TW for mentions of plague in the first POV, and one brief mention in the second. I'm always happy to summarize; your mental health comes first.
Luz Contreras, 15, District Nine Female
She misses Asa, more than she can fathom. Misses his smirk, his bright eyes, the way he says her name like it means everything. She cannot stand the memory of his wild eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks as he turns away from her. He'll come back. He has to come back.
Luz can hardly bear the silence. She's struggling to keep her head above the tide of grief. But Luz knows she has to think logically, to strategize.
Still, she can't help but feel frozen as she stares out at the half-open doorway, weighing her options. It's not as if she can go after him if he doesn't want her there; but then, perhaps it will be for his own good. She's not letting him die on her watch, that's for sure. She refuses their last interaction to be his shattered eyes, her pleading as he runs away from her.
It was a very Asa thing to do. Running away so that she'd be safe. But it doesn't mean she's not worried for him, sick and alone in the Arena. One of the plague's symptoms is delirium; has it set in yet?
Her mind has been going in circles like this ever since the shock wore off. Worry for Asa's well-being, frustration at his misguided sacrifice, grief at his leaving... she cannot make herself move, can't make herself think.
He'll come back. He has to come back.
He'll always come back.
It's driving her crazy, this problem that she cannot solve, this break that she can't fix. She can do nothing for him if he doesn't come back to her; this Arena is big and dangerous and Asa Trevino is good at hiding.
But on the other hand, she can't just sit here and let him die. She has no idea how long he has left. What if she sequesters herself in this hut, stewing and spiraling, until Asa's dead and there's nothing more she can do?
Her mother would kill her.
Luz curses herself for such thoughts. She's never felt so powerless before. He could already be dead... a cannon sounded sometime around midnight, and she has no idea whose it was.
It very well could've been Asa. Luz feels her anxiety squeeze, vice-tight, around her throat, and she lays back against her mat, focusing on a single point on the ceiling until her breath calms and her world realigns.
She just has to think. But all she's done is think for the past day, and it's gotten her nowhere.
A rustling catches her attention. With effort, she pushes herself back up, turns to the doorway... a shadow is at the threshold.
She scurries across the floor and grabs her bottle of poison from the small arsenal of medical supplies. It can't do much in a desperate battle, but it's all she has.
Asa took his knife. She's not sure if he even realized he'd had it with him.
She grabs a lantern, part weapon and part light source, and swings it around to focus on the invader. When the shadow begins to solidify, Luz feels herself lifting from the ground, stretch out her arms.
"Asa," she whispers, her voice choked by tears.
She does not let them fall. Asa is here, rumpled and tired-eyed, with his dark curls in his eyes.
He pushes them back, only for them to fall into place, casting a shadow over his eyes. He looks scared and hesitant.
"Hi." His voice, too, is breathless. They stand in disbelief of each other for a moment.
"Are you okay?" Luz says. She's already stepping forward.
He falls back a step, looking troubled. "Luz—"
"I thought you were dead," she continues on. "Is it really you?"
"Luz," he says, a little more firmly this time. "It's okay if you hate me. I can leave again if..."
He looks truly uncertain, as if he really doubts that she'd let him in. Although, she can't see it like that. Knowing about the way Asa's been treated throughout his whole life, she can understand why he might be afraid that he'd be blamed for everything.
And it does hurt, and she does feel deep regret, but none of it is truly aimed at him.
"Look at me," she says gently.
It takes him a long time; she waits patiently until his hazel eyes rest on hers. His fingers fiddle with something small, but he's otherwise still.
"I knew you'd come back," she says softly. "And I could never hate you. None of this is your fault."
His face crumples, and she's never seen him look so battered and fatigued. Her arms are still open; she's waiting for him. Luz learned a long time ago that she can't heal Asa's heart; she can only help him along. He has to do some things himself.
"Are you sure?" he says, his voice barely above a breath.
She nods. "I have never been more sure of anything. I love you, Asa Trevino. Let me help you."
