XI. Insurgence
Count my cards, watch them fall
Blood on a marble wall
I like the way they all scream
Tell me which one is worse
Living or dying first
Sleeping inside a hearse
I don't dream
Hedy Lovelace. 16.
District Three Female.
TW: Mentions of suicide and child abuse.
Her diligent studies are only interrupted once weekly when Monet taps at her door, "Hedy, you remember what we agreed to, right?"
"Yes, of course," She closes her textbook, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she sighs, This is going to be pointless, yet again. Pointless. Hedy glances at her calendar, Three more months till that simpleton's gone, bless. Because in three months, in September, she'll turn seventeen, Monet will be sent to take care of the next rich brat without parents until they come of age, and Hedy'll finally be free from being fussed about.
Once a week, She reminds herself, Monet just said we needed to talk to each other once a week about what's going on and then she'll be out of my hair. Still doesn't change the fact that Hedy's got a big test tomorrow and sitting and talking to Monet's just going to stall her studying with all her worrying. Please, if Hedy needed support— which she doesn't, the last place she'd go looking for it would be in the form of somebody who's basically paid to tolerate her. She knows Monet wouldn't be watching over her if it weren't a job.
And it's unfair too. Hedy's perfectly capable of living alone, hell she would've been okay being alone right when her father died, but nope, of course his will had to say that if he died for some reason before Hedy turned seventeen, a live-in nanny was to be hired, and her access to the Lovelace family fortune was to be restricted. The social workers had said he was just trying to protect her, and to that, Hedy had just laughed, Protect me from what? I'm safer now that he's gone.
No, no, that's wrong of her. She mustn't speak ill of the dead.
"Hedy?" Monet calls once more, "I cooked dinner and it's getting cold."
Let it get cold, I don't give a damn, She pulls her black fur jacket off her desk chair and drapes it over her arms, sighs once more before leaving her room, her only place of comfort and sanity. Hedy knows she's overdressed for dinner inside her own house, but does she care? Of course not; she might as well indulge in the small luxuries of her own life— outfits of leather pants and clean pressed shirts since they're all she has besides her brain.
She peers through her door with a half-smile on her face and gives Monet a subtle wave, "Hello, dear."
The caretaker doesn't say a thing, instead simply gesturing for Hedy to follow her down the spiraling staircase of her home, slightly falling over on the railing as her vision blurs. The two of them sit at chairs on opposite ends of the home's parlor room, navy-blue velvet sinking into their skin surrounded by walls of white trim and a ceiling of gold. It's too big a room for a mere two people, in fact, it's nearly swallowing Hedy alive, all the furniture and chairs seldom occupied. And the chandelier shines dim upon them as Hedy props her feet on the surface of a glass coffee-table and leans back into her chair.
"Well, how was your week?" Monet's posture is less relaxed, probably because even after four years of living with Hedy, she still doesn't feel quite comfortable.
She doesn't want to talk more than required, yet she's made a promise to Monet. If she allows her to cook her meals, take her to school without fuss, and sit down weekly for a genuine conversation, the lady will leave her alone and to her own devices, "Fine. And yours?"
"Not too eventful," Monet shrugs her shoulders, "But really, I'm shocked yet glad to hear you're doing fine."
Why wouldn't I be? Hedy chuckles to herself. Her life has devolved into a monotonous mess of preparing for her future, and even if it's rather boring, the stability is comforting to say the least. "Of course I am," She yawns, exhausted from all the sleeping she exchanged for studying, "Unless there's something I'm forgetting about."
Unamused, Monet folds her arms, "Do you really not remember what anniversary is coming up?"
She scans through the timeline of her life thus far in her head but isn't able to find anything notable that happened in June of any given year, "I guess I don't."
"Really Hedy?" Genuine concern arises on Monet's face, "Next week is four years since your father's suicide. I just want to be sure you're holding up all right, and judging by the fact you can't even remember, I don't think you are."
