It's been days since our confrontation with Aubrey Posen, but it's hard to tell just how long it's been. The days have seemed to be growing shorter each day. I'm guessing the Gamemakers are getting bored with our seemingly slow paced Games. Only one person dies a day, if that even. There must be only a few of us left.
Chloe and I have been keeping track of the careers by watching the nightly death report. Sam Evans (Unicycle) died a day after Chloe and I returned to our safe room. It was hard for her to see his face up there, but I held her all through the night until sleep finally overcame her tired body.
I'm just glad Aubrey never changed her mind about our deal. We've seen evidence of the small group moving about the arena when we go out to hunt, but thankfully we've never ran into them. I don't know if we'd be strong enough to fight off more than one Tribute, much less careers. Food has been hard to come by, especially since the Gamemakers are bored with us and have been messing with the weather to try to flush us out of our hiding places. It's been storming and pouring rain for hours at a time, then they try to dry it all up by heating the arena up to ghastly temperatures. It's taking a major toll on the wildlife and us Tributes. The only water source is the small pond in the woods and that's half ash and dirt now.
Chloe gets parachutes periodically, but they're mostly just enough food for her. I refuse to eat her food, but she only eats half of it and goes to bed without finishing her meal. I know she's leaving it for me, and sometimes I take it, but most mornings the food is still lying in its container waiting for Chloe. Sometimes I feel like I can't take care of her like I should be doing. And sometimes I hear a cannon in the distance and realize as long as she's alive and breathing and in my arms, I'm taking care of her and protecting her like she deserves.
She takes care of me too. Like I said before, she feeds me and shares water with me, but it's much more than that. She's my everything and I can't imagine losing her again.
That's what scares me the most.
If I lost Chloe, I'd lose my teammate, my best friend, my protector, my girlfriend, my love, my everything.
There are only a few more days before the Gamemakers get too annoyed with us Tributes and try to kill us all off. If it came down to me and another Tribute who wasn't Chloe, I'd rather take my life than live without her. If it came down to Chloe and I, we'd run and run and run and find somewhere to hide out and spend our last hours together before the Capitol slaughtered us. I'd sacrifice myself for her. She has more to live for than me. She deserves to live more than I do. Her life is more important than mine. It always has been.
She's honestly the only thing keeping me alive. If she wouldn't have ran into me when she did, I would be dead by now. Possibly by choice.
"Beca?" I feel a finger poke my forehead. My eyes flash open and meet hers. "Hi," she smiles.
"Hi." I stretch up and catch her lips with mine. To deepen the kiss, my hand reaches up around the back of her neck.
She pulls away and rests her forehead against mine. "Well good morning to you too," she giggles. "Any nightmares?"
"Nope. Not with you around, my little Dreamcatcher." It's such a cheesy nickname for her, but it's so true. Since we came back from the career camp, I've been nightmare and dream free. I've actually had a full night's sleep and have woken up feeling refreshed.
"You're too cute, Beca Mitchell."
"Only for you, babe," I smile, connecting our lips one more time before we officially get up. I reluctantly pull back in order to get out of the closet, but she grabs my arm, pulling me down to her. I sigh happily and rest my chin near her shoulder. "Need something?"
"No, I just..." she trails off, looking past me. I furrow my brow, brushing my hand along her cheek and down her jaw.
"You just what?" Her eyes flash to mine and then back towards the empty darkness. "What is it? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you sick?!" My hand flies to her forehead to check for a fever, but she feels normal. Her hand softly grabs mine and brings it to her chest, rhythmically rubbing it with her thumb.
"It's nothing," she tries to convince me.
"It's never nothing."
"I don't want to push you away."
"You won't push me away, Chloe. If you want to say something, say it before you can't get the chance to." It's a harsh reality, but we agreed not to keep secrets from each other. You never really know when you'll say your last words. Neither of us want to leave anything worth thinking unsaid.
"I, uh," a wide grin spreads across her face. "I hope this isn't too early to say this, but I—I think I'm in love with you."
"Really?" She nods. "Well, good, because I think I'm in love with you too." I kiss her lips and pull back reluctantly. "I really hate to cut this moment short, but I'm starving," I laugh.
"Me too," she smiles. "Let's go eat."
