Creak, creak, creak, creeeeaaaakkk…. The hard chair I'm sitting on makes loud noises in complaint when I shift my weight on it. The rusty lamp by which I have to sew complains just as loudly when I adjust it to better see my stitches.

Working in the sweatshop is a lot of work that isn't hard, it's just mentally draining.

Well, it's hard for some people. Sewing's never been a real problem from me. I've been stitching ever since I was a little girl, while some others never got that advantage. Being a good seamstress gets you far in life, trust me.

I squint in the dim light, shifting my weight again as I continue to work.

"Oh, Liana!" a voice rings from across the room of hard-working women. I look up at hearing my name as a girl with golden hair comes skipping around, past, and between stations of women working hard.

I smile at the one-year-younger girl. I was never energetic like Nina, just very cool and laidback. Nina sits and watches what I'm sewing for a couple seconds before she goes to her own piece.

"How do you do that? You sew beautifully!"

"Thank you." I smile a little. I don't get overly excited about compliments, really. It's hard to make me smile with things like that, probably because I'm confident and think nice thoughts about me even if other people don't.

People sometimes mistake my confidence for arrogance, and maybe I am arrogant sometimes but I really don't think I'm that bad. What's the matter with loving yourself a bit? I've decided I really am pretty, I'm talented, and I really like my personality. It just all makes sense for… Well, me.

Without another word, I go back to sewing the piece at my station. I get paid more than most for my creations, but it's not nearly enough. The Capitol keeps a lot, the managers usually steal part of it, leaving me with not a lot more than a couple of cents.

Nina keeps sewing, humming in a quiet voice to herself as she does so. It's the only noise in the dimly-lit room.

Our manager and boss Pam enters just then, handing rattered, tattered envelopes to some of the working women.

"Finley!" she shouts, and I obediently rise and walk over. She puts an envelope in my hands, her eyes hard, her jaw set. "Apparently the Capitol crowd likes your stuff." She takes the fabric of my new white gown in her fingers. "This… This is a very nice new garment you have here. Lace."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" I'm not in the mood for games but if Pam wants to play I'll play.

"How'd you afford something so…"

"New? Nice? Not hand-me-down?" I ask, trying to find the words for her, then I answer my own questions, "Well I don't have anyone to have things handed down from except my Mom. And I'll have you know I've been making delightful profits lately. I'm sure you already know that, though, considering you flip through each one." I can't help the comeback.

"Of course." She doesn't believe me for a second, but she drops it. She scowls and lets go of my gown, before turning on a heal and walking away.

A teasing, playful smile plays on my lips as I take a seat again and flip through the couple of coins I got for that coat. It took me forever, I have to say I would have very much liked to keep it, but you get what you get. I pocket the coins and get back to sewing, wishing I were as fortunate as the men that get to operate machinery that does this stuff for them.

We get ten minutes total for lunch, with which I practically run outside with Nina. The sunshine hurts my eyes but the wind feels so nice in my lungs I don't care. After that, Nina and I eat some bread on the grass outside the shop.

Today, I close my eyes and feel the gentle, early-autumn breeze blow my blonde hair around in the breeze. It's closer to a white-blonde than Nina's, whose hair's on the verge of being dirty blonde.

"How much did you make for that coat?!" she asks excitedly, green-gray eyes wide.

"Couple coins," I say, savoring every bite of bread.

"That's it?! It was so beautiful, though!"

"Thanks kiddo. How about you?"

"I'm still stuck on winter-wear, which means I won't get any profits for a while. Not everyone has the creative privilege you do."

"Hey, if people are buying coats, maybe they'll buy some gloves or a hat or scarf," I offer.

"Maybe. Mine are always the last ones left, though." She frowns and looks up at the sky.

"You're just a beginner, though. It's normal. Soon you'll get the hang of it and you can make more in less time and increase your profit. That's how it went for me." That's a little bit of a lie. My items weren't ever bought first, but they were never really last, either.

"Really?" she breathes a sigh of relief, "Good. I was worried, but I hope I can be as good as a seamstress as you someday!"

"That's the way to be, Squirt."

Looking up, I see a familiar face walking past the factory. She has black hair that's scrunched in waves, piercing blue eyes that are framed in dark make-up, the very top of a tattoo on her neck sticking out from her shirt collar, and those cruel, cruel red lips. If I'm not mistaken, I think she's on her way to a job.

Her name is Ryann Blackwood. But, we'll get to her later.

She winks at me with a smile, and I wink back before she walks out of sight.

