~Strength
Like being shoved underwater every time she tries to take a breath, Azalea is suffocating from the inside. She hears the words play over and over again in her mind. I volunteer as tribute. Those four simple words have determined her fate, her life, her death.
She replays the words over again in her mind like a mantra. Why did she say them? Why? She buries her face in her hand. The words her mother had told her so many years ago repeat in her mind: it is easier to play hero than be faced with the true consequences later.
Her mind flashes back to the moment where the puzzle pieces clicked together; when she found out that the male tribute is her best friend's sister who turned out to be the female tribute. She knows that she cannot watch that kind of injustice on screen. That's why she stepped up.
Now selfishness is beginning to take over her senses. Why had she volunteered? Out of all available tributes, why would Azalea herself volunteer? She felt terrified but brave when she volunteered. Now the bravery has faded away and all that remains is fear that begins to gnaw away at the thin walls that her valour placed.
She slumps against the velvety couch and looks at the plush carpet on the floor, moving her worn slippers in a circular motion around the carpet. Words repeat in her head and this time, it isn't and will never be words that come out of her mouth. She is not a pessimist.
Face it, they say, you're going to die. Just face it.
No, she responds, shoving the voices back into the recesses of her mind that is otherwise left untouched. The thoughts hiss at her before settling deep inside of her mind, always a part of her, but not apparent at the moment. She lets out a sigh of relief as if the burden has been lifted from her shoulders.
The door opens and in steps a girl with her wavy blonde hair twisted into a high ponytail. Her blue eyes are wide and filled with fear. Azalea can see them sparkling with tears that are ready to fall but she's not giving in to it.
She takes a few steps into the room and then stops, looking at Azalea and taking a deep breath. Azalea doesn't know what to say so she just looks back at Daisy and offers her a smile. The smile feels much too wide on her face and she knows that Daisy can see that she's faking it.
"I'm sorry," Daisy finally says, her voice catching at the end. She takes a deep breath in and then averts her eyes from Azalea's. She looks down at the carpet, not wanting to meet Azalea's eyes.
"It's all right," Azalea says, but even her own voice sounds hollow in her ears. She tries to convince herself that she only sounds that way because of her own thoughts. "It's not your fault." There's an unspoken sentence there: it's the Capitol's fault.
"If I wasn't chosen, you wouldn't feel obligated to volunteer," she whispers, still staring at the ground.
Azalea wants to say that she wasn't obligated. She's never obligated to do anything. She does things on her free will. She always does things on her free will. But the moment she thinks of that, a sinking feeling begins in her stomach. She did feel obligated to volunteer for Daisy but it isn't because Daisy is her best friend. It's because she can't stand to watch Daisy be pitted against her own brother.
She shivers as she thinks about Chaise's cold green eyes upon her. She wouldn't she surprised if he is watching her now through a security camera. Azalea's heart begins to pump faster at the thought of Chaise. She's never done anything to him so why is he so cold towards her? In fact, shouldn't he be thankful that Azalea stepped forward? But maybe he truly does want a justified chance to kill his twin and Azalea ruined it. Maybe that's why Daisy has never mentioned Chaise before. There must be some kind of mutiny between the siblings.
"Daisy, it's all right," Azalea says, repeating her earlier words. "It wouldn't be any different anyway. I can't watch you be forced through all that on screen." She doesn't clarify what 'all that' means. If she speaks about Chaise, Daisy will continue to blame herself.
"I can't watch the same to you! We're best friends. We'll always be best friends no matter what. The Games can't come in-between that. The universe can't come in-between that. Death can't come in-between that." Daisy cries out and she rushes over to Azalea and hugs her tightly, making sobbing noises. A lump begins at the back of Azalea's throat and her eyes begin to water. She knows she shouldn't cry because it'll just be a sign of weakness to the other tributes. "We'll still be friends, right? Best friends."
Azalea nods, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. Tears are seen as weakness.
She's not weak, but she's not a contender in the Games either. "It's all right," Daisy tells herself, repeating Azalea's words, her voice cracked. "Don't cry."
Finally, Daisy lets go and the two friends stare at each other. Daisy wipes away the trickle of tears that run down her face and she smiles through her tears. "You should cry," Azalea informs her. "Crying is like letting go of all the feelings inside and just having them surface. To be able to cry is a hidden strength that most people see as a weakness." Daisy wipes away more tears and then reaches in the front pocket of her dress and pulls out a small wooden flute the length of her index finger and presses it into Azalea's palm.
