Now that the Reapings are over, I have about four days between now and when the Private Sessions happen. After that, Mom will call me to the Training Centre to have a personal interview with each tribute.

"It'll be a good opportunity for your future spouse to make a decent first impression," she tells me at dinner. "First impressions are very important, after all. And I want to be sure you are happy with the Victor of the Games."

6 hours. That's how long it'll take. Six hours of me sitting in a room listening to a bunch of tributes plead their case on why they'd make an ideal husband or wife or whatever. God, it sounds just so damn exhausting. But everything sounds exhausting these days. I even skip out on watching the Tribute Parade, claiming I'm way too tired for it. Dad doesn't make any comments, and just lets me go to bed early.

It's a flimsy excuse, that I know. But it's the only thing I have these days. Always just so tired to do anything, to get out of bed, to just be a normal and productive human being.

I can't help but pity my future spouse a little. They're gonna wind up stuck dealing with my depressed and lazy ass for the rest of our lives. Hell, even if I was into sex, we'd never be able to do it because I'd never have the energy to. If only overcoming depression was as simple as flipping off a light switch. I'd never turn it back on and live out the rest of my days finally feeling some semblance of normalcy and happiness like I did before I got the diagnosis and it felt like my whole world came crashing down onto my shoulders. Everything was normal until then. Nothing is normal now.

The Capitol is an advanced hub of technology and medicines that can fix so many things. But 150 years after the Dark Days, we still can't fix our minds. Maybe brains are just like that. They know how to solve every problem except their own.

Despite my exhaustion, I can't fall asleep. I just lie there, staring off into the dark confines of my bedroom. Much comfier than the beds in my dorm, but even so does that little to comfort me. I flop from one side to the other in frustration because I want to sleep but I just can't. And being productive? At this hour when my brain feels like literal mush? Forget it!

The next three days pass in a blurry haze, all of them the same level of uneventfulness. The tributes are obviously being way more productive than I am, given the fact that they're training right now and all I'm doing is lazing around. Finally, I fetch my laptop and open it. Maybe I should try writing some chapters for my Brick Warriors fanfiction. It has been a while since I last updated it, and maybe people will start to get bored if I keep this dry spell of no new content ongoing. I want to feel motivated to work on it, damn it. I want to enjoy my hobbies instead of them feeling like even more chores!

Except they do.

I make a half-hearted attempt to type something out. 100 words, that's all I need to write for today to feel like I actually accomplished something. I know, I know, it barely counts as anything, but at least I can say I was semi-productive today instead of wallowing around in my own pity. Look at me, I wrote a paragraph! That suddenly kills the mood and I slam my laptop shut in frustration before burying my head under my pillow.

Today is the final day of tribute training, which will involve the Private Sessions happening and then a reveal of the tribute scores later tonight. As per usual, Mom isn't home. She's rarely home these days, especially as it gets closer to the actual Games. Sometimes, I think she's more married to her job than she is to my dad. She really hates when we joke about that, so everyone is smart enough to keep that to ourselves around her.

I'm again making pathetic attempts to once again finish up a chapter of my fanfic when I hear Dad knock on my door. "Hey, Tati. Wanna come watch the score reveal?"
"Sure," I mutter. Why not? It's not like I was doing anything super productive anyways. I head downstairs, where my dad is playing something on the TV. It appears to be a look at the odds of certain tributes. As the scores are shown, I notice how high they are on average with only a few duds here and there. Huh, maybe that's what happens when you up the age bracket for the tributes. Adults are often way stronger than a bunch of 12 year-olds.

The scores end and we see betting odds placed up on the screen again. Dad looks at me. "Now that you're old enough, Tati, are you sure you don't want to see about sponsoring?"
"Dad, we can't sponsor."
"Well, we could ask someone to sponsor on your behalf. They offer that, you know."

"I'll think about it," I say, even though I know I won't think about it at all. I don't really care about sponsoring anyway. Not that it isn't helpful to the tributes who desperately need the gifts they are given, but I've never seen the appeal in basically throwing money at the television screen myself for someone who is one hundred percent going to die. Seems almost like a waste, which I suppose isn't a very nice thing to say.

Also, I have a nagging feeling I should probably take a neutral stance on all the tributes and play fair for these Games. Mom would appreciate that, me going in with an open mind. Seems like I care more than I really do.

Heading back up to my room, I return to my laptop and try again to start writing because the emptiness of my laptop screen is bugging me, desperately begging me to put some words down to fill it up. Instead, I find my mind wandering back to the Games, as it has lately.

I make up my mind right then and there. I'm going to be as transparent as possible when I meet the tributes tomorrow and tell them the truth: I don't feel interested in love or sex. Something in me says it's the right thing to do and there's no point in trying to lie when my own future is on the line. These tributes deserve better than that. My parents love to preach about the importance of communication in relationships and the like.

Will it turn certain tributes off? Possibly. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a few who actually want to be here and are looking for love as their final prize. But maybe if someone refuses to understand that it's just who I am, then they aren't really someone I want to be connected to in the first place.

Totally valid, my friend group used to say, but you never know unless you've tried it! You'll totally change your mind someday! Then they all go back to kissing their boyfriends.

"That's the fucking point," I mutter to nobody in particular as if I've forgotten I'm the only one in this room. "I don't want to go skydiving, but nobody's ever forced me to try my hand at that. Why does this have to be so different!?"

I decide to call it an early night and still spend several hours lying awake, tossing and turning. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. Maybe I'll be okay. Maybe it will suck. Maybe I will beg for the day to be over before it's even begun.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

I finally drift off to sleep with that as my final thought.