her face. She tugs at the sheet, and Ridge struggles against her hand.
"What are you doing? Let go!" Ridge growls, but he stops resisting when her fingers tighten. With a snap, the sheet slips, and Ridge sits up with a gasp. He looks over to where his mother sits cross-legged next to the bed. Her grin widens.
"Good morning," He rolls his eyes at her.
Ridge already knows what today will have in store for him. His mother will tease him and belittle him in the morning, and then it'll be time for the Academy, which he absolutely loathes. He's always been a lover instead of a fighter, and sure he's beyond skilled at the latter, but that doesn't mean shit when it's not his passion.
He'd rather make art from paint instead of leaving splatters of blood on the ground, and it's a shame that some of the others at the Academy see red as the only color worth creating with. Ridge's father has always told him that his demiurgic outlook on the world is one of his best qualities, but his mother has deemed him a nuisance instead. He can barely stand the sight of the Academy now, let alone his mother, let alone himself.
He doesn't want to deal with his mother.
So he rolls his eyes again. "I assume I'll be training today?"
His mother scoffs. "Do you want to be a coward or not?"
Ridge groans. He's learned by now to ignore what his mother says when he's feeling awful. He tries his best not to give her reason to use her words against him like she does, and he tries to focus on the positives. It just so happens that very few positives leave the lips of Gianna Alvarez.
When he doesn't respond, his mom chuckles. "See? You do not even deny it! Your father truly has made a pansy out of you!" she spits.
Ridge winces, his expression changing to one filled with anger. "What is wrong with you? Why are you trying to control me?" He shouts at his mother, his hands balling into fists.
He watches as his mother rises to her feet and strides toward him. "Because no son of mine is going to spend time on the beach painting when he could be getting strong. I was hoping the Academy would get rid of your little artistic streak, but I see now you're useless." She sneers, leaning down to stare right in his face. "A pansy."
The venomous tone in her voice makes him sick to his stomach. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Why did this have to happen? He thinks as his arms slowly fall limp to his sides. But it doesn't matter now. Not really. He needs to learn to live with things that hurt him, to accept that his mother is a monster, even though he's spent so long trying to see the good in her. Drawing what the sunlight reflects on the water. Or better yet, that he was painting. Anything. Even just seeing the beauty of the ocean isn't enough; Ridge wants to recreate it.
He wants to make something that will never fade into darkness and forgetfulness. Because he fears that someday he'll be forgotten.
Lost among billions of people who wouldn't remember the things that made him special or the times he felt loved.
That's what scares him the most.
Suddenly Ridge hears his mother begin yelling something, and he opens his eyes to glare defiantly back at her. A small part of him wishes that she would hit him because then maybe he could tell the courts that and they'd give his father custody full time, but of course, Gianna is too smart to do such a thing. Instead, she begins to shout. Loudly. So loudly, he thinks his eardrums might burst.
The words come flying from her mouth like bullets from a gun.
"A maniac."
"Bastard."
Ridge's breath catches in his throat. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, but he grits his teeth and mutters, "You're no mother to me."
Gianna freezes in place at his words and raises her eyebrows before shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
But Ridge cuts her off; "You don't need to apologize," He tells her, his voice rough, "I know you don't mean it."
His mother doesn't say anything to that statement. She simply turns on her heel and leaves, slamming the door shut behind her. As soon as the click of the lock echoed in the silent house, Ridge falls back onto his pillow.
He looks up at the ceiling and imagines he's painting a mural on it. He imagines the colors mixing with the sea in gold, oranges, and pink shades. He imagines the sky turning from blue to purple and grey, the sun sinking low enough for the clouds to appear darker and more mysterious than the night before. He imagines the sea reflecting the fading sun's rays. And he pictures himself walking through the vast and endless ocean as the sun sets behind him. He wonders how far the sea will extend.
Ridge wishes there was time for such a fantasy, but instead, he's doomed. In less than a month, he'll be forced to volunteer for the Games. He'll be thrust into his nightmare without a way out, and he'll be so utterly screwed. He can fight; he's just always going to be more of a lover.
His eyes flutter close. No matter what, he will survive. Somehow. Even if it means becoming as monstrous as his mother for a brief piece of time, Ridge knows he has to fight.
And he will, whatever the cost.
He thinks about his father, standing on the balcony outside of his bedroom, watching the waves crash onto the sandy shores below. Soon, that's going to be his reality.
There's simply no other option.
Darling Sarasong. 17.
District One Female.
✦✦✦
If pain truly is beauty, Darling Sarasong is a masterpiece of her own creation.
As the other trainees from One's Academy file out for the day, she's sat on a bench in the corner of the main gymnasium with a knife grazing over her wrist. Pain is her motivation; it's what she strives for. And after a day spent working as hard as she did, Darling deserves a reward.
She presses the blade deep into her wrist, watching as vermillion rivulets pour from her veins and stain her skin. Blood drips off her palm and onto the ground below, leaving a macabre trail. She doesn't mind; in fact, she get's a joyous sensation out of every drop of blood that leaves her body. It gives her purpose, an inner peace that she knows is important.
