Trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts/self harm, child abuse, cancer, honestly you know the deal by now shit is wack and sad in this house.


VIII. THE BROKEN UNBROKEN


Hold on, baby; you're losing it
The water's high, you're jumping into it
And letting go, and no one knows
That you cry; but you don't tell anyone
That you might not be the golden one
And you're tied together with a smile
But you're coming undone


CLARIS VARSENOVA
DISTRICT THREE


Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

"Just breathe," The words barely make a sound when they come out of Claris' mouth, "Please mom… just breathe."

Beep.

Beep.

Her father Pascal's quiet next to her, she doesn't think he even hears her talking to her mother, talking to her mother for what could be the last time. He's just… sitting in the metal hospital chair, his back pressed against the wall with a blank expression on his face. Claris has no idea what he's thinking, and part of her doesn't even want to know, He loved mom— no wait, he still loves her. And now… he's going to lose her. I can't even imagine what he's going though.

Beep.

She knows Idalia can't hear her, but that doesn't prevent Claris from trying to talk to her, again and again, "It's going to be okay mom, I promise. It's going to be okay."

The first ten years of her life have been just about as good as the first ten years of anybody's life can be. They've been so… beautifully tranquil, delightfully uneventful, just Claris and her parents, walking in the park, cooking spaghetti in the kitchen, falling asleep to stories every night.

Claris wishes she would have appreciated them more, wishes she didn't complain when her parents had work because at least she got to spend some time with then. That was more than so many other kids could say. Almost all her friends at elementary school would tell her, "You're so lucky that you get to see your parents so often, mine just tell me I need to study for the Cortana Entrance Exam."

She wishes she'd have listened to them. Truly, she's so blessed she never had to worry about whether or not she'd get into the Institute, it was decided as soon as Claris could walk that there was no way in the world she'd be attending the place, Because mom was always so afraid she'd lose me… so afraid she didn't seem to think about me losing her.

Beep.

The clicks on her machine get less frequent and more faint, but Claris doesn't let that deter her. This is going to be fine, She tells herself over and over again, even if deep inside she knows that isn't true, This is going to be fine. Mom's just… having another one of those negative turn.

It had happened before during one of her visits, Idalia's monitor would get quiet, but it had never been that way for this long, and this was the first time she'd gotten a call from the nurse saying she should probably head over to the hospital.

"This may be your goodbye," She wasn't sure what to expect when she picked up the phone but it wasn't this, they'd said she'd been doing better lately.

Claris tried not to cry, tried not to break because her mother doesn't deserve for her daughter to be so broken over her, "Right, my father and I will be there soon."

Yet she can feel herself breaking as the monitor produces less and less noise, but no… Claris Varsenova can't cry, can't let her mother's last thoughts be of a broken daughter who can't live without her.

She's determined to live past this, it's what her mother would want.

But her face is so pale and her body seems so frail… and she's so different from the lady Claris loved for ten years, the lady who was so warm and talkative now cold and silent.

Beep.

Idalia's life has been reduced to diagonal green lines on a screen yet Claris is just supposed to pretend she's the same person who gave birth to her, nursed her, held her when she cried.

She's not sure how her father's taking it either. It's almost like he accepts what's happening as he hasn't shed a tear this entire time, just… quiet resignation to the fact he's soon to be without a wife, soon to be stuck with a daughter who fears she won't be able to cope.

And Claris wishes she could say she's getting ahead of herself, wishes she could say, "Mom's not going to die this time!" yet it's not the truth, she knows it's not the truth yet for some reason she asks her dad anyways, "Is this really the end?"

Pascal doesn't speak. He usually doesn't when things get bad, he just sits and observes the moment before coming to a decision on what to do. He's always been thoughtful like that, and Claris hopes he'll continue to be thoughtful.

"I don't know," Yet the look on his face says, "I do know."

Claris does too, but she needs to hear it from somebody besides herself or the doctors, "Yes, you do."

Still cold, her father barely touches the small in her back, "It'll be okay."

She decides then and there that she'll believe him. It'll be okay.

The tear Claris promised wouldn't form comes moments later, when she hasn't heard the machine beep in a minute or so. She stands by her mother and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, the same way she did to Claris when she was younger.

"I love you mom—"

Silence.


Sure, Claris' mom's in the hospital with cancer but that doesn't mean she can't be optimistic about the whole thing. When she told her teacher in school the news about the diagnosis, she'd been met with a, "Well, cancer doesn't kill everybody it touches," and that's the truth she's chosen to believe. Possibly for her own sanity, but nevertheless helpful.