When I finally snap out of it and look back at Nina, she's already standing up. "Liana? Did you wink at someone?"

I scoff and stand up with her. "Had dust in my eye. Damn those dusty workstations."

"Ah, yeah. Come on, we'll get yelled at if we're not back inside."

I guess you could say my life is pretty average.

When the lights are on, that is.

I sit in my usual spot, doing my make-up off of a shard of mirror someone threw away. I'm just putting some of that bright color on my lips when arms suddenly wrap around me and a chin is put on my head. I squeak, but close my eyes and can't help but smile. She smells so good…

"Guess who, Finley," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she has a red bandana tied around her head.

"Gee, I wonder. You're lucky you didn't mess with my make-up."

Ryann laughs, "I guess I am. But I dunno, I've never seen you angry before. Or sad. Or in pain. Do you even get those emotions?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty good at hiding them."

"Sure are, Kitty."

I duck my head, embarrassed by the nickname. I probably wouldn't be so embarrassed if I wasn't crushing on Ryann. I can't help it, she's just so pretty and likable. "So, get any news or rumor today?"

"I wish. I was so close to getting something really juicy out of the mayor's son. But he didn't crack, and before I could try to ask, he was out cold."

"Ah. I see." I decide that my make-up job is good enough for attracting clients, and put the bottles and containers back in my bag. "Ready?"

"I'm always ready," she says, smiling at me.

"Then we're declared open." I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder.

Service at the beginning of the night is slow, but soon more and more people start coming to get something from us. See, I have multiple other drugs salesmen to compete with, the most prominent being Bronx Stringer, a guy who's a year older than I am, same age as Ryann.

I met Ryann a little after I got into the drug-selling industry, and we immediately became a killer team. With her looks and charm, she can get guys and girls alike to buy from me. Together, we can get people begging for more. We split profits evenly from my selling and her night-time sex endeavors.

And if you're wondering, that's how I was able to afford a white lace dress.

The first person who finds us is a boy my age with tousled blonde hair and sedated gray eyes. He's one of our regulars.

"Hey Big Guy." I offer him a smile.

"Evening Finley," he says with a nod to me, and nods to Ryann, "Blackwood."

"Hey Cutie," Ryann says with a wink. Soon, the three of us dissolve into laughter. Nolan's become basically immune to Ryann's flirting technique, but he's dependent on us for the drugs so it's still a benefit.

"How're things holding up with you?" He puts money in my palm and I count it carefully before pocketing it and handing him a syringe.

"Not great, but not any worse than yesterday." He runs his fingers across the skin of his forearm for a while.

"Have you been buying from someone else?" Ryann asks, arching her eyebrows.

"Bronx." Well, he's honest.

I blow some stragglers out of my eyes and sigh. "Well, whatever. At least you buy from us too, right?"

"Always." He puts the needle into the crook of his elbow. His hands aren't even shaking.

"Want a drink?"

"Always." More money, as I hand him a bottle. By that time, Ryann's gathered a group of people and sweet-talks them as I distribute whatever their hearts desire with a smile and some added-in-yet-unnecessary booty-popping.

After one attempting-to-be-sexy move, Ryann whistles at me, with a wicked smile and a smirk. My heart beats faster but I keep cool, laughing and smirking like I enjoy the lustful attention of a bunch of older guys.

Nolan chills with us, though he's way too far out of it to know anything that's going on. Ryann marks up our customers nice and well with that red lipstick as I distribute deals. Soon, the initial crowd is gone and checking the time, it's about three in the morning. My pocket's full of profit.

Nolan's passed out, and only a couple stragglers stop by to grab some of the leftovers. Ryann and I pack up just as we hear heavy footsteps behind us. Looking over, I notice black boots. When I look up at the face, I recognize it. The freckles, the red scar that slashes down his cheek, the all-too-innocent green eyes speckled with brown, framed a little less than Ryann and mine…

"Bronx Stringer." He looks up and stares at us, his eyes scared and wide. He really doesn't look well… His hand is in his coat, and we in the black market have a pretty good idea what it means.

"He's armed," I hiss to Ryann. My heart pounds hard in my chest as I grab out profits.

He speaks first, and he sounds and looks shocked. "I…I found Finley and Blackwood... Have you always been back here?"

"Of course. Why didn't you just ask Rinehart?" I ask. I need to watch what I say, but that's pretty hard for me to do.

"He's useless when he's high."

