Hi everyone. Long time no see. Please see the author's note at the bottom of this chapter. Thank you.
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Chapter 4: Motivations
Katniss:
I splash the rest of the water on the towering brute in front of me, making sure to drop the bucket on the ground for a dramatic effect. It makes a loud clang on the floor and echoes in the silent room.
"What the hell?!" Cato says, picking himself up off the floor while a puddle around his tall figure forms on the floor. I take a step back, averting my eyes to my left to see Peeta coming to my side. He pulls me away and we depart the scene, but not before Cato offers some more words of his own.
"You are dead, you stupid bitch. When that timer is counting down in the arena, just know that I'm that much closer to snapping your neck with my bare hands." I hear him say behind me. His face turns into a scowl, and I stop in my tracks and turn around to respond to his threat.
"You might want to reconsider that judging by how slow you react to things," I retort. "You sound like a little boy who just got wet for the first time." My words fly off my tongue absent-mindedly, not even pausing to consider the meaning behind my insulting words.
"The fuck did you just say?" Cato takes a couple steps forward before the boy from District 1 comes over to hold him back. Peeta is now doing the same, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I try to break free from his grasp. The room is now silent except for Cato and I spitting vulgar words at each other.
Finally a Peacekeeper stops the commotion by taking his gun and shooting it twice up in the air, where I watch the bullet absorb into the magnetic forcefield on the ceiling. Half of the tributes scream and duck, and I see the girl from District 7 cower in fear, knocking into the weapon rack that stands beside her.
"ENOUGH!" the guard says. I watch as three more guards behind him grab their batons from their belt and whip them into effect in unison. "Anyone who utters another word will be shot." one of them says. That is enough to seemingly stop the chaos, but I see out of the corner of my eye the boy from District 9 whisper something to the District 8 girl.
One of the guards immediately takes note of the situation and walks over to the boy. Before the boy can respond, a bullet fires through his head, the shot echoing throughout the entire training arena. A moment passes before the head guard nudges the guard next to him to go over and pick up the now lifeless body of the young boy.
I look over at Peeta, who is reticent with his emotions. I speculate it's due to a state of shock of what has just occurred, as that seems to be the majority of the other tributes faces. The scream that I thought had escaped my throat when the gunshot rang out never was emitted, and I stay silent for fear of drawing further attention to myself.
I watch as the Peacekeeper drags the boy by his training uniform out of the facility, leaving nothing but a trail of dark red blood to remember him by. Blood that signified not vengeance but a heinous act of brutality that makes me turn away in disgust.
The head Peacekeeper walks over to the trainer Atala, turning his back to us as he spoke to her. After what seems like several minutes of conversing back and forth, he motions for her to speak.
"Alright tributes, I think that is enough for today. Everyone can go back to your assigned rooms now." she says, slightly forlornly. I can tell she is very uncomfortable with what had just occurred, but lacked the authority in the situation to say something.
We line up with our opposite district partner, except for the girl from 9, who stands there, shaking with the death of her opposite-gender partner. I could see Cato turn his head for a second to look behind him, looking down the line where I stood second to last. He narrows his eyes in doing so, consumed with his resentment for me.
As we walk back to our rooms, a moment of panic sets in. I have made an enemy already before the games even started, with someone who I would easily lose in a physical confrontation.
I had watched Cato a little bit during the training with his machete, easily demolishing the mannequins that lay before him. A shudder went down my spine as I think of how easily that blade was able to cut through the mannequin material, and how that could be my neck in a few days. How my life could end so easily like the boy from 9.
My thoughts are interrupted as Peeta speaks. "This one right here." he said, pushing the up arrow button that lay next to the elevator.
We both get in just the two of us, except for the fraught Avox which enters the elevator as it starts to close. She presses the button to our floor, and we shoot up in the steel container, where I feel a rush of cool air on my face blowing from all directions from the vents on the side of the elevator walls.
I can still feel myself shaking from the events back in the training arena, and look down to see my hands trembling with fear. I was that close to dying. That easily could have been me if that argument with Cato had continued for a couple more seconds. I take in a deep breath and exhale, simultaneously stretching my neck in the process. I notice Peeta in the corner, mute just like the Avox.
"Thanks for calming me down back there." I say, shaking my head in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to let myself react like that."