She visits Idalia almost every day after school, even if it means having to stay up far too late doing homework, it's worth it if she can make her mother smile. And that's what usually happens.

"Claris," She exclaims one day, trying yet struggling to open her arms to her daughter, "I'm glad to see you here!"

"'Glad to see you here too, mommy," Claris sits on the edge of her bed and smiles, "How was the procedure today?"

Her words bring a solemn expression to Idalia's face. She doesn't like to talk about her condition all that much, and that's a bit concerning to Claris who always is asking questions 'cause she wants to make sure her mom's on track to getting better, "You know, with your colon?"

The cancer started in her mother's kidney yet the doctors are worried it's spreading downwards, which isn't exactly the best news. They've been trying radiation on it yet it doesn't seem to be working, so she's also on some pills that've made her hair begin to thin.

"I know, I know," Idalia sighs, not sure how to chose her next words, "It… let's just say Clar,' it could've gone better."

W-what does she mean, could've gone better? Please don't say it's actually spread… please, please, please, don't say it's only gotten worse, Her panic is visible on her face, "And that means?"

"Stage four, probably terminal," Regret's in her mother's eyes when she speaks, "I assume you know what terminal means, that—"

"You're not going to die!" Claris insists, trying her best not to cry.

Idalia doesn't say anything and Claris realizes it's time for her to accept a truth she never thought she'd have to even consider.


Her mother's funeral is depressing, but in what world wouldn't it be? Relatives Claris hardly remembered covered her in hugs and condolences, yet she couldn't say anything in return, because she didn't know what to say.

"I miss her too, so glad we both have that in common."

"Why are you sorry for my loss? You didn't kill her."

"I agree, she did fight hard, but I guess it wasn't hard enough, huh?"

None of that seemed appropriate so Claris simply didn't say anything, instead just embracing their warmth.

They arrive home, and Claris is expecting her father to be all sad just the same as the other relatives, yet that's not the case. Pascal's not happy, no not at all, but he's clearly angry, or even just frustrated.

She decides not to ask him if he's okay, since he clearly isn't, his arms crossed and his face stern.

But again, they're used to silence.

They don't cook their own dinner that night, instead one of Idalia's old friends from work brings over a meal for them to eat, sets it on the porch and rings the doorbell before leaving. Probably didn't want to talk to two unnatural mourners. The meal she cooked is spaghetti, and Claris finishes all of it despite the fact it isn't very good. Her mother always cooked the best spaghetti, but Claris can't eat that anymore.

Pascal doesn't speak until after the meal and all it's mediocracy, "You know Claris, I wish it wasn't like this."

That's obvious. Why would he be glad that his wife's dead? He'd always said Idalia's the love of his life, and as much as Claris loved her, she didn't know her as long as he did, so she wouldn't be surprised if he loved her more. Maybe one day Claris will love somebody that much too. It seems nice.

"Me neither," She answers him whilst scrubbing the dishes, "I miss her so much already."

Not much depth, just Claris stating the obvious, but she's always been more comfortable expressing her feelings with her mother, Which I suppose is going to have to change.

There's not much regret on his lips when he says the next thing, "At times I find myself wishing we'd buried you instead."


She's always liked having conversations with her parents, and that's why she's at first so excited when her father knocks on her door and says, "Mom and I need to talk to you about something."

As she skips through the halls, Claris imagines all the possibilities that she could be soon to discuss: family vacations, finally getting a pet cat like she's always wanted, maybe even a new sibling. It seems important.

She isn't expecting the stern look on her mother's face when she arrives at her doorway, "Is everything okay?"

From the looks of it, everything is indeed not okay, but Claris just wants to be sure of it before getting too worried.

Idalia says it plain and simple, "I've been diagnosed with cancer."

And just like that, Claris' whole world shatters right in front of her.

She's too in shock to cry, so instead she just nods, "That makes me sad to hear," and tries to shake it off, pretend it's not a big deal and people get better from their cancer all the time, even if that's not the case, really it isn't. Claris feels like an idiot for not being more concerned when her mom said that her stomach hurt.

"We don't know how much longer she has, but we're going to do our best to fight it," Pascal says, trying his best to be reassuring.

Claris then decides that she will spend as much time in her mother's presence to make up for the fact there could soon come a time where she never sees her again.


Maybe Claris should've paid more attention to her friends when they talked about studying for their Cortana Entrance Exams, because as she flips through the pages of the prep book herself, she finds that she's completely lost.

Her tutor, a man named Edison points at a table of empty boxes, "Where does iodine go?"

Claris has no clue, but in her defense she didn't think she'd be taking this test until just a few months ago.

