#But I'm glad twelve year old me was confident about it lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foreveralwaysanauthor · 2 years ago

Text

Scattered Screams (Part 7/12)

January 25, 2023

Notes - I really want to post the next part, but I have to write part 9 first and, to do that, I need my laptop, so just picture me screaming nonsensically at my currently dead laptop and you'll get the gist of how I'm feeling today lmao

The more you love, the more you suffer.

The lights of the Capitol will only highlight every tear that threatens to burn past my glittering eyelashes, so I try to take slow, deep breaths as I fight back the thoughts of my untimely demise and the sinking feeling that, even if I were to make it out of the arena with Riven and Royce, my love story with Royce could never work. I’m not from the Capitol where love can pass district lines. Mick and Butchy’s relationship is a prime example of that. Even before Mick’s supposed death in the arena, they couldn’t even talk to each other outside of radio broadcasts and the train deliveries Butchy made every week. Even if Royce did love me and even if we did make it out of the arena alive, a love like ours could never survive under the scrutinous eyes of the Capitol’s resident assholes. We would have eyes on us for as long as we live. I wouldn’t want that for him. He deserves far better than that.

Despite my inner turmoil, I have to sit patiently and politely through the rest of the tributes and their little falsehoods, watching them play one angle or another while I still desperately try to keep up appearances. I hardly pay attention as Lexi, our supposed ally from District 7, rambles on about some girl she likes, but I still try to pay attention since she’s potentially one of the few people who won’t be aiming for my head in the arena. As Lexi takes her seat and her twelve-year-old fellow tribute, Rigg, takes the stage, I spare a glance at Juliet, who smiles back at me before turning back to Carrie to say something. I squeeze Riven’s hand and send him a small grin that he answers by rubbing his thumb in circles on my hand and smiling back at me. Now and then, I distract myself by leaning forward just enough to see Royce past the tributes that separate us, but he only returns my glance once with a beaming smile. From what I can see, Royce isn’t wearing the earbuds from his brother, which I suppose is a good thing since the Gamemakers supposedly believe they’re noise-canceling, but his perfectly coiled curls could easily hide them if he wanted to wear them.

I hardly pay attention as the rest of the tributes go about their interviews since none of them are particularly noteworthy anyway, but I do note that Erica makes herself favored as the only girl from one of the lower-ranking districts to have a lot of confidence, showing that she isn’t afraid of anything the stronger, faster tributes could throw her way. She did earn herself an eight, after all, and I doubt they would have given her that for nothing. After the rest of the tributes finish playing up their assigned roles and the male tribute from District 12 returns to his seat, everyone on the stage and in the audience stands for Panem’s national anthem. I can’t help spotting a few screens that show either me and Riven or me and Royce. It isn’t hard to tell that we’ve become their newest fantasy; the young lovers and their faithful protector. The little love story Royce and I now share, no matter how unrequited it may be, is now all anybody will talk about, even after our untimely deaths in the arena. Once the anthem is finally over, the tributes file off the stage in the order of our districts and we flood the Training Center’s lobby.

Erica and Jade come over to me with identical smirks, applauding me on a job well done. While Jade stands aside with a proud grin, Erica cackles mischievously and teases me nearly as much as I suspect Riven will once he gets the chance, but her jokes subside as Lexi joins the group. She doesn’t say much other than mentioning how I even took her by surprise with my accidental confession, but she tells me she was glad my feelings were reciprocated so quickly. I don’t think quickly enough to tell her anything other than a quick thank you and, before I know it, she’s called over to the elevator by her escort.

“Sorry about her,” Jade sighs as the doors to the elevator close. “Lexi’s got a lot on her mind lately.”

A genuine look of confusion floods Erica’s face as she turns to Jade and asks, “Since when? She’s been like that since we met.”

Jade looks ready to answer, but chooses to shake her head and turn back to me and Riven with a sigh, “Good luck tomorrow, you two. I wish you all the best.”

“Same to you,” Riven nods.

“Yeah,” I tack on, “good luck.”

Jade nods and heads for the elevator after wishing Erica a good night, but Erica doesn’t follow. Instead, she turns to us and sighs, “I don’t know about her sometimes.”

“Which one?” I try to joke.

“Either, honestly,” Erica chuckles. “Lexi wants to be with us, yet she refuses to let us get close. Jade is hot as hell, but is far more people smart than she is book smart.”

“Guess that comes with the territory of being a Career,” Riven says with a shrug. “Most of the Careers this year aren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed.”

“You can say that again,” Erica says with a smirk.

I slap a hand over Riven’s mouth before he gets the chance to literally repeat himself. Mischief blossoms in Riven’s eyes and, under my hand, I can feel his mouth tugging into a smile. “Don’t you dare,” I snarl. Riven’s hot breath hits the palm of my hand before the wetness of his tongue does, but his childish move is effective as I quickly pull away with a noise of disgust. “Ugh, you absolute ass!”

Riven and Erica laugh at me as I swipe my slobbered hand on Riven’s shirt. Riven taunts, “Well, you shouldn’t have dared me, you little shit.”

“That was such a dick move,” I huff. “I’ve never done anything bad to you.”

“Says the one who dyed my dog pink by bathing him in ketchup.”

“He was sprayed by a skunk, what else was I supposed to do?!” I ask incredulously.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Riven begins, mimicking my tone, “use the tomato juice like I told you to!”

Before I can fire back, Erica laughs at our petty argument. With a look in her eyes I find difficult to decipher, Erica smiles and says, “I’ll see you guys in the arena. Have a good night.” Confused by her sudden departure, Riven and I wish her goodnight and watch as she joins the rest of her team in the elevator. I glance around the lobby to see who is still lurking around and find that, as Serena from District 4 stomps her way into an elevator, we are just a couple of the handful of people still waiting around.

