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If I Let My Heart Go
Part III
Santana Lopez.
Two small words. That's all.
Yet those words, those twelve letters, string together into something that can only be described as my worst nightmare.
They echo repeatedly in my mind, impossibly loud and indescribably painful. They're all I can hear, yet are the one thing I wish I'd never had to.
They begin to mix with the three words that had been filling my head only mere seconds ago.
I love you.
They don't belong together, these five words. They can't possibly. It's not fair. They can't take her away from me. Not now. Not when I've only just realised. Not when I've only just found her… Found us.
I'm stuck in this moment, replaying the cruel twist of fate in our story that has torn us apart.
I see her move away from the rest of her group, and suddenly it's as though everything is in slow motion. My brain is blocking out the words that were, only seconds ago, pounding ferociously inside my skull, perhaps a subconscious effort to save myself the pain. My eyes are locked to her, yet even though I'm taking in her every movement, I still can't fully comprehend what's happening.
It's as though this moment, this world I'm in, is nothing but a dream.
I know that I can see that she's walking up to the stage, two white shadows following her the whole way, yet it still doesn't seem real. From the way she's shaking her arm I can only imagine that those armoured hands were gripping her mere moments ago, forcing her to move upwards towards Effie's beaming grin and open arms, and I know my mind can't possibly have had up such intricate details. Surely not.
But, regardless, for some reason none of it is sinking in.
This can't be happening. It just can't. I don't know what my brain is doing but somehow it feels as though I've convinced myself that this is all just one horrible figment of my imagination and that any minute now I'm going to wake up and find myself back on her porch, my father standing over me, yelling his guts out.
The crowd is moving slightly, heads turning backwards. They're looking at something. I'm unaware as to what but suddenly I see a young boy walk down the dusty track, between the throngs of children, and towards the stage and it begins to make sense. He's our male tribute. I didn't even hear his name being read out.
I can see Effie speaking into the microphone, Santana and the boy standing alongside her, but I can't hear a word. I'm somewhere else, drifting helplessly, drowning in disbelief.
It's then, as her eyes lock with mine, that it hits me.
She's our female tribute.
She's going into the arena.
She's being sentenced to death.
I stumble backwards slightly, as if the very force of this realisation is powerful enough to have a physical effect on me. Two hands stop me from falling, and suddenly I'm powerless to hold back the wave of emotions that is flooding over me. Sobs are shaking through me so hard that it's difficult to breathe. Through the thick stream of tears escaping me, I can just make her out.
For a second I consider volunteering in her place, anything to stop this from happening, but just as the thought enters my mind she turns to face the microphone, eyes never leaving mine as she does so.
Effie is no doubt making some comment about Santana being selected, and how much of an honour it is, but whatever it is goes unheard by my ears. All I see are her eyes, blazing fiercely into mine, and I know that she's more than aware of what I'm thinking, what I want to do. She knows how I work all too well. She always has.
I force myself to stop the train of thoughts that is rattling through my head, and think rationally. She wouldn't want me to volunteer. In fact, I'm fairly sure that as soon as she saw me begin to open my mouth she'd find some way to stop me, to bend the rules. Maybe she'd make some kind of joke about volunteering anyway. I don't know. I do know, however, that volunteering doesn't really make any sense.
Maybe that makes me gutless. I don't know.
As I tune back into the world, I hear her voice fill my ears and I have to stop myself from wondering if this will be the last time I will hear her speak without having to watch a pixelated version of her. I know if I continue thinking this way that I'll break down even further, and I can't afford to do that. Not right now.
I take a deep breath and attempt, in vain, to calm myself down. People around me are beginning to stare, but they're not judgemental looks. No, instead they're looks of understanding. After all, this scenario is one that has crossed through all our minds, having to watch someone you care so deeply about being ripped out of the world they live in and thrust mercilessly into the arms of death. It's something we all share.
Suddenly, I'm filled with an uncontrollable desire to be closer to her. If this is the last time I will see her then I can't bear to be this far apart. I push my way carefully through the crowd and I see the look on her face as she realises what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm bothering because I know I won't get far. The peacekeepers will stop me before I can. But still I do it anyway.
I only manage to move about 10m before I'm stopped. But now I'm at the front of my section and I can see her so much clearer. Effie looks at both the tributes, and I realise I have no idea what the boy's name is. He only looks about 13, a scrawny kid who shouldn't be up on that stage. He doesn't belong there. But then again, none of us do.