Darling has never felt so alive before.
"I need you," she mutters to herself, eyes glazed over with tears of happiness. "Please, just...give me more."
Her handshakes, but she keeps pressing down harder and harder until there's nothing else left. She pulls back slightly, taking in all the blood pouring through the gash. She stares at her reflection in the mirror behind her, smiling at how beautiful she looks, how much she's grown, the way her face looks more mature. Darling seems capable of being District One's third consecutive Victor, and not like the prissy daughter of two jewelers forever enslaved to the corruption that's often associated with wealth.
It wasn't always like this.
There was a time where Darling would run freely around her nursery school, trying not to cry when the kids told her the name she'd been cursed with at birth, "Darla" just wasn't pretty-sounding enough for somebody as self-important as she once felt she was. She changed her name, gave it more flair and pizzazz, and sure the teasing stopped, but Darling couldn't help but feel empty. She felt certain serendipity when they threw obscenities her way, one she didn't recognize at the time.
It wasn't until she was ten that she learned that their words were replacements for the blood she wished she could shed from herself.
(Negative attention has always been better than the utter lack of awareness Darling receives from her parents.)
She still remembers that moment, when she was sitting on her sofa and watching the Games. That year's girl from One faced a dilemma as an outlier Tribute sliced through her thigh and tore her ACL. Darling remembers watching the girl scream in agony as she slowly bled out. More importantly, she remembers the moment as beautiful.
It was that girl's pain, her eventual death too, that made her look more alive than ever before. It made her alluring, and Darling wished for the same sort of beauty.
That night, she cut herself in the family kitchen with a knife meant for cutting steak for the first time. She held it carefully as she brought it to her wrist, watched the blood fill up the shallow gash, feeling euphoric at her own actions. As she watched the blood drip steadily down the knife, a single word flashed across her mind, "completeness."
That feeling continued for months afterward, and it only got stronger.
Even now, the memory makes Darling smile as she sits by herself, the same arm bleeding onto the ground and the same feeling of beauty pulsing through her veins. Her parents have always scorned her, called her a useless waste of space, but as she bleeds, she's the most necessary person in the world.
Her parents and their pride is cast away from her head as she continues to become her own muse. With every cut, with every stroke, the feelings multiplied inside her. The image of those two Tributes from back then's faces is burned into her eyelids, the sounds of the One girl screaming as the knife sunk into her flesh echoing through her ears. It's her dream, even if it's a nightmare.
It's a fantasy that nobody could possibly understand, not even her close friend Gideon who waits for her at the door that day.
He's noticed that she's wrapped her arm in gauze, so he asks, "Why're you hurting yourself with the Reaping so soon?"
Darling smiles sweetly up at him and replies, "You know why." Gideon frowns a little, confused, but nonetheless, lets her lead him to sit beside her on the floor, both of them resting against the wall of the Academy.
After a while, Gideon speaks, "I actually don't know why."
Darling hums, turning to face him. Her eyes glimmer. "You don't know why I do this? What I wish I could do? Why it feels good? Even if you disagree?" Gideon shrugs, so Darling continues. "I guess it just...feels right to me. Like...if I can do something for myself and not my parents." She pauses. "...and not anyone else. You know?"
Gideon nods softly. "I can't help but worry for you," He says with a concerned tone. "I want you to be safe. To succeed. Because...you deserve success. You're amazing, Darling."
Darling smiles warmly, placing her hand on his cheek. Gideon leans into her touch, nuzzling closer and closing his eyes. "Thank you, Gideon," Darling whispers. They stay like that for a few moments, simply enjoying each other's embrace.
Eventually, Gideon opens his eyes again, looking at Darling. "What are you going to do about your arm?"
Darling sighs, pulling her hand away from Gideon's cheek. "What do you mean?"
"Your parents," He states bluntly, "How do you think they're going to react to seeing you like this."
Oh, Darling already knows what they'll say. Her mother will cry and call her a freak, and her father will groan and claim she's not a part of their family. Darling won't listen. She knows they've already said such things to her countless times. The last thing she wants to hear is their opinion of her since she knows whatever they say will be awful...
"Mom won't even notice the scars." She says, but he looks unconvinced. "Dad might be disappointed but-"
"-But you have me now!" Gideon finishes, cutting Darling off, his voice rising slightly. "And you're not alone anymore! You shouldn't give up on yourself because of what people think of you!"
Please, as if Darling could ever give up on herself.
But Darling also knows the truth of it all. "Gideon, you don't understand." Darling tries explaining, putting her hands to her face as she starts tearing up a little bit. "I'm not at all giving up on myself whenever I touch the knife to my skin. I'm just testing myself."
Gideon doesn't say anything at first; instead, he sits beside Darling. After a minute or two of silence, he reaches out to take her hand in his and wipes away her almost dried tears with his thumb. "Darling," He begins, "This isn't normal. You don't need to hurt yourself to prepare for hurting others."
