A/N: THIS STORY HAS RISEN FROM THE DEAD XD lol. I think I'll do one more chapter of it and then either make another sequel story or just post stuff on the blog. We'll see. Anyways, Ritter still doesn't belong to me. He belongs to Ass- sorry, Jess. XD If anyone's reading this who doesn't know (which I doubt but eh), Wetstar is the one you're looking for if you enjoy Ritter AKA Shit son. Anyways, here we are.

Bronx's POV

Dammit, he's giving me that look. That look that makes me squirm. He doesn't know it but when he gives me that look my heart feels like it's going to pound out of my chest.

"Bronx, man, you okay? You look like someone's cooking with chocolate in the next room."

"Huh? Yeah, sorry. I was just… Dozing." I'm such a liar. But, heh, in the big scheme of things, this is honestly the smallest lie I've told him.

"Anyways-" he continues on with his plan for us to hang out at this really cool place he found. He goes back to giving me that look.

What does that look mean? Is he thinking something that's going over my head or he is just being friendly!?

My name is Bronx Stringer, I'm 16 years old. By day, I'm a student in school, quiet and shy, overlooked, always tired, sometimes a bruise here or there that everyone ignores. By night, I'm one of the top dogs of the black market.

I'm a smooth liar usually, and good at playing innocent. And the only people that know are my loyal clients, and they won't rat me out because without me, who else is there to give them what they need? If you're just willing to get your hands dirty a bit, you can get far.

I grew up with a Mom that spends her time drinking and a father that preferred to believe I didn't exist. I was sent off to be independent and fight for myself when I was pretty young. I had to go to some desperate measures. I was good at getting what they wanted, and I'm paid well for it. And no one expects a thing. What could go wrong?

"So, what do you say? Are you in?"

Oh yeah, something else: I'm horridly bisexual. Lemme tell you, being captivated by someone you don't even know swings your way isn't great. In fact, it's truly horrid.

"I'd love to, but I don't know. I might be needed at home."

"Let me know." He gives me that look again. "I have to get back home, the parents are expecting me, but I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?" Ugh, why is he so pretty!? It's so unfair!

"Y-Yeah, okay."

"See ya." He takes his bag and slings it over his shoulder, giving me one last look before he goes.

Ugh.

I'm great at figuring people out. I read people like books. So why is the one person I want to read more than anyone also the one person I can't read at all?! He's the only person I've ever met that I don't have figured out. It drives me nuts. He drives me nuts.

Trekker Tidwell. He has perfect tan skin and perfect brown hair that he flips out of his eyes and every time he does I forget to breathe, and perfect freckles across his nose, and a perfect smile and a perfect laugh and perfect eyes oh my God his eyes. They're the most interesting color I've ever seen in my whole life, this beautiful deep shade of teal, and they sparkle when he's excited and they're bright and I want to look into them forever and they're so much better than my stupid murky, swampy green-brown eyes. Ugh. And on top of that, he's sweet. That's the absolute worst.

Everyone loves him. You can tell by the way everyone looks at him, everywhere he goes. You can tell by the girls that twirl their ponytails when he approaches them, or the way he smiles at someone and they blush and watch their feet, you can tell by the way he makes a joke and his eyes squeeze shut when he laughs and everyone is smiling at him and there are all kinds of red ears. You can tell by the way he compliments people and they start laughing and as soon as he's gone go off to tell their friends. You can tell by the way everyone buzzes around him when they announce a school dance, you can tell by the way everyone gets so nervous around him…

That's why it really sucks.

Because I don't have a shot in hell. And since he's such a good friend, it's always going to feel like I do.

I collect my stuff, really wishing I'd been smart and protected my heart better. Now we're going to go hang out together at some cool landmark or something that Trekker knows and we'll be alone and he'll be so close and I won't be able to do anything about it. Ugh.

I walk back home, sighing to myself. I'm in deep, probably too deep for my own good. But there's no way I'm getting out now.

.

His eyes are closed, the lashes twitching, my eyes slide shut, our noses bump and I can feel him breathe. My lungs burn and my heart pounds and his lips are soft and he tastes sweet and nothing could ruin this moment right here and now. He smiles, shitting hell, he smiles and I feel it, and I smile and I don't ever want to lose the sweet taste and the feeling and the softness of his mouth.

All too soon it's gone, but he's smiling and his eyes are right there and level with mine and he's still so close.

"Sorry." Why is he apologizing!?

"H-Huh?"

"I… I probably should've asked first."

