The tears pour from my eyes as I stand on the balcony outside the District 7 tributes' common room, my arms outstretched, open, and threatening to do the thing I've wanted to do ever since the beginning of the Games. Threatening to catapult me over the edge of the railing into the blue-black sky that reflects the city below me. I am audible now, my distressed wails rebounding off of the space surrounding me. I move to push myself off from the railing, to cease my own existence, when suddenly, a gruff voice comes from behind me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the voice says sternly. I turn sharply, inhaling so fast that I begin to cough. Once the watery tears clear, I see a male, more man than boy, smooth cheeks and chin contrasting his strong build and well-crafted jaw.

I squint a little bit, and wipe my face on my cotton t-shirt. "What's it to you?"

He smirks in sarcasm, huffing a bit at what my apparent stupidity. "There's a force field just past that railing," he gestures, moving closer to me. "Knock you right out and send you flying back up here. It's meant to keep people like you from committing suicide."

"How would you know?" I snap, tears flowing again but this time more forcefully.

A pained look crosses his face, his teal eyes bulging in retaliating anger as he shouts, "I've tried!"

The air suspends around us for long second, my heart beating like a crazed, off-beat drummer is slamming on it. How could he have been here before? He seems to know what I'm thinking, because he explains his outburst. "They captured me. Me and a few other people in my squad. There were five of us. We were all from Seven, all sent here on an intelligence mission to find out where Caverhorst was going to attack next."

I am speechless, my mouth gaping open as a small, choked sound comes from the back of my throat.

"These used to be torture chambers. They tortured me here, sometimes on this very balcony. All I could hope for was to die. And when I got the chance," he says, dilated pupils focusing blankly into the bright night. "I jumped."

"I'm so sorry," I whisper gingerly. He walks to me and assists me over the railing, back onto the balcony. Back into reality.

He lifts me over the rail, and it is now when I can see how much larger he is than me. How much taller and stronger, but how broken he really is. Despite my reluctance for him to continue his story, he goes on. "They released me after they saw that I was 'insane.' It's funny, the things people do to avoid dealing with crazy people. But that's probably why I was reaped. Because they couldn't let a rebel get by with knowing Caverhorst's secrets. They couldn't let the sole survivor of Squad 721 escape, because it showed the Capitol's true weakness. It was a power play."

I look up at his moonlit face and smile weakly. "Well, you've stopped me from killing myself, if that makes you feel better."

He reflects my smile, but brighter. Happier. "Yeah. And you're not the only one here who is crazy, if that makes you feel better."

Surprisingly, a high, clear laugh escapes my mouth. "That's funny. And my name's Adalind, but you can call me Addie." I reach out to shake his hand.

"Jack Grover," he says softly, giving my hand a firm shake. "And I like that nickname, Addie."

I flush a little bit. "Thanks, Jack."

Jack guides me inside, hand on my neck, to the room I claimed earlier. Room 721. 721, I think. It's not a coincidence. We stop just outside the barely-cracked door of the room, but Jack's breaths get heavier and heavier until I'm sure he's hyperventilating. His hand drops from my neck and reaches to his own, and suddenly he's stroking it frantically. He's seen the room number, and he must be having a flashback. I stare at him, not quite knowing what to do, but grabbing his hands before he begins to choke himself.

"Jack!" I cry, but it's no use. He's still shaking, still violently stroking his neck despite my efforts to get him to stop. "Jack, please! You're scaring me!"

In a split moment, he stops. His breathing quiets and he looks down at me, into my eyes. I see the dumbfounded but worried look I wear reflected in his irises as he slowly raises a hand to his extremely short hair. Jack's head leans forward into mine, and I almost think he's going to kiss me when his hot breath grazes my lips and cheeks, whispering, "I think you should go now. I'm sorry, you shouldn't have seen this."

With that, he pulls away abruptly and retreats into his room, Room 722, without looking back once. I stare at the empty space where he once was, wondering what I would've done if he had kissed me. I probably would've just stood there like an idiot, not knowing how to respond to my first kiss. No, I would've run away, like I do from everything else. Maybe even have run right off that balcony into the force field, because I would've been in such shock that any guy was interested in me that it would take me being knocked unconscious to understand if this was simply a wacked-out dream or reality. I'm not necessarily the prettiest girl around, and am certainly not the funniest or the most charming, so what would make someone like Jack want to kiss me? I must be disillusioning myself.

I decide not to think about it, to go to bed and rest. To try to forget about how I will die in the Games. How distraught my parents will be. How they'll have to clean out my room in our small, rustic cabin. How I will just simply cease to exist, just a dead child that nobody can embrace. Just a reminiscent thought like the broken wings of a Mockingjay we rebels once knew as the symbol of hope.

This whole sleeping thing isn't working out so well for me.

By the time morning comes, I've gotten no sleep at all and I remind myself that today is group training. It's the only day to practice what little skill I have with an axe, and learn new skills before the Games. Reluctantly, I roll out of bed and dress in a black jumpsuit with the number of my district embroidered on the short sleeves that is hanging from the outside of my door. I wonder how it got there, but shrug it off as I slide on the standard-issue, dull, black combat boots. Boots. At least that's something I'm used to wearing back in Seven.

I trudge to the breakfast table, where I notice Jack is already sitting as well as our District stylists and our escort, who's name I haven't bothered to learn because I've been so consumed with my own depression. The television murmurs softly in the background as I slide into the end seat of the table, sitting right next to Jack, who is clad in his own jumpsuit, and directly across from our somewhat-normal-looking escort, who plays with her oatmeal. She doesn't look like she wants to be here anymore than I do. In fact, she looks like she might just hate her job.

I sneak a peek at Jack, who doesn't even bother to acknowledge me and instead continues to stare at the empty bowl that lies in front of him. "Hey, Jack," I say quietly, trying to catch his attention. I get silence in return, so I speak louder. "Did you sleep well?"

"I don't sleep," he says, now lifting his spoon to examine it with what looks like total engrossment. So the spoon is more interesting than me.

"Oh. Me neither," I respond softly, but hurt, not even glancing at my own bowl of oatmeal. "Are you okay? I mean…After what happened last night?"

Jack angrily drops the spoon back into the bowl, eyes still downcast. "I don't want to talk about it," he snarls through gritted teeth. "Nothing happened last night."

My eyebrows furrow at this and I hate that my voice is as small as a young child's as I whine, "But you and me—"

At this, he rises and shoves his chair back, finally recognizing my presence. Jack growls at me with the fury of what can only be described as a feral animal. "Nothing happened between you and me! Understand?"

I shrink at his size, at his anger. "Y-yes. Yes," I whisper in alarm. "I understand."

He storms back to his room, into a place where only Jack can go and any trespassers will likely have their throats ripped out and devoured. I decide that I quite like my throat where it is.

While he leaves, I can only wonder what horrors he has seen and experienced and why he is reacting so strangely to my offers of friendly affection. I can only hope that I haven't created my first enemy in the Games.