Darling laughs and sniffs again. "Normal? Normal's boring, Gideon." She says bitterly. "I don't want to be normal. I want to be beautiful." She mutters, shaking her head softly.
Gideon sighs. "You aren't ugly, Darling." He tells her gently.
Darling huffs, letting go of his hand, "Oh, I know." She snaps, wiping away another stray tear. "My family, they treat me horribly. And everyone thinks I'm a disgrace to the name 'Sarasong,' no matter how many times I tell them I'm fine, no matter how many times I tell them I don't care what they think of me. I just care about myself... and then you," Darling says, her eyes widening a little as she realizes the enormity of everything she's just let slip out. She quickly glances away, embarrassed, unable to meet Gideon's eye.
For a long moment, neither of them move. Suddenly Gideon stands, looking over her on the ground. He whispers, "You know I don't feel the same way about you, Darling. I mean, you're a great friend and all, but I don't date girls."
Darling frowns and looks up at him, her expression pained, "Really?"
Gideon shakes his head sadly. "Really, Darling." He sighs. "Even if they're you. But I promise you're still important to me, as a friend."
Darling nods, sniffling a little. "Okay." She whispers.
Gideon smiles, "Good."
Maybe life would be different if she had a strong and handsome man to protect her instead of a gay friend to whom she repeatedly confesses her attraction in hopes that his response will be different one day. Really, she just needs to be loved. Darling needs to be beautiful to somebody else the same way she's enamored by her own misery.
The thought of someone loving her without the expectation of her doing anything for them makes Darling laugh, and she's reminded of something. Something her parents said:
Love is weakness.
Love can kill.
It's the truth that haunts her, especially when it seems like the world around her is expecting her to kill herself. She won't, though. It's something she's always refused. If she's dead, she can no longer be pleasured by her own pain, which is unfortunate enough to completely turn her off the prospect of suicide.
Darling stands up and walks next to Gideon. She asks him, "Do you think someday I'll actually be enough?"
He looks puzzled and slightly worried for a moment as he wonders, "Huh?" Then he realizes what Darling really means. He knows how nervous she is about the Games because if there's any time where she can't come up short, this is it. "Yeah, Darling, you will be," Gideon assures her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "You're a real good fighter."
It's true; Darling can be pretty vicious, often attacking her opponents with the same tenacity that she uses to reproach herself. And she's always been careful enough to avoid making mistakes significant enough that would get herself killed. If the Hunger Games were a game of chess, she's sure that she would be the queen.
"Thank you, Gideon," Darling whispers gratefully. He smiles and pulls her into another hug, whispering back: "No problem, Darling." Gideon walks down the street towards his house as she lets go of him, leaving Darling alone on the sidewalk. With thoughts of death running rampant in her mind. Darling shivers as she looks down at her bloodied bandages.
She's a coward. That's what she is. A coward who hides behind the facade of finding beauty in pain because she's incapable of actually winning on her own. No matter what she does, no matter how hard she fights to survive, she's never good enough. Darling doesn't think she has ever truly accomplished anything in her entire life other than being chosen for the Games at just seventeen years old. And, as far as she can see, that's all she ever has been, not a queen but a mere pawn in the grand scheme of life.
She sighs deeply and walks towards home. She's already dreading whatever bullshit her parents will spew at her upon her arrival.
Darling Sarasong seems to be a lost cause to the world around her, but more importantly, she's a lost cause to herself.
In a tournament of twenty-four titans, it's only a matter of time before she falls short yet again.
Thumbs - Lucy Dacus
Well, there we have it, the last chapter of Tribute introductions! I hope you all enjoyed meeting Seth, Ridge, and Darling as much as I enjoyed writing for them, and overall I hope you enjoyed reading all of these intros. I truly do have an exceptional cast on my hands, and I'm excited to showcase them even more as this story continues to progress. Because only 15 of the 24 Tributes in this year's Games will be getting POVs, I have updated the blog with simple information regarding the other Tributes. You may even see a familiar face...
As excited as I am for pre-Games, next chapter will take a break from the Tribute cast so that I can introduce you all to another Capitol plot character, Scorpius Styx. He just very well may be my favorite character I've created for this story, so I'm thrilled for you all to meet him. I wrote that chapter before I wrote intros, but it has been edited since because I consider myself a better writer now, even after such a brief period of time,
I have a few questions to tie off our introductions, so feel free to leave your answers in the reviews. If you don't feel comfortable doing so, I understand and of course you have no obligation to even review at all. Just knowing that there's people reading my work makes me happy enough.
1. Who is your favorite Tributes (besides your own) and who is your least favorite? You can make one of those chart things I've seen in the reviews of other SYOTs if that's easier for you.
2. Any predictions regarding alliances? Some of the Non-POV Tributes are going to be important; that's all I'll say.
3. If you had to predict the Victor of this story right now, who would it be. I've considered Victor arcs for a few kids so far, so I'm curious what people think.
Once again, thank you again to everyone for the kind reviews and the private messages, and I'm excited to continue writing this story!