Pascal had told her, "You've got to attend the Cortana Institue, Claris. Now that your mother isn't here, you're my priority and I'd like it if you do the best you can do in this world."

To him, "the best" means studying for hours a day for a test that doesn't make any sense so that she can be admitted to an academy that'll train her to kill people so that she can be selected to kill people for the entire country to see. It's not exactly Claris' definition of "the best," but she tries her best to respect him and his wishes. He's still recovering from losing the love of his life, after all, the least she could do is participate in his attempt to move his focus to other things.

Claris drags her finger to a random spot on the right side of the chart, "Is that one iodine?"

"Close, that's bismuth," Edison lifts her finger and moves it one spot up and two to the right, "That's where iodine goes."

She nods, "Right, I'm sorry sir. I'll do better next time."

"You don't have to apologize, Claris," Edison chuckles, "I'm here to help you, and I'm not expecting you to know everything right now."

But her father is, and Claris feels bad that she doesn't already know everything she should if she expects herself to do well on the test. And maybe the Institute will be good for her, it would be less time at the house, and that means less time with him, which has become a good thing, unfortunately.

It's like he's a different person almost, Claris' father, has been ever since mom died, and she doesn't like it. She doesn't like how he's always yelling and telling her to do things she doesn't want to do like study for the Cortana Entrance Exam or work out in the backyard to be strong when all she feels is weak.

Edison's nice, her teachers at school are nice, but that's not enough for Claris. They need to be pushing her harder if they actually want her to do well on the Exam, not coddle her and tell her it's okay if she doesn't know everything when she should know so much by now, yet she doesn't.

And so she cries, she cries every night in her pillow when she's sure Pascal's asleep and can't hear her 'cause if he did he'd start up with the yelling again and if she doesn't have the brainpower to handle it during the day, Claris certainly doesn't have the brainpower to deal with it at night when the sky's already dark and she doesn't need her mind to be the same.

Because she's always told, time and time again that she's simply not good enough from her, always told she'll never be good enough unless she aces the Exam and it leads Claris to wonder, why? It's like he expects her to replace her mother in his heart, but without showing flaws because clearly Idalia had some if she died, and if she's perfect then he won't have to lose somebody else.

…Which is rather ironic considering Claris wishes he'd already lost her from time to time.

Sleeping on a pillow of tears proves to be less than ideal but Claris isn't going to change her pillowcase 'cause there's no need to make a house that already dislikes her grow to hate her. And that's funny, because Claris always liked her house, always liked the people it was filled with, her mother, her father, their friends. But it's different now; her mother's gone and her father's been replaced by a pitiless husk of a man.

Before she sleeps, Claris' final thoughts are typically as follows, I wish my mother were here and I wish my father would disappear.


While Claris has always understood that being from District Three would mean she'd be in more challenging classes compared to the rest of her country, she still finds herself overwhelmed by some of the things she learns, which is normal, yes, but that doesn't change the fact she doesn't like it.

At eight years old, she's sat on a barstool next to her mother with math worksheets sprawled over the kitchen counter, "I just don't understand, mom."

She feels moronic, why is multiplication so difficult, anyways? At first it's fine, she just counts on her fingers until she finds an answer, but the numbers have gotten bigger and she doesn't know how to show her work on the page, much less know the proper answer.

"Let's break it down step by step," Idalia erases Claris' scribbles on one of the worksheets, "Your teacher wants you to find seven multiplied by thirteen, but we can make it more simple than that."

"Meaning?" Claris draws question marks on the page with her own pencil.

"Let's break it off into two separate equations," She listens intently to her mother's wisdom, she's always been a rather intelligent person who Claris admires, "I want you to tell me seven multiplied by ten and then seven multiplied by three."

She thinks for a moment, and writes on the page, "Seven times ten is seventy, and seven times three is twenty one, right?"

"Excellent!" Idalia begins to set up the next equation, "Now just tell me what seventy plus twenty one is, and we'll have our final answer."

It's much easier now, much more simple, "Ninety one?"

"Amazing," Idalia takes Claris in her arms and smiles. Claris smiles too, because it really was easier now that her mom's explained it to her.

That's a common theme, everything is easier when she's with her mom.


She'd heard rumors that the Cortana Institute had the tendency to suck the life out of people, but it took actually getting there for Claris to really they weren't exaggerating.

Right away, the place's far more serious then anywhere she's ever been, and none of the kids are smiling, no instead they're just pouting and looking at textbooks and diagrams. For a place so prestigious and hard to get into, Claris thought that people would be more excited to be there, yet they just seemed to be treating training like it was a job.

