A/N: Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated in a while! Life's been busy. Anyways, please please please keep reviewing so I can make my story the best it can be. Thank you!
**Shay's POV: For the first time since the reaping I find myself wondering if my mother was right. I've always believed that the truth is better. No matter what, the truth was supposed to bring me closure.
And yet all I have received from it so far is remorse. My head is jumbled with scattered images of the green-eyed woman, her face blue as she swung in the breeze, and the little boy next to her, the rope etching deep lines into his neck.
Maybe I'm not ready for Panem. Maybe it's not ready for me.
"Eat this," Jersey says, his voice kind, and he hands me another small square of chocolate. I stare at the golden wrapper for a second before letting it drop heavily into my lap. He sits down next to me on the couch and tucks my blanket in tighter around me.
"I know how you must be feeling right now," he says quietly. I turn on him, my eyes narrowing. I have an urge to snap at him and make him feel weak. We are weak, after all, under the Capitol's grasp.
"No you don't. How could you possibly? You didn't kill those people." His jaw ticks at my words.
"Let me tell you something," he says steadily. His body has grown still and I realize he's angry. Jersey Odair is angry. "When I was sixteen, a girl named Haley Domhill died in my arms. A girl, who could have been Haley's friend if we lived in a different world, stabbed her. They had no reason to hate each other, but they did. And Haley died for it." He sighs a shaky breath, clasping his hands tightly in front of him. "I couldn't do anything. Her blood came gushing out and made a puddle on my clothes. I stayed with her until the cannon sounded. And then I left her lying in-between two palm trees. I just left her there, because I had no other choice."
My palms burn with a kind of horror. He must be talking about his time in the games. "I know hell," Jersey mutters. "And it's cold."
Cold. I haven't thought about hell much, but it makes sense. If you've done something terrible enough to end up in a place like that, you shouldn't have the pleasure of burning for eternity. Your soul should freeze, slowly, until it drives you mad.
I wonder if I'll end up in hell, in the freezing abyss.
"What happened to the other girl?" I ask quietly, almost too afraid to speak. "The one that stabbed Haley?"
Jersey turns his vacant gaze on me. "I killed her." And then a single tear runs down his cheek. I've never seen him cry before. Something about his wet face, the look of pure sorrow in his golden eyes, makes my heart feel as if it's being ripped in two.
Before I know what I'm doing, I shimmy up the couch and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. He hesitates and then returns my embrace, his body shaking with every silent sob.
"We're going to be okay," I say, my voice muffled against his skin. "I don't know if everything else is, but we are. We're gonna make it." He squeezes my arm and pulls me into his lap as if he was my dad, and I'm his daughter. It feels that way sometimes, when Red isn't here.
"Do you miss him?" Jersey rasps in my ear. "Cedar?" I nod, tears falling from my eyes now.
"Yeah," I respond, wiping my nose with the back of my hand like a child. "I do."
And although I whisper it to him over and over, I don't know how true my words are. I don't know if we're going to be okay. I don't know.
But Jersey isn't like me. He can cling to a lie and find hope within it. So I decide for now, the truth can wait.
The days that follow are bitter. Jersey is always trying to get me out of bed and into the kitchen. He leaves the T.V. on because he thinks that's what I want. He pretends he's fine even though I know he's not. We stand at a distance from each other, talking and acknowledging, but not seeing the pain that lingers between us.
The interviews are tomorrow, and then the games. I wonder how Cedar's doing. I've been trying not to think about him with all that's going on. He might die, he's probably going to die, and I can't be attached to him.
And yet even though I tell myself that, there's no denying how I feel about him. I love Cedar Moore. I love him like I'd love my best friend, but I also love him like I'd love my soul mate. I love him from the way his chestnut hair curls up at the sides when the sea breeze is thick with salt to his utter hatred for pie. I love him for his dimple that only appears on his left cheek, and for the way he always stands with one knee bent. I love the way he rolls his sleeves up so I can see the thin muscle of his triceps, and lastly I love the way he can solve any problem within a matter of seconds if you let him.