Peeta gives a weary nod in response. I can tell he's not okay either from what has just happened. "I didn't understand why you had to act like that though." he says finally, letting out an exasperated sigh. I look at him, perplexed by what he's trying to insinuate.
"What do you mean?"
"Haymitch had mentioned to us before we came here to not make enemies, " he crosses his arms, as if he disapproved of my actions. "And that's exactly what you did. A boy is dead now."
I stare at him quizzically, taken aback by his words. "That wasn't my fault that the boy from 9 got shot. And since when are we a team?" I say. "Last time I checked, only one person can win these games."
"You can't do it by yourself," Peeta says, "Most if not all of the past victors were once in an alliance at some point in the Games. Haymitch said –"
"I don't give a fuck what that drunken clown of a man said, Peeta," I shoot back. "He can't even speak correctly without slurring his words and drooling over the countertops. And secondly, how on earth do you think we would form an alliance with those careers? They look at us like we're a joke."
Peeta turns to face me directly now, his body language becoming more hostile. "He was the only one from our district who won, that must count for something. And I never said we would have to form an alliance with the tributes from 1 and 2. If you want to start off on the wrong foot with making an enemy with the guy from 2, then by my guest. Stop taking things so personally."
The elevator suddenly stops, indicating that we have arrived at our floor, and Peeta storms out, with me following suit right behind him.
"Taking things personally? You're the one who threw a fit the other day because you valued the drunken clown's opinion of our knife throwing abilities so much. If you want to ride the coattails of our mentor that you love so much, then go do that."
"I am not riding the coattails of Haymitch, please stop," Peeta opens the ice box on the counter to grab a bottle of water. "I simply want to make a good impression on him so that he's more inclined to help us. He's the only one who can offer any advice on staying alive."
The door across the hall suddenly opens, to which a plastered Haymitch comes out with a liquor bottle in his hand.
"You're damn right this drunken clown can offer advice on staying alive." he says, putting an arm around Peeta and taking a swig from the glass flagon that is almost empty.
He points to Peeta, "This one here knows what he's talking about." I start to protest, but Haymitch cuts me off with the motion of his hands, pointing at me now.
"As for you sweetheart," he says, squinting at the bottle in his hand as if he is trying to figure out the meaning of the printed label. "You do not know what you're talking about. You want to casually throw around insults instead of reflecting on yourself. What are you trying to get out of this, honestly?"
This question hits me so I pause for a second. Since the reaping my thoughts have been scattered, partly due to shock and partly because I guess I would have never pictured myself in this predicament. For so long I had been caught up in providing for my family in our own struggles, especially having to take over the family after my father's death.
I never watched the Games on television, mostly because our reception in the house was poor and also due to the fact that I did not want to view something so despicable. However with that notion, I also had a tendency to disregard the boys and girls every year who were picked from the reaping bowl, sent away to their demise. All except for one.
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Flashback:
As I sat there, I thought about the kids that I lined up with every year for the reaping. These were kids from my classes, some of whom I used to see around school or around town on a daily basis.
I could almost picture their faces, specifically one girl Ireni, whose family had been friends with mine since we were little. After we lost both our fathers in the mines, we grew closer with each other. It was as if it took that one loss that was so tragic for the both of us to help us grow closer. It made me question the attributes of friendship at the time, because what would we have to talk about?
Little did I know we would become friends and help each other through the grieving process, especially because my mother was no help and Prim couldn't provide me with the proper emotional support I needed during my adolescent phase of my life.
I could remember going over to her house after school, where her backyard was at least an acre of land, which always surprised me because they were poorer than us. The land was comprised of a bed of golden wheat fields that stretched upon the horizon, contrasted with bright yellow marigolds. We would go out and pick some to bring back and decorate the house with, much to her mother's disdain as it sparked her allergies.
Her mother had apparently held it together more than my mother did, or so I thought with the events that were soon to follow. I knew the death of her husband had affected her, but she persisted unlike Mom.
Around 4 years ago on the night before the reaping, I could remember passing by Ireni in school. We had gotten into a small disagreement over something trivial and so we weren't speaking. We would both avert our eyes to the ground or the other direction when we passed by each other, something that I knew made both of us uncomfortable but we were too stubborn to apologize first.
The day of the reaping the following morning was a cloudy one, with the sky being an azure blue for once, as opposed to the typical grey. I walked with Gale to the town square to line up, where I noticed Ireni standing with another friend of ours, who also wasn't speaking to me. It was petty, but nothing that stood out as unordinary from a group of teenage girls.