She makes friends fast, Claris always has, yet they're all so miserable compared to her, like they were already crushed by the work before it even began. She wouldn't let herself get crushed, yet that became an issue when she found herself at home staying up far too late for a twelve-year-old, covered in seemingly endless piles of work.

And of course, her father didn't give a damn, knocking on her door at three in the morning with a sinister look on his face, "Why are you still up?"

"I've still got work to do," She drops her pencil against her desk and panics, "I promise, it won't be much longer. I'll try and sleep if I have time."

Her answer's insufficient for him, much like she herself his, "You scratch against your paper so loud, it woke me up. Maybe you should be trying harder while your at the Institute so you won't be so bogged down with homework now."

He doesn't get it. No matter how much you get accomplished in your classes, you'll still have that same heaping pile of work to sort through, it's the Institute's way of breaking people until they grow unfamiliar with daylight.

But Claris doesn't want to argue with him, "I understand, father, I'll try harder tomorrow, I promise."

"You better," Pascal waits a moment before closing the door, "I don't think your mother would be proud of a daughter who's only barely in the top five of her class."

My mother wouldn't want me at the Institute at all, Claris thinks, yet it's hard for her to believe her own thoughts at times, Maybe mom just didn't think I'd do good at the Institute so she figured, why bother?

It's irritating, the way Pascal brings Idalia into every argument, but that's because he knows that it works. Claris hates that she's exposed her weaknesses to him like this.


She's seven years old when she comes hope from school with a large cut on her knee, something her mother notices immediately, so she asks her daughter, "What happened to you?"

Claris doesn't want to answer, because that would just worry her mother and she doesn't deserve to worry, but what really happened wasn't all that great. She'd been playing tag with some of her friends on the yard when one of the older girls, her name was Athlon was upset with her.

"You're cheating," She'd screamed at Claris, who didn't really understand how she could possibly cheat at tag.

So that's what Claris said, "It's tag, I can't cheat at tag."

Apparently, Athlon didn't like that response, because she pushed Claris to the ground and watched as her knees got all scratched up before she laughed, "That's what you get for cheating."

Claris doesn't understand why kids can be so nasty sometimes, but at the same time, it's really no big deal, it's just a scratch, and even if her leg hurts when she moves it, it'll get better with time.

"I fell," She tells her mother, "During tag, it's not that big of a deal."

Idalia doesn't buy it, "Did you fall, or did somebody push you?"

She deserves to know the truth if she's already asking questions, Claris sighs and looks down at the cut again, "Well Athlon Pentium pushed me, if you must know. But it's not a big deal, I promise."

Her mother doesn't ask any more questions after that, instead reaching into the medicine cabinet and grabbing a bottle of an antiseptic solution which she sprays on Claris' knee. She flinches when the liquid touches her, because it makes her skin sting, but cleaning her wound is important if she doesn't want an infection.

"It's all better now," Idalia declares, peeling the backside of a bandage and sticking it to her daughter's injury, "You were right, it's really not that bad and you'll be better in no time!"

"Thank you mommy," Claris smiles. If only it could be this way forever, just Claris being sheltered beneath her mothers wings for eternity.


Training gets harder when she's fifteen because she begins to have issues walking. It's not because Claris is diseased or disabled in any capacity, but rather, a vicious cycle's begun at home.

Whips on her back and burns on her face, it's always something like that when Pascal sees her results on her latest test or trial and deems them not enough, says something like, "I thought you studied and trained for this."

Claris responds whilst choking back tears, "I did, father. I promise, I did." But in reality, she's struggling, because her back hurts thanks to her father and it's hard to fake a smile when there's burns on her lips and that just leads to a dip in performance. He's trying to correct her yet all his efforts just leave her more paralyzed more incompetent and less likely to succeed, even if succeeding is what she needs to do if she wants him to love her.

He doesn't realize that his punishments are draining her of the potential to succeed.

Running tests should be easier for Claris, she doesn't know why she's gotten to the point where she's become so broken she can't even avoid the targets in her way, but she tries and she tries yet her knees buckle and her shoulders tense up and she begins to feel like it's stupid of her to have even attempted all of this training, though it wasn't my choice, this didn't have to happen to me. Why did I give in to him, why did I let him do this to me.

It has to be her fault to some extent, she really should have tried harder if she didn't want this to happen. She should be the perfect daughter, should be able to thrive even through the pain her father causes, because if she can't do this, how's she going to work in the Games when she's hurt?