"Chaise wouldn't say the same," Daisy says. Before Azalea can ask Daisy about her twin, the door opens and Peacekeepers march in. Her time is up. They both nod at each other. And Daisy exits the room with the Peacekeepers. Azalea feels like she needs to say something memorable to her best friend but she can't find the right words. In the end, Daisy turns and gives her one last look before disappearing through the door.
Azalea sighs and slumps against the chair, tightening her hand around the last gift Daisy had given her. She has a sinking feeling that she's going to face her own mortality in the arena and never see Daisy ever again. It's a horrible thought and she pushes it out of her head immediately though she doesn't try to contradict it because she thinks that it's true.
She can't kill people. She can kill animals, but not people. There's a sort of difference between humans and animals. It's different when you're one of the species you're trying to kill. It's another kind of insanity than to murder a helpless animal. She can't stand the thought of plunging a knife into someone's back and watching the light fade from their eyes. They are human beings. She is a human being. She won't let the Capitol twist her to be something like that. She can't let that happen.
Especially when she knows that there are people in other districts hoping for their return. To destroy that kind of hope is to destroy someone's life. She knows that well enough.
She just wishes that she can somehow survive the Games without killing. She can't stand the thought of plunging a knife into flesh and letting the blood flow from the wound. She can't. Her eyes squeeze tight and she forces the image away from her mind.
By volunteering for the Games, what has she agreed to do?
Before she can mull over it and face her reality, the door opens and three people head inside the room. It's a ragged looking man and a woman with a child not much younger than Azalea. When the yellow-haired girl sees Azalea, she lets out a strangled cry and runs into Azalea's outstretched arms before bawling.
"Shh," Azalea whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek as she pats Laurel's back. "Laurel, it's all right."
But Laurel continues to cry until her face is blotchy and red. Even then, she continues to cry. "I don't want this to happen," she whispers. "Azalea, tell them that it's a mistake. Tell them."
"I can't," Azalea tells her. "The choice was mine to make and it was already made."
"Why didn't I volunteer instead?" Laurel cries and Azalea holds her tighter, knowing that she would definitely step up if Laurel had been chosen. Now that she thinks about it, she wonders about Chaise. Had the male tribute had not been Chaise, would she had stepped up?
A shiver runs down her spine. She knows the answer to that. She wouldn't have stepped up. Instead, she would have worn her mask of cowardice and watched as Daisy mounted the steps to her place as a tribute from the twelfth district.
She's not exactly sure if she's glad that Chaise is the male tribute. She doesn't want to participate in the Games. She never wanted that. But at the same time, she's glad that she has the bravery to step up when certain conditions are put into action.
"It's all right," Azalea keeps saying. It's being repeated so often that it sounds much too hollow to be truthful. Like a rose that Azalea has been giving away too often only to have it shoved back in her face, the words are wilting.
"No, it's not," her father says, speaking up for the first time. Her mother isn't looking at her. It's as if she can't even bear the sight of her daughter any longer. From his pocket, he pulls out a silver necklace and presses it into Azalea's palm. "It's not all right. We're not going to be all right."
Tears are streaming from her mother's eyes and her father is blinking to keep his tears in. Azalea feels the lump rise and she quickly averts her eyes and stares at the necklace in her hand.
The chain is made of tiny little loops that ring around each other until the clasp at the very back. A tiny charm of an impression of water waves no bigger than her thumb hangs at the front.
Her mother is sobbing now. Her hands over her mouth to muffle the sounds of angst that comes from her lips. Azalea looks to her neck and realizes that this necklace, this token is something her mother wears around her neck all the time. Taking the small flute that Daisy had given her, she attaches the loop onto the necklace.
Giving it to Azalea must mean a great deal to her and Azalea's vision blurs with tears. She closes her hand over the necklace.
"I'll miss you. We won't be all right without you," Laurel says, still sobbing into her shirt.
"You won't," Azalea says, finding this as something she can promise on. It's the very least she can do for them. "But you will be."
~[*]~
After the visiting hours are over and after the Peacekeepers have managed to drag Azalea's family out, she stares at the charm necklace in her palm. Then, she slides it over her head onto her neck when the doors opens again. This time, no family or friends rush in to greet her. It's the Peacekeepers and Chaise is standing beside them, looking worn and tired.
The expression looks both familiar and foreign and he must have known that she caught a sign of weakness on his face because he quickly averts his green eyes from hers. Azalea feels her cheeks warm for some unknown reason and she averts her eyes too. The vibrant green ghosts still dance in her peripheral vision even when she has already looked away. The green is so deep that it might as well have been a new colour on its own.