When it came time for the name calling, her name was called, and I immediately turned my head. I watched as the expression on her face turned blank. I could see her body tense up, and her gait turned rigid as she slowly emerged from the group of people around her, who immediately backed up to make room.
As she walked by me she again did not make eye contact, which I could not tell if it was deliberate; she might have still been upset with me or maybe she did not even realize in the moment.
For the sake of not appearing selfish, I went with the second option, but that was the last time I ever saw her in person before she was whisked away to the Capitol. Her mother's cries in the crowd alluded to real pain, one that only someone who has experienced a true loss could emit from their lungs. A pain that my mother expressed verbally when she found out the news about my father's death.
She died in the first couple days in the Games from a bomb explosion. For my own sanity, I had refused to watch her death, but I had heard about it from other kids at school. When Gale asked me about Ireni, I refused to talk about it, consumed with the immense guilt I felt for not trying to make things right with her. She was an only child, which left her mother by herself after her death.
A couple months later, her mother committed suicide on their back porch, which cast a dark shadow over our community. A few weeks after that, a group of guards from the Capitol came in to demolish the house, setting it aflame. Their possessions, the rooms in the house, the marigolds in the kitchen, all gone except for the ashes that represented a once stable foundation.
There was nobody to send any sympathy cards too, or bring over any goods to pay our condolences. It was almost as if Ireni and her family got up and left their house in the middle of the night, vanishing into thin air.
Though it was only four years ago, it seems so far away now. But maybe my memory was clouded because of my own situation, or maybe I had just been accustomed to growing numb. I didn't know what to do with myself, honestly. I tried to distract myself by hunting with Gale, because I found that I often disliked going out to the woods by myself, by myself with my own thoughts that began to wander into sinister directions if left alone too long.
Being with Gale provided me with the opportunity to breathe. It was as if when we hunted we did not have to talk with each other, but simply the presence of him next to me allowed a weight to be lifted off of my shoulders that I often forgot was holding me down.
⸬ ⸬
I snap out of the flashback that I am reliving and look up to answer Haymitch honestly and truthfully. Despite his drunken stupor I could tell his question was meant to be answered seriously. Still, the fact that he stood there with the smug expression on his face as if this conversation was something to gain satisfaction from made me irritated.
"I guess I never expected myself to be in this situation. Ever." I say, picking the lint off of my training uniform to distract myself from getting emotional. "I lost a close friend to these Games a couple years ago and before that never considered that it would be me chosen. Now I'm in the same spot as her and I have no idea what to make of it."
Haymitch takes a long look at me before taking his arm off of Peeta and leaning back on the leather couch that was beside him. "What was her name?"
"Ireni Foulder."
"Hmm," he says, turning his glass to examine the remnants of the ice that lay in his glass. "Don't really remember her. Glasses, shorter stature, talked about her dad a lot?"
"Yes, that was her," I respond, looking directly at Haymitch. "She was a warm soul. I don't have a lot of friends back in the district but I guess I can she was one of mine." I feel like I've shared too much at this point, but that is partly due to the fact that I feel a flood of emotions hitting me all at once, and I feel vulnerable to these two guys standing before me. Two strangers who do not understand the pain that I have personally felt. Two strangers who could never understand what it feels like to be filled with regret in a friendship that I admired.
Haymitch starts to say something but then pauses before resuming again. I can tell he is trying to be sympathetic to my cause, which I don't exactly need from anyone, but I listen to what he has to say.
"Gotcha. Well sweetheart, I'm sorry for your loss. I spoke a little to her before the Games began, she was a nice girl. She told me stories of her and her dad from when she was a little girl, and how she tried to carry the qualities her dad had in her after he died."
I give a small nod and remain silent. The day has been long and I am getting tired, and want nothing more than to be in bed.
I decide to tell him what has just occurred at the training arena, to which I expect Haymitch to react with anger, but he simply lets out a chuckle.
"Oh honey, that is just stupendous. Make sure though when the time comes to use that arrow I heard you are good at, if that boy comes charging at you."
"What about the boy who just freaking died for no reason?" Peeta says, shaking his head in disbelief. I narrow my eyes at him, due to the heavy implication he's imposing on me that the boy's death was somehow my fault.
"That wasn't Katniss's fault, that boy should have known better than to speak when a Peacekeeper tells you to shut up." Haymitch says.