That must be it, he must just be training me for the Games. He's just preparing me for the fact that I'll have to power through injuries in the Games, really I should be more thankful for him, losing his wife and devoting all his efforts to helloing me succeed. Claris feels selfish for even implying that her father didn't have good intentions when he hit her and knocked her around, she should know that everything he does is for a reason, and that reason is that he just wants the best for her, And I'm acting like it's the worst, I'm an awful daughter.

Her reasoning proves to have some flaws the more his punishments continue, "I'm appalled you don't get it yet, you need to succeed, Claris. It's what you're mother would want."

"It's what mother would want—" A glass bottle collides with her knees as she barely finishes her sentence, Pascal smiling, "Dad…"

Another bottle, another swing, this time at her stomach, "You're going to get cut up in the Games. You should be able to handle this."

"You're right," Claris nods, but the glass shatters against her arms and she looks down to see her skin covered in cuts and the beginning of bruises. She wishes she could say she deserves this, that would make everything much easier, but she can't gaslight herself into believing that truth anymore.

You're wrong, It's the first time she admits it in her head, this shouldn't be happening to her and she's tired of excusing it. It's the first time she decides she deserves better than him and the madness he's tried to turn her into. She deserves to be strong, she deserves to be brave, and she deserves to have it all, and she deserves it without her father getting in the way.

Yet at the same time, Claris isn't sure what she wants. There's the obvious, getting her mother back, but she knows that can't happen. So she decides she'll try and win happiness, a seemingly impossible prize, but she'll strive for happiness in others at the same time.


"Ready or not, here I come," Claris is six when she hears her mom call out from the hallways while she's hidden herself in between layers of coats hung in the closet of the guest bedroom.

It's dark in there, but Claris isn't all that afraid because she knows her mom's going to find her eventually, she always does when they play hide and go sleep, even if her spots have gotten more and more tricky.

She waits five minutes, and then ten, and while she hears footsteps, she doesn't see her mother swinging open the door to say, "I found 'ya!" like she usually does. Has her hiding spot gotten too tricky for even mom? Claris doubts it, her mom's bound to find her any minute now.

Yet another five minutes pass, and it's getting dark in the closet. It's night so there's not even any light peering out from the windows to help her see, and she begins to cry. But she has to be brave, she can't let herself get afraid of such a silly closet.

Eventually, she hears her mother, "There you are," and she opens the door with a smile on her face.

It makes Claris feel better and it also makes her wonder why she was afraid of the closet in the first place.


Claris now knows she should have always been afraid of the closet.

"Third place, unbelievable!" Pascal stammers when he hears of her current ranking in her class at the Institute, "Didn't you tell me you were going to try to at least be second?"

She's sixteen and sitting on her bed when he barges through her door, and Claris has grown scared of him. She's been doing her best, really she has, and she's even began tutoring kids around the Institute if they're struggling, because she knows herself how awful it feels when you're struggling around there, but maybe she should be thinking more about herself.

Remember Claris, if you want to get away from your father for good, you'll have to volunteer and win, Her own thought process echoes through her mind, but it's hard for Claris to listen to her own thoughts when there's so many people suffering, people who don't deserve to be stuck cutting at their own skin because they feel insignificant. If her math and science lessons can just help one person feel they're good enough to be there, then it's all worth it to her.

"I tried my best," She says, fully knowing what's coming next. Pascal won't give a shit about her "explanation" and he'll get something out from his room and bash it against her skin 'till she bruises. He won't care and he'll twist her fingers till they slightly crack, scratch her skin till it slightly bleeds, talk to her till she slightly breaks. It's getting harder to stay strong when he does the cruel things he does, but even if it takes everything in her, Claris always does her best to smile, 'cause nobody wants to see a girl frowning in the middle of the Institute because her father beat her. She doesn't need their pity, anyways.

She didn't know what was coming next.

"Get up," He instructs her so she springs off her mattress, "Follow me." Again, she listens to her father even if he's being twisted in a way she doesn't know yet.

He leads her down the halls, into the guest room and then to the closet where they hang all their coats. There's less coats in there now since mom's dead.

"Why are we—" Claris' words are cut short when he pushes her. He pushes her and she falls onto a pile of old t-shirts collecting dust on the ground. He pushes her and then he closes the door.

There's the slightest bit of light peaking through one of the cracks, but it's soon gone and she hears her father flick at the light switch.

It takes Claris a few minutes to process what's happening, but she knows this: she's in the closet and it's dark. She's in the closet and it's dark and, we installed a new lock on this door so it locks on the outside a few weeks ago… shit.

She's left to wonder, Did he plan this? Did he really have so little faith in me placing higher than third that he prepared in advance to lock me up? And then, and only because nobody's looking at her and she can't see herself either, Claris cries. She's unsure how long she cries, because she can't really tell time in the dark, but she thinks it goes on for a while.

