Cast Away

He spun on his heel, dropped the embrace, and began to go red in the face. I stood, momentarily stunned by the discovery of actual people, and crossed my arms sternly. Seneca rushed over toward me, his hands extended.

"Effie! This is not what it looks like, I swear," he spoke breathlessly.

"It's not? Then would you like to explain what you are doing?" I responded shrilly.

The girl stepped out from behind Seneca, moving cautiously as if I might decide to attack her. She looked older than me, probably a classmate of his from Games school. She touched Seneca gently on the back. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Silence!" I snapped to her, "I have no interest in your words, you hussy."

At this insult, a look of anger crossed her face.

"That was uncalled for," spoke Seneca, "Please, I can explain."

"Explain what?" I interrupted, "Explain how you just happen to have another girl in your house, alone. Explain how I care for you so much that I come over here to surprise you and find you cheating on me."

"He is not cheating on you!" the girl hollered from behind Seneca.

"Oh? And that's exactly what he wants me to think," I sneered, "You know what? Forget you, Seneca."

I turned to leave, infuriated by his actions and her words.

"She is my sister."

My hand was on the doorknob.

"She is visiting from another part of the Capitol. I have not seen her for years. She surprised me."

Horror flooded my being. For the second time, might I add. Not only could I tell that his words were true, I could tell that he grew tired of my useless accusations and bickering. I feared turning around, scared of what the consequences of my outburst would be. I feel a slight tremor run down my spine. I just want to run, go far away from this dreadful scene.

"Venia Crane," she says behind me, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

It is no good. Now that she has made such a gesture, I cannot possibly offend her further. I take a deep breath and turn back to the couple. Venia has stepped in front of Seneca, extending her hand in greeting. I look past her into Seneca's eyes and see pain. Deep pain.

I grab her hand firmly, hoping to redeem myself.

"Effie Trinket," I manage, "I am so sorry about my rudeness."

Venia looks calm, amused even. She nods toward the couch, offering me a seat. I cross quietly, trying to avoid Seneca's eyes. Venia sits next to me, Seneca across. Before I sit, I smooth my skirt out unconsciously. My hands sweat with nervousness.

"So, I am going to let you two talk. Seneca, I will be outside making a phone call. Feel free to invite me back inside once you have settled out your business," Venia stands to leave.

We both let her go silently, not daring to speak until she is out of earshot. Once the front door closes, he speaks.

"Effie, I cannot believe you thought me a cheater. Have I not told you time and time again that my feelings are pure? My intentions true? You once spoke of me casting you away as a recluse, yet you have so easily thrown me to the wolves. Perhaps you would like to make further accusations? Peg me incestuous as well. That is your way, so be it."

He stood up without saying another word. I knew this was my chance to win him back. But I dared not speak. He stood relentlessly, waiting for anything. To his surprise, I stood and left. He glanced me a look of dismissal upon my exit. I stepped down from his porch, sulked across his driveway, and ignored his sister. I wanted to put as much distance between his house and me.

The day had turned sour, the weather threatening a storm. I could not go home yet. I was in no mood to face my manically upbeat mother and deadbeat father. Suddenly, I felt furious. Furious at everyone.

Curse you father for spending so much money on useless trinkets. What a Trinket you, yourself, are. Curse you mother for never backing me on my decisions and letting me break my heart on a useless conquest. Curse you Alfie for letting me get so far. Curse you. Curse you. Curse you.

I casted away my family, the three people that I considered myself closest to. I scampered to the City Circle, choosing to view the Reaping from an indoor venture. When I neared the attractions, I chose a rowdy bar over Seneca's fine choice of establishment. The bar I entered smelled foul, full of wasted men and women with nothing better to do.

What a fool I am. What a fool. I could not take myself seriously. Here I was, sixteen years old, heartbroken in a run-down bar. The epitome of a failure. I sulked over to the bar. People questioned my appearance, but ultimately decided it a lost cause. There was no drinking age in Panem, especially not in the Capitol. I took a seat on a rickety stool across from a television.