The Peacekeepers lead them silently to the car that will take them from the Justice Building to the train station. When they reach the black automobile, Azalea hesitates, feeling an odd sensation as she stares at it. She must have been staring too long because Chaise shoots her a look and Azalea pushes the feeling away. She enters the car and tries not to think about that feeling of remembrance.
The ride to the train station is faster than Azalea expects. Within minutes, she is stumbling out of the car, the charms on her necklace clanging against each other. The train station is swarming with cameras and Azalea averts her eyes from every lens that point in her direction. She's glad to keep her eyes trained steadily on the ground as the cameras try to zoom in for a better view of her. She doesn't want to appear on the pictures. It feels so violating. People are whispering and shoving each other to get a better view of the pictures like she's an exotic animal put up on display. Disgust clenches in her stomach. Isn't it enough to shove children in an arena? Why do they have to go through all the false revere too?
She reaches the doorway of the sleek train. The cameras take in their last image of her before she boards her death and then the doors slide shut, with Chaise beside her. As soon as the door closes, the train moves instantly—faster than anything that Azalea has ever been on before. She wishes the train is slower. The faster it is, the earlier she will meet her demise. She'd rather draw out her fall than have it be immediate. Though she knows death is imminent, no matter how much she wishes she can be back with Laurel and her family. Being chosen for the Games is an ultimatum—a death sentence.
One that she knows she can't make it out of.
Azalea has survived many things. She knows she has the ability to survive, just not the right abilities to survive the Games.
She's led away to her chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water at the press of a button. The room and corridors are so lavishly decorated that Azalea can't help but marvel at it. By the soft snort that comes from Chaise when Azalea stares too long at a lamp, Azalea realizes that she's being much too obvious about this awe and she looks away, feeling embarrassed to be caught for some unknown reason.
She enters her chambers, feeling glad to be away from Chaise's scrutinizing glare. He's already taking the Games at heart, keeping his enemies close enough to make observations. Azalea shivers, thinking about those cold eyes. Chaise and Daisy may have some sort of enmity that she's not aware of. That must be it. Otherwise, why would he be so cold towards her after she saved Daisy?
Herne had cheerfully informed her that she could wear whatever she wanted. Everything is at her disposal here. After taking a warm shower, she rummages through the drawers and picks out a blouse the colour of the sky and a pair of brown pants that fit snugly against her hips.
Azalea can't help but wonder why the Capitol does through all the trouble of prepping up everything when she's just been determined for slaughter. Is it really necessary? But of course, there are still the viewers from the Capitol to take into consideration. They like seeing their fresh meat all nice and primped before they're slaughtered on reality television.
Herne comes to take Azalea for dinner as the day progresses. She walks down the narrow corridors with Herne in the lead and they reach a dining room with polished panel walls. There's a long table filled with easily breakable dishes. Chaise is already there and he's staring gloomily out the window. Bathilda Downing sits across from Chaise, her posture composed and her expression bored. She sips hot tea from the rim of a cup with intricate designs, looking over the top of the cup at Azalea.
Azalea has enough with the scrutiny she is receiving in one day. Herne takes a seat beside Bathilda, leaving only one left. Azalea, resigned, takes the seat next to Chaise. She waits for him to glare stonily at her but he doesn't even glance at her.
Herne tells them to start eating and they do. Bathilda keeps that calm and tidy gesture. Not wanting to be ostentatious, Azalea tries not to stuff herself. She's never had food this scrumptious before.
Chaise is eating in tiny intervals. Then he stares out the window again, watching the scenery rush past them. Azalea can't bear to look at it because it reminds her that she's travelling miles away from home. It hurts to look at it and know that she's getting closer and closer to her death.
Her eyes move from the window to Chaise Hart, her fellow tribute. His green eyes are fixed on the window and his lips are moving softly, as if uttering quiet words. The hatred is gone from his eyes and he looks so serene that Azalea can't help staring at him.
Oh, she thinks, he's handsome.
Of course she has realized that before. She realized that when she caught sight of him in the school yard about five years ago before she even knew who he was. When she had looked at him, she was hit by a sense of déjà vu. She has no idea where that had come from in the first place.
Chaise glances over for the first time and his expression is unguarded for a mere second. He frowns at Azalea, his eyebrows knitting together. Then the mask falls into place and his eyes are blank. Azalea quickly averts her eyes, not wanting to be caught staring in his direction any longer.