It isn’t long before Royce joins us, looking particularly exhausted. Riven chuckles, “What happened to you? Get mauled by the paparazzi or something?”

Royce shakes his head, sighing as we head toward the only elevator nobody has occupied yet, “Serena happened.”

I don’t bother disguising the eye roll that begs to be seen, “What did she want now?”

The smirk on Royce’s face is enough to tell me the redhead did something stupid, but the way he pitches his voice to mimic Serena’s high-pitched, whiny tone only makes the situation that much more hilarious. “To tell me I’m not in love with you and that I must be confused.”

Riven and I don’t bother hiding our laughter as the elevator begins to move. As the lobby below us begins to shrink, Riven asks, “You think she had a crush on you or something?”

“Most likely,” Royce shrugs. “She was always trying to hang around me and acted like she was the best in training whenever I was near her. I don’t see why she would pick me, of all people.”

My mouth works faster than my brain and I don’t stop myself before the words just start tumbling out, “Probably for the same reasons I like you.” Royce’s eyebrow raises and, deciding to just continue as though nothing happened, I shrug and add, “You’re smart, kind, you handled yourself really well in training, you’re connected to your mentors and the tributes from last year, and, to top it all off, you’re cute. She’s probably just mad she didn’t get to play her story around having a crush on you like I did.”

Riven is quick to mask the smirk on his face with a hum of agreement as the elevator slows to a stop and we reach our floor. He places a hand between my shoulder blades and gives me a gentle push toward the door as Royce and I just stand there like a pair of idiots, staring at each other wordlessly. “You’re probably right, Pip,” Riven says, guiding me out of the elevator with a smile before turning back to Royce. “We’ll see you tomorrow, kid.”

Royce seems to snap back to his senses as the elevator dings, forcing him to nod back at Riven. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Once the doors close and Royce is rocketed up another three floors, I allow my head to thump against Riven’s chest as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “That was so stupid.”

“It was,” Riven agrees with a soft chuckle, “but the way you said it could come off as something a friend would say. Don’t beat yourself up just yet.”

As Riven leads me to the living room, I sigh, “Easy for you to say. You didn’t just confess you liked someone before heading into a death match.”

“True,” he says with a smirk, “but I’ve done my fair share of stupid shit and stupid shit is almost always forgotten after a few days.”

With a scoff, I shake my head, “Well, one of us will probably be dead in a few days, so let’s hope you’re right.”

I feel Riven’s gaze on me and I don’t dare meet his eyes as he lets out a heavy sigh, “What happened to making it out together and getting some horses?”

“I’m still holding out hope,” I quietly tell him. “It just feels like our chances of the three of us getting out alive are getting slimmer as we get closer to going into the arena.”

Distantly, I hear the elevator ding as we sit on the couch, telling me the others have arrived in the corridor as Riven takes the opportunity to quickly kiss the top of my head. “We’ll make it out just fine. You just need to relax and trust that I’ll be there for you.”

Meeting Riven’s gaze is difficult since I’m so ready to prattle off about all the muddled thoughts that fill my head, but the confidence and sincerity in his hazel eyes seem to dull the tsunami that rages on in my head. He’s right and, as much as I hate to admit it, I know he is. I need to relax and trust that he can handle whatever comes our way. With Riven’s calm, collected eyes still locked on mine, I give him a nod and say, “I’ll always trust you, Riv.”

With a beaming smile, Riven squeezes me to his side and says, “That’s my Pip.”

We don’t get the chance to say anything else to each other as Halo enters from the other room with a smile so blindingly white that I’m sure her teeth must be fake. “There you two are!” she giggles, making her way to us and perching herself on the coffee table. “Dinner will be served in a little bit, are you going to change into something more comfortable before we eat?”

I peer up at Riven and we share a shrug before nodding to Halo who smiles as Riven says, “Wouldn’t want to get such fancy outfits all covered in food.”

“How right you are,” Halo chirps, clapping her hands together and offering us each a hand up as she rises from the small table. Once we’re on our feet, she all but shoves us toward the hallway and it isn’t long until I’m handing Riven the jacket I’ve had around my shoulders and disappearing into my room.

My shoes end up kicked aside by the end of the bed and my feet sing in relief once they’re gone. The hair is easy to untangle once Bissette’s stick is out of the way, but I’m surprised by just how many pins it took to hold together the ends of my braids. -Once my hair is down and I’ve shaken it loose, I move onto my dress which, sadly has no instruction manual to help me figure out how to take it off. It’s difficult to see what’s behind me on the dress and feeling around blindly does nothing to help me get the laces of the dress out, but once I settle in front of the mirror, I’m able to untie the bow that rests against the bottom of my spine. Thankfully, Juliet enters before I get too tangled in the strings that have held the gown together the entire night, taking the silky strands from my hands and loosening their hold on me with expertly quick fingers. In the mirror, I can see Juliet smile behind me as she says, “You were incredible tonight. From what I heard, you and Riven have earned a bunch of potential sponsors.”

“What about Royce?” I ask. “Did Carrie say anything about how he did?”

Juliet’s eyes find mine as her smile turns blinding. “He’s doing just as well as you two are. The way things seem to be going, your districts will have better odds than the Careers for the first time in a long time.”

The smile that blooms on my face doesn’t last long as my floundering thoughts get the better of me. “But there’s still no way to call off the Games, is there?”

