caligula van zandt. 18. district two.

day twelve in the arena.

85 add.

original placement: 2nd

It was all happening in slow motion.

Eight's cannon firing.

Sadie's knife in his back.

The tired jabs at each other's hearts.

The tiny figure emerging from the trees.

No, he wanted to say. He wanted her to stay where she was. He would take down Sadie and then die and she would be safe. She didn't need to risk it, she needed to turn back. He didn't want her to see him like this.

No, he should have said.

NO.

But he'd never been able to tell Sienna Asher what to do. Not really.

He stepped back towards the Cornucopia, knife still in his back, trying to keep Sadie's eyes on him. His strikes became more desperate- maybe he could kill her before Sienna pulled whatever her plan involved- but Sadie must have caught on to the look in his eye. She'd always been able to read him better than anyone else. Wasn't that what had gotten him into this mess in the first place? His inability to keep secrets from her? This was no different.

Instead of following his retreat, Sadie lashed out behind her with her blades, aim true as always. Two knives passed from her fingers directly into Sienna's stomach, and she crumpled to the grass in a flash of blonde braids.

"No!" he screamed, the word leaving him too late. Sienna curled in a helpless, broken little ball, burying her face in her knees. Sadie shifted back toward Cal, and despite the tears brewing, he caught the malice in her eyes. Sadie knew Cal, but Cal knew Sadie too, and he could see her reveling in this. Could see her enjoying her revenge.

Could he even blame her? She must have felt the same way when he left her behind. They had always been destined for this final battle, and Cal had been stupid to get on her bad side. It had only made things worse. They could have parted ways with dignity, with mutual respect, but he'd ruined it. He'd changed his mind and ruined everything, and now Sadie loathed him and Sienna was dead-

But no cannon was firing.

Not yet.

There was still time to fix this.

Cal rushed at Sadie, tackling her to the ground. She'd been expecting another swipe from his harpe, and in its absence she was caught off guard. He wheezed as his lungs met the ground, fighting to pin down her wrists. He got one arm pinned above her head, but she jabbed her fingers into his diaphragm with her free hand, making him choke. He leaned forwards, trying to crush her ribs with his body weight- but when he reached for her other hand, she jerked her head forward, trying to bite him.

He couldn't pin her. She couldn't free herself. They were in the same stalemate they always had been.

Sadie seemed to know it, too. She smirked at him, blood in her teeth. "A draw?"

He spared a glance at Sienna, a few yards away, still in her ball. Her chest rose and fell shallowly. Beneath him, Sadie began to squirm, her free hand reaching for something by her waist.

A knife, he realized. Sadie Wilson always had another knife. She'd told him once that knives were her first love.

They don't leave me for the gallows, she'd said, bitterness souring her expression. They don't choose the firing squad over me. No, knives are always there.

Knives were… always there…

His lips parted, the wound in his back screamed, as he and Sadie locked eyes. Sadie had a free hand, the one he couldn't pin- but so did he. He wrenched his arm around to rip the knife from his back, gritting his teeth at the burn. Sadie's eyes widened as the blade caught the sunlight. She opened her mouth to say something, but he didn't give her the chance.

He plunged the knife into her forehead.

Boom.

A wave of nausea made him dizzy as he took in the sight before him: Sadie Wilson, green eyes dulled, her mouth full of words she would never say. Disheveled red braids limp in the grass, a scabbed-over gash on her cheek. And worst of all, a blade with her own name on it in the center of her forehead, blood bubbling at its edges.

Dead.

But Sienna wasn't.

He scrambled off of his dead district partner and made for Sienna as quickly as he could, wincing at his lingering back and leg wounds. They were reunited in a matter of seconds as he collapsed at her side, taking in the amount of blood that had pooled beneath her.

There was too much blood.

"Sienna," he said, desperation twisting her name in his mouth.

Her eyelids fluttered, but she managed to open them. She lifted her head a little, her face tight with pain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice faint.

"No, no no no no no," he said. "Don't give up on me. Sienna. Sienna, listen to me. It's time."

She stared at him. For once, she didn't respond. She didn't need to: the horror was evident in her eyes. "No, I can't…"

"You have to," he urged.

"You deserve to win too," she whispered.

"No, I don't," he said, shaking my head fervently. "We've talked about this, remember?"

Caligula Van Zandt didn't deserve to make it home. Not since he'd taken Salome's life. Volunteering for the Games was his life's dream and his life's mistake, and he would rectify it with Sienna. That was what he'd always claimed, and it was true.

But it wasn't the whole truth.

What he'd never said out loud was that he didn't think he could live with this. He couldn't leave the arena with Salome's blood on his hands and her cries in his mind. He wasn't strong enough to bear it. He didn't deserve to move past it- he deserved to be haunted for the rest of his life, the way he had been for the last twelve days. But he couldn't handle her ghost much longer. He knew himself better than that.

No, he would help Sienna win instead. Sienna, who deserved to escape more than he ever had. She deserved to forget all this had ever happened, and he hoped she would.

On the ground in front of him, Sienna squinted, her eyes far away as she thought. For a moment, he was afraid she'd leave him. But she returned to the arena, her eyes focusing again. "I don't want to."

"We can do it together," he promised. "But this is the end for me."

"Cal…" she pleaded.

He dug around in his pocket- he'd stashed a knife there earlier, forgotten until now. It was a simple blade, but Cal didn't require anything fancy. He pressed it into her bloodsoaked fingers.

"Cal," she whispered again. "I won't. Not again."

"Don't think about it," he said. "Just do it. I'll be okay."

"I can't," she said, a single tear pooling in her eye. It dripped down her cheek. "I did horrible things and I can't do any more, please…"

"Better things than me," he insisted.

"No, no," she cried. "We're equal. Let yourself win... this was your dream."

"Was," he emphasized. "And if you won't…"

He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to, and they didn't have time. He reached for the weapon in Sienna's hands.

"Let yourself win!" she repeated, trying to raise her voice. But she was too weak. She was dying too quickly, and he needed to die faster.

"I won't let that happen," Cal said. He wrapped both hands around the handle, angling the tip of the blade toward his heart. Years of training had guaranteed that he wouldn't miss. At least it would be quick.

"Wait," Sienna said. She reached a trembling hand toward him.

"Sienna?"

"Just… wait a second," she said, her face twisted. "Look… at me? I want to… remember."

He lowered the knife for a moment. "I'll remember you too, okay?" he said. "Thank you. For letting me do this for you."

"You've given me… no other… choice," she said. Her eyelids fluttered again, her voice barely audible. "I just need.. you to… wait a second."

"Sienna," Cal said gently, "there's no more time. You'll die."

"I'll miss you… and… I'm so… sorry…" she whispered, her eyes sliding shut.

"Don't be," he said. "Ready?"

Sienna smiled. "Ready."

She exhaled with a shudder, her face finally relaxing as her body slackened.

Boom.

Cal dropped the knife. "Sienna!" he shouted, reaching for her. He pressed his fingers into the side of her neck- no pulse. Horror washed over him as he realized what she had done.

She'd been stalling for time.

She'd let herself die.

"No," he whispered, his face crumpling. He pulled Sienna's bleeding body to his chest, hoping if he held her tightly enough she'd come back. She'd come back, she had to come back, she would win-

She was supposed to win-

He'd failed.

"Now presenting Caligula Van Zandt of District Two, Victor of the Eighty-Fifth Hunger Games!" the announcer roared.

But the announcer was wrong.

There would be no victory, not this year. Not really.

She was supposed to win.

And Caligula Van Zandt had never hated himself more.