Effie's turning around now, beginning to lead them both into the building behind. I start to panic as I realise that this might be the last time I ever see her and right now she's leaving. If she goes behind those heavy wooden doors there's no guarantee I'll ever be near her again. Be breathing the same air again. I can't let that happen. I need to talk to her, even though I have no idea what I'd say.
All I know is that I can't have our last conversation be the one we had in the lake. She has to know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. She has to know I don't hate her for what happened. She has to know I love her.
I plead with the peacekeeper to let me through, to let me closer, but he knocks me to the ground as I try. Santana must see me out of the corner of her eye because suddenly she's turning around and is yelling in his direction.
"Get your hands off her!" I hear her voice waver, and I can see how much she's hurting behind that mask. The knowledge sends an ache reverberating through my chest.
Effie is immediately by her side, whispering in her ear. No doubt she's telling her to quell her anger. In a fight against a peacekeeper, after all, you have no chance of winning.
"That must be one of your friends, Santana. How lovely! Well, fear not, you shall have a moment to speak with her before we leave for the Capitol," Effie says calmly, her voice full of enthusiasm as ever, while gesturing briefly at me.
I stand up, brushing off the dirt, and nod at Santana. A gesture that tells her to continue on (not that she really has a choice). Effie has said we'll have a chance to speak later and so I must trust her words.
Santana roughly grabs the door that Effie is pointing to, yanking it open, and, as she disappears behind the dark wood, I just about hear Effie's voice as she says, "You really should be careful. That's mahogany!"
As soon as she is gone, I can't help but allow the dam to break, letting my tears overcome me again. I fall to the floor, not even noticing the pain in my knees as they slam against the rough ground below. My fist bashes against the earth in frustration, causing dust to billow up and stones to scatter off in random directions. I'm overwhelmed by the emotions inside me, the anger and the pain, but letting them out is only making it worse. It's making them more real. I only stop when I feel a hand on my back.
I look to the side and see Marley crouching beside me, her blue eyes full of concern. Since her relationship with Santana ended almost two years ago the two of us have barely spoken, though I have nothing against her. I don't try to think too much over why she's here by my side now. Instead, I'm just grateful.
"Quinn, come on. We have to move now, okay?" she says softly as she grabs my hand.
I don't say anything in return. I don't even try. I just let her lead me away from this place.
As we move I realise that there's nobody left here but us, my mom and dad (who appear to be keeping their distance, my mother visibly worried while my father looks almost apathetic), and a handful of peacekeepers. They must have ushered everybody out quite a while ago. I assume that's why we have to leave now. I can only guess at how long I stayed there, curled up on the ground, a prisoner to the intensity of my feelings.
As we round the corner it's only then that I begin to wonder, my brain piecing the facts together, "Marley, how long has it been? She's still here, right?"
Marley nods, "That's why I came to get you. They said she was allowed her last visits."
"Thank you." The words only just manage to leave my mouth, stuttered and broken.
Marley just smiles sadly, "I know how much she means to you. I didn't want you to miss this chance to see her again."
The path down the corridor seems never-ending, my feet thudding heavily on the thick carpet. I'm exhausted even though it's only a few hours into the day, a culmination of lack of sleep and the lethal combination of emotions consuming me. I don't know what to expect of this next moment, and whilst I want nothing more than to be with her again, I'm already dreading the moment when they'll make me leave.
I try not to dwell on it, my heart entirely unprepared for that right now.
My guide points at the door on the left, silently gesturing that we have reached our destination. I swallow hard, trying to combat the lump in my throat, as I reach my hand out to the gold handle, so cold against my skin.
The room is dark, both in appearance and atmosphere. Dark wood, a few choice pieces of vaguely grand furniture, deep-red walls and in the middle of it all, Santana. She just looks at me at first. She's impossible to read, her barriers well and truly up.
"San…" I whisper, walking towards her.
I take her hand in mine, slowly lacing our fingers together one at a time. The speed of my action is deliberate, delivered with the hope that it will somehow force my brain to memorise every intricate detail of her, and of this moment. I look up at her, trying desperately to hold back my tears for one more minute.
Her deep brown eyes flood my vision and I fix mine to hers, hoping that she can not only see, but hear, my painful honesty, "I love you."
I hear her inhale sharply at my words, not quite a gasp but certainly an element of shock.
I continue before she can stop me, "I'm sorry about the lake. I didn't… You surprised me and I didn't know what to think or do," I reach my hand up to cup her cheek, "But now I do. God, I do. It's so obvious and I've been missing it all this time. I'm in love with you, Santana."