I feel the need to apologize as Juliet’s expression falters, but she quickly brushes it off with a shake of her head and helps me out of the dress as silently as she helped me into it earlier. Once I’m free of the emerald fabric, Juliet sits on the end of my bed and allows me to change into a pair of shorts and a loose, flowing shirt as she says, “I don’t think there’s a way to stop the Games until you’re in the arena, but I have some ideas that could help you.”

As soon as I tug the shirt over my head and pull my hair free from under the collar, I make my way over to where Juliet has perched herself and say, “Any help is good help at this point.”

Juliet nods, pulling a thick elastic from her wrist and pulling her hair into a tight ponytail at the crown of her skull. “Well, the Gamemakers almost had to call off the Games last year after the incident with Kona’s tracker. They claim that they’re still investigating what happened, but we all know that isn’t true, so if you can find a way to trigger the cannons by either draining the battery or cutting it out of your arm, there’s no way for them to track your movements in the arena without broadcasting the fact that you’re still alive to all of Panem.”

“Do you really think something like that could work?”

With a shrug, Juliet asks, “Remember the guy from Six a few years ago who started eating the people he killed in the arena?” Of course, I do. I think everyone in Panem remembers him. His name was Titus and they had to electrically stun him a few times to get out the bodies of his victims before the Gamemakers eventually killed him in an avalanche. My parents made my siblings and I go to the other room to play a lot during his time in the arena, but it was impossible to not hear what was going on. With a shudder of disgust, I nod and Juliet continues, “Well, he supposedly killed one of the other tributes by slitting their wrist open, but the cannon went off when the tracker came out.”

“So, it just appeared that they were dead?”

“Exactly.”

The idea of anyone cutting my arm open just to remove my tracker makes my stomach clench and my skin run cold - I don’t handle blood well. “I could always drain it like Kona did, right?”

Juliet shrugs, “I suppose, but I figured that, in the event that there are no devices to drain it with, cutting it out wouldn’t be hard since it sits not far under the skin.”

She’s right, it would be easy. I just don’t want to keep thinking about it. “Makes sense,” I tell her. “Is there anything else?”

“Two more,” Juliet says. “One: if you get to the end with Royce and Riven, use the Capitol’s love for you three against them. The Gamemakers need a victor to keep the people happy, but if the Capitol loves all three of you to the point of protesting the Games, maybe the Gamemakers can make something happen. I’ll work my dad down as much as possible from the outside while you work on the Capitol’s heartstrings on the inside.”

She makes it sound easy. Three out of twenty-four making it out alive would be a slap in the face to the president and all the high-ranking officials that run the Games. The chances of the three of us being crowned are slim to none, but I desperately want it to come true, so I’ll take Juliet’s words at face value. “I can make that work,” I tell her.

Juliet takes my hand in hers and smiles as she says, “I know you can.”

After sharing a small smile with my stylist and friend, I ask, “What else was there?”

“Well,” she begins, “I overheard Mack and Brady talking with Riven about a plan to get you guys out when the time comes.”

That must have been what they got so quiet about when I came into the room. I hadn’t wanted to pry if they were going to tell me eventually, but I didn’t want to think it had anything to do with me. For once, I’m glad for the Capitol’s habit of promoting privileged, unbridled gossip. It’s helpful whether Juliet realizes it or not. Slowly, I bring myself to nod, take in a deep breath, and ask, “Do you have any idea what they were going to do?”

“Not really,” Juliet sheepishly admits. “They were pretty much done talking by the time I joined them, but I know for a fact that Riven said something about a tracker, and Mack and Brady promised him they were going to do whatever it takes, so take that as you will.”

If there’s one thing I know about Mack and Brady, it’s that they’re people of their word. If they promise you something, it’s as good as gold. If they told Riven they would help get us out of there, they’ll do it no matter what the cost. Mack and Brady are like another set of parents to me and Riven, and they have been for years now. I don’t doubt they’ll do whatever it takes to save me, Riven, and possibly Royce from the Capitol’s razor-sharp claws. For the first time in a while, it feels as though the elephant that had stepped on my chest at the reaping is finally lifting its foot. Relief floods through my veins, warming me from the inside like a cup of hot cider on a crisp autumn day and, finally, I feel like I can breathe again. As Riven knocks on the door and asks if we’re coming to dinner, I find the tension in my shoulders lessening and I call back that we’ll be there in a minute.

Turning to Juliet, I bring my arms around her shoulders and hug her tightly. The blonde’s shock doesn’t last long as her arms wind around my waist. We stay there for a while before I softly whisper, “Thank you, Juliet.”

“Of course,” she mutters back.

As I pull away enough to meet Juliet’s eyes, I make sure to get my point across by adding some seriousness to my tone as I repeat myself, “No, seriously. Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Even though she seems taken aback by how intense my expression is, Juliet smiles sincerely and tilts her head down before slowly bringing it back up. “You’re welcome, Vivien. I’m not entirely sure how, but I’m glad that could bring you some solace.”

“It did,” I tell her.

“Good,” she softly says before taking my face in her hands and placing a kiss on each of my cheeks - a Capitol gesture I’d seen in movies before. Once she releases my face with a soft smile, Juliet stands from the bed and holds out a hand for me to latch onto before saying, “Now, let’s go eat before it gets cold.”