"What can I do you for, sweets?" asked a paunchy bartender.

He cleaned out a filthy mug that mother would have a conniption over. I faced him, my eyes filled with dread and self-loathing.

"Something strong," I mumbled.

He left to prepare and I sank lower on my stool. I hated everything. So easily had I cast away my family that they were not to blame anymore. All my resentment, all my hate, was cast onto him.

Curse you, Seneca Crane. You, the one who so easily stole my heart and made me feel unique. You, the one who vowed true love and eager devotion. You, the one who took my virginity and cast me aside. You, the one who let me get away. You, the one who knew what was best for me. You, the only one who I ever loved.

"Here, take it easy. I do not want any vomit on my bar."

A mug was placed in front of me. It frothed with disgusting consistency. What the hell am I doing? This looked absolutely foul. How many people ruined their life over this? And here I was, about to become another statistic in the stupid Capitol. As if on cue, the Reaping began.

I took a hearty swig of beer. The foul liquid set my throat on fire. I choked it down, capturing attention from the bar patrons. Instantly, I felt their eyes judging me. Condemning me. Casting me away. I grew further infuriated, my swigs fuller. In moments, I had requested a second mug.

The longer I drank, the angrier I became. The Reaping proceeded before my eyes, the foolish District 1 and 2 tributes volunteering.

"You are so full of it!" I screamed toward the screen, "Do you actually think you will win? No one wins. You do not have what it takes."

People laughed at my outburst, egging the bartender to further intoxicate me. He joyfully filled me a ninth mug of beer. He set it in front of me, avoiding my hands as I snatched it. The froth bubbled over, coating my sleeves in filth.

"Hey honey," some old man who resembled a potato spoke, "How about we go back to my place and I will show you a Reaping of my own."

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds good. You go on ahead," I dismissed him with a wave of my hand, not paying any attention to anything other than the Reaping.

When a girl from District 3 was picked and burst into tears, I cackled with glee.

"You are first. I doubt you will live past the first day," I yelled.

Internally, my conscience had taken a vacation to District 12 and was currently buried under their coals. I cared about nothing except the forthcoming demise of these children. I remained drinking; my loyalties tied more to a glass than to a man. I watched the remainder of the District 3 Reaping, and then ordered another drink.

"You are going to have to slow down," ordered the bartender.

"You do not tell me what to do!" I howled at him, infuriated once again, "So help me, I will come over there and make your life a living hell."

Again, people laughed at me. Had I been sober, I imagine that I would laugh at me too. But I was not sober; I was drunk out of my mind. And infuriated. I got up. The second I stood up, I knew it was a mistake. Red spots danced in front of my eyes, threatening to obscure my vision. I wobbled over to the bartender and seized my glass.

"Take that," I spat at him.

Literally. Which evolved into drool. Which evolved into vomit. I threw up all over the bar, the bartender, and at least three patrons. The laughing ceased and sounds of disgust took their placed. The bartender flicked off the vomit angrily, grabbing my glass.

"I want you out of here. Immediately," he pointed toward the exit.

I wobbled out of the bar, screaming obscenities as I left. Now, I was good and drunk. Where to go? I could go home, meet my parents, and receive a punishment so severe that I would be allowed out after the duration of the Hunger Games. Or, I could go to Seneca's and make his life hell. That sounded good. I started in the direction of his house.

Oh, Seneca. When I get my hands on you. I am going to scream right in your face for what you have done to me. I am going to light your prized possessions on fire. I am going to cut up every single one of your shirts. I am going to turn your world upside down.

When I got to his house, it was dark. A single light shone from his parlor. His sister's car sat in the driveway. Upon my arrival, the security lawn lights turned on. I wobbled up the steps and leaned on the doorbell. While I waited for someone to answer, I vomited on his bushes.

The front door opened. He stood there, unsure of what he was seeing. I pointed at his chest with my finger and began my well-rehearsed scolding.

"Seneca, you are..."

And then I passed out.