"I'm in just as much disbelief as you are about that too, Peeta. But that wasn't my fault." I say.
"Whatever." Peeta sighs. I give him a bewildered look, baffled by his accusations that are directed towards me for a death that I didn't even take part of.
I decide I'm done conversing with the bread boy for one night, so instead I turn towards Haymitch.
"How did you know I can use a bow and arrow?" I say.
"I heard you're decent. But that's beside the point. That was not a smart move, Peeta's right." he says, clearly indicating that he was eavesdropping on our conversation before he opened his door. I start to object to his earlier words at the chariot ride ceremony, but he cuts me off.
"I know what I said earlier about trying to intimidate the competitors, but that tactic clearly isn't working. You want to have a chance of winning these games? Do not piss off the people that seek out easy targets. Right now, you're an easy target. And I say easy not because of skill level, but because you've already opened the door for them to get to know your face, and they will seek you out when the time comes."
The door to our suite opens, and Effie comes in, fuming with rage.
"What is this mahogany I hear about you fighting with other tributes before the games have even started? And a boy has just died from an altercation you started?!" she races across the living room, to which I am in awe that she can do so with such efficiency in six inch heels. "And throwing water on tributes, especially the Careers?! And the mentors from District 2 are furious! Do you know what you have done?!"
"Alright, let the lady breathe a little, she doesn't need a second lecture," Haymitch says, waving his hand to dismiss the fit of rage Effie is about to unleash on me. "I told Katniss her mistakes. It won't happen again."
"It better not!" Effie yells, slamming her hand on the table. I can't help but remain slightly amused at her demeanor but resist the urge to smile as she realizes the loud noise that has just come from making contact with the countertop, and slowly pats the granite as if she has just injured an animate being.
"The mentors from 2 and the boy are demanding an apology, immediately! Do you know what you've done? This is embarrassing to say the least!" she says.
"I'm sorry Effie." I say, biting my lip.
"You better be! That poor boy was just shot in the head. Do you realize the gravity of this situation?!"
"I do. I told Haymitch already." I want to be finished with talking to Effie as soon as possible. Any time we have something to talk about, it results in a one-sided dialogue that consists of her telling me to do things, rather than discussing them.
Peeta leaves to go to his room, leaving just the three of us in the living room. Effie continues to drone on about how my actions have reflected badly for all of us, not just me. Haymitch finally cuts her off and says that we'll head over to Cato's suite together and apologize after we're done eating.
I'm not hungry however, despite it being evening now, and even less so due to the fact that I now have to face a boy who wants to strangle me, literally. And though I don't really know Peeta, I can't help but feel remorse for my actions in that I might have slighted him from making alliances with people. Particularly with myself.
I need Cinna in my ear, so I knock on the dressing room door where I can hear the laughing of him and another stylist who I can only assume is the makeup artist for Peeta. Cinna asks who it is and I respond with my name. He opens the door and I step inside.
⸬
Cato:
A vase shatters on the floor next to the television, which I also start to walk over towards to destroy before Brutus halts me from taking another step. I am both furious and wet, that I allowed someone as pathetic and feeble minded as her to put water on me.
"Stop acting like a little bitch and chill out." Brutus says, pushing me a little so that I bump into the side table. He points in the direction of his bedroom door. "And be quiet, Enobaria is sleeping in there."
"Of course you would be so inclined to sleep with the only other mentor in this suite," I retort. "Try someone your own age for once." Brutus's character is that of a snake, watching from afar on their prey and then pouncing on those who least expect it. Enobaria is a looker, no doubt, though the fangs don't really do her justice.
"At least I'm getting some action, you little prick," he says back to me. "The one woman you like just treated you like an animal that just took a bath for the first time. You look like a lost puppy."
This is not a conversation that I want to continue to have, because quite frankly, it's wasting more energy that I could be putting into a physical fight. However as I look at Brutus's stature, despite his age, he still has a good sixty pounds on me. I suppress the thought of fighting him and respond to his assumption of my liking for this girl, who I don't even know the name of.
"I don't like her. I was teasing her until she went batshit on me and decided to throw a bucket of water on me."
"Batshit? Like kind of how you're acting right now?"
I snort and turn away from Brutus, who is laughing. "Funny," I say. "She has to pay for what she just did. You honestly think this is acceptable?" I point to my training uniform, where despite the high quality garment wear, the water has soaked through the shirt.