I let out an all too girly giggle and lace my fingers with Juliet’s before allowing her to pull me out of my bedroom and down to the dining room where everyone else is gathered, preparing to eat some kind of fish meat that I quickly realize is lobster just by taking one look at Riven’s plate from across the table. Our district doesn’t get a lot of lobsters, especially not for the regular citizens like my family, but I’ve had some before with Mick’s family during a sleepover and it was alright, I guess. I just wasn’t fond of having the crustacean looking back at me while I was trying to eat it. This time, thankfully, someone else had gotten to my plate before I sat down, pulled the meat out of the creature, and set it on my plate so I wouldn’t have its beady little eyes staring up at me the whole time. I try to eat my way through the lobster as quickly as possible, but with Riven tossing the shells of his lobster onto my plate after he’s through emptying them of meat and me fighting to not chuck them back at him so the Avoxes don’t have to clean up after us, it takes a lot longer to get through our meal.

After dinner, we watch the replay of the interviews on the television, and Riven’s stylist, Topaz, mentions many times how in love Royce and I seem to be. Now that Riven can see how well he did in his interview, he seems to not only relax, but also puff up with confidence. I’m proud of him and how well he handled himself. His ease with it all makes me feel as though my interview was a stumbling, stuttering mess, but everyone assures me that I came across as innocent and charming. I feel as though I looked more like a little girl looking up to her big sister than anything, but as soon as Royce claims his reciprocation for my feelings, I turn into something extraordinary in the Capitol’s eyes. No longer am I the little girl looking up to a dead girl she saw as an older sister. Now, I am a girl who is faithfully protected by a longtime friend and has been made elegant by her stylist, desirable by a fellow tribute, tragically in love by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.

Royce’s outcome will be similar. No matter how much his story relied on his bond with Miles, he will now be known as the boy from District 6 who tragically fell in love with a girl from another district before having to go into the arena where one, if not both, of them will eventually die. We have become their real-life Romeo and Juliet - a tragic love story playing out before their very eyes. Regardless of whether our feelings for each other are real or not, we certainly made ourselves memorable to the Capitol and it won’t be long before that all pays off in the arena. If they love us enough, maybe they’ll plead for our release and beg for us to be crowned victors together instead of watching us kill each other off.

When the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, Halo stands from her seat, takes me and Riven by the hand, and, with tears in her eyes, wishes us well in the arena. She thanks us for being so kind-hearted and tells us we’ve been some of the best tributes she’s had in her time as an escort. Then in a flourish of Capitol theatrics, Halo wipes the tears from her eyes, kisses us both on the cheek, and scurries off to her room, most likely to cry in peace. We won’t be seeing her for the foreseeable future since Riven and I will have to be up at dawn to get ready for the Games, but her little goodbye was nice while it lasted.

Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention to Mick’s parents as they stand from the couch and position themselves so that they’re blocking the television. Brady is the first to speak, a serious tone in his voice that I hardly ever hear, “Now, no more joking around. Is there anything you can think of that would help you in the arena? Weapons, clothing, food, anything?”

Riven is quick to ask, “How about a thermal camera?”

It’s a good idea. We use them back home to see what part of a computer is overheating, but sometimes kids in the district use them for fun, tracking each other around in hide and seek by following the traces of heat they leave behind. It could be useful in the arena since we could track the other tributes by their heat signatures. Mack nods, scribbling out Riven’s answer on a pad of paper as she mutters, “Good thinking.”

“How about some food or water?” I question. “If we’re stuck on a ship in the middle of the ocean, food isn’t going to come easily and I wouldn’t trust half of the stuff the Gamemakers leave for us.”

“Not even the water,” Riven agrees. “There’s nothing those assholes like more than some dead tributes.”

Mack writes down our suggestions as we go, adding some ideas from Juliet and Topaz as well so the list feels more complete. After a while of working on the list, Mack sets down the pad of paper and Brady places an arm around her waist as I ask, “Any last advice for us?”

Brady slowly nods, takes a deep breath, and firmly says, “Once the gong sounds, get something small and the hell out of there unless you can get something big and get out quick. Take what supplies you need while the Careers are off hunting down others later on. Most Career groups go hunting for other tributes on the second or third day in the arena once there are no more easy pickings to kill, but in such a huge arena, they’ll probably only stick it out for a night before they go on a hunting spree.”

“Cruise ships are like mazes,” Mack adds. “The Capitol sent us on one for our honeymoon years ago. It’s easy to get lost, so if you have someone chasing you, it should be easy to hide out or evade them.”

Juliet softly pipes up from the corner of the couch she’s been silently sitting in since we first sat down, “If it’s anything like the ships my dad has brought me on, there are hidden passageways meant for the crew to be able to get from one place to another without being seen by the passengers. If you can find something like that, you might be able to hide out for most of the Games.”

“There are also lifeboat pods on the deck below the last floor of cabins,” Topaz offers. “At least, that’s how it was on the cruise I took last year. Those capsules fit quite a few people in case the ship starts taking on water.”

Brady turns to Mack and the pair share a nod of agreement. “That could be very helpful.”

“Anything else?” Riven asks.

“Stay alive,” the couple replies. If we can escape the bloodbath quickly enough, their advice will be easy to follow. Riven and I can only find it in us to nod at their words, but Riven is the first to stand and accept the hug they offer him. This is the last time we’ll be seeing them until we leave the arena, so we make this time count. Mack’s arms find me first and she holds me even tighter than she had on the train after the reaping. It feels more like the day they came back home after last year’s Games where they both took turns holding me tight and assuring me that everything would be alright sooner or later. One of Brady’s arms encircles my shoulders while the other wraps around his wife, his grasp just as tight as his wife’s. Despite the time they’ve spent in the Capitol, they still feel like home. We stay like that for a while before they finally release me, pressing soft kisses to my forehead before telling me they love me and that they’ll keep an eye on us. I don’t know what else to say, so I thank them for everything they’ve done for me before retiring to my room.