He lists dangerously, and she remembers the plague weakening his body. She's crossed the distance between them in moments, and she's there to catch him when he leans into her embrace. He's shaking, always shaking, but she holds him up as he cries silently into her shoulder.
"I was just trying to do the right thing," he pleads. "I want to save you."
"I know."
"I'm sorry, Luz."
She sways back and forth, a lulling, rhythmic movement. She waits a long time for his breathing to even out, murmuring things that neither of them hear. They're both tired, a fatigue that runs so much deeper than physical exhaustion. But when they've both found their ground, she guides Asa to the floor, and they sit propped against the wall, holding each other.
"I thought I'd lost you," says Luz.
Asa nods. "Me, too."
She has to know.
"Why did you come back?"
Asa gasps, as if remembering something. He opens his hand, where a small vial rests in his palm. "You have to drink this."
Luz is immediately skeptical. "What is it?"
The feverish energy has returned to his eyes. "Just drink it. It makes you immune to the plague."
She takes it. "Asa, are you sure? Where did you get it?"
He hesitates. "The marketplace."
Asa doesn't lie to her. Although... she lied to him, so she's not sure what to trust now.
She opens the vial, wafts its scent. If there's one thing she knows about, it's medicines. This has a sharp tang, an aroma she's never encountered before, but it smells safe enough.
"Drink it," he says. His eyes are desperate.
An alarm goes off somewhere in Luz's head. There's something wrong here, something she's missing. But Luz is tired, and her mind is foggy, and she'd probably do anything Asa wanted if he just asked, she's so glad to see him again.
So she brings the vial to her lips and drinks. She's almost swallowed all of the contents before she realizes what was bothering her so.
She chokes on the last few drops.
Asa had only been carrying one vial. Which means...
Asa's hands are clenched into fists. He looks terrified... again. Any sense of peace they'd salvaged has now completely faded.
"Did you drink this?" she says urgently. When Asa flinches, she smooths out her voice, though it takes effort. "Asa, you already drank one, right? Or you have another one?"
She surveys him again. Spots are still blooming across his skin, and they've now reached his forehead. He is definitely still contaminated.
He looks away; he doesn't answer.
Luz feels hysteria building behind her eyes. "Asa."
"They only had one," he says.
"Who is they?" she persists.
"There was a woman at the marketplace. She said that... she told me the antidote might not work on me. Now you'll never get it. You'll never get sick. Luz—"
The grim reality settles over Luz quickly; she has never practiced denial.
"But you'll die, Asa! Why did you do this?"
"I wanted to save you," he repeats. "I thought... I thought that maybe you could fix it."
But they both know that's not true. Luz should've realized... she should've known he'd do something like this.
And for a moment, she's angry at Asa Trevino, a hot bright flame that surprises her with its ferocity. But then she lets her vision clear, and she looks at him, curled in on himself in the dirt, eyes red from crying. He looks poised for a blow, resigned to her anger.
Foolish, earnest Asa. How can he love her so much and value his life so little? How could he do something so brave and so stupid?
She feels her anger cool into grief. Luz knows the facts, cold and concrete: Asa will die. There's nothing she can do about it. But his time is short. And Luz doesn't want to spend it seething.
Because as much as she hates the decision he made, there's absolutely nothing she can do to change it.
Finally, she speaks, and she's relieved when her voice carries no trace of negative emotion. "You're exhausted. You need to get some sleep."
Asa stares at the floor. "I'm sorry—"
"I know."
She peels his mask away from his face and guides him gently to the floor.
His eyes are already falling closed, but she catches his quiet explanation. "She told me you would live longer."
She throws the threadbare blanket over his shivering body and pulls out the salve she got from the marketplace, methodically applying it to the spots that dot his face. Half-asleep, he winces in pain, and she murmurs an apology. His skin is discolored, and he doubtless has some kind of infection. A crushing sense of hopelessness drags her down as she applies a disinfectant, cleaning him up as best he can.