"He's useless when he's sober," Ryann says, laughing. I think it was just playful teasing.

"Whoopie doo, you found us. Now what?" I ask. I get ready to run.

He looks frustrated, upset… His eye color is way smudged, but I'm suddenly not so sure if he meant for it to be.

Ryann steps forward defensively, growling threateningly. "Get the hell out of here, you're unwelcome. Pull that thing out from there and you'll die before either of us, I swear to God."

He looks between us for a second, before mumbling, "W-Wasn't gonna use it on you." He turns and runs, putting his assumed weapon back in his coat as he goes.

Ryann and I exchange a confused, bewildered look before shrugging and starting to count and split our profits.

A couple weeks go by, and life goes back to normal. Well, as normal as it can be when you're a seamstress by day, drug dealer by night.

Another day I come in to the shop, another day spent yawning and practically falling asleep with Nina helping to keep me awake. It's all just another day.

"…So I decided to ask my Mom about it, and-" she's cut off by loud screaming outside. Two men's voices, and… No.

The women, all desperate for something of excitement to happen, hop up like the place was on fire and push past each other to get outside. I sit in shock and denial. No.

Nina hops up and takes my hand, dragging me outside to where the chaos is happening. A crowd's already gathered at the square, so big Nina disappears soon within it. My heart pounds, my emotions rage, as I push people out of my way forcefully, to get to the front, to see what's going on…

I suddenly regret doing so, because once I get to the front I see Ryann in the arms of two Peacekeepers, shaking and screaming and trying desperately to break free… The Peacekeepers' faces are stone-set, acting as if she isn't even there. She still has jeans on, but on top all she has on is a black lace bra, which means she was caught while on a job.

I stand and stare, emotions of sadness, anger and guilt build up in my gut. Even standing up there and being humiliated, Ryann doesn't shed a tear: she screams curse words at the top of her lungs.

Our Head Peacekeeper speaks up just then.

"Citizens of District Eight! Your very own Ryann Blackwood is being charged with selling illegal drugs and thievery of a Peacekeeper's belongings." I cringe on the inside, but keep a stone-hard expression. The last thing she'd want would be me getting caught along with her.

"Civilians must understand that crimes like this one are unforgiveable and will be severely punished!" He practically has to yell into the microphone to be heard over Ryann, who I already know is going to fight until the very end.

"And this young skank's punishment," he says, causing shouting to erupt from crowd (mostly the men that bought her), so loud he's droned out when he says, "Twenty whippings-" That's it?! Something closer to relief floods my emot- "And a death sentence!"

There's a collective gasp. Death sentence. The words pound in my head. Not Ryann. Not her, anyone but her. At the words, she lets out a scared gasp as she's forced to her knees, her face setting hard again in a matter of seconds. Horror builds up in my gut. I can't watch it. There has to be something I can do, and I plan to do it even if it means death.

I turn around and force my way back through the crowd, trying to figure out the best way to get on that stage. On my way, I hear murmurs of, "Poor, innocent little Liana," and, "Scarred for life, poor thing," and even, "Who let her stand at the front, that poor baby!" But I don't care.

When I'm closer to the back of the crowd, I keep pushing as I hear the cracks and the strained screams trying to be repressed by Ryann. When I'm just about in the very back, a hand grabs my shoulder and tugs, and I stumble backwards.

"Don't touch me!" I snap angrily. I don't get angry, or hurt, or sad, or guilty, but now I am. I look up, see green and brown eyes, and immediately swat his hand off me. "I said don't touch me, twat!" A couple people look over but another crack of the whip and their attention goes back to the stage.

"Am I allowed to say I'm sorry for what's going on?" he asks as I turn around and start power-walking away from there. He jogs after me anyways so I have to respond.

"No, you're not."

"Am I allowed to keep you from running up there and trying to save her?"

He shouldn't have known that was my plan, but it's too late now so I keep walking, "No, you're not."

"Well too bad." His strong arms suddenly wrap around me, a hand covering my mouth as I try to break free from him. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be ruining my plan!

"Let me go!" I try to shout, but the words are muffled.

"You're not going up there. You need to get a grip!"

"LET GO OF ME!" Shouting it louder doesn't help much. Suddenly a huge force knocks us sideways, and Bronx is forced to let go.

"What the hell's going on!?" Nolan takes deep breaths as Bronx scrambles up from where he was knocked down. Even he knows to keep his voice down.

"She wants to save Blackwood," Bronx sounds pissed, rubbing his jaw.

"Absolutely not."