During the whole meal, Herne blabbers about the Games and how he hopes that District 12 will make it further than the previous years. He goes on to comment on Azalea's choice of clothing, which she politely thanks his comments, and Chaise's eyes. Chaise nods in response to Herne's comment which leads Azalea to believe that he's not really listening at all. He's lost in his own world—a vulnerable position. She has the urge to stare at him again but she keeps her eyes fixated on her soup. She doesn't want to be caught staring again.
When the meal is over, Herne leads them to another compartment where they watch the recap of the reapings. Azalea doesn't want to but she has to anyway. She's not going to study the other tributes she deems as contenders. She's not going to pick out their strengths or weaknesses. At the most, she's going to avoid them. That's her motivation to keep her going.
The districts go in order. District 2 has always had the most aggressive tributes and Azalea winces inwardly when she catches sight of them. Both are large and have dark looks in their eyes. The boy is chosen and the girl volunteers, glaring at the crowd as if to dare anyone else to take that spot away from her.
The other Career district—District 4, surprisingly has tributes that lack the strength that District 1 and District 2 portray so far. The male tribute is called and no one volunteers. A girl in the background cries his name but the cameras move away from her as quickly as they have landed. Azalea frowns at this. The Career districts are usually the ones who support the Games the most. The female tribute is a small girl who looks younger than Laurel. She looks at the crowd solemnly. The girl who was crying tries to speak up but the female tribute gives her a look that makes the girl shut her mouth.
Before Azalea can dwell on that any longer, the reapings go on. Two other districts catch her attention. District 6 is not a district that supports many victors but Azalea is captivated by the female tribute. At first, she's unsure of the tribute's gender. The shapeless clothing define no curves, but the tribute's face has hints of femininity. Their Capitol escort declares the tribute as District 6's female even over the tribute's hateful glare. She's around Laurel's age but she is a dark horse on her own. Her eyes are stormy and dark. They glare hatefully over the crowd with even more emotion than Chaise held. When the cameras zoom in on her, she catches sight of red and white marks on his arms but the cameras veer away too quickly for her to make sense of it.
They look like scars, she tells herself. But they can't be. What would have caused them? Surely they have an electrical fence to keep the animals out even if the fence isn't electrical all the time.
The next district's female tribute is possibly the most out of place tribute. When she's chosen, she smiles brightly and walks onto the stage, showing white teeth. Her hair is curly and red—the colour of the dying sun. Her facial features are odd—there's something about the delicate nose and the almond shaped eyes that distinguish her from the rest.
Finally, one district before hers, Azalea sees them.
In District 11, two tributes are chosen. Azalea has watched the reapings enough times to know that District 11 holds numerous inhabitants. It's almost never ending.
So it can't be a coincidence. It's much deeper than that.
The Capitol is playing a game within the Games.
And Azalea thwarted that. What will they do to her now?
Drawn from the bowl are siblings—Rowena and Rowan Kurn. Azalea stares as the siblings mount the stage. No one volunteers. There is no District 11 equivalent of Azalea Ever.
It's like an icy fist has plunged itself into her heart and she looks at the tiled floor, trying hard not to think about the siblings that will now have to fight each other.
District 12 appears at last. Chaise is called. Then Daisy. In that moment of silence, the pieces click together and Azalea watches herself all over again, volunteering and then shaking hands with Chaise. The commentator briefly comments that it was such a 'coincidence' that two pairs of siblings were chosen. It was only luck that Azalea stepped forward. Then they go to comment on Chaise's vibrant green eyes and Azalea sees that Chaise clenches his hands when he hears this.
After District 12's reapings, District 13 comes up. A skinny girl and a tall boy are chosen but the commentators are still talking about Chaise's eyes.
When the recaps finish, Herne pushes it even further to mention that Chaise's eyes might even be made into a fashion statement at the Capitol. That shade of green, he says, is absolutely lovely.
Azalea winces inwardly at this comment. That is the worst compliment anyone could give someone from District 12. They don't want to be made into fashion statements. They're human—they just want to live. They don't want to be made into trends and then forgotten like their lives had weighted nothing.
Chaise looks over at Azalea at that moment and catches her expression. Azalea wants to look away but she's staring again. She cannot deny that his green eyes really are beautiful.
The same way that she cannot deny that they are unnatural.
Azalea expects Chaise to glower at her but he doesn't. Instead, his lips slowly curve up at her expression. It's a smile so small that it can be mistaken as a grimace. But Azalea knows what it is. Though the moment the smile begins to take place, it disappears and is replaced by a scowl.
"Thanks," he mumbles to Herne, playing polite. From the corner of her vision, Azalea watches as Bathilda narrow her eyes at him.