Right. That. Sometimes Hedy still forgets that was the official cause of her father's death, suicide. It's hard for her not to laugh at that very notion, hell even now she's still shocked people believed her father of all people would kill himself, when he was in a lot of ways one of the happiest people she knew. Sure, his happiness came from yelling at his daughter until she could hardly think straight, but he really was happy even if it was a haunted form of it.
"I'll be fine," Hedy sighs, unsure if she's being as emotive as she should be over the fact she's supposed to be reentering a stage of mourning, "I always am. And obviously, I miss my father dearly, but what's done is done and I don't see any use dwelling on the past."
Talking about the losses she's experienced have always been a rather touchy subject between her and Monet, mainly because she seems confused as to why Hedy's not so utterly broken by everything that's transpired, but the truth of the matter is, why would she be?
Of course, of course, she misses her mother dearly, but nine years later she hardly remembers what she's like. For all Hedy knows, she could've been an awful person, or somebody who would have turned into an awful person had she been alive any longer than she was. It's a tough way to go, a disease from pregnancy that never quite fades away, but again, it was so long ago that Hedy doesn't have memories to justify missing her.
Her father on the other hand…
"So you don't even miss him at all?" Monet asks in a state of bewilderment, "Like not even the tiniest bit?"
Why would I?
While her memory does lack any trace of her mother and the time they shared together, not a day goes by where Hedy doesn't think about her father, which is unfortunate to say the least. Because Hugo Lovelace was, and in every definition of the word, a monster. She wishes so badly she could forget about everything he did, every last cruel word that left his tongue, yet they haunt her like a plague. She won't ever admit it but at night she's paralyzed by thoughts of him and the mess he's made of her. At times it's so bad she can feel her muscles locked into place, but Monet doesn't need to know that. Monet doesn't need to know anything. Nobody needs to know anything.
"We had memories both good and bad, but none of them matter now when all is said and done," Hedy's careful not to mince her words, not make them sound more suspicious than they should, because the last thing she needs is Monet likening her to a monster when everything she's done and everything she's thought about has been for the pure sake of self-defense. That's why she's different from her father. He was vicious for the sake of being vicious, and Hedy just wants to survive. She's not as bad as he is and she'll never be so.
"Would talking about the good memories help?" Monet pleads. She's always been so terribly desperate to connect with Hedy over something, anything, and she's a fool for that. Hedy doesn't need her sympathy or her pity, not now, not ever.
And besides, the only good memory I have of him is when I ensured he was finally gone from the world. It really wasn't that hard either, getting rid of Hugo once and for all. Of everything Hedy's ever done, that was by far the easiest.
She'd been sick of his drunken fits of rage for quite some time now, and the way he would just use alcohol as a vice to tear his daughter apart, rip through the seams of the patches she'd tried to use to put herself together. She was sick of it, so fucking sick of it.
But she had her academic success, and that was what mattered. It allowed her to fight back at his words, pour gas on his fire until the house was ablaze with both of their words. And it felt good, finally telling him that he was pathetic and the only reason he yelled at her was because he was a miserable, miserable man. Did it make him worse? Well, of course it did, but she could just drown out his words if she stuck her head far enough down a textbook, she wouldn't have to worry about it. Where she lacked friends and genuine support, her studies would always be there to lend a helping hand.
And lord did they help after another night of fighting, bruises on her back as Hedy ran through the house trying to avoid him. But then she realized, she was tired of being her father's prey. She was tired of running when she could just could just turn on him. She could get rid of him so easy, that nasty man who was too pathetic to continue living the way he was anyways. Looking back at it, she really did do him a favor.
He wasn't expecting it either, his "innocent weakling of a daughter" turning around with a bottle of wine in her hands. He wasn't expecting the bottle to be bashed against his head, sending him plummeting to the ground and knocked out of life with ease. And Hedy wasn't expecting it to feel as good as it did. She didn't think she would feel that rush of joy she felt when the Peacekeepers came to the manor and she cried as she said she'd found her father dead when she came downstairs for dinner, and she was so upset he of all people had killed himself.
