Chapter Five: Lonely Together

Reaping Day Minus One

Godric Runestone, District Two Male

AUTHOR WARNING:

This POV contains both scenes of and allusions to child abuse, both present and past. If you are uncomfortable around this subject, you might want to skip this chapter entirely. Don't worry, Godric will get more chances to shine after the Reapings.

I don't want to go home.

I wish I could just stay in the training facility until tomorrow, where I'll be alone and away from everyone and everything else.

But I have a brother to take care of. I don't get that luxury.

I've already hung around the facility for at least an hour extra than I should have, dreading the idea of going back to the endless nightmare that home represents.

My father will be rip-roaring drunk when I get home. And that's when the real pain will start.

But, once more, I don't have a choice in the matter. I need to make sure that Dorian, my younger brother, stays safe, since he'll definitely be home by now. And I can't leave him alone in the house with Dad. Not after what happened the last time I tried.

So, instead of the casual walk I can usually afford on the way home, I break into a sprint, dodging the crowds in a mad dash for home.

I make it home in less than five minutes, soaked in sweat, head pounding, and heart racing.

As I hurry to the door, I knock, like my father always yells at me for not doing. Not because I agree with many of the things he says or does, but because I don't want to get into a fight with him the afternoon before I head for the Capitol.

Dad opens the door, just as drunk as I thought he would be. He reeks of booze (I honestly think only half the stuff ever gets inside of him), his eyes are unfocused. He's wearing nothing but a bathrobe and slippers, and it's pretty obvious that it isn't because he's just gotten out of bed.

However, the most notable thing about him, at least this time, is that he has a black eye, as well as a dark purple splotch on his jaw to complement it.

I don't even need to ask. "Your brother-" he adds several adjectives in between those two words that I do not feel comfortable repeating- "decided the best way to solve things was by punching me," he slurs, the words piling on to each other.

Even though that's exactly the way he solves most problems, I keep my mouth shut. Again, I don't want to start a fistfight.

However, I'm secretly proud of Dorian for finally standing up to him. While I turned to training for the Hunger Games to get out of the house, Dorian decided he wanted to become a Peacekeeper, and joined one of their training classes at the tender age of thirteen. He loved it, and at this rate, he'd be a full-blown Peacekeeper on his way to the Capitol at the end of the year.

The wreck that happens to be my father staggers over to the sink and peers into it, retching for a few seconds. Then, he turns to me with a plate in his hand and wild look in his eyes.

"I told you to do these yesterday!" His face has flushed tomato-red, and spit is already flying out of his mouth as he yells.

"When?" That's a legitimate question. My memory is solid for the most part, but I never remember him asking me to do them.

"Yesterday!" He screams yet again, his face flushing deeper red as he calls me a long string of insults so bad, the head trainer at the training facility would probably saw off his tongue just to shut him up.

"That's not helpful." Then again, these things are the basis for nearly ninety-five percent of his episodes: he gets mad at one of us over something we either did or didn't do. Sometimes we legitimately were told and forgot, but most of the time his drunken state is causing him to imagine things. Then, Dorian and I either cower in a barricaded room or go somewhere outside the house for several hours until he's tired himself out.

A vein throbs in Dad's forehead. Then, he reaches into the sink and picks up another dish.

"I'll show you to not forget to do the dishes again!"

As he throws the first one at my head, I instinctively duck and run for the stairs. I hear the thing shatter on the wall behind me, but I don't get to see it. As I hurtle up the stairs, I can hear him screeching behind me as another plate misses about two feet above my head. However, before he can throw a third, I'm in an upstairs hallway and running for Dorian's room.

Thankfully, Dorian's already in there. Sure, he's curled up in a ball and mumbling nonsense to himself, but at least we're in the same room. However, his face clearly has fresh bruises on it.

"Wh-what's going on?" Dorian looks at me, quivering with sheer terror.

"Dad noticed I didn't do the dishes, so he decided the best way to make me remember was to throw them at me."

"O-okay, now what?"

I don't really have an answer, unfortunately. "We wait until he cools off."

Unfortunately, we're not given the opportunity to do that. Instead, I hear banging on the door, as well as Dad screaming, "Godric! I know you're in there!"