(It only goes on for five minutes. Time moves slowly in the dark.)

Maybe an hour's passed and Claris is still stuck in the dark. She tries to scream for her father, even if she doubts he'll let her out, but her words are muffled by the closet's thick door. Even if he heard her for some reason, Claris knows he wouldn't get her. The point of this whole punishment is clearly making her feel stuck, and well, it sure is working.

Claris reaches for one of the jackets and feels how long it's sleeve is. She thinks, If I really wanted to, I could wrap this around my neck and hang it from the ceiling bad, and then she slaps herself for thinking such a thing, But still, imagine the look on his face when he goes to get me only to see that I'm dead. It's not worth it, it's not worth it.

She feels her eyes go heavy so she sits on the floor and closes them, hoping they'll whisk her away to sleep and when she wakes up, she'll be in her room because this isn't real. It's a nightmare and Claris is fine, she's going to be fine. She's just in her room fast asleep because her brain's decided to play a trick on her.

But it's not a trick because her eyes snap open and she's in the same place. Or at least she thinks she is, it could be an entirely different closet. She's no clue what time it is or how long she's been in there so far but she yawns and she knows it hasn't been a swell night of sleep.

Claris tries to stretch but her back cracks, sore because she was sleeping on just a pile of t-shirts that aren't meant to be slept on. It's only gotten darker, she tries to look down at her own hands in front of her, but she can't even see them.

And in the closet, Claris Varsenova breaks. She breaks because there's nothing to do besides break. She breaks because she's isolated from the world and enveloped by her thoughts instead. She doesn't like those. Because her thoughts say this; they say that she's worthless and a nobody and her father's doing her best but she has some sort of a problem that's incurable. They say that he was right when he said he wished she was dead instead of mom because mom would never be a failure the way she is. They say she's an embarrassment to the Varsenova family name and there's so many parts of her that are better off dead.

She tries to find the jacket sleeve again but she can't so she settles for digging her fingernails into her wrists. They're sharp, but not enough. She needs sharper.

But really, Claris needs the light, needs her father to open the door, since she's getting hungry now too and she's getting lonely.

He says it's been a day when he finally frees her. He says it's been a day and "You're lucky I didn't leave you in there longer."


She's five when she admits to her mother, "Sometimes, I think really sad things."

Idalia cradles Claris in her arms and asks her, "What do you mean?"

Well… she it wasn't her idea to think sad things, they've just been told to her. By the other kids. The other kids tell her on the playground sometimes, "Why're you such a teacher's pet, Claris?"

When they first said that, Claris didn't know what it meant so she asked one of the kids and he told her, "It means you're a good for nothing stuck-up prick. It means the only reason you get good grades is because you act all sweet to the teacher."

"One of the kids at school told me something real bad about myself," She admits, "He told me that I'm a good for nothing stuck-up prick and the only reason I get good grades is because I act all sweet to the teacher. It made me feel sad."

There's tears in her eyes but Idalia continues to hold her, "I'm sorry you feel sad, dear but I promise you, the other kids are just jealous of you. You're one of the brightest little lights that I know, and anybody who tries to tell you otherwise just isn't destined for great things the way you are."

But then why are they so mean? She wonders. If they're really jealous of her, they could just ask her for help. Claris would be more than willing to help the other kids with their addition or their subtraction or whatever else they needed help on. It's the least she could do.

"Thank you mama," She lets go, "You always make me feel better."


Just a day later, Claris gives into the darkness.

There's a shop real close to the house that she goes to sometimes to get snacks or soda when she feels like she needs a treat. She goes there again that day, and rummages through the aisles 'till she finds the rack filled with shaving cream and razors. Claris' eyes move past the cream and instead just focus on the blades, so many handles and styles to chose from, and there's desperation in the way she stands and shakes.

On the very bottom of the rack, there's a small plastic box that contains just the blades, none of the handles and fancy wrappings. She takes it to the cashier and doesn't say a word.

But the cashier does. He says, "What're those for?" and she can tell he's saying it out of concern.

"My legs," Luckily, finding an excuse isn't too hard, "I've got a handle at home and I just need new blades to shave them with."

She usually walks home from the shop but today she runs. Claris runs in the house and up the stairs till she collapses on top of her bed and starts ripping at her own sheets, tearing them from the mattress I… don't… need… these.

Her nails are sharp enough to form a hole in the linen, but Claris doesn't care. The cotton's always been soft, and that means she doesn't need it because she's a failure, a letdown, a loser.

