Dear Diesel,
Mom and Dad don't know I'm writing (because though they would be overjoyed that I am, they'd want to read every letter and neither of us would want that) but yes, I'm writing.
School sucks eggs. Feel lucky that you were able to escape it. So much studying goes into holding good grades here. And the more educated I get, the more I start to despise everything that surrounds me. Maybe that's just me, though.
Did you know that of the power intake made at District Five, the Capitol uses over 95 percent? Some Districts don't even have power for the whole day! Then again, I heard you're stationed in 12, so I guess you knew that already, didn't you?
I haven't been able to see much of my family or of yours. In fact, I haven't really talked to anyone here except for my flat-mate, and then again only occasionally. I guess I feel kinda lonely because I definitely don't belong here. I'm not really smart or dedicated enough to studying so intensely.
But, I'm going to keep on studying hard. Being a Gamemaker is my set future, and I honestly don't have much of a choice regarding the situation. So I'm going to work to make my parents proud. I wonder what Ike will do if I'm going to be the Head Gamemaker of the family. I don't see him doing much towards the Games. I haven't talked to him in a while, but he's really gotten sour since you left.
Anyways, now I'm just rambling because I'm pretty lonely. Whoops. Anyways, write me back, if you want. I would really appreciate seeing a letter from you.
Even though I will never marry you. Mom and Dad can suck my ass.
Your friend,
Santana Villanueva
.
Ah, Santana my Lovely!
I can honestly say you are the last person I expected to get a letter from. But I'm mighty glad to see your handwriting anyways (because it's hard as fuck to read my sister's!).
District 12 sucks ass. Unfortunately I haven't really been able to do much towards making it better. The people here are pretty gross, actually. I'll say that I have met a few diamonds in the rough (no pun intended. AHAHA) around here, but those ones are tough nuts to crack.
Mark my words down, my pretty. I will crack them. Just like I cracked you. Aha, remember that?! It seems like so long ago I woke up to your pretty little face. You know, if you ever wanted to appease your parents, we COULD get married. Not the conventional kind, of course, I like to think I'll never be tied down to just one person. But we could be married on paper.
Love sure is strange, isn't it my dear? I've never been in love before, of course, but I've watched it unfold in front of me. It's weird, how love will nip you on the bud. I've become stronger than love, though.
Anyways, I'm sure glad I was able to get away before I had to go to school. My grades suck ass anyways. It sounds like you're determined to do it, and if you're determined then I'll be here cheering on. When you become famous I'll be able to say I knew you when we were just young teens. And then I'll marry you for your money. Ahaha, what a life THAT would be!
Well, tell the group I said hello. And write me when you're lonely, because honestly I'm pretty lonely as well (but if you tell a single living soul that I will know and I'll come after you with my weapons).
Until next time,
Diesel Bundren
P.S. Also, is your roommate hot at all? By chance? You say you're straight but you can judge it, I know you can. Get back to me on that.
.
Diesel's POV
I was just 13 when Sharon started making me take dance lessons and attending her friends' stupid parties. Mary Catherine immediately wanted to go, and be all princess-y in the stupid poofy dresses and learn how to dance and search for a prince to carry her off her feet.
At 13, I already had a hunch I wasn't straight, but Mary Catherine took longer to figure that out about herself. But that's a whole other story, and now's not the time for it.
Anyways, we went to this stupid party. It was the first one I'd ever gone to, after taking so many dance lessons. I'd say I'm good at dancing, but not… great.
We went and Sharon immediately went off to talk to her friends, introducing us and showing us off to anyone that would listen.
"Bryan here is quite the ladies' man," she was saying, "And Mary Catherine is so beautiful and creative!"
My middle name is Bryan, and I never appreciated the fact that Sharon never called me by my first name. But, again, another story.
"Oh, they're just precious!" gushed Sharon's friends. All I knew to do was be smiley and polite with them. Mary Catherine did the same, making them laugh with her cute little girl antics.
Sharon kept showing us off to people until we reached a family with a gushing mother, and girl about our age hiding behind her mother, and a little boy hiding behind her.
"Oh, aren't they just the sweetest things!?" the mother said, shaking my hand and patting Mary Catherine's head."
"And yours are just adorable," Sharon returned. Then she put a hand on my back. "Diesel, this is Mrs. Villanueva and her kids. Santana there is Mary Catherine's age, and a very suitable match for you. Won't you take her for a dance?"