I spend a lot of time in the shower, washing the paint, makeup, and delicately made lines from my skin. By the time I’m done, my skin is red from scrubbing so hard to get the glitter off and all that remains of the prep team’s efforts are the intricate, circuit-board-style lines they’ve painted on my nails. I decide to leave the artwork there as a show of pride for my district and the work I’ve done. Perhaps it will give me something to cling to, a reminder of who I am in the days to come. Once I’m done drying off, I slide into a pair of loose sweatpants and a baggy shirt before trying to get some sleep. To my dismay, it only takes a few minutes to realize I won’t be sleeping anytime soon.

My thoughts fly faster than the hovercraft that will be taking me to the arena, gliding from thoughts of the arena to thoughts of home. I bet my family is just as anxious as I am. Mom is probably trying to keep Dad sane so that he doesn’t make my siblings scared all while fighting fear herself. She’s been the backbone of the family for years, but now that I’m older, I know she just masks her emotions really well. Oliver and I are far more like our dad in that aspect - emotions on display for the world to see. Abby takes after Mom, for the most part, keeping her feelings hidden as best she can, but it hardly ever works out for her. I wonder how they’re doing having Mick in the house. Mick only talked with me while I was waiting during the interviews, but I can attribute that to the training she’s probably endured all day with Oliver and Abigail and the excitement of everything going on in the house once the interviews finished. She hasn’t said a word since then. I wouldn’t be surprised If she only ever talks to me once I’m in the arena or the catacombs under it, but I want nothing more than for her to wish me a good night’s sleep before I go into the arena. Maybe that would encourage my eyelids to grow heavy.

An hour, maybe two passes with no sign of sleep coming. The more I try to chase sleep, the more it seems to elude me. It doesn’t take me too long to figure out that, regardless of how much I toss and turn in the soft blankets, sleep won’t come to a restless soul. It feels as though I’m running a mental marathon. I try getting out of bed and pacing the floor, but the fluffy carpet does nothing to stop the sharp breaths I suck in and helps little to still my racing heart. For the first time, my room begins to feel like a prison cell - a little box the Capitol has left one of its star prisoners in. The confinement gets too much for me to handle and I quietly twist the doorknob to leave, slinking down the hallways until I reach the door to the rooftop. The distance from the third floor to the rooftop is exhausting, but it gives me time to think until I reach the glass dome and pull the door open. Regardless of the energy field enclosing the roof and the metaphorical jail cell of a building I’m in, the air that breezes by has never felt so freeing. The city is loud tonight with raucous parties blaring their music as loud as it can go, car horns honking as they pass celebrations on the streets below, and people chatting at full volume on nearby balconies. Unlike the rest of the city, the Training Center roof isn’t normally lit at night unless someone wants to throw a little party for their district, but nobody is celebrating tonight. Tonight, the roof is only illuminated by the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol’s skyline, but on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side of the building, is a silhouette that I know all too well by the coiled curls alone.

He runs a hand through his hair and I find that I could sneak back inside unnoticed. He’s wearing his brother’s earbuds and talking to someone back home, if the wild hand gestures are anything to go by. But I don’t want to return to the stuffy cage I’ve been confined to, and, for all Royce knows, we’re just friends putting on a show. What does it matter if we talk in private like this? My bare feet move soundlessly across the tiled floor and, when I’m only a yard or so behind him, I teasingly ask, “Don’t you think you should be getting some sleep?”

Royce starts, turning to me with wide eyes before sighing in relief when he sees me, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You’re welcome,” I chuckle as I take up the empty space next to him.

Instead of saying something back to me, Royce mutters, “Don’t worry, Miles. It’s just Vivien.”

“Tell him I said hello,” I tell Royce.

I know he doesn’t have to relay the message, but Royce still does, returning with a hello from both of his brothers. When he finally relaxes, he asks, “Couldn’t sleep either?”

With a shake of my head, I tell him, “Kind of hard to sleep when we’ll be watching people die tomorrow.”

Royce hums in understanding as he pulls out his earbuds and sets them into a small case, “At least you have a chance at winning.”

“We have a chance at winning,” I correct him. His eyes look nearly black in the dark of the rooftop, but I find them nonetheless as he turns to me. “We’re in this together, Royce.”

“Until it gets to the final three,” he mutters. “Riven would do anything for you to make it out alive.”

“He wants to protect both of us, not just me,” I tell him firmly. “And I would do anything for you and Riven to make it out alive. You deserve to go home to your family.”

“You do too.”

“Then, I suppose we’ll just have to make it out together, no matter what the cost.”

Royce shakes his head minutely before staring out at the city with a sigh, “They’ll never take two victors, let alone three.”

“They’ll have to,” I say with a shrug. “Riven won’t kill either of us, he promised me that ages ago. You won’t kill Riven because-”

“Because he could snap me like a twig,” Royce laughs.

I join him with a soft chuckle, “You said it. I didn’t.”

Royce smiles at me - a real, genuine smile - before softly admitting, “And I won’t kill you because it would break every promise I’ve made myself.”

“You’re a true man of your word, huh?”

“My brothers and I take promises very seriously,” he tells me with a nod.

“I can appreciate that.” I let out a sigh, “Killing you would break a lot of my personal promises, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

With a nod, I clear my throat and say, “It would also go against everything I said in my interview.”

Royce’s gaze falls to his fingers as he picks at the corner of one of his nails. “I guess that’s important too. Gotta keep up appearances and all that.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion talking or the imminent death waiting around the corner, but I don’t bother to hold my tongue as I turn my gaze to the skyline and find myself admitting, “Yeah, but what I said wasn’t all for appearances.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Royce’s head slowly rise, his golden brown eyes locked on the side of my face as he softly questions, “What do you mean?”