I stop walking and sit unceremoniously down on the sandy path that leads into town. I love Cedar Moore. The words make me feel like I'm being dunked in ice-cold water and like the sun is warming my skin all at the same time. My dad told me to be young and in love is not unusual, but if it lasts into adulthood, you are truly lucky.
I think that could have been Cedar and me. We would have lasted until the sun burned away and left the world in darkness. But life doesn't like the work out, and he's going to be taken from me too early, too fast. Life will leave me to battle the sun's end on my own. I stand up again and brush off my pants. I came out of my house for one thing and one thing only. A drink.
I push through the door to the bait shop and cough as the smoky air fills my lungs. I brought Cedar in here once and he turned on his heel and walked straight out, claiming he couldn't handle the smell. To me, it smells comfortingly familiar.
I glance around at the miscellaneous fur coats and fishing poles that sit stacked against the splintered walls. A disembodied head of a bear stares vacantly at me from atop a shelf piled with medicine bottles that are labeled quickly with Urchin's curling handwriting. One red bottle clearly reads 'morphling' and the price underneath says $15. She'd get a lot more demand for the stuff if she didn't price it so high. I step around a box with hooks in it; some of them caked with old blood. At least, I think that's what it is. It's hard to tell in the dim light.
"I didn't expect to see your pretty face around here any time soon," Urchin snorts, stepping out from the backroom and leaning her old elbows on the counter. I glance at her and slide on one of the stools.
"And I didn't expect to find a city in District 4 that's poorer than dirt. Life's full of surprises," I spit. The old woman raises an eyebrow at me but doesn't say anything. That's what I always liked about Urchin. She doesn't talk too much, and therefore I can hear clearly. The silence does me good.
"Well what can I get you?" she asks. "If you can pay, of course." My eyes flit across the shelves of alcohol behind her and settle on a bottle of vodka.
"That," I say, jerking my head at it. I pull the coins out of my pocket and slam them on the counter. "I'm willing to pay whatever the hell you want."
Urchin makes a face at me, showing her yellow gums caked with the leftovers of Fadeline, a drug used in the Capitol to send you somewhere within your mind that makes you happy.
"Since when do you drink?" she asks accusingly.
"Since today, April 2st," I snap. She stares at me for a moment more and then takes the vodka down and pours some into a glass.
"I don't wanna be responsible for your future addiction problem," she warns me.
"I promise I won't mention your name," I drawl sarcastically. She slides the cup across to me and clicks on the cheap television sitting in the corner. The screen shows the Capitol, complete with it's glimmering buildings and baby pink skies. A reporter chirps away, waving her hands around dramatically.
The glass is cold against my lips and I wrinkle my nose as the fermented liquid burns my throat. The fiery drink travels into my stomach and through the rest of my body, making my fingers tingle and my toes go numb. Funny how such a simple substance can have such a big effect on someone.
"The young get intoxicated so quickly," Urchin sighs, turning away from me, and heads back through the door that leads to the storage room. My eyes stay focused on the screen and my hands stay clasped tightly around my drink.
It only takes half an hour for the alcohol to start making my mind lose control of my body. I slip around the counter and take the entire bottle, cherishing the sound of the liquid sloshing around inside. Somehow in my drunken state I manage to find my way back to my stool and pull more change out of my pocket for Urchin to find later.
I smile when she comes back out of her room, carrying a big box.
"Thanks for the escape," I slur, leaning towards her. My head feels really heavy, and I think I should lie down. I fall onto the counter, chuckling quietly, my vision swirling in front of me. I can just see the funny lady on the T.V. screen still chirping away, the shiny tattoos on her neck shining in the sun. She's a very pretty woman.
"You drank the whole bottle?" Urchin asks incredulously, her lips parting in surprise. I make a sound of protest and look down at my drink and find, to my disappointment, that it is indeed empty.
"That's a shame," I gurgle. I slam the bottle down. "I need more!" Urchin is already shaking her head.