I start moving Dorian's bookcase over to barricade the door, but he stops me before I get too far. "That door's wood, it's not going to take much before he can break through it."

As if to prove his point, a fist-sized chunk of the door, right beside the knob, comes flying off as Dad's arm extends through the hole.

Before he can finish, I pull Dorian close and whisper in his ear what my new plan is. "Get something to defend yourself. We're going to get out of here. Go to the town center, maybe go for a jog, just so he can't follow us. Then, we're going to hunker down at Freya's for a while."

He nods, and slides out some of his textbooks from the bookshelf to use as rough shields. He chooses chemistry, I go for one on the history of Panem.

Meanwhile, my father has broken a large enough chunk of the door that he's managed to unlock it from the inside. The door slowly squeaks open, leaving Dad in its place, wielding two more dishes.

We book it for the door. He nearly shatters my face with the first plate, just barely giving me enough time to block it with the textbook. As we bowl him over in our escape, the other plate shatters explosively on the ground, pieces of glass nicking the backs of our legs as we run away. He tries to give chase, but steps on a piece of the plate he just dropped. His hands go to his left foot as he screeches in agony and rage, giving us enough time to bolt out the door.

Then, we cross the yard at a dead run, heading for the town center.

After thirty minutes of aimlessly wandering around the town square, we've become reasonably confident that Dad hasn't tried to follow us.

Thus, we leave the bustling town square, heading for a place that we count on as a safe house during the worst of my father's rages: the house where Freya, my long-time friend and short-time girlfriend, lives.

We walk up to her immaculate front door and knock. Both of us, just so she knows who it is.

No surprise, Freya answers the door, throwing it open with surprising speed.

"Why, hello, Sweetheart and Sweetheart Junior," she says. Then she beckons me inside.

As soon as she closes the door, however, her smile falls right off her face. "You're having issues with Xavier again?" Xavier being my father, of course.

"Every freaking day," I respond.

"Tell me again why you haven't just gotten the Peacekeepers to investigate him or something? If you ask them enough times, eventually they won't be able to say you never told them to do it."

"I already told you, my father won the Hunger Games when he was my age. No one wants to investigate him because the Capitol will be ticked off if one of their precious victors gets convicted of something. And I bet that if someone does manage to convict him, whoever it is will mysteriously vanish a few days later."

Freya's still not convinced. "You sure about that?"

"Freya, they didn't investigate when they found my mother murdered when I was little. If he can literally get away with murder, I don't think they're willing to help me out."

"How do you know it was him?"

"She was covered in stab wounds. My father's favorite weapon in his Games was a sword. Do the math."

Freya's still frowning, but at least now she seems to accept the ideas I'm pushing. "Well, you know you can stay here whenever he goes off, right? My parents are never in, they're not going to care."

In spite of everything, I manage to smile. "The only reason we're not here more often is because I don't want us to be a burden on you."

She starts smiling again. "Oh, Godric, you'll never be a burden to me! Come into the kitchen, I'll get you something to eat."

A few minutes later, she's set up plates of cheese, crackers, and orange slices for all of us alongside glasses of ice water. I don't say it, but it feels awkward to have Freya tripping all over herself to make us comfortable. Especially since she's a complete 180 from Dad.

I nibble on the food she's given us as she chatters away happily in between bites. As my stomach turns at the thought of telling her I'm leaving, she goes on and on about everything: her new job as a sculptor's assistant, her parents' little trinket shop, even the odd adventures of Mumbles, the dust-colored cat that her parents adopted before she was born.

While I wait for her to finish, I notice that Dorian's plate is empty and his chair is pushed back. Wherever he went, I have to find him, since my imminent departure will be news to him as well.

"Dorian!" I yell this down the hall as loud as I can, just to make sure he hears. "I need you with me for a second!"

After a few seconds, he sheepishly returns, carrying Mumbles in his arms. Mumbles mewls weakly and makes a half-hearted attempt to burrow into Dorian's shirt.

Once everyone's seated around the table and I've finished chewing my orange slice, I decide to say it as quickly as possible before I sound stupid. "I have to say goodbye to you guys. I go to the Capitol this year for the Games."