So he was tricked, fooled by the Gamemakers for sport. This was all a plan to get one of them killed, likely for the drama of the heartless audience watching, and Asa unwittingly played right into their hands. Luz feels her anger rise again, but this time it's not for Asa.
She turns towards the door, stares out into the arena, up at the sky where they're watching her.
"I hate you," she says, soft enough not to wake Asa, but she's sure that they can hear her. "I hate you all. Why would you do this to us?"
As much as she's battled it, the tears finally spill over and flow down her cheeks in harsh, hiccuping sobs. She buries her face in her shirt to try and muffle the sound, but she can't stop crying. She's sad, and she's angry, and she's tired, and she's helpless. So she cries, long and loud, into the silence of the uncaring world.
...
Callisto "Cal" Novella, 17, District Five Male
He has no idea what to do next. He feels useless, worthless, and most importantly... sisterless. What is he supposed to do without Colby? What has he ever done but trail after her and try to clean up her messes, try to keep her alive? And yet he's failed. So now he isn't sure what he's good for.
It's been a long time since he had any semblance of identity beyond his love of philosophy. Nobody has asked him what he wants for so long, he's forgotten to ask himself. He's forgotten what it means to have things like desires and dreams; he tells himself that all he wants is to save Colby, or to find the absolute truth.
But now that Colby's dead, none of it seems to matter anymore. His mind runs through the bitter, inevitable things: if he wins, his parents will hate him. Their business is failed now, their empire disintegrated into nothing but sand slipping through fingers. Cal would never be able to deceive and charm as Colby did; he has nothing to go back to, nobody to love or be loved by.
All he can manage to do is read and read until the world blurs behind the curtain of words. And he thinks he might read forever until he fades into the folds of history, if not for the crying. It jolts him out of his stupor; it is harsh, and despairing, and desperate. It's the misery of a young girl, the depths of a soul combined into one heart-wrenching wail.
But, most importantly, it is loud and jarring, a flailing red flag in a silent city. It's honey that will undoubtedly draw a swarm.
The wouldn't be right to leave her to her demise. Somebody has to calm this nameless girl down before she's discovered. And Cal could very well sit here and stare into his book, let philosophy envelop him, but he also knows that would be hypocritical. One cannot simply study something without acting on it; a wish is only brought into reality with movement.
Besides, this feels like a purpose. Like a second chance. And Cal is too much himself to ignore someone else's plea for help, no matter how much danger that might put him in.
Not that he cares much about dying anymore. He lives or he dies... either way, he's doomed.
So he walks out of his dreary hut, clutching a book in each hand, and blinks in the drowning sunlight. He gasps in a breath of fresh air. The sobbing is intensified now, ugly and untamed, the kind of crying that bubbles out of you without rhyme or reason. You can't stop it; you can only let it sweep you away. Let the tide take you.
But Cal hasn't cried like that in years. He at least has the sense to mourn silently. Not that he'd call this Tribute stupid; one shouldn't be shamed for their emotions.
Though he supposes that a death match isn't the best place for them.
He hesitates, steals another breath, then crosses the small space between the huts and ducks into the doorway. The dying light reveals his silhouette, and the girl slowly turns, as though she knows she's being watched.
Her tears die with a hitched breath. She stares at him, looking slightly dazed, before her expression hardens. She grabs a lantern and brandishes it menacingly.
He actually steps back—the expression on her face is threatening enough. He holds up his hands, which is difficult with the heavy books, and all at once he chastises himself for making such a rash decision. His attempt at a noble deed will probably get him killed by a fifteen-year-old.
And she doesn't look much older than that; serious face, dark hair, her shoulders hunched with exhaustion. It's then that Cal notices the boy sleeping beside her. His curls spread across his forehead, and he could almost look peaceful... except for the spots. And the flush of his cheeks, the shivering of his body beneath the ragged blanket.
Cal backs away further. "I'm sorry..." he tries, the words feeling sticky and inelegant in his throat. "I just... I heard you crying. I didn't want..."
