Chapter 4, read, enjoy, and review if you can!

Jealousy and Confusion

Enjorlas frantically made his way through the town. He didn't want to lose Courfeyrac and so ran as fast as he could. Unfortunately the other two were faster, and he eventually stopped with the conclusion he was well and truly behind them. Nevertheless, he continued at a leisurely pace, reminiscing about his childhood years here.

Clara and Courfeyrac had consequently abandoned their game and were on their way home.

'I could've sworn I'd seen that man before,' Courfeyrac mused.

'He was horrible!' Clara exclaimed, 'How could you have seen him before?'

'I don't know, he just seemed…..familiar.'

They arrived back at the house and Courfeyrac began to make dinner. It wouldn't be much tonight as they had lost their day's earnings thanks to the grumpy old primo in the Hob.

Enjorlas' father continued to look for him, but without realising it, Enjorlas was making his way to Courfeyrac's home. He recognised the house immediately, and went to knock and the door, silently praying he was home.

Clara went to answer the door, and both were shocked.

Enjorlas quickly regained his composure, he stood up straighter and said, 'Excuse me, would you happen to know if Courfeyrac is here at present?'

He was met with a smirk, Clara had to restrain herself from laughing. There was a sense of awkwardness between them, and Enjorlas began to feel instant dislike meeting this girl up close.

'Courfeyrac is present,' she replied, mocking him. 'Whom may I say is calling?'

Enjorlas knew she was making fun of him, but something told him she was not a novice to these social conventions.

'Enjorlas. If it suits you better I could wait…..' She laughed again, just like she had in the Hob.

'Don't be silly!' Come on in,' she said, gesturing Enjorlas inside. He obliged. The smell of Courfeyrac's stew hit him almost immediately, he knew he was in the right place.

'Clara!' cried a voice from upstairs, a boy. 'Can you help me with this puzzle?'

'Coming!' she called back. She pointed to the kitchen, 'He's in there.' Then she disappeared.

Clara, Enjorlas thought, it suited her. He entered the kitchen. He looked around but couldn't see Courfeyrac. The kitchen seemed a lot cleaner from when he remembered. He figured Clara may have had something to do with that.

'Blimey, someone hasn't hit puberty yet!' Enjorlas turned.

'Courfeyrac!' he exclaimed. He could barely recognise him. He was leaner, taller and much more muscular. His curly black hair had grown long and he occasionally had to flick it out of his eyes.

'What are you doing here, old friend?' Courfeyrac asked. If it weren't for his words it would have been as if he had never been away. Enjorlas remembered the comfort and warmth he had felt in this house.

'Just..visiting. Sorry about my father by the way.'

THAT'S where Courfeyrac knew the man from.

'Don't worry about it, we can't help where we come from.' Enjorlas couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of Clara.

'So how have you been? And why didn't you answer any of my letters? I must've sent hundreds!'

'YOUR letters? What about mine?' Courfeyrac cried, suddenly very angry.

'I didn't get any…' Enjorlas immediately knew what had happened. His father must've told the servants not to give Enjorlas any letters with the District 12 mark on it. He felt Courfeyrac's anger.

'There must have been a confusion at the post office,' said Courfeyrac half-heartedly, and went back to his cooking. He wasn't the type to stay angry, but now there was an awkwardness between them that prevented them from talking as they used to. Just as Enjolras was about to leave, Clara came in.

'If I ever see Spiderman again, it'll be too soon!' she exclaimed, and up jumped to sit on the table.

'Freddie's puzzle again?' Courfeyrac asked, clearly amused. 'You gave that to him, didn't you, Enjorlas?'

'Um….yeah.'

'Well thanks very much,' she said, turning to Enjorlas, who was very much taken aback.

'Excuse me?'

'Where's my apology? Do you have any idea what you've put me through these past 3 years?' She never broke eye contact with him and had the most menacing look on her face.

'I…..well….I'm…sorry?'

Courfeyrac broke into hysterical laughter. Clara joined him. Enjorlas envied the ease between them. His jealousy soon disguised itself as dislike for Clara.

'I'm joking,' Clara assured him. She was anxious she had offended him too much.

'Well, I'm afraid I don't see the funny side. It is quite immature of you, if you don't mind me saying.'

Clara's face fell, and she looked hurt. Enjorlas turned away, he felt bad but wasn't prepared to let his guard down.

'And another thing…' he continued.

'Enjorlas, enough,' Courfeyrac warned, instinctively walking to Clara's side. She'd gone very quiet.

'Very well. But Courfeyrac, know I'm disappointed in you. I thought you'd be above letting such riff raff in your home. Actually, such a les miserables'

Enjorlas knew he'd gone to far. Clara's eyes were filling with tears, but was too stunned to run away.

'Enjorlas!' Courfeyrac shouted. 'Get out of my house! How dare you insult Clara in such a way! I thought you wouldn't get so ruined by District 2, but obviously I was wrong! You're nothing more than a stuck up, obnoxious primo!'

'Better than being a les miserables! You and your family!' He made for the door.

'Don't come back until you wash those District 2 atrocities off of you! If you had been like this 3 years ago I would never have been your friend. I should of let those boys take your jacket! The good it would have done them.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'The eldest? Killed in the Hunger Games last year, by one of YOUR lot!'

Enjorlas froze.

'You don't even remember his name, do you?'

He didn't.

Truly shamed, he walked out of the house, wondering if he would ever be able to face returning. But he did know one thing, he had to change, he did not like what he had become. If he were reaped in the Hunger Games this year, he was determined to die comfortable in his own skin.