Freya, unbelievably, maintains her smile. Then, she hugs me tightly, making sure to squeeze every bit of air out of my lungs before letting go.

"Well, I'll be watching," she says. "Win the Games for me, won't you?"

Then I notice Dorian. He's trying to look calm and unaffected, but it's not working. It's obvious he's holding back tears, and he's starting to hunch over.

"What's going to happen to me?"

That's when the full implications of what I'm doing hit me, like a punch in the gut (or a plate in the face). If I leave, I can't protect him anymore, especially if I lose.

But, if I win…

"Dorian, if I win, I'm getting you out of here. You won't have to put up with Dad anymore. And even if I lose, there's always Freya, right? Plus, you'll be heading out to the Capitol with the rest of this new squad of Peacekeepers in a couple of months, anyway. Win or lose."

"Freya doesn't replace you," he sobs, "and Peacekeeping duties aren't going to either."

Now I feel terrible. But I can't back down this close to the finish line, or I'll be branded as a coward for the rest of my life.

Thankfully, Freya interrupts my train of thought, giving me a place to hide from my troubles. "Do you guys want to spend the night? It's getting late."

As I open my mouth to decline, she says, "Before you say no because of my parents, they're not here tonight. They have some kind of freaky extended shift today that I didn't even bother to ask about."

Every time I ask Freya about her parents, they're on some overlong shift at work. Considering Freya's family is really well-off, I've never understood why her parents work such crazy hours.

It takes a lot of internal debating, but then I decide to cave in, just because I don't want to spend my last night in District Two with Dad. Spending it with Freya and Dorian would be about a million times better.

A few minutes later, she drags an air mattress out of the closet, which I quickly pump up while she looks for spare blankets and pillows.

As she drapes them over the mattress, I decide to finally tell her what's on my mind. "You know, you don't have to do any of this. We could just sleep on the couch."

"Of course I don't have to," she replies. "I'm doing this because I want to do it for you two. That's what matters."

My heart just about melts, but I manage to keep my cool as I move the mattress to a discreet place, which is inside an empty room off to the side that has no apparent use. At least, according to Freya.

Dorian is still crying a little, but less than before. "Well, let's make our last night together one to remember."

I reply quickly. "Sounds great, Dorian. Let's go, though! We're burning daylight!"

Dorian's passed out on the couch.

Freya and I have been holding each other for the past hour, and we're both so tired that we can barely move.

Freya's parents have not come home yet (despite it being nearly midnight), and Dad hasn't shown up at the door looking for us. We're silently thankful that neither of those things occurred.

The last couple of hours resembled a party of sorts. While not much happened in it- I helped Freya cook a fancy dinner for the three of us, we watched pre-Hunger Games shows together, and we talked a lot- it's still been one of the best nights of my life. (Freya even suggested we opened a bottle of wine, but thankfully, Dorian shut that down, saying that I wouldn't want to show up at the Reaping with a hangover.)

Finally, Freya lets loose a colossal yawn, and says, "I'll be there in the morning, Godric. But right now, I need some beauty sleep."

Then, she kisses me on the cheek, says, "Good night, sweetheart," and stumbles off toward her room.

I follow suit and turn off all the lights as I stagger towards the side room, Dorian in my arms.

Eventually, I'm able to set Dorian down on the mattress before climbing on myself.

As I drift off, I keep reliving the last few hours, over and over and over again. No matter what anyone else thinks, they were incredible.

All I can hope for is to win the Games and come home.

Then, all our problems will vanish, and every night can be just like this.

In that it was absolutely perfect.

Author's Notes:

-Thanks to Sparky She-Demon for sending in Godric. He was a little difficult to write, though.

-If you feel like I portrayed child abuse poorly, don't hesitate to PM me with suggestions on how I can fix those scenes! I've been fortunate enough to never experience any, meaning that I'm very naïve about the subject. I've read about it a little in books, but that only gets me so far.

-Both spots from 9 are still open! (I don't know what it is with that District, but it's almost always the last to fill!) If you would like to submit and haven't already, just look at the form on my profile, copy it down, and PM me your tribute. First come, first served.

-Next up is the D3M, also created by Sparky She-Demon. After that comes the D10M and D4F.

-See you next chapter!