"Shut up, Big Guy, I don't want to be lectured."

Another crack. Another scream. I take off in a run but the combined efforts of Nolan and Bronx prevent it. Tears finally push at my eyes and I break down, collapsing to my knees as I hear stumbling. I look up and can just see the top part of Ryann's tear-stained, make-up smudged face and bleeding back, and the gun they hold to her head as they drag her into the justice building. "No… No! They can't do that!" I shout even though I know I shouldn't, tears falling out of my eyes. Suddenly we all hear a very loud gunshot, and with that, we all know it's over. The Peacekeepers shout for everyone to get back to work, but I just can't. I can't do anything now but bury my face in my hands and sob.

I don't see them, but I can sense Nolan and Bronx kneeling beside me. I feel a hand on my back gently (I think it's Nolan's) and another on my shoulder (probably Bronx's). I hate them seeing me cry. I hate anyone seeing me cry. I hate this whole District seeing me cry as they walk past. But it's too late now, I can't stop it.

"Sh," Nolan whispers in his raspy voice, "Sssshhh…" I'm sure it's all he can think to say.

"You guys can go," I force out, but neither hand moves. I'm such a mess, in front of my most loyal client and my biggest competition. Now this is an unlikely friendship. I sure hope it doesn't last longer than today.

"Am I allowed to offer you help?" Bronx asks. I sniffle, "Shut up. I can make it on my own. Just because I'm all frilly doesn't mean I can't handle it when the lights are out." More tears leak from my eyes but I stay put.

"Don't cry Liana," Nolan whispers close to my ear.

"It'll be okay," Bronx tries, whispering close to my other ear.

Suddenly we hear a small shriek. I hear footsteps and suddenly Nolan's hand is swatted off of me by a rolled up newspaper, and soon Bronx's hand is swatted off too. When I look up, Nina is beating both boys with the newspaper.

"Get away from her, dirty bastards!" She keeps swatting until both of them have scrambled up, given me a little nod, and ran.

"Nobody tries to rape my best friend and gets away with it!" she shrieks after them. I actually laugh a little to myself.

She still doesn't know they're my friends. And she never has to know, considering if she did my cover would be ruined. Her little hand reaches down and helps me up, dropping the newspaper.

"Oh, Liana, I was so worried! Are you alright?! Did they violate you? Oh, I'm so sorry, I wish I were here earlier!"

"It's alright, Nina," I sniffle, "They were being touchy but you arrived just in time." It's a lie, but I can't exactly tell the truth. As far as the District knows, Ryann and I were nothing more than strangers, and Nolan and Bronx are two of those people.

Funny that they were beaten up by someone younger than them, though. I chuckle a little to myself as I wipe my eyes. I can let them believe the tears are from being "raped."

"Come on, Nina. We can keep sewing."

"Are you sure!?"

"Positive."

Anything to get my mind off of what just happened.

Anything to get my mind off of Ryann.

Miserable Avoxes guide us to our table for the first supper Nolan and I will eat in the Capitol. He looks completely out of it and dying for a smoke, a drink, some crack, anything to get him high or drunk.

We take a seat with the two mentors, and no one says a word. Soon the older Victor, who won the 28th Games, gets up and leaves the table without eating dessert, leaving three to enjoy it.

"The chocolate cake here is my favorite," the Victor of the 40th Games mumbles, trying to start conversation. I'm taken back to that sad, fateful day that changed my life… It hurts so much.

"It's practically… Practically addicting." He sounds as awkward as we feel.

Two Avoxes come in and place plates of chocolate cake in front of the three of us. Their faces look empty and sullen, eyes dark and hopeless, as they nod and turn around and walk out of the room.

And I think I see just the very top of a tattoo on her neck sticking out from her shirt collar. I blink to look again, but they're gone.

"Liana!" Nolan whispers excitedly, "Do you think that was-"

"Don't be silly," I say, scowling and picking at dessert. "It certainly wasn't."

"It could be! Liana we could-"

"I said don't be silly," I snap at him coldly. "It's not her." I quickly stand up and mumble, "I'm not hungry."

"Liana-"

"I said I'm not hungry. Honest to God!" I try to steal a glimpse through the kitchen window, but tear my gaze away. It's not possible, we heard the gunshot. When I look back at my mentor, he winks toward the kitchen.

"What the hell was that!?" I demand angrily.

A hand goes up and traces over the scar on his cheek that isn't actually from the Games.

"Oh, relax Little Girl. I just had dust in my eye."