"Hell no," she growls. "You're already gonna be hung over for days. I'll be shocked if you don't get alcohol poisoning." I make a face at her but I'm really tired so I don't argue. I lay back down on the wood and close my eyes, murmuring about the pretty tattooed woman on the screen.
I'm going to be like her one day. Tall and pretty and with shiny marks all over my skin. I'm going to be on T.V, just like her.
"Sit up," Urchin demands, batting at my head with a paper plate. "I can't let you fall asleep in case you don't wake up." I groan and lift my head, reaching for the bottle before remembering it's empty.
Did I do that?
With her usual scowl, Urchin moves all the beverages out of my reach and stalks back into her room to do God knows what.
My hand fiddles around with my glass for a moment before the door chimes from behind me.
I don't turn when I hear someone come in because I don't care. This is my spot, and hopefully they'll get what they need and get out.
I keep my eyes lowered and try to focus on the wooden table in front of me. The footsteps start, creaking along the loose floorboards of the shop.
I sigh as they continue to move along at an annoyingly lazy pace. I'm so drunk I don't realize that they've gotten closer and come to a stop directly behind me.
Then someone is sitting down next to me and digging change out of his jean's pocket. I glance over at him just to see who I'm dealing with.
He's tall, that much is obvious just from the way he holds himself. His shoulder's are bent down like he's used to slouching, and his legs fold at an odd angle to fit under the counter. He's got long thin arms that can't be much use for lifting things. Other than that, he looks relatively strong. His mop of white blonde hair falls in his eyes as he settles in.
Before he sees me, I avert my gaze back to my cup and continue fiddling with it. Please leave. Please.
But he doesn't leave. He stays right where he is and nonchalantly skims the shelves of products. I look up one more time, curious.
I can tell from the tiny white scars that line his hands that he works in the docks. Those kinds of marks only come from fishhooks. He holds them together, but they're loose and relaxed. Everything about him is easy-going.
It's beyond annoying.
"Urchin?" he calls back, and I shrink away from the loud noise. It makes my head hurt. She pops out from her den and offers him a toothy smile. I don't think she's ever smiled at me like that.
"Mar!" she cries, touching his shoulder gently, like a mother would. "What can I get you?"
"I'd love a gin and tonic," he says, and his voice is deep and smooth like the ocean. It doesn't match his physicality.
"Coming right up," Urchin says cheerfully, her mood visibly lightened.
"How much do you need?" he asks, pulling some coins out.
She glances back at him.
"Free of charge," she chuckles. This gets me to turn my head.
"You never give me anything free of charge," I say accusingly, aware of how slurred my voice is.
"I don't like you," Urchin responds. I press my lips together into a hard line but force myself to stay quiet. No matter how intoxicated I am, I know when I'm making a fool of myself.
The boy smirks but doesn't look at me. He's acting as if I'm not here. But I am here. This is my place.
Urchin slides him his drink and takes a seat across from us.
"How's your mother?" she asks him. His expression darkens. "I got home today and she was splayed across the couch, half our morphling supply gone."
Urchin touches his shoulder again, such a kind gesture that I never expected from this old lady.
He pulls his jacket tighter around himself, as if shielding his body from an unknown cold. I scowl at him, at this perfect boy who just walks in here as if he owns the place.
I push my cup back another inch and it crashes to the floor, splattering sharp shards of glass everywhere. They both go silent and Urchin turns her withering glare on me.
"Get out of here, Shay," she spits. "Come back when you're sober." I stand up, my head pounding, feeling very angry at something, at everything. I kick the glass out of my way and try to stumble away from my stool but have to grab on again as the world goes spinning in whopping circles around me.
The boy slowly turns to me for the first time, his white hair so bright it almost blinds me. I step back and squint my eyes, slurring curse words under my breath.
That's when I see his eyes.
They're the color of the ocean in the summer when it's clear and you can see the turtles lounging on the sand. They are stormy and calm at the same time. They are aqua marine.
"Mar Hazelwood," he says, holding his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Shay Farley Cresta."