A small, sad grin appears on my face as I slowly turn toward Royce and say, “When I said I fell in love in this city, I wasn’t just saying that to impress the crowd.”

Royce’s eyes widen as he softly breathes, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I say with a short nod, turning back to the city that, seemingly, never sleeps. “I didn’t realize it until the party after our scores were announced, but I think it started a long time ago.”

Once again, Royce lets out a very soft, “Oh.”

This time, however, he looks away and I feel my heart sink as his honey eyes scan the city as people cheer and party the night away. As much as I want so badly for my feelings to be reciprocated, I know I can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t. I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway. Even if we make it out of the arena alive, we’ll be living in separate districts and be unable to see each other apart from events like the Hunger Games or celebrations in the Capitol. Besides, the Capitol will have people throwing themselves at us for the rest of our lives. We won’t be able to have a simple, cute romance with all the nonsense around us at all times.

Royce turns back to me, looking poised to say something, but I brush him off with a wave of my hand and smile as I say, “You don’t have to say anything, Royce. It just feels good to get it off my chest before the Games begin.”

His mouth closes and I watch his eyes as the gears in his head whir to life, roaring louder than the computers back home when they overheat. I guess eyes really are the windows to the soul in Royce’s case. His thoughts race and I watch for a while before turning back toward the city and letting out a long breath. I try not to let my feelings get the better of me as silence clings to the air that flows by us, but it’s hard to hide my twitching fingers and the shuddering of my shoulders when I try to take in a breath. If Royce notices the minute details that give away how close I am to the verge of tears, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he leans his forehead against one of the railings and sighs heavily. I spare a glance his way and softly ask if he’s alright, but Royce is quick to shake his head.

“No,” Royce mutters as he slowly runs his hands through his once-perfect curls and rests his fingers at the base of his neck. “No, I’m not okay.”

Placing a hand on his back, I softly ask, “What’s wrong?”

Royce’s hands fall to the metal bar as his head lifts from it and he turns to me with a bewildered look in his eyes. “You just told me that you’re in love with me,” he tells me and I nod, not seeing where he’s going with this train of thought.

“It’s not the best circumstances, I know,” I shrug as my hand drops from his back to the floor by my thigh. “But I already said you don’t have to say anything about it, so if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I’ll get over it sooner or later.”

Royce’s curls flare in a ring around his head as he quickly, adamantly shakes his head. His eyes, a rich, chocolate brown in the darkness of the rooftop, lock with mine and I can almost feel the warmth and sincerity in them as he sends me a small smile. “That’s just it,” he begins, reaching for the hand I had just moved and taking it in his. His fingers are cold, mostly from being out here longer than I have, but also from the grip he had on the wind-chilled, metal bar. “I don’t want you to get over it, Vivien.”

“Why not?” I question, hoping he can’t feel the racing of my heart as his fingers rest against the pulse point on my wrist.

“Because I feel the same way,” he practically whispers. My skepticism must show as Royce turns toward me and takes my hand in both of his. “You can ask anyone - Butchy, Kona, Carrie, hell, even my brothers - they’ll all tell you the same thing. They’ve been pestering me about it since I ran into you at the Remake Center.”

Deciding I can trust him with my feelings, I slowly turn so that I’m no longer swinging my legs off the side of the building and sheepishly tell Royce, “My teasing began on the train.”

“Really?” he asks me. I nod and tell him about Mick pressing so much to find out my opinion of him, hoping that I’d like him as much as she hoped I would. We spend a while on the roof, talking about how things have unfolded for us and what our plans in the arena are until the door leading onto the roof opens and Royce’s mentor, Butchy, makes an appearance.

“There you are, gattino,” the burly mentor sighs, his hands placed on his hips in the same manner my dad would stand when he was ready to reprimand me or my siblings. “I go to check on you and you’re nowhere to be seen. I had a feeling you’d be up here with the piccola.”

Before I get the chance to question what he called me, Royce speaks, “We both needed to get some air. I was talking to Miles when she came up.”

Butchy eyes us, his gaze lingering on our intertwined fingers as a smirk tugs at his lips. “Sure,” he drawls. “Well, you two should get back inside. You need as much sleep as you can before you hit the arena. Exhaustion-”

“Is basically sending an invitation to death,” Royce grumbles, shoving the case for his earbuds into his pocket and releasing my hand long enough to push himself to his feet before offering me a hand up. It’s evident, to me at least, that he must have heard the phrase a lot since being here. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m just trying to help, gattino,” Butchy sighs, brushing some of Royce’s curls from his face once he has the curly-haired boy’s attention. “If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. And, as much as I’m sure you both love having this alone time, now is not the time for it.”

“I know,” Royce sighs, sounding far more sympathetic toward his mentor as the older man takes Royce’s free hand in his. Royce turns to me and softly apologizes before asking, “Are you going back inside too?”

“I am,” I tell him.

Almost instantly, Royce turns to Butchy and asks, “Can I at least walk her to her floor? You know, like you did for Mick?”

Butchy watches us for a brief moment before nodding. “Go ahead, bud, just come right back to Six, yeah?”

Royce quickly nods and allows Butchy to lead the way back into the building. He stops at his floor and wishes me a good night and good luck before disappearing into the hallway and leaving the door open just enough for Royce to sneak in through later. Royce walks with me until we reach my floor and we reluctantly release the grip we’ve held, but neither of us chooses to wipe the sweat from our hands as we both struggle to find the words to say. It’s a difficult situation to be in, but certainly not a completely uncharted one. Mick and Butchy were in a similar situation last year. In the awkward silence, I take a deep breath and sigh, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Royce chuckles, “I’ll be the one running from the Cornucopia.”