He trails off as she trains her gaze full-force on him. It's a serious gaze, a considering gaze, but not a murderous one.
Still, he cannot help but be scared for her.
"Who are you?" she says.
"Callisto," he manages. "From Five."
Her eyes light up with recognition. "Oh. You're one of the twins. Your sister..."
He stares at the ground. "She—she's—" And he can't say it. He can't even say it because then that would mean... that would mean he's well and truly alone.
Something softens in the girl's gaze. "Are you alone?"
Perhaps his emotions aren't so hidden after all. He nods, chagrined.
She keeps looking at him, with that gaze that's both gentle and careful. "What do you want?"
He stares out at the sunset. "I... I just want to do something right."
There's a long silence. "Are you lying to me?"
Cal shakes his head firmly. "I don't lie."
The wariness leaves her gaze. She studies him anew.
Finally, the girl sighs. She looks very tired, very shaken. Then she gestures at the sleeping form.
"This is Asa.. he means a lot to me. But he's sick—he's dying. And I think it might be contagious."
Cal takes all of that in.
"I could use some help taking care of him. Would you be willing?" She hesitates. "You're free to go; I won't hurt you."
What does he have to lose? Isn't this what he's always wanted to do—make some kind of difference, do some kind of good?
So he just nods.
The girl watches him with new respect. "You should come sit down, then," she says softly. "Are you hungry?"
He shakes his head, though he supposes he's missed a few meals. But he can't just take this girl's food.
She holds out a hand. An echo of the same ravaging sadness that he's become newly acquainted with haunts her gaze. "I'm Luz. You can stay as long as you want. Thank you for your help."
He takes her hand, and she guides him into the room. The hut is similar to his own; two thin mats and a dirt floor. They sit together on the vacant mat and watch the rise and fall of the boy's chest.
Watching them together, Cal remembers their interview. How they talked about each other with such deep and certain love—their bond is simple and sweet and unbreakable. He'll never have that with anyone now.
But if he can do something for somebody else, if he can save another doomed pair from the mistakes that he made, maybe everything will be a little better. Maybe this emptiness clawing at his chest will ease.
Or maybe he just needs someone else to walk this place with him. Of course, he knows nothing of Luz or Asa, but he knows that she accepted him into her shelter, and that means something.
They sit for a long time, taking in the gentle silence. Finally, Cal notices Luz's drooping eyes, her nodding head. She looks barely above sleep.
"You can sleep," he says softly. "I'll keep watch."
She smiles wryly. "Maybe in a bit. But I think we should talk first. Also... I don't want something to happen while I'm out." She glances at Asa, eyes fluttering beneath his lids.
Cal nods. He understands. And that's enough for now, in a strange and unexpected way.
...
Felicia Simmons, 16, District Eight Female
She moves in a kind of trance, barely aware of where her feet are taking her. She collects all of their supplies and leaves the body of Buck Taurean behind. She sneaks to the stage and hides behind the curtain. She barely breathes throughout the day, waiting for somebody to find her. She watches a group of young Tributes meet and then leave; they do not see her. To Felicia, that's a miracle.
They should've noticed her. They should've killed her.
Perhaps she should be more distraught; a lover left behind, screaming and throwing herself over Buck's body. But then again, the girls in the fairy tales don't kill their true love. And their true love doesn't try to kill them.
So maybe Felicia has it all wrong. Maybe Buck was the villain, and she a damsel wrapped into his deception. Perhaps she did a brave thing, killing him.
Still, maidens are not supposed to murder people. That's the job of the chivalrous prince that comes along just in time to save her.
But there was no prince. There was only a knife, and one desperate girl with a choice to make.
Or maybe... A swell of nausea washes over her. Maybe Felicia was the villain, and Buck the hero. Maybe she was just a stupid girl, poisoned by infatuation, who was in the way of the much more logical boy, who did not have time for a maiden and her foolish fancies. Maybe he should've killed her; perhaps she was meant to be a mere obstacle in his path to greatness.