We exit the closet and spread the sleeping bag out on the floor before sitting down. "This is all we have left," Chloe says, showing the small chunk of bread she saved from a parachute the day prior. Twirling it around with her fingers, she murmurs, "I love that people care enough to send me things, but I wished there was enough for us both. I wish people cared about what I care about." She looks over at me with a small smile. "Here," she opens my palm and places the small hunk of bread in it.
"Chloe," I try to hand the piece back, but she sits on her hands and won't move them. "Come on, Chlo'!"
We both burst out laughing in the struggle. "I want you to have it!" she yells, adrenaline pumping from the laughing fit.
"We'll share it then." Breaking the already small chunk into two pieces makes it seem like nothing at all, but I don't complain and neither does Chloe. We pop the bread in our mouths and slowly let it disintegrate before swallowing the mushy lump.
"I love you," she beams.
"I love you too." Her body relaxes against mine and she grabs my hand, putting it up to her lips to place a soft kiss across my knuckles.
"Say it again." I feel her smile against my hand.
"I love you, Chloe Beale," I say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
"And I love you, Beca Mitchell." She kisses my hand once more before lying it across her chest, right over her heart. We lie together for a solid hour with her lying in my arms, just enjoying each other's warmth until we see a small parachute fly in through the window. It clanks against the hard floor as it lands.
Chloe straightens up, resting on her elbow, with a huge smile on her face. "Maybe they heard me."
"Maybe," I echo, slowly getting up to retrieve the parachute, but Chloe beats me to it. I slump against the wall behind me and she joins. "What's that?" She unties a string which was bound around the container and looks at a small slip of paper. "I thought sponsors couldn't send notes."
"They can't." She reads the note. "You're welcome, Sweetheart?" she says confused as she hands me the note. That's exactly what the note says: "You're welcome, Sweetheart." What could that mean? The only person who called me Sweetheart in my entire life was Luke, but it was so out of character for him to call me that. If he did send me the note, this is the stupidest thing he could put on it. "I'm guessing this for you, so..." Chloe exchanges the parachute for the note.
I toy with the small latch on the container, wondering what's inside, hoping it's food or water. Either way, we're in desperate need of both. As soon as I undo the latch, I hear a small beeping radiating from the container. Chloe's head snaps towards it as she rips it from my hands. Holding it up to her ear, the beep is louder this time and her eyes grow wide. "Beca..." her voice comes out shaky and strained.
"What?"
"This is—" another beep interrupts her words. "A bomb." I'm speechless and the bomb's beeps are getting louder and the time between each are getting shorter quickly. Chloe stands and goes to throw the container out the window, but it explodes before it leaves her fingertips.
I wake up to the sound of beeps and a monitor going off. How is this possible? How am I still alive? I have to squint to look around the room; the walls are too white. As my eyes adjust to the intensity of the color, I realize that I have no idea where I am. I'm in a hospital gown of some sort, which is white, and there are wires hooked up to me all over my body. A needle with a tube attached is stuck in my left arm and is attached to a bag of fluids.
I should be dead.
The beeping gets louder as I take in my surroundings. The room gives me a bad, almost off, feeling. It doesn't feel right. It's hard to explain, but I just don't feel like I belong here. I struggle to turn my head to take in the sight of a machine in which the wires attached to my body are connected to. The screen is flashing. That must be what's beeping. The sliding of doors draws my attention back to the front of the room, or what I believe to be the front of the room. There are two people standing there now, keeping their distance. They're dressed in white. The uniform contracts greatly with the man on the left's hair. I can't really see the woman to my right very well. She's hanging back in the shadows on the side of the room. I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. My mouth has never felt this dry before. The woman eyes the man and he nods at her then comes over to me and puts a water bottle up to my lips. He pours in just enough to get my throat wet.
"What's going on?" I ask. My voice is scratchy and weak, which surprises me. It shouldn't sound like that. The man stays at my side and starts unwrapping items on a tray I never noticed was there. "Where am—" I cough, unable to continue speaking. This earns me another sip of water. "Where am I?" I notice the blonde woman move with my peripheral vision, but I'm more concerned with the pale man with the utensils. Are they going to hurt me?
"What are you doing?" The man doesn't answer me; he keeps on unwrapping more items. The woman in the back is just staring at him, at me, at my monitors and at the floor. She's of no help to me. "Beca Mitchell," the man breathes, sticking a syringe in a small glass bottle and filling it up with fluid. My eyes flash to the end at he squeezes out a bit of fluid.
"Welcome to District 13."
Before I can respond, I feel a sharp sting in my arm and everything fades to black.