Her lips press against mine and this time, unlike before, I don't let the moment pass me by. I'm kissing her back with such desperation, as if I'm trying to pour everything I have into this one kiss so she can truly understand what she means to me. This one kiss matters more than anything ever has to me before. It strikes me that the agonising truth is that this is likely to be one of the only kisses we ever share.
As we begin to pull apart she brushes her lips to mine one last time before whispering, so closely I can feel her breath on my cheek, "I love you too."
We hold each other for a while, locked together, until I feel her tear land in the crook of my neck. It's then that I pull back slightly, warranting a puzzled look from her.
Those walls are gone and I can't help but think that she looks so helpless, so defeated, and the games haven't even begun. It's as though she's given up before she's even stepped foot in the arena. I know the chances are slim that she'll return, and I know that right now my own mind is full of pessimism, but I can't have her thinking that way. Hopelessness could kill her.
"San, please listen to me," I plead, "You can't go into this thinking you're not coming back."
She shakes her head, "We both know that's the truth though."
"Stop," I say, much more calmly than I feel, "You have to try."
"There are careers that have trained for years for this. People who can hunt, use weapons, can fight… I don't have any of that." She throws her arms in the air, frustration building.
I step forwards, closing the gap between us, "You have strengths too. You're fast and you know how to navigate. You're strong and agile, Santana, don't underestimate that. And what about the times you went hunting with Katniss and Gale? I know you don't always go with them but you've been often enough to pick up some skills. All I'm saying is please don't give up now, San. Not before it's even begun."
As I put my hand on her waist, she doesn't try to move away. Her breathing is sharp and jagged and I can tell panic is overcoming her. I think desperately of how to help, and then it hits me. My mind is transported back to our place, "San… Listen to me. Imagine we're back there, at the lake, our lake, just me and you. We're sat on that rock. The wind is rustling through the trees and the moonlight is reflecting from the water and it's so silent, so peaceful. Imagine it for me, the smell, everything about it."
I feel her inhale deeply, closing her eyes, and I pray to God that this works.
"Okay and you kick off your shoes and dip your feet in the water. It's cold at first but I put my arm around you while you shiver. The water laps around your feet and you look down and you can see it rippling around your skin, making patterns all around you; each ripple meeting the next until they travel further out into the water and fade away." I've seen her do this countless times since that fateful day 4 years ago, the day when her brother died. It's something she does when everything's too much, when she needs to escape, and I hope now that her memory of it can be strong enough to help. It's the only idea I have and perhaps the only thing I can give her to take with her to the arena: a safe place. Even if it is only in her mind.
She wiggles her toes against the carpet, and I know that she's trying to replicate the way her toes dig into the soft silt at the bottom of the lake. I hear her take a deep breath again and as she does she nods slowly, "Thank you." As she pauses she steadies her breathing, opening her eyes, "I promise I'll try, Quinn. But while I'm gone will you look out for my family? Please? They won't know what to do and they need to keep it together for my brothers. They're just kids."
"Of course, you know I will. I'll do anything I can to help them."
Her voice breaks as she says, so quietly it almost disappears unheard into the air, "How can I kill another person?"
I don't even know what to say in return. The Santana I know can be fierce, can be harsh, can be brutal, she always has been that way, more so when we were younger, but it's almost always for a reason, and most of the time to protect the ones she loves. Her tongue can be vicious, her words cutting like knives. But none of that means she can be a killer.
But in order to survive, that's what she'll have to become.
I answer her honestly, because I don't know what else I can do, "I don't know."
Neither of us have the chance to say anything more because suddenly the sound of footsteps fills both our ears.
Someone is coming down the corridor, and I can only assume it's to tell us our time is up.
She shakes her head, tears falling once more, as she pulls herself into me. Our foreheads press together and we both stand there for a second, complete silence surrounding us. I attempt to drink in everything I can about her before it's too late even though I know that's an impossible task.
I place my hand under her chin, lifting her head until her eyes connect with mine, her brown eyes so full of fear. "I believe in you. Remember that."
Our lips whisper countless 'I love you's' between each kiss, every word and action we share so rushed, all part of our desperate race against time.
The footsteps stop outside the door and I know that in a second the handle will turn and I'll be forced back outside and away from her. But before that can happen I pull her towards me, holding her tighter than I've ever held anything before.
But it doesn't matter how tightly I hold on. I still have to let her go, and let my heart go.
So I do, all the while clinging to the desperate hope that she will come back to me.
After all, sometimes hope is all you can have.
She will come back to me.
She has to.