"I never said it was acceptable. But a boy was just fucking shot becaue you acted out and while that means one less tribute to worry about, you need to take this as an opportunity to get your head into the game and stop fucking around."
"Why should I take advice from a man-whore such as yourself?" I say. Brutus's face immediately goes grim, and I take a step back as he walks towards me.
"You little bastard," he says firmly, pushing me with one hand again which makes me hit the wall. "Because this 'man-whore' killed six tributes in his Games and knows what the hell he's talking about. You're worried about the wrong priorities if you think that this sort of childish behavior is going to get you anywhere."
"Childish? What was I supposed to do? Let her pour water on me and not say anything?"
Brutus laughs to himself under his breath. "I know for a fact that your ass was instigating that shit from the jump. Don't even pretend that you weren't teasing her until she snapped. You reap what you sow."
"You reap what you sow," I start to mimic him, but then immediately duck as he takes a swing at me.
"I don't want to fight with you, but you're giving me a really good reason to." Brutus says firmly. I put my hands up in defense.
"I don't want to fight with you either. But this is ridiculous. I was not instigating anything, she decided to start building her fire next to me so I poked some fun and she acted out. You know how women can get."
Brutus shushes me as he swivels his head in the other direction to motion Enobaria still sleeping in his bedroom. "Shut up. Don't let her hear you say that crap."
"My bad," I say. "But you know what I'm talking about."
"Yes, I do know." Brutus says. "But you also need to understand that a Peacekeeper just shot a boy over something this small. You really want to fuck up your chances before your games all because you're mad over a girl who doesn't care about you either?"
He pauses to let his point sink into effect, which it does as I take his words into account. I don't know this girl at all and need to direct this energy elsewhere. I tell Brutus this, to which he jokingly suggests having some fun with Clove to let off the frustration, but I decline that offer with revulsion.
"You have more important things to focus one right now, such as this attitude of yours which needs to be fixed before you go on stage with Caesar." Brutus points to the bathroom across the hallway. "And go shower. You stink."
"Yes father, coming." I say, rolling my eyes. I walk over to the bathroom, and strip off my trainer suit which is covered with water and sweat. I hang it over the towel rack and walk into the shower, turning the faucet on.
For a brief moment in time I close my eyes and let the water droplets cascade down my body, hitting my face, back, and neck. The hot temperature of the water acts as a catalyst for my nighttime thoughts, allowing me to stop and think for a little. I close my eyes, letting the water run over me and hug my body in its warmth.
I think to myself, "Who is this girl and why was she so quick to react to a harmless comment I made? Does she even know what I'm capable of?" I go back and forth rationalizing this thought for a few minutes until I can hear Clove telling me to hurry up and get out of the shower before I use up all of the hot water.
Not wanting to stop myself from being immersed in the steam from the hot water, I take my time lathering my body up with the soap bar, where the synergistic actions of both the aroma and material of the bar give me unadulterated bliss.
I turn the dial to the left and the water steps, thus making me cold again. Stepping out of the shower, I reach for the Egyptian cotton towel that lies on the metal bar next to me. I begin to dry off but Brutus suddenly opens the door, startling me in the process.
"What the hell, don't do that." I say putting a hand to my chest. I look at myself in the mirror across from me and take a look at myself in the mirror. The scar on the left side of my chest is faint, but large enough to still be visible to the naked eye. I reach up to touch it, feeling a slight ridge. Brutus takes note of this and moves my hand to take a closer look.
"What is that from?" he says with a concerned look on his face.
"Nothing," I say, turning my back to him. "Just a small mark."
"You sure? Doesn't seem like such a small one." Brutus stands in the doorway, crossing his arms. I don't understand why he cares so much. It's not like he showed me any attention to my well being until now. I tell him it's nothing, but he persists in questioning me.
"Tell me where you got that scar from. During your youth training?"
"I told you. It's nothing. Stop asking me questions now." I take a step to bypass him to leave, but he pushes me again backwards.
"Stop pushing me you idiot. And furthermore stop touching me." I say to him, clenching my fists in exasperation. I can tell he is trying to elicit some sort of reaction from me, and I want to clock him in the jaw.
Brutus continues to provoke me with his words. It's like he knows exactly what to say to get under my skin, but nothing could prepare me for his next words, "Awe, little Cato getting upset over a simple question? In addition to taking a chill pill, don't forget to take those meds of yours before you go to sleep tonight."
