My secret love Chapter 31: Ending the Pain, a hunger games fanfic

A/N- Hey everyone! Sorry for such a late update! 3 By the way, the stuff in italics is her thoughts.

When I wake, I am thoroughly confused. Where the hell am I? I tilt my head slowly and see a sleeping Ross. Oh, right. Thoughts from last night start to flood back. Wincing, I try my best to get off of him without waking him up.

Of course, I am not graceful at all. He stirs underneath me. "Damn it," I mutter underneath my breath. I feel so guilty right now. I don't know why, though. We didn't have sex or anything. We fell asleep in the most innocent way, so why do I feel like I'm about to hurl?

"Hey," he whispers.

His morning breath invades my senses as his voice puts me a little more at ease. I never managed to get off of him. The idea of his body touching mine makes my cheeks heat.

"Hey," I reply.

My voice sounds more scared than casual. His expression changes from relaxed to concerned, and I feel terrible for ruining this moment. I feel even more terrible when tears begin to form in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

"What's wrong?"

Ross' voice is so sweet and genuinely worried for me that I can't help but cry. The tears roll down my face, and I feel like a total idiot. I'm angry at myself for allowing myself to be so weak for no reason. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so weak? Why can't I be strong like Katniss? Maybe if I was, Gale would love me.

The thought of Gale makes me weep more. Once I start, I can't stop. Ross embraces me and doesn't say anything else. His actions make me feel like shit because deep down I know that I can never love him the way he loves me.

Maybe I'm not capable of love.

He deserves someone better than me.

I shove Ross off harshly and mumble, "Stop."

"What?"

His voice is so confused and hurt that I feel like a complete bitch, but I keep going because I know that I can't keep doing this to him. I have to avoid eye contact with him, though, because bringing him pain is something I hate doing.

"This can't work."

Wow, way to be like Gale.

I grimace at the thought.

"Felicity, you can't mean that."

He deserves someone better than me.

His hand grabs mine, but I pull away. I know he's staring at me. I wipe my face to have something to do, and my makeup smears onto my hand. I wonder if he still thinks I would be beautiful without makeup. I doubt it.

"This was a mistake."

He deserves someone better than me.

I hesitate for a second.

He deserves someone better than me.

"You were a mistake."

I feel so empty.

I can't stop the temptation to look at him in that moment, and the sight makes my heart churn. His eyes are watery, and his gaze is fixed on the ground.

"Do you really mean that?"
He deserves someone better than me.

"Yes."

My voice is so emotionless, my gaze so cold.

He deserves someone better than me.

"I'm sorry," I mutter without looking at him. "I'm really sorry."

He deserves better than me.

That thought repeats over and over in my head like a broken record as I walk away from him.

He deserves someone better than me.

Gale deserves someone better than me, too.

…

Bursting through the front door, I feel like I'm about to collapse. I'm so lightheaded. Why the hell am I so lightheaded?

Why do I have to be such a fuck up?

I get a knife from the kitchen.

I hate myself. So much.

Tears rush down my face as I make my way upstairs. My legs wobble, and my heart's racing. I place my hand over it, and try to take some deep breaths to slow down my heartbeat. No use.

Can't I just stop hurting people?

I open my mother's door, and I see her sleeping soundly. I stare at her for a moment or two before sifting through her drawers. I know I'm loud, but I honestly don't give a shit anymore. I finally find the syringe.

Why don't I just die?

More tears tumble down my cheeks soundlessly. I take some bottles of morphine from my mother's stash and take off to my room. The needle from the syringe makes me nervous, but I need to end this.

No one would miss me if I were gone.

I'm in my room. I lock the door.

My family would be happy if I died. One less burden.

I sit on my bed. I put the morphine into the syringe. I'm ready.

I'm going to end this.

I inject myself. The relief from the morphine is wonderful.

I want to die.

I grab the knife.

My pain will finally be over.

I begin to cry.

My suffering will end.

I grip the knife tightly as I make a shallow cut on my wrist.

I deserve this.

The blood is such a rich red. So agonizingly beautiful.

I deserve to die.

I make a deeper cut on my wrist. The morphine dulls the pain.

No one cares.

I'm so empty.

My father doesn't care.

Blood pours from my wrist.

My mother doesn't care.

The cuts get deeper.

Theo doesn't care.

I cry harder.

Katniss doesn't care.

My blood drips onto the floor.

Patrick doesn't care.

I stare at my cuts for a minute. I watch as the blood begins to clot. I almost laugh at my body trying to save itself from self-destruction.

Delly doesn't care.

I'm filled with so much hatred for myself. I cut very deep over and over again.

Peeta doesn't care.

I start cutting my other arm. So much blood.

Gale doesn't care.

My clean wrist, gone.

And now, Ross doesn't care.

I cut the deepest yet.

I'm such a terrible person.

I need stitches.

I hate myself so much.

I need help, now.

Why can't I just die already?

There's so much blood.