And of course they believed her. What twelve-year-old would kill their own father?
"I suppose we can talk about the good things," Hedy humors Monet and leans to her side, "I will say, my father was a fairly smart man. I like to think that the only reason I'm smart is because of him."
"Ah, so now we're getting somewhere," Monet remarks as if Hedy's words aren't complete and utter bullshit, "Do you think he'd be proud of you now? You've been doing so good in school as of late."
He wouldn't be proud of me. He'd just be scared of me, as he should. Hedy rolls her eyes, "I don't know, to be honest. My father never really seemed to care about how I was doing in school. He just… wanted me to be happy," And suddenly tears blossom from her eyes, "He wanted me to be happy so deeply that he didn't take the time to be happy himself."
Her tears are fake yet they do the job. They show Monet that she's normal, that she has feelings and certainly isn't still so thrilled with herself for killing her father. "I understand, I understand," She sympathizes, "Even if you don't think he'd be proud of you. I want you to know that I am."
"Thank you," Hedy says, choking on her tears, "It means more to me than you'll ever know."A few moments pass and she begins to get up from the chair, "Now if you'll excuse me. I want to study… maybe that'll help me forget."
Monet nods her head, "Understood."
But as soon as she's left her sight, Hedy's tears stop. And she smiles too because she's just months away from no longer having to pretend she's sad about the fact she took initiative for once and got rid of her demons.
She doesn't know said demons are still in her head.
Don't fuck with my freedom
I came up to get me some
I'm nasty, I'm evil
Must be something in the water
Or that I'm my mother's daughter
Judas Nazario. 18.
District Seven Male.
TW: Mention of alcohol
If Judas was capable of feeling awkward and embarrassed, that's what he would feel whenever he walked through the gates to the Raven's Club and was greeted by Wesley Kozlow's smug expression as he leaned against the bar and fiddled with a flask. He wishes he could say he feels heartbreak when he looks at the bastard, but really Judas is just annoyed that he has to see him every day, and even more perturbed that he has to talk to him. They've always had good banter, but that's begin get uncomfortable after everything that's happened, and again, if Judas could be embarrassed, he would be.
"Evening Nazario," Wes smirks, hardly making eye contact with him, "You look… passable tonight."
Judas looks down to examine his ensemble, a faux-leather jacket, a turtleneck, and thick black pants. Please, Wes wishes he could afford this shit. He scoffs to himself, then glares at the boy's bartending uniform which pales in comparison, his apron not fitting quite right and the top button of his shirt unbuttoned, but not in a classy way. He just looks like a sleaze. A hot sleaze, he hates to admit it, but none the less a sleaze.
"Wish I could say the same about you," Judas chuckles, already unamused with whatever witty comeback Wes' has surely began to formulate in his head, "But at least you're trying. It would be wrong for me to not at least give you credit for that."
He fiddles with the bottom hem of his shirt, wonders why the fuck Wes isn't saying anything because surely he should have something to say by now. That man is physically incapable of not saying anything. Yet he's silent, and Judas is worried he's done something wrong, not that he cares about hurting Wesley's feelings, he's never cared about that. Clearly, he's never cared about that.
"You look funny when you blush," After a minute of watching Judas squirm, Wes finally speaks, "Not cute or anything, but funny for sure."
"Bold of you to assume I was blushing," He quickly fires back, "I was just sweating because you fuckers never turn down the air conditioning in here."
"Well it's your own fault," Wes again looks Judas up and down, "What kind of fuckhead wears a turtleneck in June?"
Pain is beauty, Judas reminds himself. So what if he's sweating balls, at least he looks hot doing it. Wes could never relate, the man smells like a dog when he perspires, and not even a cute one, one that get's put down at the pound because nobody wanted to adopt it.