As I'm trying to push past him again I immediately stop in my tracks to look up at this bastard. "How the fuck do you know about that?" I say.
"Don't worry about it." he says. Not a good enough answer.
"No, I want you to tell me why the fuck you went in my room to look through my things, Brutus. Who do you think you are to start snooping through my shit?" I yell.
"Kid, I didn't snoop through your shit. You left them on your nightstand table when I went to give you your uniform," he squints at me. "You feeling okay?"
"For the love of god, stop it with the condescending attitude," I say. This guy is a literal mosquito. "You had no right to throw that in my face."
Enobaria suddenly appears behind Brutus, in nothing but a skimpy night robe. I roll my eyes, "Oh and here comes your bitch to bring you back to bed."
I suddenly feel a sharp flash of pain hit me in the face, and I stumble back. When I regain focus, I see Brutus with his fist extended. "Watch YOUR fucking mouth." he yells.
I let out a slight chuckle to laugh off the pain, to which he reacts to this offensively. I see him about to take another swing but Enobaria grabs his arm to pull him away. I take this opportunity to punch him back, socking him in the jaw. He falls backwards, almost taking down Enobaria with him. I then tackle him to the ground, effectively fending off his arms which are trying to knock me over.
"You have no idea what you're doing, kid." he snarls beneath me, struggling to break free.
"Let him go, Cato." Enobaria pleads, taking my arm and yanking me to the side. I don't budge though, as I want to make it clear to Brutus I'm not putting up with any more of the taunting. I punch him again, and again. I hear a crack as I make contact with his nose, not stopping to examine the gash on my hand as I drive another fist into his face.
Two Peacekeepers suddenly enter the scene, successfully pulling me off Brutus. Brutus attempts to lunge at me one last time, but the Peacekeeper pulls him away.
"YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Brutus yells. I see out of the corner of my eye that Clove is now in the room, acting as the bystander through the midsts of this chaos. I can see her warily looking at me, but I can't tell if she's looking at me to stop or to resume fighting.
I take the latter.
"SEPARATE THEM!" the Peacekeeper shouts. I manage to break free of the guard's grasp and lunge again for Brutus.
He reacts quicker than I do, however, and he brings up his knee to elbow me in the groin. Another fist hits my temple and knocks me into the couch, and I begin to see stars. Before I have any time to process what has happened, I feel a pair of strong hands wrap around my throat, effectively cutting off my oxygen.
Reality is flickering in and out for me at this moment, but I can just hardly make out a seething Brutus on top of me. I'm trying to break free with one hand to take his hands off my neck, but to no avail. This is largely due to the fact that I am losing consciousness, but also because he has both of my hands pinned below his knees.
In a swift but carefully calculated action, the Peacekeeper that once had a hold on Brutus takes the stun gun from his array of weapons on his belt and does not relent in making contact with Brutus's back. While I don't see the actual strike, I can hear the zap, and Brutus falls over next to me, knocked out cold.
With my hands now freed, I put them up in the air to surrender, because it would be foolish of me to attempt another scuffle in this current situation. A whole group of Peacekeepers have now stormed the suite, and one of them tosses a smoke bomb near me.
My vision instantly becomes clouded by the nitrous gas, the particulate odor filling my nostrils and causing me to go numb. This was a sedative gas, and it was pulling me into its vicious clutches of dissolution and dissociation.
⸬
Flashback:
The last thing I envision before I blackout is a glimpse of my parents in the bathroom back at my old house. A bottle of pills lies on the floor, its contents spilled out in an arbitrary fashion that I can only assume was from the result of a fight between my parents.
As I get closer, I watch as my father raises a hand to strike my mother and she instantly flinches. I am peeking around the corner, tucked in the dark corner so that my father does not hear me.
"Ryon, please no!" my mother cries out. Without hesitation my father brings down a hand to strike my mother. I pop out of my hiding position and run over to stop the iniquities that are happening before my very eyes.
"Get the fuck out of here!" my father snarls. "This does not concern you!"
I instinctively reach out to hold onto my mother, grasping for her arm. My father kicks me in the side and I hit the wall and fall over.
"RYON! What are you doing! Don't touch him like that!" my mother screams. I slowly get up, shaking as I try to hold onto the towel bar in front of me. I look down at my legs and see that I have suffered an open cut on my knee, caused by the impact of my skin hitting the jagged edge of the wall.