I didn't really want to but just smiled politely. "Yes, of course I would." I put out a hand to the hiding girl.
"He's going to dance with you, Santana. Go on." Her hand was shy and cold and light and smooth against mine. Now or never for those dancing lessons, Diesel…
"No!" the little boy said, as I took his sister out on the floor. She glances back at him, looking worried.
She avoided looking at me at first, and luckily for me she sucked at dancing more than I did.
She had dark tan skin and brown eyes, and wavy, bouncy black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had some make-up on and one red streak in the cascading curls of black, but other than that had no altercations. As for me, the only thing I had was contacts at the time, bright blue ones.
I swept her around the floor, trying to ignore the couples that stopped to gush at how cute we were.
"What's your name again?" I remember it but I figure that's the best place to try and start a conversation.
"Santana," she says quietly, staring at our feet and not looking up.
"Nice to meet you," I try, "I'm Diesel."
"Hm." She keeps looking at our feet.
"I don't like these parties." I confess. I know I should try to be gentlemanly but who cares? I'm still a kid, practically!
She crinkles her nose. "I don't either," she says. "They're boring and full of old people."
I laugh. "Yeah, exactly!"
She glances up but right past me, at her mother and brother. "My little brother hates them. He wants to play with his friends."
"He's cute. How old is he?"
"Five."
"Five? That's nice."
"I'd quite like to get back to him."
"Just please the parents, Love."
"Okay, that nickname dies now."
"Aw, why!? It's cute, Love."
"I will literally knee you in the balls. Don't test me."
"I don't know if I believe you."
"I will not hesitate to punch you in the face."
"That's nice, Dearie. How old are you?"
"Eleven."
"See? You wouldn't hurt a big bad thirteen-year-old, now would you?"
"I won't hesitate to do so. Age doesn't matter."
I laugh. She's fun, I like this girl. I don't really want to date her like Sharon seems to be implying, but I like her. She's my sister's age.
The song ends and Santana is quick to escape me, heading back to her mother and brother. I follow, and find Mary Catherine.
"Mom left me and told me to find people my age," she says, looking around. It's a big room and a lot of people. It's really scary.
"I know someone your age!" I say cheerily. I take her over to see Santana, who also lost her Mom. Her little brother, a small little kiddo with messy blonde hair and dark eyes, looks up at us, inching closer to his sister.
"Aw, he is cute!"
"You." She doesn't really sound thrilled.
"Yeah, it is me! This is my sister Mary Catherine! I just call her Katie, though."
"Hi," Santana says, putting an arm around her brother.
"Katie, this is Santana and her little brother."
"Hi," says Mary Catherine. The little kid waves a bit.
"What's your name, then, Pipsqueak?" I ask, kneeling to his height. He's so damn cute!
"Ike," he mumbles.
"Nice to meet you, Ike. I'm Diesel. I'm going to figure out how to have fun at these lame-ass parties and get back to you on that, how's that sound?"
"Don't swear," Santana says, giving me a cold look. She's pretty deadly-looking for an 11-year-old.
"Oh, right, my bad."
"He's heard worse," Santana sighs. Ike doesn't cling so close to her anymore, so that's good.
"Food!" Mary Catherine says, pointing at the banquet tables. "Let's get ourselves some food!" she says, jumping around.
"Yeah!" I do love food. Together, we all four walk to the tables. And oh Lordy, desserts everywhere! A child's paradise! We all filled our plates and ate happily.
Yeah, when I was younger I always enjoyed desserts at parties. As I got older desserts turned to getting absolutely wasted off of fancy champagne.
~.~.
Santana's POV
"This is so not a good idea." I still can't believe I even let him get this far.
"It's a goddamn awful idea but you're not saying no," he says, his voice all growly. He pins my hands down to the bed, and I push him off.
"This isn't a good idea," I say, my voice edged. "Don't make me castrate you."
"Look," he says, breathy and close to my ear, "Our parents obviously want us to get married and have a bunch of babies together. And you and I both know thatmorning buddy we are never going to let that happen because you're a prude and I'm not ever going to be tied down. Especially not to the likes of a prude like you."
"Okay so this is wrong get off me."
"Hear me out."
"Suck my ass."
There's a pause. "Wait do you mean that literally or not? I can't tell."
"Of course not literally you ass!"
"You say this is a bad idea, but all I hear is that you're just afraid."
"I'm not afraid."
"Aaawww, you little prude, you're scared because I'm too much for you, hm?"
"Of course not!" I roll over but his grip is strong.
"You virgin. It's adorable. If you want anyone to take you seriously around here, just do it. Don't be afraid now. That's not the Santana I know…"
"Maybe I just don't want to end up pregnant-"
"Oh, please. Don't bore me with that excuse. I've done this enough, I know how to be safe. C'mon, Santana." He sucks around my neck and whispers against it, "Give me one good reason why not."
"Because I don't want it?"
"You say you don't want it, but I still hear that you're just scared. Why not take the risk? When it's all said and done, nobody will be able to call you a prude or a virgin. Or a goody-goody. People will respect you. And I'm good with first-timers. All you have to do is surrender to the pleasure."
"Diesel-"
"As a last fuck you to our parents before I'm gone."
I pause. He's not going to stop. Besides, I can't have him think I'm afraid.
"I'm not afraid. But-"
"You say you're not afraid, so all I hear is an invitation to proceed."
I stop fighting it.
.
"Fucking hell!" is what I wake up to. "What the he- Santana, Mom and Dad- oh my-"
"Sh! Ike, shut up!" I would get up to shoo him off but I don't have any clothes on.
"What the… I thought you guys were just wrestling or something! B-But…!"
"Ike, shush. Please. I don't need this right now, okay?"
"B-But-"
Diesel rolls over and his eyes open. I groan to myself. I wish he would've stayed asleep. It would've been much easier to strangle him that way. Oh well, at least I'll get to revel in the light leaving his eyes as he slowly chokes under my grasp.
Ike looks stunned.
"Oh. Morning buddy!" Diesel says.
"Don't morning buddy me! You just… Er…"
"I fucked your sister!" he says cheerfully. I can't take it anymore. I pounce onto him and punch him right in the face, smashing his nose in. He groans and I do it again for good measure.
"That's for being an ass."
"You liked it though!"
"Shut up!"
"I'm just going to go get breakfast now…" Ike says. He stiffly walks out of the room.
"Will you help me now?" Diesel asks nasally. I laugh in his face.
"You're asking if I'll help you, but all I hear is how much you want punched in the face again."
"Oh my God."
I laugh a little bit before collecting my clothes. "You say oh my God but all I hear is a proclamation that you're an ass!"
"You say I'm an ass? You're the ass here."
"I'm going to get breakfast. You can explain to Mary Catherine why you need to go to the hospital for your nose."
He sticks his tongue out at me. I leave to have breakfast with my family.
.
Diesel:
I hear that you are making eyes at the tattoo artist from 12. All I can say is if he breaks your nose, you completely deserve it. Manipulative ass.
But, you're also a friend so I'll keep writing to you even though you're disgusting.
I hear you've got a thing for that Turner kid, and I have to say don't get your hopes up. He wouldn't know love if it hit him on the head. Besides, he doesn't seem like one to be tied down, especially not to the likes of someone like you.
Anyways, bitterness aside, I don't like college. I'm not going to tell you if my roommate is hot because I don't trust you to keep yourself in line. Maybe District 12 is what you need to be less of an ass all the time. (Did I say bitterness aside? Yeah, I didn't mean it.)
I've been buried in books and assignments and papers, so I haven't had much time to talk to anyone. I'm going home for our Games break, but I have at least five different essays on the Games to write so I have a lot of work cut out for me. Other than that, things are okay here. I've been trying to talk to new people but a lot of them don't take me seriously because I don't have a lot of color on me. Just the red streaks, and reddish contacts. You know.
Anyways, I haven't really been able to make friends, which is why I've resorted to you. I'll update you with how things are doing at home when I get there to see for myself.
-Santana
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Santana, my Lovely:
So nice to hear from you. Things here are, uh, interesting. But there's some quality liquor at the bar, so that's something this stinkhole's got going for it.
The other guys are nice, and they're really nice when they're drunk. They're very receptive to my many bar shanties, and are very good learners. I quite like to hang around them. We don't do very much law enforcement, but that's perfectly okay with me because I didn't come to enforce law like some hero, I just came to drink and hang out and get away from Sharon and the rest of the Capitol, which I did.
Also, there is no THING going on between me and Viridian. He's my friend, just like Vienna is my friend, and you're my friend. Not that I haven't thought about fucking my friends, but still, there's no stupid "love" involved. I'm stronger than love, remember? I'm not going to be tied down. I already told you that.
Anyways, I'll be anxious to hear about the others. Mary Catherine doesn't go into much detail.
Oh, my love, I know you must be absolutely dying for me to come back to you. Precious jewel. Ahaha, this is too much fun!
-Diesel
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Diesel:
Things seem to be getting kind of heated up over this whole 74th Games drama. Things at home are pretty good. Mom and Dad are still awful, but Ike hasn't let them get to him.
He got his first razors the other day because he asked for them. I didn't think he had facial hair enough to need them. I guess he just wants to be a man in hopes that he'll get to escape Mom and Dad earlier.
I watched the Games but I barely got to enjoy them considering I had so many papers to write analyzing them. The plot twist of the century! Two Victors! God, it made writing those papers so easy. So, how are things in 12 after their amazing double victory? Write something smart so I can quote you in my paper. Even if you don't write something smart, I'm going to pretend you did for credit. Write back, and make it coherent for once in your life!
-Sanatna
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Santana-
To put it simply, everyone is currently freaking the fuck out. There are happy people everywhere. It's as if any sadness died the day old Seneca Crane stopped them from their double-suicide. I honestly would've rather there have been no Victors, just to see the look on everyone's faces. Or, even better, Katniss kills the blonde prude and we can buy her out back at the Capitol. That'd be cool too. But no, they're a pair, not for sale. Whatever.
Okay, now something smart. God, I don't know. You of all people know I'm dumb as a stump. Put whatever quote you want for me in your paper, and I'll pretend I said it. Good? Good.
Anyways, the atmosphere around here is so much brighter and cheerier. Lots of drinking to celebrate, which is all good with me. More drunk people means more bar shanties.
Tell Ike I said hello and I hope he's doing well. Ruffle his hair for me. What a cute kid he is (in the not weird way, this time).
Write me back! -Diesel
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Diesel:
Your seemingly-intelligent quote got me a high B! That's pretty damn good considering I can't really write for crap. I've got a Games history major named Ross McCafferty editing my papers for me. He's nice but he's a mean editor. You should see the first draft of my paper.
Anyways, I'm back home for break and I'm writing while I have a chance to relax wtihout any interference. I usually pretend I have a lot of hard studying to do and my parents leave me alone to do as I please. I don't think they can access my grades… I hope not.
I haven't gotten together with Mary Catherine since arriving home, but my parents are forcing us to go to a party tonight and I have a feeling she'll be there.
Oh, and another thing. I told Ike what you said to tell him. He wrote the other letter in this envelope. But, he made me promise not to read it, so I have no idea what it's about. I suppose you should respond to him in a separate letter (but what's so big and bad he has to hide it from me? If he bad-talks me, you have to say!). Anyways, have fun with your alcohol and bar shanties.
-Santana
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Dear Diesel,
I write to you because you're the only person I feel like I can trust right now. I really really hope you won't tell anyone about anything I write to you in this letter because I don't want any of them to know. I'm too afraid and weak for anyone to know but you. You're the person I've chosen to trust in, please don't let me down. I wish you weren't all the way in 12, I could really use someone to talk to in person right now and everyone here is just too scary. Anyways, the point of the letter. I have a question to ask you.
How do you know you might be, uh, not straight? I'm so embarrassed I'm close to death writing this to you right now. But I have to know because I've been just now realizing that I'm probably (er, most definitely) not. I just… It's confusing and I'm scared. My parents aren't very accepting people, and Santana just freaks me out. I don't have any other friends or family.
I just want to know how you know for sure. I'm too scared to figure it out. Also, I have questions about gender, too, because sometimes I don't feel… I don't feel fully a boy. I'm just kind of scared and I'd like to see a letter from you.
The best regards,
Ike Villanueva
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Santana-
Ike's letter was just a cute little innocent question about puberty. Did your Dad even teach him how to shave?
Anyways, I saw the two Victors again the other day. So happy and gooey. It kind of makes me sick, watching them. Sometimes I'm not sure if it's romance or just bad acting. But, why would they threaten a double suicide if it wasn't true loooove?
God, it makes me sick. Love makes me so sick. I pity the fool that falls in love. It's not a good time. It hurts, and you're completely dependent on someone else and what they think of you, and every time you see someone that isn't them you know it's not right.
Honestly, I pity the person that wastes even a single second on winning the affections of someone else. I, of course, am stronger than that. And I honestly had hope that Everdeen would be, too.
Oh, well. You can't win them all, can you?
-Diesel
.
Ike-
It's nice to hear from you! I'm not very good at consoling people but I'll try to do my very best.
You always have a friend in Mary Catherine, and you'll always have one in Santana, too. You don't need to be afraid of them.
Anyways, onto your question. I'll say that I knew it from a young age, for a long time. I saw boys that were just as beautiful as any girl. I wanted to date certain boys that caught my fancy, and be swooned by them. Usually people can pinpoint their first crush on someone of the same sex, but I couldn't place it to just one. I knew it for a long time.
Coming out was the hard part for me. I didn't do it for a long time because I was too young and afraid of being kicked out. I thought maybe I could outgrow it or someday I'd realize I was wrong. So, I kept quiet. For a very long time. Mary Catherine was the first person I came out to, and in return she said she was having doubts as well. I made her promise to let me come out to Sharon (damn Sharon, I hate Sharon) and Bud before she did. So I did. It was rocky, I'll tell you that. I caught Mary Catherine doing things to herself that even thinking about now make me sick. I won't preach that whole stuff to you because I don't think you need it. Basically, it's a long and rocky road, but it's worth it. Don't be afraid of it.
As for the gender stuff, I unfortunately won't be able to give you much advice. I've always been happy with who I am and the body I've got. I'm sure you could find someone to help you, if you only branch out and talk to people. I can't do that for you, kid. Sorry.
I wish you all the best on your journey and hope that you'll write to me when you're more comfortable and things are looking up.
Cheers,
Diesel Bundren
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Diesel:
I'm sorry if this letter isn't all neat but I have to write. I don't care if it's going to be stained with tears.
Something terrible's happened, Diesel.
Ike is dead.
Nobody was expecting it, but he's dead.
I guess he needed us more than we thought. He was damn good at using a facade. He had everyone fooled into thinking he was okay. That he didn't need us. That he wore that oversized hoody all the time because he was just cold. I wish I had seen it earlier.
He was wearing a T-shirt when he jumped off that shutter. I think it was just so that we could all see the red cuts that littered his arms.
He wasn't using razors for shaving, Diesel. He needed us and nobody saw. Not you, not me, not anyone.
He's gone now. We're all having a funeral. Mom says that the Victory Tour would surely be something to look forward to in order to raise our spirits. But nothing could console me, Diesel. He's really gone, he's really dead. We're really having a funeral tomorrow morning for him. He was so young, Diesel, only 14.
If only I had seen through his acting. If only I had paid more attention and not shooed him off. I failed as an older sister and it will haunt me for the rest of my days.
It was such a shock to see him up there, his feet dangling peacefully in the first autumn breeze. Mom and Dad said they were going to go up and pull him back inside. But I shouldn't have believed them, Diesel. Part of me knew they were lying, but the other part held onto the hope that they would save him.
I should've gone, Diesel. I shouldn't have just stood on the ground and begged. I should've gone up and made sure he never jumped. I was just waiting for Mom and Dad to pull him back inside, and just like that he jumped. It was all over the news. Mom and Dad are hopeful that my name in all the papers will help boost my status somehow with the pity. But I don't need anyone's pity, Diesel. I'm stuck in a cycle of self-loathing and I can't believe I was so self-centered. In a time where my little brother needed me. I will forever have failed him as his older sister, and that's something that will never go away. Even now I sit by myself, in my room but wearing that sweatshirt (it fits me considering it was so big on him). I'm stuck in a depression of grief and sadness and anger, and I don't know where to go. So, I decided to write.
Mom and Dad told me to go to bed so long ago, so all I have is the light of one lamp writing this to you. I can't sleep because I've been plagued with nightmares, seeing him falling and seeing the body, being covered in his blood trying to get him to wake up, to stay with me until we could help him…
I know I just have to keep going, of course. That's what he would expect me to do. Live without him. But it's going to be hard. He was a part of me, and now it's nothing but a missing piece. I figured you might not know what to say but telling you about it is helping, in a weird way. I guess it's nice to have the burden off my chest for a while. To write like someone is listening.
I really want you to come home safely. Will you be home soon? I doubt they'd let you come home for the funeral… Besides, by the time you get this it'll be weeks after tongiht. But tomorrow's going to be such a long day. It's already 1 in the morning and I haven't slept a wink, nor do I want to. I've tried, but it's not happening. Why else would I be sitting here, writing this?
Write back or don't write back, it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore but my brother. And he's gone. We didn't know he needed us and he's gone.
Gone.
-Santana