The smile that blossoms on my face is hard to fight as I say, “I probably won’t be far behind you.”

With a small smile aimed my way, Royce takes my hand and presses a quick kiss to my knuckles before releasing me and softly saying, “Good night, Vivien.”

“Good night, Royce.”

I push the door open behind me and watch as Royce begins the climb back to his floor before slinking inside the hallway and silently pressing the door closed. The thought of sleep is no longer appealing to me, even though I know I need it, so I make my way to the living room where I find I’m not the only one still pacing the third floor. My mentors get quiet as I enter the room, but Brady is quick to ask, “What are you still doing up, honey?”

“Can’t sleep,” I tell them as I worm my way onto the cushion between them. Just like we’re watching a movie back at their home in Victor’s Village, their arms are secure around me as we settle into place. “I was going to see if sleeping on the couch helped.”

“Sadly, it’s not nearly as cozy as it looks,” Brady whispers. “I’ve slept out here more than once.”

Mack’s hand rests on the side of my head and slots me into place under her arm as I bring a hand around her waist. “Maybe someone just doesn’t want to be alone tonight,” she suggests.

“Maybe,” I mutter.

I hear them both hum in understanding, but as my eyes slide closed, they don’t say more. I try to listen as they talk softly around me, almost as though I’m not there, yet I find it hard to focus as their words bounce from topic to topic as I drift in and out of consciousness. My eyelids slide shut and I take in a deep breath as I hear a deeper, slightly louder voice ask if I’m with Mack and Brady. Riven is awake too, it seems. It’s impossible to comprehend any of what is said around me, but I eventually register the feeling of floating as I’m lifted off the couch by a pair of arms that could easily toss me out of the nearest window if they wanted to. I try to peel my eyes open as my head lulls against the person’s shoulder, but Riven doesn’t seem to notice my eyes on him as he walks back through the halls of our apartment and opens the door to my room. Riven deposits me between the sheets before covering me with my blankets and pausing to push my hair away from my eyes.

In my daze, I find Riven’s hand and hold it as tightly as I can muster, locking him in place for a least a moment. “Sleep, Pip,” he gently orders, kneeling next to the bed and rubbing tiny circles into my hand as he smiles down at me.

“Will you stay with me?” I ask in a yawn.

“I’m not supposed to,” he whispers in the quiet of my room. “We aren’t allowed to stay with each other.”

“But you’re my brother,” is my poor attempt at an argument.

It appears to be effective enough as Riven sighs, showing me that his resolve is wearing thin, “We’re not supposed to see each other before the arena.”

“Then just stay until I fall asleep.” Peering up at Riven, I tighten my hold on his hand and put on my best, teary-eyed gaze before pleading in a soft, overtired voice, “I don’t want to be alone, Riv.”

This is Riven’s undoing and I watch as his head drops and he lets out a prolonged sigh, “You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you, pipsqueak?”

The giggle that leaves me makes me sound as though I’m no older than maybe six or seven, but in my exhausted haze, I can’t bring myself to care. It doesn’t matter, though, as Riven meets my gaze and I can tell he’ll stay with me for as long as I need him to. Normally, it’s Mick that has to deal with my whining pleas, but Riven dealt with me in this state a lot while Mick was missing in action. He carried me home from work more than once and had to deal with my clingy escapades for so long that it must no longer faze him. Riven runs a hand through his hair and yawns as he rounds the bed and slides into the empty space next to me, lifting an arm so I can find my resting place before relaxing into the mattress.

“Thank you,” I mutter, resting my head against Riven’s chest.

“It’s what family does,” he says, gently running his hand down my back as I curl into him. “Now, get some sleep before I knock you out myself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I yawn, allowing myself to finally slip into the grasp of sleep.

When my eyes peel open again, Juliet is lightly shaking my shoulders and the sun hasn’t even risen past the horizon. Her presence is warm and welcoming like a fresh cup of coffee on a cool morning and she takes her time with me, brushing my hair out and giving me something simple to wear until we get to the catacombs before ushering me to the roof. My legs are sore from all of the climbing I’ve done on those stairs on the many rooftop trips I’ve taken in the week I’ve been here, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem soon. As we reach the rooftop, a hovercraft appears out of thin air and a ladder drops down from it. Juliet gestures for me to go first and tells me something about not being afraid as I take hold of one of the rungs. My body freezes as I step onto another rung, a mild current of electricity gluing me in place. We have something similar back home for kids who are afraid of needles so that they don’t thrash around while getting shots, so I’m not too taken aback that they’re using similar technology to make sure the tributes can’t run away.

A man in a white coat holding a syringe comes near me once I’m inside, sliding my tracker into my right forearm as he explains that they need me to stay as still as possible for it to be placed correctly. The stinging in my arm from the injection disappears as the ladder releases me and goes back for Juliet, but I continue to rub my arm until my stylist has joined me. An Avox girl comes and directs me and Juliet to a room where breakfast has been laid out. The anxiety of the day has yet to sink in, so I wolf down as much as I can stomach, pounding back cups of coffee with Juliet until I decide I’ve had enough caffeine, and forces me to down some water. Juliet sits across from me as we watch the city below us turn into wilderness. The flight takes a while as we pass over a district - possibly District 1 or 4 - but Juliet keeps me entertained by helping me share stories of home. What she’ll do with the information, I may never know, but she seems keen on knowing everything about me and my family’s situation. In return, Juliet shares stories of her childhood and how different her life was growing up. At one point, she was the Head Gamemaker’s daughter and had grown up with her father teaching her the difference between what the Capitol schools taught and what he felt was right morally. Now, as the daughter to the president of the country, she felt it was her duty to help protect the people from the Capitol’s chaotic mess.

I’m unsure if Juliet’s storytelling is for my benefit or if she simply needs to get things off her chest, but I still listen to every word as though it’s the most important thing in my life. The conversation only lulls when the windows next to us black out after about an hour or so of flying, alerting us to the fact that we’re close to the arena. The hovercraft seems to only hover above the arena as Juliet and I are brought back to the ladder that now brings us into a tube leading into the catacombs. Juliet takes my hand as we follow the path leading us to my Launch Room, reminding me that I’m not alone in any of this. Although many districts call the preparation rooms the Stockyards, District 3 still calls it the Launch Room as a reminder of all the space explorations we helped create technology for. Granted, nobody in Panem thinks that stuff is important anymore, but we still care about it all the same.

Juliet busies herself with preparations for my hair and my token while I shower and brush my teeth, but she refuses to tell me what token Mack and Brady turned in for me until after my clothing arrives. I must emulate a statue by how still I sit while Juliet weaves my hair into braids, but once she shows me the four braids that connect into two ponytails on top of the rest of my loosened hair, I have to question her on it. “Wouldn’t it be better if my hair was all up?”

“Leaving your hair down makes it harder for people to grab you, but I wanted to keep some of it out of your way,” Juliet answers. “Besides, the four braids are for the people you love.”

“How?”

Juliet hovers a hand above each respective braid as she lists off, “One for your family, one for your friends, once for Riven, and one for Royce.”

The thought of something so simple meaning something so significant makes me smile, but it soon disappears as the clothing arrives and Juliet goes through the package with a hesitance that makes me nervous. Going into this, she has no clue what outfit I’ll be given which must suck as a stylist, but she plays off her surprise fairly well as she lays out the clothing on the only table in the room so we both can see it. My outfit consists of a black, one-piece swimsuit with long sleeves, a zipper up the front, and a leafy print on it that Juliet claims looks like the fronds of a palm tree, a pair of loose, emerald shorts to match the leafy pattern, a thick, adjustable belt, and a pair of sneakers that will come just above my ankle and are in the same emerald color as everything else.

Juliet helps me into the outfit, rattling off about how she could have done a much better job picking out the clothing as we go. I have no doubt that she could have, if given a chance. While the outfit suits the theme we went with for the interview, Juliet and I both feel the dark color scheme makes me a lot look paler than it would have if the outfit included more golden tones. Once everything is on and Juliet feels as though we can’t make it look any better, she heads over to where she’s left her small bag of things and digs around before returning with a small box and my glasses.

“The hair stick from your friend wouldn’t have passed because it could have been used as a weapon and I had to fight with the Gamemakers to let you keep these since I believe they’re a medical necessity,” Juliet sighs as she slides my glasses onto my face. “It wasn’t until my dad stepped in that they finally gave in and allowed them as well as your token.”

“You didn’t have to fight so hard for that,” I softly laugh. “I would’ve been fine with just the glasses.”

“I know you would’ve,” she insists, “but that doesn’t make it right.”

Knowing better than to argue with Juliet at this point, I simply smile and say, “Thanks, Juliet.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Juliet giggles. With a dramatic hand gesture, she presents the little box to me with a flourish and I find that my mom’s necklace with my parent’s wedding rings on it has been laid inside. “Ta-da!” Juliet sings as she sets the box in my hand.

She must have taken it from my nightstand back in the Training Center and gotten it approved when I was in training at some point. I pull the necklace from the box and allow Juliet to help me clasp it around my neck before slipping it under the neck of the swimsuit and zipping it up to my clavicle. I thank her too many times to count, pulling her into a tight hug as time ticks by. After a while, Juliet offers me some food and I make sure to eat enough to feed an army and drain at least a liter of water since there’s no telling when I’ll get more. My tracker sits not far under the skin and it doesn’t take long for Juliet and me to discover that I have a tendency to pick at things that don’t belong in my body since I keep poking at the hard little bump on my arm, almost willing it to poke back through my skin so I can be done with this whole thing. Eventually, Juliet gets tired of my constant fidgeting and takes my hands in hers, giving me words of encouragement until an all too calm female voice announces that it’s time to prepare for launch.

“I feel like I’m more afraid than you are right now,” Juliet tells me as we stand and she leads me to the circular metal plate in the corner of the room.

“I have Riven for protection and faith that our mentors will help us just as much as you will,” I tell Juliet as she brings me into the last squeeze we’ll share for the time being. “It’s also a shit-ton of caffeine and adrenaline.”

Juliet and I share a laugh as I step onto the metal plate, but her expression turns serious as she says, “I’m getting you three out of there one way or another.”

Giving her a solid nod, I say, “I know. I trust you.”

“Good,” Juliet smiles as a glass cylinder begins lowering around me. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“In a few days,” I echo.

Juliet nods back at me before rolling her shoulders back and tapping the back of her hand under her chin. Perfect your posture and hold your head high. As the cylinder begins to push me upward like a syringe full of medicine, I push my shoulders back and tip my head up slightly, hoping to look at least the littlest bit confident as the distinct smell of saltwater fills my nostrils and a breeze blows the scent of fresh paint in my direction as my eyes adjust to the light beaming down on us from above. Then, as I survey the area around us, I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice echoes through the area.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-third annual Hunger Games begin!”

#Scattered Screams #Vivien #Royce #Riven

8 notes · View notes