But that's not how it is. As much as Felicia longs for something else, any other reality that she can't even name, she cannot escape the one she's in. As much as her soul feels like it's floating in some dreamland, she can no longer deny the truth that creeps in from all sides.
No more daydreaming for pretty little Felicia Rae Simmons. No more chances. She is broken, unlovable, irredeemable.
If Felicia is lucky, her own incompetence will kill her. She's stupid, she's airheaded, she's only got her looks...
But she's finding that hard to believe now. Because as unsavory as it is, she ended someone's life yesterday. She is, undeniably, capable of murder.
That's a fact. It's not a fantasy, like her little fairytales. It's real.
Felicia hugs herself tight, pulls her knees to her chest until she feels too small for her bride dress, which billows around her. She feels too small for the world. Perhaps if she bundles up tight, the world will forget about her, and she'll sink through the stage and into the Earth to join Buck—
The click-clack of heels is much closer this time. Felicia seals her lips, keeps herself from yelping or fainting or any other such thing she might've done, had things been different. Instead, she stays calm, watches the sharply-dressed man stride across the stage and recite his piece.
"Four days gone now, young players, and the stakes grow ever higher. The noose is tightening. One more life has succumbed to man's darkest depths. Which one of you will succumb next?"
Dread pools in Felicia's throat like bile.
"A farmer, who thought that his win was secured/B whose trickery bought him an act most impure.
"Young ones—did you think that you could emerge unscathed? Beware, for no act goes unpunished. If you emerge from this pit of vipers, you will be a butterfly instead of a caterpillar; though I think that metaphor is slightly too sweet for the horrors that await, don't you?"
He sweeps off the stage, disappears to whatever place he came from.
Something flutters down from the sky, landing with the softest sound at Felicia's side. It is an envelope. Addressed to her, from Buck.
She snatches it up, some eager, lovestruck part of her starving for the words that are inside this letter. Part of her wishes for sweet nothings, a love professed from beyond the grave.
But if Buck ever did love her, that would make Felicia's crime a hundred times worse. And if he did have feelings for her, why would he state the opposite? And why would he come to her with a knife in the night?
Some logical, emotionless part of Felicia emerges, a girl she never knew, a girl she doesn't like.
The letter either contains false promises or excuses, or perhaps outright lies. And Felicia doesn't want justification. She does not want apologies. She wants everything to be undone. She wants to start over and chose a different boy, or perhaps... perhaps choose no boy at all.
The thought sends a shudder through her whole body, a reflex that rejects the very idea of that. But beneath all of that is a quiet buzz, a feeling of giddy exhilaration. As if she's hit something true.
She gazes at the letter. A few teardrops land on the paper, making it fragile and marred, just as Felicia is.
She stares out at the stage, as if making sure nobody sees her.
Then she tears the letter to pieces, envelope and all. She tosses them out into the curtains, where the wind will likely pick them up and take them far away.
And when Felicia tears that letter, something inside her rips too. It's an unclean tear, a gut-wrenching tear that cleaves her very self in two.
Felicia flops onto the floor, and she lets herself tremble and cry until sleep pulls her under.
...
Heyyy! School is extremely stressful, as always, but I have an update for you! I hope you like it? We have lots of angst, which I must say, I kinda like writing. Does that make me evil? This chapter was very bittersweet, as we had a reunion for Asa and Luz, a new leaf turned over for Callisto—whose found a new purpose—and a turning point for Felicia. Deep thoughts? Theories? Complaints? I accept any and all feedback lol.
Next up: day 5, part 1! I'll try to get it out in time. Right now, it looks like we're right on schedule, but who knows? Also, I'm reading Hamlet for school, which seems fitting for this Renaissance inspired Arena. Man, if I could write like Shakespeare... anyhoo, I hope you are all having a lovely week! Let me know if you're as sleep-deprived as I am lol; stay well out there!
Much Love,
Miri