Chaise notices it too and he narrows his eyes at her. Herne doesn't catch this and continues to ramble on and on about his eyes. Azalea feels like she's being constrained and she gets up, her legs feeling stiff. "I'm going to sleep now," she announces. Normally, she would just leave quietly but she feels the need to break apart the tension in the air from Chaise and Bathilda.
"See you in the morning!" Herne says in his clipped Capitol accent. Azalea nods numbly and begins to head down the shaking corridors and back to her chambers.
"Me too," Chaise announces much to Azalea's surprise. He gets up and follows her out of the room.
Just when the reach the door, their mentor calls out to them, her voice sneering. "Are you two thinking of playing the star-crossed lovers? That trick stopped working after the Seventy-Fourth Games."
Azalea wretches the door open and the corridors stare back at her. She wonders if she can run down this hallway, away from the sneering words that her mentor is throwing like knives. She had never liked Bathilda Downing very much. Though Bathilda never approached Azalea back in District 12, she could hear Bathilda yelling at the Seam kids who try to look for leftovers at Victor's Village. Now being confronted with the witch herself, Azalea doesn't know how to react.
But Chaise does. "No," he says, his voice forced and angry. "Of course not."
"Now, now," Herne begins but Bathilda cuts him off.
"That's good, seeing as that theme is much too overplayed. The other districts have tried to play the same thing but it doesn't take a genius to see what's false." She laughs at them. The sound of her laugh is high-pitched and wicked sounding. Azalea abhors it.
"With the girl faking a helpless damsel in distress who couldn't hurt a fly and the boy attempting at being a traitorous, cold and calculating killing machine, things won't work out." Bathilda laughs again.
Silence befalls the room and Azalea is frozen. Her mind numbly registers that Chaise is also frozen in spot. Bathilda has struck a truth. Though Azalea doesn't know the same for Chaise, she knows what Bathilda said about her is true.
Faking a helpless damsel in distress who couldn't hurt a fly.
How does Bathilda know this?
Chaise responds first. "You're wrong," he says, his voice icy and void of emotion. "Committing mutiny is not what I do." He glances at Azalea. "And I don't fall in love with anyone."
He walks out the open door and Azalea follows behind him, ducking her head and staring at the floor as she leaves. She can still hear Bathilda's ringing laughter long after the door is closed.
~[*]~
The walk back to their rooms is silent until Azalea reaches her door. Not wanting to be rude, she clears her throat. "Goodnight," she says softly to Chaise. She's about to open the door when Chaise suddenly turns around and pins her to the wall faster than she can react, his taller frame having an advantage over hers.
"What are you doing?" she says, suddenly frightful. Is he going to hurt her? He can't; it's against the rules. But lately, the Capitol hasn't been playing along with the rules. The reapings are supposed to be a random draw. Azalea knows enough to tell that the pair of siblings that were chosen this year is much more than a coincidence—it was on purpose. For what reason, she can only guess.
Chaise doesn't answer, his eyes void of emotions. Instead, he closes the space in-between them and presses his lips to hers, parting her lips with his.
A shiver goes through Azalea at the touch of his lips and she finds herself involuntarily wanting more of him. As if he can hear her silent desires, he presses his body closer. Azalea runs her fingers through his soft hair, marveling at the touch of it. A feeling of flying comes over Azalea and she pulls him closer to him, wanting to meld them together.
But then he pulls away and Azalea feels cold when his arms aren't around her, suddenly realizing that he's just playing with her. She wraps her arms around her chest, trying to hide how startled she feels. It was a trap and Azalea walked right into it with her heart in her palm. If she can pretend she didn't mean it either, maybe Chaise won't play with her emotions again. "What was that for?" she asks, her voice a quiet whisper in the empty corridor. It's so quiet that it might as well have been swept away with the wind.
Chaise smiles but it's not the same smile as before. It's mocking and Azalea hates the hurt feeling that suddenly runs through her. How can he make her feel this way? She isn't in love with him. She's only just met him. But something about the way he just took her heart and crushed it between his fingers before handing it back to her makes her squirm uncomfortably.
"We can prove Bathilda wrong and play star-crossed lovers," he says, grinning maliciously. "It all depends on how well you act."
And he leaves, whistling a nursery tune that Azalea has always hated, sounding happier than ever. He leaves Azalea standing by the door, feeling lost and abandoned.
Sorry for the late upload. Just trying to improve my writing. Are any of the old readers still trying to catch up with this? Anyways, the chapters might come faster but I'm still working on my publishing manuscript (if anyone wants to help me edit my first draft, just PM me with your email). Reviews are amazing, as usual! :)
Next chapter: ~The Hunter