Claris looks at the wall behind her bed and slaps her fist into it without thinking much of it. It leaves a hole and there's cuts and bruises all over her hands now. The hole is small, but it's still recognizable because much like her, that wall was always destined to break.

She takes a small look at the mirror and it's enough for her to punch her own face, her jaw immediately swelling with pain, You're ugly, she tells herself, You're ugly because you don't look as pretty as mom. You don't look as pretty as your mom who's dead and if she saw you now, she wouldn't even claim you as her daughter. Claris has never felt that way about her appearance before, yet there's something in the air, something simmering in her brain that tells her she was blind to the inadequacy of her own visage.

Claris tugs at her own headboard until it snaps loose from the bed and she claws at her pillows until they tear. She's covered in a mess of ripped sheets and snagged wood and feathers, but she still feels inadequate. She'll continue to feel that way for the rest of her life, or so she's convinced.

And that's fine, she's too much of a mess to deserve feeling adequate.

The package of razor blades is sitting on the floor but Claris picks them up and gets rid of the plastic with her teeth. It's tough and it makes her jaw hurt, but that's fine because Claris deserves to hurt. She deserves to suffer and so suffer she will.

There's one blade in her right hand and she drags it down her left arm so it makes a vertical line when she's looking at it. She realizes she isn't pressing hard enough so she tries to cut deeper, and when crimson rivulet's form, she knows she's successful so she flashes a wicked grin, like she's mocking her own pain, because it's just… so silly that she's in pain when she's had so many fancy things in her home and she's just ungrateful. She cuts horizontally on the top and bottom of her first incision, and again the blood flows immediately. Claris wipes it away on her sheet as it stings but before more liquid clots, she's able to make out the letter "I."

Claris continues down her arm, each press of the blade a reminder that she deserves to suffer.

Two vertical lines and a diagonal connecting them, "N."

Two diagonal lines reaching a point and a horizontal beneath them, "A."

A veritcle line and then an arch, "D."

Three horizontal lines and a vertical, "E."

A circle with a diagonal line cutting halfway through, "Q."

Another set of the two diagonals with a horizontal under, "A."

A long vertical with a horizontal at the top, "T."

And finally, three horizontals and a vertical once more, "E."

She looks in the mirror and the blood on her arm says what she is, Claris Varsenova is inadequate.

Yet somehow that's not enough. She looks in the mirror and her right arm swings till the glass is shattered and there's reflective pieces on the ground. Claris picks one up and digs it into her thigh, aimless marks with no rhyme of reason, the only thing similar to the organized chaos on her arms being the blood that spills.

And oh does it spill. It's on her sheets and her pillows and on the floors and the rugs and the walls. She's breathing heavy and she can't tell if she's crying or not and when she goes to wipe her face, she's not sure if she's collecting tears of if it's only blood that's on her fingertips.

She repeats to herself over and over, I deserve this, I deserve this, I deserve this. She tells herself, I should be in pain, I should be in pain, I should be in pain. Because clearly Claris is too much of a coward to kill herself, so being in pain is the next best thing.

She looks at her blood and feels her mother reaching out for her when—

Claris doesn't recognize where she wakes up at first, but the beeping monitor is the same.

She's in the spot her mother died because it could have been her.

She hears that the maids found her lying there and didn't know what to do.

She wishes she could say she's glad she survived, but really, Claris is just angry.

Because her father's still shouting at her because apparently she's wasted her time by making him take her here, and he's said he wishes she actually did kill herself but for the first time, Claris has reached clarity in her mind, and she knows she has to recover if she wants to get away from him.


Claris has always enjoyed picnics with her family and today is no exception. She's four years old, in the park with her family, and everything looks so beautiful and elegant to her. Her mother and her father are smiling and she's doing the same as she runs around on the grass and past the trees.

"You'll never catch me," She calls out and looks behind to see her mother chasing her, "You'll never ever catch me."

Through the leaves her little feat go and to the sky her little heart soars. It's a beautiful day, a day unlike any beauty she's ever seen thus far and Claris wishes she could live in it forever, just her, her family, and hope that someday the world could get better.

Idalia grabs her from behind and Claris' smile only widens, "You did catch me mom!"

But Claris isn't mad, "I'll just catch you next!"

And so she runs towards her mother this time, instead of running away.

They eat sandwiches and they laugh and they play and they laugh and at one point Claris' father even pushes her on a swing. She's so high up she feels like she's this close to touching the stars with her own little fingers. She's so high up she feels like she can do anything.

Because that's what her parents have always told her, "Claris, you're wonderful and you can do anything you put your mind too."

She believes them.


