Bellamy kicked the ground impatiently and a cloud of dust blew up around his boot. The boy beside him cast him a questionable glance but stayed silent. Most people had learnt not to question Bellamy, he was more pleasant that way, or so his sister would tease him. He wished she was by his side now, instead of a snooty merchant boy.
Bellamy knew he shouldn't resent the boy just because he didn't live in the seam, it wasn't his fault that he'd born into a family with a few more coins in their pockets, and the rest of District Twelve was only marginally better off than the seam anyway. Still, it was hard not to resent those from the village when Bellamy had spent all his years hungry, trying to keep his sister alive on grain alone. It was a grim sort of life; you were never allowed something just because you wanted it, only ever having the minimum.
One time he had brought his little sister, Octavia, a red hair ribbon and it had cost them two weeks of rations. His mother had hit him for it and cried afterward, telling him how sorry she was, but he never forgot the sting of her slap upon his cheek. Still, it had been worth it to see Octavia happy.
His sister was all he cared for in the world. Bellamy didn't put much worth on himself, but for Octavia, he would have done anything. His chest ached that afternoon, as it did ever year on the day of the reaping, but not for himself, for his little sister. She was fourteen, just a girl. They couldn't. Wouldn't. He'd kill them if it was her, he'd kill them, he'd kill them all.
He kicked the earth again and again as he made empty promises to himself. He wanted to hurt anyone who harmed his sister, wanted to so much that it was unhealthy, unnatural. But he had no power against the Capitol and if his sister was reaped all he could do was pray. No, he told himself, it won't be her. Her name was only in there three times. That was nothing, wasn't it? Bellamy hoped so.
His own name was in there twenty-one times. But he couldn't think about that. He had to think about Octavia.
The bullshit speech on the Capitol's generosity was almost over and the brightly coloured woman, whose name he didn't care to remember, would soon be choosing the names. Bellamy's heart thudded at twice its usual rate, so hard that he thought it would slam against his rib cage. He let his fingers curl into fists and clench at his sides, the way he did when he got angry, in the hopes that it might make him less afraid. But there was nothing that could quell his fear, nothing that could soothe the tumultuous waves of terror inside him until the girl's name was read out, and it wasn't Octavia's.
The Capitol woman ended her speech with a flourish that made Bellamy feel sicker than he already did and she crossed the stage, her heels clicking noisily on the wood. The paper slips inside the bowl fluttered slightly as a gust of wind rushed through the square. It ruffled Bellamy's curls and cooled his skin and across the square he saw Octavia with a group of fourteen year old girls, the breeze blowing the red ribbon that was tied in her hair.
He couldn't see her expression for she was facing forward, but he could imagine it; her blue eyes wide with fear and her bottom lip trembling. She was a brave girl, ballsy and stubborn and too daring for her own good at times. She didn't like to admit her fear anymore than Bellamy did, but the reaping was what truly scared her. She would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, haunted by bad dreams and she wouldn't sleep again until Bellamy agreed to lie down beside her. Usually he slept on a threadbare mattress on the floor, giving his sister and mother the only beds that they could afford, but it wasn't uncommon for him to curl up next to Octavia, his arms wrapped about her tiny frame as she sobbed her way back to sleep.
From where he stood he could see her tiny hands clutching at the hem of her dress. They were balled up so tight into the fabric that her knuckles had turned white. Bellamy swallowed painfully. He yearned to reach for her, promise that everything would be okay. But he couldn't reach for her, and he couldn't promise her that she would be safe. And that hurt more than anything had ever hurt him before.
You've got through it before, a little voice crept out from a sunny space in his mind, to offer him comfort. It was true, Octavia had been eligible for two previous reapings, and yet there she was, safe, for now. But Bellamy was a realistic man, a hard man because of it and often unhappy, but he was realistic. And each year the odds became less and less in her favour. And less and less in his, but that wasn't important. Octavia was important. Bellamy tried to squash down his own fear, there was no room to fear for his life, he needed to think of his sister.
He jerked his head away from Octavia and back toward the stage as the Capitol woman scraped at the slips with her talon sharp nails, rooting around until she found one. Doesn't she know how despicable she is? Why do none of these Capitol people not realise that sending children to die is wrong? Bellamy was incredulous, but more than that, he was terrified. The woman had chosen her slip and she was unfolding it in a tortuously slow movement.
Not Octavia. Not Octavia. Please, not Octavia. Bellamy's nails dug into his palms.
"This year's female tribute for District Twelve is Charlotte Morley!" Bellamy thought he might collapse with relief. It wasn't O, not this time. He exhaled deeply, not realising how long he had been holding his breath. But as he relaxed, he saw the female tribute step out from the crowd.
She was tiny, smaller even than Octavia. She couldn't have been more than twelve. A low murmur ran through the crowd, like an intake of breath. They were never happy when a twelve year old was chosen. It threw the barbarism of the hunger games into an even sharper light.
Charlotte climbed the stage slowly, with her skinny legs visibly trembling, even from Bellamy's distance right at the back of the square. He could see her biting the inside of her cheek and her fingers fumbling with her shirt hem as the Capitol's pet introduced her. A new surge of anger worked its way through Bellamy.
He thought he would feel better after he knew Octavia was safe, and for a moment, he had. But standing there watching a child head toward certain death, his anger and his fear had returned at full force.
The Capitol woman asked for volunteers but, predictably, there were none, and Charlotte remained on the stage, quivering as she thought back tears.
Then it was time for the reveal of the male tribute and Bellamy's heart continued its thrumming assault of his ribs. This was his last year, he just had to get through this day, then he would never need to worry about himself again, he could focus on Octavia, just as she deserved. Just get through this day.
The woman grabbed her piece of paper earlier this time, and Bellamy was worried he might not even hear the name over the sound of his heart. But hear it he did, and his heart almost stopped beating together, it might as well have.
"Bellamy Blake," The name travelled across the air to him like an arrow, seeking him out and capturing him in the throat. His lips parted as if to say something, but the idea that he could speak at that moment was ridiculous, he couldn't do anything. He was already dead.
The merchant boy was looking at him, but Bellamy ignored it, letting his heavy limbs propel him forward, feeling as though he were wading through water, pushing against the tide that would soon drown him. He could've made it; surely he could've made it to the stage in one piece if it hadn't been for the scream.
It was a gut-wrenching, heart-breaking scream that tore through him like a thousand knives.
"No!" He stopped in his tracks and turned to see Octavia running toward him, screaming his name with tears down her little face. "Bellamy, you can't! Bellamy! Bellamy!" Her arms were reaching for him as she ran and he wanted so desperately to meet them, but they smacked into the body of a peacekeeper instead.
"Hey!" Bellamy snapped out of his stupor and roared in anger. "Don't touch her! Don't you dare touch her!" He lunged for the peacekeeper but another appeared behind him, gripping his upper arms and marching him firmly forward. Behind him Octavia's fists pummelled at the arms of the peacekeeper as he restrained her by the stomach and her screams turned to sobs that ripped through the air.
"Octavia! It's going to be alright I promise!" Bellamy yelled, twisting his neck to see her, but his promises were futile and they both knew it.