#p.mellark

[croissantwrites]

Why are you lying to me?

Footsteps were slow, dragging down the sidewalk of the big apple. There was so much hustle and bustle, people bumping shoulder to shoulder, practically pushing and shoving without the motive. It was just go go go. run run run. GO. GO. GO. It echoed through my head. It screamed through my head. More people knocked on by, crashing and thrashing. The traffic got louder, the sound of taxi cabs honking and people talking louder. Louder. LOUDER. "Peeta?" My name pushed through the buzz, but only barely. I had to keep going. "Peeta!" The fuzz became a blur and I shook my head. "Hey-" A hand on my shoulder made me flinch, jumping back and instantly putting myself in a defensive state; My hands flew up, ready to fight. "Peeta... hey!" Johanna. I shook my head again, brushing past her lightly I made my way into the bakery, unlocking the front door. The bell rang, a light twinkling sound as the door was pushed open. The bell rang twice. I was being followed. I couldn't stop to talk. I couldn't stop. Go, go, go. "Uhm... Peeta? Hey..." I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop. "What is wrong with you? Peeta!" Wrong? I turned back towards her, tilting my head to the side slightly. I didn't understand. Johanna of all people should know we can't stop. "Nothing?" What was she doing here? It wasn't safe to be in groups like this. They'll send something for us. We can't be comfortable. They will kill us for not following the rules of the games. Snow will have our blood on his hands just like he wants. "Why are you lying to me?" "Lying?" SNAP. "Are you joking Johanna? You need to leave! Go!" My voice was raised, eyes flickering through the windows, watching as people pushed each other to get by. "What? Leave?" "Are you trying to us both murdered, Jo?" I turned my attention back on her, running my fingers frustratedly through my hair. "Not all of us have the front to flash to be saved! Get out! Snow is going to murder us!" Johanna was confused I could see it in her face. But, I was confused too. Why was she here? We promised to survive these things, but being in groups wasn't safe. THIS WASN'T THE PLAN. Why didn't she get that? "Peeta..." Her voice was softer - was this a trick? "We're not... we're not in the games right now." She took a step forward, she reached out to me but I quickly jumped back. It was a trick. "You have to go, Jo. Now."

[croissantwrites]

Please talk to me about it.

People always say that speaking of your pain, telling your story, letting it all out into the open could help to cure that ache. But, I was never so sure about that. What would sharing my pain do? I could tell such horrific stories, I could explain how the screams bounced off of the walls and went straight back to your own ear drums, you practically deafened yourself and it was your own fault. "Please, talk to me about it." I could practically hear the pleading in her voice, she saw my pain, my struggles, she saw the bruises and cuts that had scarred my face. I thought about it for a moment, glancing down at my hands as I clenched my fingers into a tight intertwine. She wanted to hear about the games, about what it was really like. She wanted to know my story. "It was..." But as I went to pull my gaze back up to her face, to spill my truth, I couldn't help but stare at the curvature of her stomach. She was pregnant. Twins. Not one, but two kids. Kids that would consume her life, whether she knew it would or not. And she wanted to hear my story, the story of a sixteen year old kid trying to survive in a world where no one was safe. My eye twitched thinking of the pain and I shut my eyes uneasily, forcing the lump that was in my throat to dissipate. I adjusted my placement in my chair and shook my head, dark brown hues connecting with her lighter ones. "Don't make me." My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat again. I wanted to say more, I wanted to explain, but I couldn't. I didn't even dare to think about it. I couldn't tell her my story of trying to survive, when she was about to start such a grand journey. I wouldn't dare put those horrors of The Hunger Games in her head. "Don't make me, River." I echoed. 

[croissantwrites]

You're safe, it's okay. The games are over.

They lie through their teeth, through their brains. They blast the news across millions of screens. Your kids are safe, they say. It's over, it's done, they yell. But we know better than that. It's not over yet. It's not fucking over, it never is. They lie through their fucking teeth and that's how they get you wrapped around their index fingers. That's how they get the world wrapped around their index fingers. "I don't believe it." I spit back. But, they don't like that. They don't like the fight. (I have bruises and scars and medical records to prove it.) They say it's okay but it's still difficult to swallow the saliva that's anxiously covered my tongue - instead I try and it sits there like a rock in my throat. "I don't believe it." I say again, shaking my head, hues going from the floor to the person who has stepped towards me. My heart sinks, thinking it's a challenge or a for, something coming to shut me up. But my hues click with hers then scan the details of her face. Her face is familiar, of course, but what's more familiar are the screams that practically echo with my own that I hear when I look in her eyes. I nod once, trying to be casual. "Jo." I purse my lips together, finally swallowing the lump in my throat. But I don't show any more comfort, I didn't dare. Comfort is a weapon used against us.