Her father rattles again and again, "Claris, you're a disappointment," but she's seventeen years old and she knows better to believe him, because the only reason he's upset is because she's spending more time helping others succeed instead of focusing on herself.

She hasn't told anybody what she did to herself, not like they'd listen to her anyways, and while she till finds herself finding tiny cuts on her wrists, it's less for pain and more because it's become all she knows.

But she's getting stronger, she swears that she's getting stronger.

A smaller girl comes up to her one day at the Institute and asks her, "How are you so happy all the time?"

At first, Claris laughs, because it's been seven years since she considered herself happy, but hey, it must mean the smile she's been faking is working. In fact, she's been faking it so much it's beginning to turn real as she tutors kids and helps them with their sword work, even if it means she has to stay there late herself to take care of her own business. Besides, that just means less time at home and with dad. For the first time in a long time, Claris can see a future for herself that doesn't involve so much pain. For the first time in a long time, she has a hunch she's going to be okay.

Over and over again, she does her best and watches herself soar through the rankings until she reaches the top, all while she's doing her best and trying not to fall back into the madness that consumes her every waking moment back when she's at home. Claris is above it now, because she knows she deserves better than to be in pain all the time.

She's only in pain some of the time now, and it's all because of what her mother said to her, or at least what Claris thinks she said to her when she was in a liminal space between life and death as she laid in her own blood. She swears her mother told her, "I'm not ready for you to join me yet. Go on and live for yourself, Claris. I promise, I'll be ready for you when the time is right, but that's not now."

Claris tries not to cry when she's answering the girl's question, so her face looks like she's choking on an ugly truth, that happiness isn't handed to you, it has to be fought for and that's a fight she hasn't quite won yet. But she doesn't need to scare the girl so instead she says, "Just remember, you only get to live once, and that's a blessing you need to make the most of, no matter what other people tell you."

She gets home and Pascal tells her that he's mad at her again, but Claris doesn't care this time. She's not mad at herself, and her opinion is what matters most.


The first time Claris walks by herself, it's more like she's wobbling. Step after step on the carpet and she can feel herself shifting from side to side, front to back 'cause it's her first time taking steps without her mother's hand in hers and she's so afraid.

She's so afraid but she sees a light, her mother just a few feet away from her with her arms open wide, saying "You can do it, you can do it."

Claris believes her so she steps with more confidence. She doesn't want to fall, not now and not ever.

It's a tough trek even if it's just a few steps, but Claris is determined, and eventually she's a success. She grabs onto her mother and smiles, "I did it, mama!" And she'll do it again, Claris will walk and walk again.


It's been six months since she last touched them but on the evening before the reaping for the 94th Hunger Games, Claris catches herself fiddling with razor blades in her hand once more.

But it's different this time. She's not alone, and she's not afraid either. Her kitten Jouelle's sitting beside her with her fur all grey and soft, and Claris Varsenova feels at peace. She gets up from the seat by her windowsill and walks into her bathroom, opening the lid to her toilet and letting the blades fall out of her hand and into the water with a clink! clink!

She pushes down on a button and watches as they funnel away. She's not sad, but she's not happy either. It's bittersweet, but once the toilet stops flushing she smiles at herself in the mirror, I don't need these anymore. And now I can't even try to go back to them if I wanted to.

It's silly since she's being sent to the Capitol the very next day, but still it's the thought that counts. And while she doesn't know what the next few weeks could bring her, she finds herself somewhat excited. Sure the yelling's gotten bad again, but no matter what happens, every ending leads to a future where she's far away from him.

And that makes for a good ending.


Claris isn't expecting her entire world to change when she's just ten years old and she hears the home phone on the wall ring. She looks and recognizes that it's her mother's hospital calling so she decides to answer.

"Hi, we're calling because we think it's important that you come over here and see your mother immediately. This may be your goodbye," She wasn't sure what to expect when this, they'd said she'd been doing better lately.

Claris tries not to cry, tries not to break because her mother doesn't deserve for her daughter to be so broken over her, "Right, my father and I will be there soon."

She isn't sure what's going to happen, but she knows that even if she falls first, her mother would want her to fly.


Tied Together With a Smile by Taylor Swift


For the record, I didn't intend on this being longer than Tess' intro, yet here we are, and I'm crying because Claris had me in my feels. Dyl, thank you so much for sending her to me but also what the fuck is your problem, sending her to fucking die? You monster…

Regardless, I found Claris very easy to write and I'm curious what you all think of her. I'm shocked it didn't even take me two weeks to churn out another intro, and hey maybe y'all with meet Luz in a few weeks too!

Hope you're doing well,
Linds