My costume lays discarded on the floor as I sit cross legged on my bed. I exhale trying to rid myself of the feelings of anxiety that have interwoven their way into my veins from having so many eyes on me. I slowly begin to regain control over my mind as I stare straight ahead of me. This is the time I need to choose my path to take in these games. The only question that floats through my mind is do I want an alliance or not? An alliance could work in two ways; they could either tear me down, or help me rise from the ashes.

I lie back on my bed and begin counting the tiles as a way to distract myself. This technique only lasts for a few brief moments before the sound of shattering bottles enters my ears. Another illusion; just a game my mind is playing with me. Not only must I fight against twenty three other tributes I must fight against myself. I cover my ears with my hands and close my eyes tightly. I will not succumb to my addiction; I can't allow it to rein over me anymore. My skin tingles lightly and I begin to scratch at my flesh until it is raw. I clench my fists at my sides as a way to stop myself from continuing to claw away at my skin.

I sit back up and bury my head in my hands. What led me up to this point? What drove me to that point of no return where I turned to alcohol as a way to solve my problems? I breathe out slowly knowing exactly what happened in my life that made me turn in the direction I chose. It happened so many years ago yet I still let it get to me; those series of events that played a great role in how I would develop as I grew up.

It all started when I was six and my father forced me to start straining along my older brother Hunter. I have always been jealous of him; he is perfect in the eyes of my parents something I could never live up to. It may have seemed petty, but to feel overshadowed all the time was something that is difficult to deal with for one so young. To be deprived of that emotion labelled as love takes a great toll on a child as they develop.

As the years went on this is when my competitive side began to show. I was always acting out as a way to draw attention to myself, but that would quickly change as I grew up. I stand up and walk over towards the large mirror set up against the wall. I pull off my shirt in one fluid movement and turn my back towards the glassy surface and observe the large scar that runs the entire length of my back. That scar given to me in a fit of jealousy from my brother all because he would never be able to use a sword as well as I could. That scar has stood out prominently against my skin for five years now and I know it will never fade. It will forever be a constant reminder of the family I was thrown out of.

I clench my fists at my sides as I recall the memory of the night I was tossed aside as if I really was worth nothing.

I was only eleven as the blood soaked into my shirt and my vision became blurry along the edges.

"I told you not to ever try and show me up Dane," Hunter's cold voice swirled around me as I struggled to stand up again.

"Wait till father sees what you did," I spat out at him as I looked up at with nothing but hate in my eyes.

"He would never believe you; I have always been the favorite. I'll just tell him you went into a fit of jealously and attacked me first and what I did was purely out of self defence. Now I just need to make this all believable," His tone was harsh as he brought his knife down slashing his own flesh only wincing slightly at the contact of the blade against his skin.

I remember watching each scarlet droplet fall down to the ground; standing out against the once white floor.

Hunter was right when he said my father would never believe a single word that spilt out of my mouth.

"Dane, you have been nothing but a burden even when you were young. I tried to fix you to make you someone that I could be proud of, but I see now I am trying to do the impossible. I am done wasting my time on a boy who I can't even bring myself to call son anymore," With those brutal words swarming my ears I was forced to leave to live with my grandfather; a man who paid even less attention to me then my parents did.

I remember clearly the smug look on Hunter's face as he watched me walk down the front steps for what would be my last time. I have not spoken a word to him since that day five years ago.

This is when the drinking started at eleven years old I never thought I would feel so alone and these feelings of abandonment I wanted nothing more than to silence. This is when I turned to alcohol to numb out these feelings. At first I felt as if I could take on the world, but those feelings to began to fade as I grew up. The drinking only got worse with my age as the choking feeling of an addiction began to bubble to my surface.

"Pathetic," I mumble at my reflection that continues to look back at me. How did I allow them to push me to that point? Why would I allow them to do that to me? Why would I allow me to do this to myself?

At this I begin to feel anger towards myself as I slip my shirt back over my head. My choices led me to this point; my fault. I push open my door and just about knock Avery to the floor.

"Where the hell were you? All the careers were supposed to meet up so we could discuss strategy," She crosses her arms as she looks up at me and right now I want nothing to do with anyone including her.

"Get the hell out of my way before I knock you out of the way," I narrow my eyes at her letting her know I am serious about the words that roll off my tongue.

"I don't understand why you are so moody all the time," She mumbles as she turns on her heels and walks into her room slamming the door behind her.

I walk briskly down the hallway and step into the elevator. I smash my fist against the control panel hitting the button that will take me to the floor that the kitchen is located. I curse at myself knowing I am making a mistake; I am giving in. The moment the doors open I am walking again until I find the door to the kitchen. I push them open disregarding my surroundings not picking up on the fact that I am not alone.

I don't feel the pair of eyes trained on me as I pull apart cupboard after cupboard searching for my saviour; my hell. When my eyes finally fall upon that glass bottle filled with that honey colored liquid do I feel my breath catch in my throat. My hand trembles slightly as I reach towards the bottle wrapping my fingers around the cool glass. This feeling spreads through my fingertips as my throat becomes dry. I hold the bottle up in front of my face keeping my back to the one who is still unknown to me who has their eyes trained on me watching my every movement.

I remove the cap and roll it between my fingers and watch transfixed as the light plays off the bottle casting a faint copper shadow across the surface of my face. I am so close to giving in; so close to going back to my habit of drowning out the world. When will I realize that trying to drown out the world won't ever make it go away?

The world will always stand no matter how much I try to make it disappear. The bottle is only an inch away from my lips and the smell overpowers me. I place one hand on the counter in front of me as a way to keep myself from losing my balance. How weak I must appear on the surface, but nobody would understand the metal war that rages within me.

"I want to drink I need to drink, but I shouldn't drink," I repeat this almost silently to myself in a kind of mantra. Those words ring through my skull as I bring the bottle up to take that one single sip that will surely turn into many more.

Before I can register anything the bottle is smacked out of my hands and shatters against the floor. The glass and honey colored liquid pool around my feet as I look up into the eyes of the girl from District 2.

"You had better thank me for that," She says this as she leans back against the counter crossing her arms.

"Why the hell would I thank you?" I ask her this my tone laced with bitterness. I was so close to losing this never ending battle with myself why did she have to interrupt?

"I can easily tell that you have a problem you idiot," She rolls her eyes saying this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I open my mouth to say something, but she interrupts me before I get the chance, "Don't bother arguing with me saying you don't have a problem because I won't believe a single word that spills out of that mouth of yours."

I cross my arms as I glare at Foe, "So what if I have a problem?

"Well if we're going to be allies I want to make sure you're not going to let this make you weak."

"I'm not going to be a part of the career pact," I tell her.

"Neither am I; they're a bunch of morons if you ask me, but you could be useful. My plan was to pretend to be allies with the others then ditch them after the bloodbath. I'll let you think about my offer." She starts to walk away, but stops in the doorway and turns to face me one last time, "And big boy if you're going to give in and drink pick a better tasting alcohol then rum."

With those words she leaves the room leaving me alone once more. I kick at the glass that lays discarded by my feet and before I reach into the cupboard searching for another bottle I leave the kitchen and make my way back towards my room.

I flop down on my bed and bury my face in my pillow as I mull over Foe's offer. Maybe that will be the smartest path for me to take. I exhale softly as I focus on my breathing as my eyes begin to fall shut. I dream of a day where I am not fighting to retain control over my addiction. A day where I can be proud of the man I have grown up to be. For all I know this day may never happen, but then again maybe one day it will.

I shut off my mind closing off the remains of my addiction that continues to edge the outline of my thoughts. I will not give in not tonight. Remaining in control has never been this important until now.