"N-No… It's fine." I still don't know why he had the whole school, practically the whole District to choose from and he chose me. That doesn't make sense at all.

"I couldn't quite read how you felt about me but… Big risks pay off sometimes, right?"

"Yeah…" He smiles at me and I smile back, a bit. "But… Why me? I mean, there are so many other people that-"

"Because they don't make me feel like you do. Simple as that."

"Oh." Before I know it, his lips are pressed against mine again, and I feel like I could die right now and be totally satisfied.

We don't do much talking after that.

~.~.

"Aren't you young to be buying drugs?" I raise an eyebrow at the guy in front of me.

"Not too much younger 'n you."

"What's your name?"

"Rinehart. Nolan."

"Nice to meet you, I guess."

"Yeah, sure."

"What're you getting away from?"

"Huh?"

"Come on. Nobody comes here wanting drugs unless they have something they want to get away from. What are you getting away from?"

He rubs the back of his head. "Mom and Dad," he says quietly. "They suck and hate me. Like, a lot. Not afraid to give me a whoopin', right? Not like I have any friends or family, right? That's what I'm gettin' away from. What do you get away from?"

"I don't do the things I sell," I tell him, causing him to hold money out to me. I give him what he wants in exchange.

"You think you'll ever get into it?" he takes out the needle, trying not to look nervous.

"No way. I have no reason to."

"Hm." He holds it over his elbow and swallows hard.

"Is this your first time ever?"

"Is it really obvious?"

I nod a bit, "Yeah, I'm good at telling the first-timers. No worries, though. I don't judge."

"So what, you just spend all your time here as they come and go?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Doesn't that get quiet? Lonely?"

"Sure, but what does it matter? I still profit from it."

"Do you mind if I hang out here? I… Really don't want to go back home."

"Uh… No. I don't mind."

"Okay." He takes a seat and leans against the wall. I wonder what I've just gotten myself into by allowing him to hang here. He looks pretty grateful, though, rubbing that same spot on the back of his head as he slowly starts to feel the buzz.

Oh well. What's the worst that can happen?

~.~.

"We need to talk."

I'm being dragged into Trekker's house before I can protest. This definitely isn't the good kind of "we need to talk," and Trekker's not himself. In fact, he seems kind of… Super pissed off.

"About what? Trekker, is everything okay-"

He slams the door to his bedroom and throws something at me, that I recognize as soon as I see it. "What the hell Bronx!?"

I can't make myself do anything but stare at the bag of drugs in my hands. "Where did you get this?"

"My friend bought it from you!"

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach and suddenly I feel quite cold. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play stupid with me Bronx! Why don't you try to be honest for once in your life!?"

"Trekker, that's the only thing I've ever lied to you about, and for good reason!"

"When were you going to tell me then? When you're up on the stage being whipped and killed? Huh?"

"It's not like that!"

"You could be killed!"

"So? I do what I have to do! I don't even use what I sell so why does it matter?!"

"Maybe because I confided everything in you!? Ever hear of the word trust!? Or honestly!? Huh!?"

"I was going to tell you when I was sure you weren't going to hate me for it!?"

"I wouldn't have hated you for it! I hate you for not telling me this and having me be absolutely gobstruck when my friend comes up and says he bought some drugs from my boyfriend!"

"Who told you?"

"I'm not telling you or else you'll take it out on him. I thought I could trust you but apparently I don't know you at all!"

"You do know me though-"

"I know you in the daytime. What else could you be hiding from me? How am I supposed to trust you after something like this?!"

"Trekker-"

"Everyone always jabs at me because I'm too quick to trust and too quick to invest myself into someone else. I guess they were right."

"Trekker, wait! Look, I do what I have to for money, but-"

"You obviously think that it's worth the risk of death! And you weren't going to tell me for how long?!"

"It was for your own good that I didn't tell you."

"Because you knew I'd be worried for your stupid ass!"

"Because I come from a broken home already, and everyone already hates me for that, let alone that on top of it all! Listen to me, Trekker, I'm not just running around selling to people because I want the risk. I do what I have to do. If I don't, I'll most certainly die, and I don't want to die! I don't want to take tesserae, I'd rather sell with the risk of death instead of having to kill with a risk of death! Why would anyone with a mind want to do what I do!? It's hell!"

"It doesn't matter why. You still didn't tell me. Don't you think that's kind of an important thing to tell the guy you're in a serious relationship with? Have you ever stopped to consider that I might be at risk?!"

"I'm careful about it-"

"But what if!?" He looks at me, looking like he's going to start sobbing out loud.