"You're just jealous," Judas laughs at himself, probably too loud for it to be comfortable, "I'm not sure what you're jealous of, but you are."
"Well I'm certainly not jealous of Allegra," He says in reference to Judas' girlfriend, if he could even call her that, "Imagine having to put up with your bullshit every night."
Please, Judas knows that he wouldn't even mention Allegra if he wasn't at least the slightest bit jealous, "You did it for a year and you loved it."
"Love is subjective," Wes opens the flask with his thumb and takes a sip, "Don't you have a job to do around here anyways?"
Sure do, and it's better than whoring around as some measly little bartender jealous of his ex-boyfriend even if he lacks the balls to admit it, Judas doesn't even bid him farewell, he just walks away and pretends Wes doesn't exist, and never did. Whatever they had together, it was special, but it's over now. Is it Judas' own fault that it ended since he cheated on him? Well, yes… but Wes was also cheating so it is what it is. And at least Allegra is hot. The same can't be said about Jadyn.
Besides, Judas' job at the club can hardly be considered one. It's more of a promise he made to the club's owner. When he ran away from home a few years ago, gambling at the Raven's Club was all Judas had, and in a lot of ways, it still is. Even if he has to give half his earnings back to the owner because he kept winning and was going to put the place out of business, Judas still has fun whenever he's at the club. He's embarrassed to say he has to take out tesserae, but at least next month when that's done for, all his gambled money will give him a place to stay.
Judas sits down at a round table with jet-black lining and waits for guests to arrive. The clock says it's just turned six in the evening, and the Club typically doesn't heat up until around eight, so he still has a bit of time before he really has to show off. But again, he's not showing anything off. All his gambling success has been due to pure luck, or at least that's what he tells everybody. They wouldn't really get it if Judas said he owes his fortune to the power of magic.
Magic has already gotten Judas into enough trouble back at home. He still cringes at the way his father and twin brother would mock him whenever he did tricks with his cards or tried to pull a crow out of his top hat. They'd tell him that he was just being a fool, wasting his time because nobody really cares for some kid who's resulted to performance instead of doing hard work. Judas didn't need hard work though, he was of the impression that the sales of his father's furniture business meant he'd never need to work for money his entire life. A shame he was such an ass.
But still, Judas just wanted to share his gifts with the world. He wanted to show his family that he could be worth something besides blabbing about how Nazario brand couches are the sturdiest in all of Panem. Magic had given Judas something to believe in when he didn't have anything. Ever since mother died, he'd been trying to find a distraction from his cruel reality, and not only did putting on his little shows in the living room do just that, they also allowed Judas to forget about the fact that he wished more than anything he could use his wand to make himself disappear.
It wasn't enough for his father, he didn't care about Judas and he never would care about him as far as he was concerned. He'd just snicker with Julius whenever he tried to please them, and really it's no wonder Judas stopped caring what they thought and instead pushing the abuse his father delivered onto his twin. Who could blame him? He can't blame himself. And even now, Judas feels no remorse for what he did after his father threw his magic kit into the house's fireplace and told him to grow up.
Was it impulsive? Yes. Was it overdramatic? Definitely. But at fifteen years old, Judas thought it was what his father deserved if he took a match to the forest he got his business supplies from to cripple their earnings for years to come. If he would be prevented from doing what he loved, magic, then his father would be prevented from doing what he loved, furniture.
He hasn't looked back since, and he doubts he ever will. His cottage in the woods with his cat Lucifer, or Lucy isn't much, but it's better than anything his father and his money could have ever thrown his way. Even if Judas' version of peace was literally fueled by a wildfire, it's peace just the same, and he enjoys it for what it's worth. He's elevated now, and he's above that bullshit.