His hand touches my shoulder to push me over but I turn and sink my teeth in his skin, causing him to yelp. Before he can hit me, my mother kicks my father in the groin, causing him to fall to his knees. He reaches out to hold onto the cabinet in front of him, but my mother grabs the soap bottle that rests on the sink and brings it down on his head. He lets out a large groan and falls to the floor.
My mother takes my hand and we make a break for it. She slams the door shut in my father's face and we both flee down the stairs. The front door is through the kitchen on the opposite side of the house, our end goal being to escape the demoniacal figure that is my father. Our adrenaline is stronger than ever now, each step we take being that much closer to put an end to this dreadful nightmare.
Suddenly my mother crashes into the china table in the kitchen. Shards of glass are catapulted into the air, some hitting the back of my neck as we both fall to the ground. I look to see a large piece of glass that has wedged itself into my mother's foot, creating a bloody gash that runs medially to her left leg.
She tries clinging on to the chair to stand up but fails, with the incision being too deep. Ambulating will only worsen the extent of the injury. I try to help her up and have her hold her body weight on me while she stands on one foot, but it is impractical to try and get her to walk with the wounds that she has received.
"Go on, Cato. I'll be fine." she says, gritting her teeth through the pain. I can tell how much she wants to escape with me and put an end to this vicious cycle of maltreatment by the hands of my father.
"No Mama I'm not leaving you!" I cry out, hugging her. She hugs me back, and we share a brief moment together where we are nothing more than a son who loves his mother, and a mother who loves her son. The only figure in my life who was truly there for me, when nobody else was. Then I pull away, tugging at her shirt string to get her to stand up, but she stops me.
"I can't move, you need to get out of here and go to the Peacemaker Brigade down at the fire station. When you get there, ask for Jarod."
"But Dad is friends with all of them down there! They'll never believe us, especially a ten year old!" I say.
"Not anymore," my mother shakes her head, "He had a falling out with them a few months back, specifically the operations manager, Jarod, who already suspected something was up when he came to visit the house two weeks ago. I know you can do it, honey. Don't panic when you go or people will think something is wrong and call social services." she says, pausing to wipe a tear from her eye. "I can't lose you, Cato. I've been looking for a way out of this place for years now but your father threatened to kill me with his bare hands if he found out I did anything."
"Who's Jarod?" I ask.
"The operations manager who I used to work with back in the day. He has intel to parts of the district that the rest of the brigade doesn't and has the means necessary to stop this. Tell the person at the front desk you're looking for him and when he comes out, give the code O-R-I-S-4-2. Hurry, you don't have much time!" I can hear the door upstairs slam shut, and immediately tense up at the thought of my father appearing any second.
"What does that code mean?" I say in a panic.
"He'll tell you when you get there," she kisses my forehead. "Appear as calm as you can. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom."
I hear my father yell from up the stairs, and I look at her on what to do next, soundless with the exception of my eyes that tell it all. She gives me one final push to go and with that I am off, running out the front door and down the street to rescue ourselves from a man I long ago failed to recognize as my own father.
⸬
So, hi. It's been a long time since I've hopped on here and actively contributed to this site in one way or another. This was the last story I had updated before I went on an almost decade long hiatus, which was partly due to me forgetting about the site but also simply losing interest in my middle school obsessions. I look through my old PMs and smile (in addition to fully cringing, oh my lordy) at the messages and stories I shared with people on this site.
The fact that I started so many stories and never finished them was quite the bold move, but I chalk that up to me being an inpatient, young teenager who got hungry for the next best thing and disregarded anything old. In a way I'm still like that, but also different because I am more motivated to finish things that I start, especially because I am now graduating from undergrad in a couple weeks and will be entering the real world (yikes!).
Being in uni has taught me a lot about things – the good, the bad, and the ugly – but I am grateful for my time here because I am pushed to succeed in life and hopefully find the things in life I have been wanting for so long. I have been trying to find a balance in my life for over a decade now, and while I still haven't quite fully found it – I look at how far I have come with learning how to handle both the ups and downs and it is something that I am proud of myself for.
Anyways, I decided to type up a chapter for this story because I still have a little creative juice left in me. I realized this week also conveniently marks the 10 year mark since I signed up for this site and entered a fandom which helped me immensely throughout my middle school years. New and old readers of my stories – I hope this message finds you well :) cheers xx