"Trekker, please-"

"Look, you're in a lot of shit, I get that. But when I was in a lot of shit, I told you everything. You know things about me that not even my parents know, not even my friends know, not even my siblings know. I brought it all to me and you never thought to tell me that you're a fucking drug dealer what the fuck!?"

"I… Trekker, please…"

"I think we should just… Be friends." He chokes as his eyes pool up with tears and he turns away from me. "If even. Just leave me, alright?"

"Trekker-"

"Go." His voice has taken on an edge. "I'll see you on Monday."

I leave, my heart feeling like it's split in two. I put the drugs in my pocket and drop by my house to pick up my stock and my gun before going back out. I tend to my clients as usual, but in the night find myself with some time alone as things are closing up, and I get to thinking.

Right now, anything seems better than this heartbreak. I get a needle out of my stock and decide that just one won't cut too much into my profits. Anything to get away from here. I decide that just once doesn't hurt. One night where I get totally high as the sky won't change anything, will it?

I clean off the needle and hover it over the crook of my arm. Needles make me nervous, and the thought of me injecting something into myself makes me feel sick.

But every shitting time I blink I see his face. Every time I take a breath it hurts, like someone's sitting on my chest and choking me off of air. My heart pounds and my hand shakes and I know this isn't right, deep down I know it, I shouldn't, it'll ruin me, but I can't stop myself. I press the needle into the crook of my elbow and push down the plunger, praying, pleading, wishing it'll take me somewhere better than here, hoping that somehow, some way, it'll make me forget.

~.~.

Eventually, a couple of girls decide to start rivalling my business, and they quickly become popular because not only is their stuff cheap (for drugs), but they also have breasts. I know Ryann Blackwood, she's a whore, quite literally, and I know that because she used to hang out around my clients. As for the other one, I don't recognize the name when Nolan tells me. I don't think I've ever heard of her before. Liana Finley.

She plays innocent, something I used to be great at. Since then, though, it's become harder. I can't pretend I'm not an addict, because I am. I can't pretend I don't get into fights, because even if I try the scar that tears down the right side of my face will always be a reminder. People don't really know I deal, they think that my parents caused the injuries like Nolan and that's how I got hooked, but I can't pretend I have nothing to do with it anymore.

I come prepared now, more than ever, gun always ready at my side just in case, wearing a trench coat with lots of pockets. Everything's become so much more high-risk now. It's just another normal night, after the big influx has dissolved. Nolan hasn't come around, but I assume it's because he's buying from the girls like he does sometimes.

He stumbles over, shirt draped over his shoulder, shoulders and back bleeding like a son of a damn.

"Nolan!" I pocket the drugs and go over to him, but he takes me by the shoulders, his eyes alight with panic, usually messy blond hair sticking up all over the place. "Bronx. Someone gave a lead to the Peacekeepers. Th-They made me crack, I'm sorry I broke but they're coming you have t-to go… I sent them on a wild goose chase but they're going to find you… Get out of here…"

The news knocks the breath right out of me. They did this to him… Now my life really is on the line.

"A-Are you going to be alright!?" I ask him.

"Go! They're done using me, just go." He looks serious about it too, so I take off.

I pull the gun out of my coat, hands shaking. If I'm going to die tonight, it's certainly not going to be by the Peacekeepers' hands, that's for sure. I'd rather die under the bloody smudges of my own gun than die by the Capitol. Tears push at my eyes, damn-ass tears, of course, now at all times, because the memories of Trekker come back to my head, and everything flashes before my eyes as I run, looking for a good place where they won't find a dead body.

Just when I'm sure I've found a private place to just do it, I notice too figures that make me look up. My heart stops again.

"Bronx Stringer." The girl with dark, curly hair and red lips looks ready for a fight.

Son of a shit… Of all people!

The blonde girl, Liana, nudges in closer to her partner, hissing something that sounds like "he's armed."

"I… I found Finley and Blackwood… Have you always been back here?" I can't even think of what I'm saying, nothing is processing right now, my heart's still pounding and my eyes are still tearing over.

"Of course. Why didn't you just ask Rinehart?" she looks at me like I'm scum on the bottom of her shoe, just like I feel.

"He's useless when he's high," I tell them honestly, trying to choose the right words while trying to fend off the ghosts of my past that are practically screaming in my ears.

"He's useless when he's sober," she says, and she laughs a little bit, a sound that puts me even more on edge.

"Whoopie doo, you found us. Now what?" Liana, who I thought would be shying away, gets right to the point, causing my hands to shake even more because I'm not about to admit to them everything that happened.

The older, taller girl steps in front of her head and looks as frightening as a panther. "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." I know she's not joking, because I was going to blow my brains out, not theirs. My hands shake and I wish I had never found them or anyone, I should've been smart and just done it earlier.

"W-Wasn't gonna use it on you," I stammer out, before I turn around and take off, away from there, heading back home. I put my gun back in my pocket but am ready to use it on myself if I get captured. I run until I make it home, slamming the door and locking it and running up to my room, putting every single shitting piece of furniture in front of my door, sitting against it.

And I sob. I sob into my hands, I yell and scream, I melt down. Trekker's yelling at me again, everything is happening so fast…. I don't care if my parents are sleeping, I don't care if they beat me up later for waking them, but I can't hold it in anymore. I can't hold it together. Not after what just happened. I sit in front of my door, shaking, waiting to feel them trying to kick it down and get through my furniture barrier. I curl up into a tight ball and scream my lungs out, until my voice shakes and breaks and I have to hack every time I try to use it.

I stay there, curled up, shaking, quivering, not able to control the tears, and I stay like that all through the rest of the night. Not the first time I've ever pulled an all-nighter, but the longest few hours I've ever experienced.

It can't be any worse than this. It can't be.

The worst is yet to come.

.

Soon I find out why they didn't pursue me too closely that night: Ryann Blackwood is taken up on the stage and publicly executed. Her partner melts down.

I don't know what makes me go over there and try to comfort the girl. Everyone murmurs about that poor girl and how she's not taking it well because she's just so innocent. What imbeciles.

Maybe it's because the memory of my meltdown is so fresh. I know what it's like to keep up such a cool exterior for so long. And that one moment when everything explodes is the absolute worst. Nolan is there for her too. He's really a good guy.

The blondie was going to run up there and risk her own self-destruction. For what? For nothing. She needs to stay here. Nolan knows it too.

Liana breaks down as they drag Ryann away, who screams every curse word to exist, and then we all hear a shot ring out. Now, I'm pretty familiar with what gunshots sound like, and that's not exactly it. Maybe I'm just thinking weird. After all, the perfectly pristine, cool Liana Finley is sobbing in my other ear.

That's why it's a surprise when Nolan is smacked with a newspaper by a screaming girl who looks five or six years younger than us. She gets us quickly away from Liana, and we both stumble away from her, the other blondie screaming after us to stay away from her best friend.

It's kind of funny. In the worst, sickest, most morbid way. I laugh a bit.

Liana, she's smarter than I am. She lost the one she loved, but she's still able to play innocent. Much unlike myself. I crumpled, after all.

Every time I say it can't get worse, it does. But surely things will start to look up soon.

There's no way things can go to hell now… Right?

~.~.

I sit in front of the screen, watching Nolan be killed by the boy from 7, right in front of Liana's eyes. I feel sick. I want to run into the Arena right now and shut it all down. This is the longest I've gone clean for, and it's been absolute hell. A cannon shoots as Nolan falls dead. Liana goes, away from the 7 boy. So fast, too…

The person who was sitting next to me gets up, his screen having gone black. I try to control the shaking, looking over at him. The room is silent, the other Victors watching their tributes like nothing happened. This is only my first year mentoring and now I've really been left on my own.

I jump up, shattering the silence. "Ritter!" The 35th Victor turns back around. I trip over my feet, stumbling, quivering, trying to make sense of everything. "T-This is my first year mentoring, y-you can't leave me here!"

He shakes his head at me. I know he's used to it, but I'm not. I knew Nolan and I liked him, I like Finley… I owe it to Liana to have her come out alive, after Ryann was killed in my place. I stare at his eyes, completely glazed over of emotion, probably from his building such strong walls from him and the tributes he has to mentor.

My arms and hands shake from where I have them, gripping his shoulders tightly. Pleading him not to go. I'm not ready to be clean for this long. I'm not ready for any of this. "Please…"

He just shakes his head at me, his face not showing anything. I let him go, and I want to kick him right in the balls. Does he not have a heart?! Does he not care anymore!? These are people from his District, and they want to come home just like he did! He's going to leave her with me! I can't do anything! He knows it, after all. I spent the whole first week pretending it was a nightmare. I can't do this on my own, he knows it, and he's just going to go!

I clench my teeth, going back to my chair and sitting down, sending him one last glare, staring at the screen with Liana on it as a parachute I'd approved this morning goes down to her.

I watch as the evening goes to night. They turn off the lights of the room, but I don't notice the mentors have all left until I feel a tap on the shoulder. When I look up, the 36th Victor is there. His eyes look sad but other than that he shows no expression. "C'mon. We're all going to go get some sleep."

"You're just leaving?" I ask him, looking back at Liana on the screen.

"We can't do anything more for them until tomorrow morning."

"I'm not going."

"You're going to have to sleep sometime." My hands are shaking again, and I long for the familiar feeling of an injection that will send me away from this hell. There's a reason I always want to be high, after all. I don't want to be here. Without the drugs to help me, I can't sleep. I'll wake up screaming from a nightmare and Maximus will yell at me.

"No. I don't."

"It gets easier."

It's probably much easier when you didn't personally know the people you're mentoring. When you don't feel responsible for killing off everyone they loved. Yeah, it's probably much easier then.

"I'm not sleeping," I say again, this time with an edge in my tone. I don't care how much time Ritter spends with this guy, I'm ready to beat him up. Then again, I'm ready to punch Ritter, too. Leaving me in a time of so much need. "I'm staying here. For my tribute."

He smiles, but his eyes look slightly teary. "Alright. If you insist, I can't force you."

"You won't."

"I'm not trying."

"Even if you did try you couldn't."

"Alright. But I'm quite tired, and 10's on watch, so I'm getting some sleep-eye. If you'll excuse me." Gio Piccozzi turns around and goes, tripping over a chair on the way and muttering, "Dammit Pontifex and Dream, quit doing that!"

I'm left alone. I quiver, but my eyes don't leave Liana on the screen. I don't care that she's sleeping, every second I see her breathe is worth staying up.

I don't know how long I sit there, in the dark, by myself, digging my fingernail into the crook of my arm and pretending that by some miracle I can get high off of it.

"I'm going to get her home," I say, my voice shaking and barely audible as I watch her chest go up and down, up and down. "I'm going to get her home for you, Nolan. And for you too, Blackwood. I owe it to you. Even if I'm alone." I'm so fucking alone. Painfully alone. But that doesn't matter now. Victor's life is hell, but it's life. It's Finley's only option. My only option is to get her home. "I promise."

I hear footsteps come in, and don't look up. My eyes are still glued to the screen in front of me, and I'm still pretending I can be high, this time with the pen we use on the touch screens to approve sponsor requests. I feel something warm and heavy being draped over my shoulders, and wrap the blanket around myself tightly. The footsteps leave. I don't care if they sounded like Ritter's, I'm still mad at him. Besides, maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was Gio.

Whoever it was, the warmth feels good. I feel exhausted, but I don't sleep. I go in and out of a daydream-like doze the blanket tight around me, eyes not leaving the screen.

The next thing I know, the lights are on and the room is full again and there's the smell of breakfast in the air again.

"Aren't you going to get breakfast?" somebody asks me, but I shake them off.

"No. I'm not. I'm not leaving." Rico from 4 gets me a plate anyways. I munch on a crescent, eyes not leaving the screen.

I'm not going to give up Finley. I'm going to get you out alive.

~.~.

"Are you drunk, Bronx?!" Ugh. I slam the bottle down on the table, not enough that it breaks but enough that it makes a noise.

"Of course I'm drunk! When am I not?!"

"Drinking is just… Horrid. Ugh, the house reeks! You're lucky to have your life and you're throwing it all away!" I wish I could travel back in time to when a younger version of myself decided that I might as well make sure Liana's younger friend is accounted for and wealthy, now that I got Ryann killed and Nolan died and Liana was killed when she was so close to Victory. I figured that marrying Nina would help with the survivor's guilt. It didn't.

I told her straight-out about my tie to Liana. What's she going to do now? Call the Peacekeepers? Newsflash, they're already well-aware that I'm trouble. And they can't do anything now about Liana anyways. She's dead.

"I don't do it to throw myself away, I do it to forget! You have no idea what I've seen and you never will!"

"Bronx-"

"I'm not quitting. How many shitting times do we have to have this conversation? I'm not quitting."

"What happens when you die from it in your 30's!? Huh?! What then?!" She puts her hands on her hips, giving me a death-glare and flipping the golden blonde hair over her shoulder.

A smile pushes across my face. She'll never understand the experience of hell I've been through. I'll never forgive myself for all the shit I've caused. I'm the only one left. I bitched things over with Trekker, I couldn't make anything of myself. I'm such an assing failure. It's really great.

"Tch. Then I get what I deserve, now don't I?"