And so as he sits and waits for people to come to his card table, Judas does it with a smile on his face. It's probably too big and eager a smile for a technically illegal gambling house, but since when has Judas ever cared. All the shits he ever gave burned in the fire along with his ties to his family. He's his own man now.
He's bored until Allegra walks through the door in a low-cut black dress that makes the green in her eyes pop. She examines the room as if she doesn't know where Judas is even though she saw him immediately before finally sitting down and smiling, "Are you new around here?"
She always does this, pretend she doesn't know Judas so that he can seduce her all over again like it's the first time, and that just leads to making Wesley jealous, so he plays into it every time, "I was just wondering the same about you," He laughs.
"I've been here a few times," Allegra chuckles, her hand reaching over to Judas', "I'd go here more if I knew a handsome fellow like you was around."
He glares over to Wes and smirks, displeased with the lack of a reaction he gets in return, "Well I'd pick up more shifts if I knew a pretty lady like you was planning on being around more."
Unable to keep a straight face, the two of them erupt into a cacophony of giggles before Judas lays out a deck of cards on the table and raises an eyebrow, "Want to see a magic trick?"
Allegra smiles, "Of course I do."
And that's the sort of validation that takes Judas back to when he was a kid again, leaves him wishing that everything was different back then and he wouldn't have needed to run away. If only he'd met her earlier. Sure, he's never a hundred percent sure that she actually cares about his magic tricks and isn't trying to sleep with him, but he shakes off those doubts for the sake of his own sanity. After shuffling the deck a few times, Judas sprawls out the deck in front of her and asks her,"Pick whatever card you'd like."
He doesn't see the card Allegra grabs a hold of, but he doesn't need to. He's got magic on his side after all. Judas stacks the deck again and instructs her to place the card on the top of the pile, which she complies to, and with that, the real show can start. He uses his index finger to slide her card to the bottom of the deck and then carefully sweeps it to the ground before shuffling again and unveiling a six of hearts at the top of the deck, "Is this your card?"
"No, I'm sorry," Allegra says with genuine concern in her eyes, unaware this is all apart of the trick.
"Oh… shoot I made a mistake," He didn't. Judas reaches his hand under the table and holds up the ace of spades, "Is this your card?"
"Oh my goodness," She exclaims, so full of glee it awakens something inside Judas' cold dead heart, "How did you do that?"
He simply shrugs, "Magic."
She embraces him in her arms and Judas responds with a smile, holding her close and hoping that Wes is staring at them, and that he's jealous too. Sure, what he has with Allegra is somewhat sweet and fun, but perhaps the fact he can't stop thinking of Wesley should be a sign that it'll never be enough.
But it's not like Judas could ever go back to him, after all. He's the one who ruined everything.
And now, he's the one who has to live with the consequences, watching him dance with and kiss Jadyn as if they're the only two people in the world, being unable to do anything about it because what would he do at this point?
He hates how jealous he is of a relationship he could have prevented, and he hates how much happier Wes is with her, a sort of joy he could have never brought to him. He hates that every time he sees them, he wishes once again that magic were real and he could just snap Jadyn out of existence and be with Wes again like nothing ever happened.
But then again, if magic were real, why'd Judas' life spiral the way it did to the point where his only source of joy is a cat and fading hope?
you should see me in a crown, Billie Eilish / Mother's Daughter, Miley Cyrus
I guess this is the chapter of basic bitch music? Not a drag, just an observation. It's also the chapter of dead moms and shitty dads, because we have now met Hedy and Judas! Thank you to R-B and Z for these scrumptious little meow meows, they were both a lot of fun to introduce, and I hope everybody else enjoyed them too. We've only got two more intro chapters to go, so I hope you've been liking what you see, and if not at least they're almost done.
I'm running out of shit to say in these author's notes besides these were the children, thank you for them and if you liked them tell me and if you didn't, also tell me. But yeah… That.
As per usual, have a great week (or don't, I can't force you), and try to do something fun unless you're like me and don't do fun.
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds