a/n -> this whole fic is inspired by the song KINGSTON by faye webster!!
“the day that i met you i started dreaming”
And now Izana was sure, not only would he kill for you, he would die for you. You were his and he wasn't going to let anyone or anything hurt you ever again
“and now i write ‘em down if i remeber in the mornin’ time”
cw-> no smut, abuse angst, child abuse, mentoined non-con, drug use/abuse
Izana kurokowa had always been a strange kid, from as far back as you could remember. But still he was your only friend, besides kakucho of course.
When you were six years old your parents were deemed unfit to raise you, after brutally beating you so bad you almost died.
Meeting Izana was about the opposite of a breath of fresh air. He was the complete opposite of you and to be honest really scared you. He was always with his friend Kakucho and trouble seemed to follow the two wherever they went, and you wanted absolutely no part in it.
At some point you started to eat your dinner with the pair, having nobody else to talk to. It was really nice that the two of them never commented on the odd limp you’ve had since that night, and you said nothing about Kakuchos' scar, or any of Izana's strange behaviors.
They really, really felt like they were your family, and then Izana met his ‘brother’.
Now that you're thinking about it you really were a selfish child, but you honestly felt as if Izana were replacing you. He was always talking about his brother's gang like it was the coolest thing in the world!
But you got past it. The two of you continued to grow closer within the next few years, and eventually you were happy for him.Then he got sent to juvie. He promised you he would call you everyday and you promised you would visit as much as you could, and for a while you both did.
Within the second year of Izana being gone, the two of you had got into an argument. It wasn’t the first and you two usually got over them fast, but then he didn’t call that week. You didn’t visit.
It was a stupid argument, and honestly something neither of you could control. It was about your parents. They had been doing ‘work’ to get sober and the courts said they could take you home.You had told Izana and expected him to be happy for you, but he was anything but. He told you it was going to end the same or even worse now that you're older. You hung up after that.
Two months later you were back at your parents house. It went well at first. They stayed sober and apologized to you so much that you really started to believe them. It was nice to be part of a family again, a real family.
It was about six months later when they started using again. You were beyond distraught when you realized and all you wanted to do was call Izana, but you hadn’t talked in so long you really didn’t know what to do.
It was another three months before they had started hitting you again. It wasn’t that bad. It was small stuff, they would accuse you of taking their pills or whatever, and of course you didn’t.
Then they needed money.
Your father had the idea first. They would force you to let them take pictures of yourself in erotic positions to sell online. They didn’t care how much you cried, begged and pleaded for them to not do this. All the begging just made sure they would hit you harder.
They stopped letting you go to school.
One day they had told you to get ready and that you were doing something new today, that somebody was on the way. That’s when you decided.
An hour before the time they had told you to be ready, you were curled into a ball on your bathroom floor. The pill bottle was in your hand and right as you opened it your phone dinged.
It was Izana. Seeing his name made you cry harder than you were before and you did your best to muffle your sobs so your parents wouldn’t hear you.
All he said was a simple “Hi. I’m out now.” Suddenly you didn’t want to do it. Immediately you called him.Hearing his voice on the other line had made you much happier than you had been in a long long time.
He was surprised to hear your muffled cries on the other line when he answered. He had literally just left the detention center when he texted you, and yeah this isn’t how he thought your reunion would go.
He had spent a lot, a lot of time thinking about you in there, an unhealthy amount really. He wondered if you were happy with them, why hadn’t you visited? if you even could? he wanted to know if you looked different. He wanted to talk to you, god even if it was another fight. He wanted to hear your voice.
Honestly he didn’t realize how much he needed you, until you weren’t there.
“Y/N, what’s happening are you okay.”
Hearing him just made you cry harder, and you couldn’t muffle your sobs anymore. Suddenly there was banging on the other side of the bathroom door.
It was your mother. She practically screamed as she banged on the door. Thankfully you locked it.You curled further into your spot as Izana grew more worried on the other side of the phone.
Your voice came out weaker than you expected it to and the words you repeated almost daily at this point left your mouth again, as your mother finally pushed the door in.
“Please, please don’t make me! please mom!”
She quickly grabbed you by the hair, and a small whimper left your mouth. You clutched the phone against yourself as Izana desperately tried to get your attention on the other line. Right before your mother had snatched the phone out of your mouth and broken it, you yelled out for help.
Your mother had dragged you down the stairs where your father was. He had stood there, the same metal pipe in his hand you had grown oh-so accustomed to.
With every whack to your stomach, you had regretted more and more not doing it. You could feel your left rib break, and you tried hard so hard not to puke. You failed.
You heard your mother say something, but you couldn’t make out the words. Not with the pipe continuously hitting you.
Blood splattered out of your mouth as you tried to breathe. That angered your father more, and you vaguely heard something about the floor before he had hit you so hard in the head your vision started to fade.
When you came, your parents weren’t there. Your clothes were ripped off of your body and your whole body ached like it never had before.As you laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling, you came to a realisation. You had three options, kill yourself, let your parents eventually kill you, or get out.
Your mine raked on how you could do it, where would you even go? You had no friends, no other family, only Izana. And you weren’t sure if he still even cared about you.
Maybe he had only texted to just remind you of how right he was?
You forced yourself to climb up the stairs, no matter how bad it hurt, because now you were determined to not die here. Not like this.
You had pulled on a large hoodie, and tattered shorts before returning to the bathroom to find your shattered phone.
The glass cut deep into your fingers as you desperately tried to get it to work. Eventually it turned on, the screen was absolutely shattered and what was left had odd green and purple lines.
You quickly called Izana. He answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”Hearing his voice once again made you cry. Between sobs you choked out that you were home.
Izana had stood outside of the old orphanage you had both grown up in when you called. He had just finished practically interrogating the owner, on where your current residence is. At first the man had refused said information claiming it to be confidential, but as Izana had grown more angered he gave in.
Izana had driven to your house, a ride that would usually take up to at least fifteen minutes in under five.
He had banged upon the door and to no response kicked it in. Upon entry he had found you on the top of the stairs, uncontrollably sobbing pressed against the wall clutching onto your abdomen.
In an instant he was next to you. His eyes scanned over your shaking and he quickly realized what exactly happened to you. Besides the obvious dried blood that coated your skin, there was a faint sticky white substance smeared on your leg.
He bent down to pick you up and you flinched away. He patted your head and you calmed down, then he picked you up. You pushed your head into his chest, coating his shirt in your salty tears. He carried you to a hospital three blocks away from your house.
You had to stay for three nights. Two of your ribs were broken, and your jaw was fractured. You had a concussion and were having awful migraines.Izana never left your side. Neither of you talked much those four days, one because it hurt you to talk, and two neither of you really knew what to say.
Legally the doctors had to have parental approval for your release.
I remember wearing the braids in my hair. I remember watching her on every screen around. I remember the nightshade berries, and the quarter quell, and the rebellion.
I remember it all, even as everyone tries to forget.
When she lost… when the districts were forced back in line, I remember… I never forgot Katniss Everdeen.
I was only a child when the rebellion failed. The Mocking Jay was made quiet and the Capitol ruled supreme. President Snow had vanquished another uprising.
However, the people still remembered, and that needed to be changed. The Capitol had never seen a Hunger Game with more drama and although they couldn’t be happier to be safe and spoiled once more, they still adored the romance of Peeta and Katniss.
You could trust President Snow to use this to his advantage. As the districts needed to be punished, he left it to his game makers to formulate a new challenge. While the Summer months were used to continue the hunger games, the Winter would set a new game that would still cost lives. Each rebellion had to pay a price, after all.
The Red Games were instituted. A game that would give the capital the love and drama they so craved, while acting as a punishment to the districts. A twisted bloodbath for the next generation.
It was the morning of the Red Reaping. It was easy to tell, what with all the noise outside. With a groan, I turned onto my stomach, face in my pillow.
“Quiet please,” I couldn’t help but groan as I reached for my remote. I knew well enough already which button to press to hush the outside world and block out the light. One tap and my favourite starry night sky played on the window screen.
I should be lucky to live in the Capital, but some days it was damn near intolerable.
On a day like today, I knew my family would want me up and dressed as early as possible but they knew not to come wake me themselves. I never liked this day, and only my father understood.
I never enjoyed any of the capital events. Not since my family and I returned from District 7.
My father, Damiin Silver, was a peace keeper assigned to the Lumber district. I only spent three years there before dad got a promotion and moved back to the Capital. Still, the memories remain the same. The hunger, the weight on their shoulders, it made an impression that no amount of wealth could fix. My Mom, Letta, always said I was too young and impressionable when we lived there. She blames that time on why I’m so hard to handle. She’s not wrong.
Finally dragging myself out of bed, I move to the mirror to braid my hair.
Mom also blames my fascination with Katniss on my time in the district. She’s not wrong.
I’ve been a fan of braids for so long most people don’t even relate it to the Mocking Jay anymore. It’s just an out of date style I refuse to give up. Though that seems to make sense from the way I wear my clothes as simple as possible. I remember a time when I dressed like everyone else. Now the idea of such ostentatious clothing seems uncomfortable.
I looked in the mirror when I finished. Brown hair that faded into gold swept into a side braid, my curvy figure made obvious in a simple peach dress and gold belt. The silk flowers in a pale pink peach sewn to the dress would be about the only thing that seemed ‘capital’ about my outfit outside of its colour. Painting my face might be the only thing I actually enjoyed about getting ready. Glueing gold lashes to my own, adding a peach colour to my lids, applying another gold bar of colour down the center of two delicate pink lips, it was like crafting a mask, one I hid behind as much as I could.
I tried to live between words. Just colourful enough not to draw attention but never enough for the standards of fashion applied to the Capital. A sense of invisibility was always the aim.
“Alright, Gemma. Let’s get this over with.”
With a heavy breath, I walked out of the room. Downstairs, Mom and Dad were already eating and celebrating. Havvery, the Avox assigned to my family, served as Mom twitted on about her plans for the day. There was a time I’d have to endure those plans but for this year, I’ll be graciously separated, just as I was last year and the year before that.
“Oh Darling, you couldn’t have… tried a little?” Mom asked.
Of course, my style is never more critiqued than on days like today. At 20 years old you’d think she’d get tired of judging my looks. They’d been the same for quite some time.
“Leave her be,” my Dad chimed in, eyes on his screen working already. Busy days like today demanded a lot from a peacekeeper as high in rank as he.
“Just, a bit of glitter, or maybe a necklace or two,” she continued to complain.
“I’m fine,” I brushed off, heading for the food set out in a bright spread. A sweet orange would be enough while getting me out of the house quickly. I was only just starting to peel the skin when I felt a snap on my ear.
“Ouch!” I cried out, reaching to feel cold metal on my ear and turning to see my mother. She’d clipped on a gold dangling earring and waited with the other.
“Please,” she begged.
I turned around to my food, which she took as an invitation to add the other. I flinched again.
It was such a talent that my mother could so easily reach my limit of her shallow vanity. Of all the people I knew, she was the most like the capitol. No wonder the Districts revolted.
Standing from the table I moved with my fruit in hand.
“I’m meeting Belba before everything starts,” I didn’t want to spend anymore time with my mother than I had to. Not today.
“Darling, I thought we could head down together-”
I didn’t let her finish. I was out the door and into the loud chaotic streets before she could stop me.
The Red Reaping was one of the big parties of the year. It was the first party of the Red Games and although it was a brisk fall day, everyone dressed up for the event. I slipped on my knitted coat with the thinnest of fur trims and continued to eat my orange. Around me everyone was shouting and laughing. Parts of the city played music and there was literal dancing in the streets.
Absolute luxury paired with excited gossiping. It was so different from District 7.
I could easily imagine the trepidation and fear as each citizen from age 18 to 29 dressed for the reaping. It was a more conservative fear, cloaked by the brave faces the older citizens wore. The Hunger Reapings, with their younger children, laid their terror quite plainly on their faces. It had always been so strange to watch a child my age make for the town square knowing I was safe and they weren’t.
‘Trig…’ I thought, the name scarcely on my lips when a familiar voice stopped me.
“Gemma! Over here,” Belba called over. She was a tree amongst most people, that was only worsened by the tall heels she always wore. I rushed through the crowd to her side, accepting the hug she had to bend over to give.
“You made it out of the house, I see.”
“Not unscathed,” I added, showing off the earrings that had turned my earlobes red from their sudden addition. They were fake and so they pinched to stay in place.
“Here,” Belba smiled. She took them off of me gently and turned me around. I could feel her moving a bit at my hair and soon the clips framed by braid instead of tormenting my ears.
“Thank you,” I genuinely spoke, my hands feeling behind my head to where they now sat.
Belba was always so wonderful at fashion. She had dreams of becoming a fashion icon in the city and was well on her way with an internship under Tigress’ guiding hand. I trusted her as Belba was my best friend and understood my minimalist wishes. She always took my odd desires and found ways to merge them with the excessive expectations of the city. In a way, she hid me in the crowd, misdirecting others from my near rebellious tendencies.
“I’m at your service,” Belba giggled. She gave an elaborate bow and it was then I noticed the ring on her left hand. It wasn’t hard to see, sparkling silver against dark ebony skin. Not to mention the ring was huge.
“Is… Is that…” I stammered.
Belba nodded. “It is!” She excitedly exclaimed. “Fredrick proposed!”
I took her hand and examined the ring. I couldn’t have been more excited for Belba! She and Fredrick deserved happiness. They were wonderful but…. “You’re not in the Reaping then.”
The smiles on both of our faces fell. Belba shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to leave you alone in this but—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted.
“We could wait to register out until next year.”
I shook my head at Belba’s offer. “No point in putting your name in for my sake. Capitol forbid you’re picked and married off to some district boy,” I joked.
She laughed out of kindness at my joke but the pity never left her eyes.
“I know you hate today,” she added quietly.
“I hate all days like today. No need to make this one special,” I forced a smile which Belba understood. I was done talking about it. She was so supportive in ways I could never fully thank. Of everyone in my life, Belba was the only one I could really stand. She let me be me.
“Let’s go,” she sighed and looped her arm with mine. She’d walk with me to the city circle, where she wouldn’t be able to stay with me.
It was odd the first years of the Red Games. Capitol citizens had never done their own reaping and so they looked unorganized and almost comical as those eligible stood in the centre of the circle. There were many of varying ages, a colourful pageantry of dull witted singles. It took a few years before age restrictions were put on the capitol entrants. When a 73 year old woman was picked as the Capitol’s 4th Red Games Rose, they limited the ages to match the districts.
Any single capitol citizen between the ages of 18 to 29 must participate. The gender required switches ever year. Of course this isn’t forced in the capitol. Everyone is beyond excited to play the Rose in the games. Well, apart from myself… but to refuse to be part of the reaping is to show rebellion and the last rebellion was too recent to risk pointing yourself out like that.
The districts were different, of course. Two tributes between the ages of 18 and 29 of each district are chosen, their gender is picked by the Rose after our reaping. In the districts, this day is just like the Hunger Reapings. It’s the same forced participation that few survive, as deadly a game as the Hunger games themselves. So, just as you survive your time in the Hunger reaping pools, you’re entered into the Red reapings and no one is safe until they turn 30.
This year will technically be my first year. When I was 18 I was registered out by a betrothal. The next year the Rose was a male pick and so now…. Now my name rests with all the others. My mom couldn’t stop talking about it, watching previous years competitions and thrilling at the idea that I might be picked. I had to bite my tongue to keep my mouth shut, and by now I had a very sore tongue.
It was easy to be the Rose. A capitol citizen to be an object of desire for others to fight over. The arena was the Capitol, events and parties, but there was a small arena. One in the city that pitted the tributes against each other. The Rose had all the control. Who would be spared, who would be thrown in ‘The Pit’ as it was affectionately called by everyone, who would survive to continue playing. And after all the torment and blood. The Victor and the Rose would be married and live in the capitol as celebrities for the rest of their lives. It was easy to see how a normal Capitol citizen would be thrilled to play the Rose.
But not me.
Belba finally released my arm as we arrived at the check in.
“Try to have fun,” she offered but the stern look on my face told her I’d do otherwise. She rolled her eyes in response. “Just twenty minutes of your time and then you can find me. Fredrick’s got a great spot to watch the fireworks. We’ll have a blast! Just twenty minutes.”
I sighed and offered a soft smile. She was right. A short twenty minutes and I could pretend all this celebration was for something other than death. It was little asked of me in comparison to the citizens outside the city.
“I’ll see you after,” I confirmed and turned to line up.
The line was jittery and nervous, it reminded me of District 7, though the energy there came from dread, not excitement. The line moved quickly as eager women and men rushed into the centre of the circle. Soon, chariots of doomed tributes would be standing there instead.
Cameras lined the area and broadcasted over large screens. Everyone was dressed rather extravagantly. After so many years, everyone wanted to look their best if chosen. Your future partner was watching after all.
Now the citizens have learned to line up properly. They stand in rows based on age. I couldn’t wait until I grew old enough to stand in the very back rows, covered by high collars and even higher hair. For now, I was nearer the front in spectacular view of the cameras and without many people to hid behind. Still, I managed to find a particularly tall wig to stand behind in the hopes of remaining anonymous and unseen.
Twenty minutes, twenty minutes, just twenty minutes.
I looked down at where they pricked my finger to admit me. A small prick that many whined and moaned about even if it was such a quick and easy prick. Some faced much worst pain in their beauty procedures, this was only worth complaining about because of its lack of immediate reward.
The space will get tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. We all tightly press amongst each other as more eligible citizens clamour for their chance at fame and love. In the stands on all sides the older and younger generations sat with just as much anticipation. And beyond the city circle, others would be at venues and private parties watching the broadcast.
The people around me jabbered on, pointing out cameras with waving hands and discussing their chances. In front of us all was a stage with a bowl of names. One single bowl. My name rested in their twice, unless my mother purchased more entries for me. I was never sure if the same option was offered to the districts but really, who would pay money to have their name in there more often. Here it was an option heavily used, which was why the bowl in the center of the stage held far more little papers than their were people standing. It was five times the size of the capitol bowls.
The likelihood of my name being in there more than twice would have been high were it not for my father. Ever since my engagement ended, my mother had placed all her attention on finding me another match. No one was surprised at her enthusiasm and obsession with the Red Games this year. It was her chance to force me into a match. The only thing that stopped her at every turn was my father. Thank the Capitol for him.
The excited chatter only got worse and I knew why before I saw him. President Snow had taken his place in his large golden seat. Game makers filed out to stand on the stage with last years winners. Married now, Dawn and Tennitt stood hand in hand. Tennitt was what you might expect from the Capitol. He was tall and thin with bright orange hair and a sparkling blue suite. His white gloved hands held that of Dawn’s. Her slanted almond eyes looked about the crowd. Long black hair swept down her back, much longer than they’d been in the games last year. Her pale complexion looked odd against her orange dress, puffy and made to match her new husband. She was quiet, as she’d been in the games. There was something… empty in her eyes. It contrasted with the pleasant smile she kept plastered on her lips. She belonged to the Capitol now. There seemed to be no trace left of her District 2.
Everyone roared with sound until the President stood.
“Welcome to the 8th Annual Red Games,” he began.
The president’s speech was a blathering of self satisfaction, boasting commentary and fluff to fill the spaces. It was the same warning to districts not to rebel. The first year he’d had the thought to mention Katniss by name, which created unrest and anger through the districts. The next he only called her the rebel but still that only caused unrest. Now he was smart enough to pretend the girl on fire had never existed. It was a far firmer point to the districts who fell in line now.
With his words done the crowd was in a roar of applause again, this time for the Victor and Rose as they stood together for their chance to speak. Tennitt spoke of finding his love, his words eloquent and flowery. In reality they meant nothing. Dawn had her own chance to speak but it was much shorter. The way she spoke, it all sounded rehearsed and not of her own.
Finally the Capital’s representative stood. He’ll spend his time ushering the new Rose around, a job the district representatives would have killed for. His was a position hard fought as his Rose is a winner every. single. year. No matter what.
Garth Havensbee a short man dressed in emerald green with a pocket square of orange to match his last Rose. He looked pompous, and far too pleased with himself to be where he was, a celebrity in his own right. His voice was nasally as he offered a “Happy Red Games and may the rose bloom.” It was the newest version of ‘May the odds be every in your favour’. A constantly repeated mantra through these games that caused a wave of cheers.
Garth motioned for the crowds to calm and I looked about. There was no chance of me finding Belba and Fredrick, or any of my family. There were just too many people in the stands. Still, I couldn’t help but look just in case. It was better than listening to yet another speech about finding love and fighting for its prize. It was laughable to think Love could be found anywhere in these games.
The way a tribute won, was through violence and lies. Each district would offer up two tributes of the chosen gender. Some years that’s girls, others its boys, most of the time it’s one of each. Then the tributes are brought to the capital where they must woe the rose. It’s their only chance of survival. Each week, a set of tributes will be thrown in the pit to fight to the death. The winner continues to court the Rose. This all continues until there is only one. So a tribute is expected to romance a Capitol citizen, spoiled and naive, so that they might live as a prisoner. At least the victor of the hunger games would be sent home to live their lives in peace. The Victor of the Red Games would never be free. The most they could hope for would be a gilded cage.
The crowd suddenly picked up in volume, jumping and screaming in excitement. I looked back to the front to see Garth dramatically waved his hand over the bowl. Oh, it was selection time.
“Alright ladies, are you ready?” He asked and the crowds around me screamed. I had to cover my ears to block out the screeching.
Garth dipped his hand into the bowl, stirring the names around and I held my breath as I was jostled around by the ensuing mosh pit. Trust to Capitol to show such undignified behaviour during a reaping.
‘Not me, not me, not me,’ I chanted in my head. I didn’t really think it could be my name pulled. There were hundreds of thousands of slips in that bowl. My two slips had very little chance of being pulled amongst the incredible number. Still, I held my breath while the anticipation grew and grew.
Garth lifted his hand into the air, a slip of paper in his stubby fingers. He made a great show of opening the paper and the accompanying roar was near deafening. He opened his mouth and the audience never ceased their cheering so that he had to yell the name into the microphone to even be heard.
“Gemma Silver.”
One time, when I was young, I was playing by the waters edge with some friends. We always liked the way the current felt against our legs. The nearer you got to the dams the stronger the current. I had been fooling around when I slipped on a rock and found myself submerged under the current, being pulled away towards the dam. I remember the way the water encased me, how muted everything else became around me as I was swept away without any ability to resist.
That’s how I felt now, stunned as the world slowed and went silent around me. Of course the screaming was still rampant as people turned to look for Gemma. A few who knew me began pointing and the whole crowd excitedly pushed me towards the front. I was swept away in such a daze that sound didn’t seem to return until Garth was staring right at me. He was pausing for something. It took a moment to realize he’d asked me a question.
“What?” I asked, my own voice a foreign whisper to my own ears.
“What’s your choice for Tributes?” He asked again with a nasally laugh. The crowds joined, enjoying my speechlessness.
“I….” I couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream, to tell them to redraw, to tell them I choose no gender, that I wanted no part in this. But the world watched, every set of eyes trained on my face, every voice paused in one silent moment as they waited on my choice.
“Come on darling, we haven’t got all day,” Garth prompted away from the mic for only me to hear. He was becoming impatient with my silence. The crowds itched with anticipation as well.
“Male,” I squeaked out.
“She’s chosen male!” Garth declared and the whole stadium erupted into more cheers. Garth took my hand and raised it into the air to which the audience grew impossibly louder.
I could only stand and watch as the Capitol celebrated. I… I had given in, just like that. I had become a part of what I hated most about this place. For all my desire to rebel and change the world…. I gave in. I was a coward.
It was a blur after that. The Panam anthem played and a few more words were said before I was swept away yet again, this time by peacekeeper staff, gently guiding me out of the city circle and into a tall tower nearby where what seemed to be a private party for the game makers and other important people was taking place. So many came up to me, congratulating me and complimenting me. I could only whisper hushed thank you’s and nothing more. I managed to find a window which overlooked the city streets. People filled the area so it was a messy moving river of colours. I stared down as I processed what had just happened to me.
I was reaped. I was the Rose now. I’d be married off to someone from the districts after I cause the murder of 23 men. I was everything I hated about this place.
No, this wasn’t happening. None of that could be true. This was all just a bad dream, a horribly bad dream, just like the one I’d been having every night for the last week.
It began as a memory. I was nine again, living in District 7. School had just finished and all the kids were rushing out of the school to head home. The Hunger Games were being broadcasted and everyone was to go straight home to watch it. I was heading that way when I was pushed to the ground. I spun around to look up and see Trig’s face. Her usually olive complexion was paler and her eyes were rimmed in red from tears, but she wasn’t sad. She was angry. Rage painted her face as my best friend looked down at me.
“You! You’re one of them! This is your fault!” She yelled at me.
I didn’t understand and words failed me which was the wrong answer as Trig swung back and kicked me in the side. It tore the breath from my body as a huddled on my side, cradling the pain.
“You killed my brother!” She screamed again and kicked me in the stomach. My lungs struggled for air without success as pain I’d never felt before ran through me. By now, teachers had come by and grabbed Trig, pulling her away from me. I was helped up from the ground in time to make eye contact with Trig. Her dark brown eyes held a fury as she thrashed against the men pulling her away.
“I hate you! I hate you!” She screamed to me as she was dragged back to the school for punishment.
In reality, Trig would never speak to me again. Her brother had died in the 73rd Hunger Games that day and she’d forever blame the Capitol and all born there for it, including myself.
However in the nightmare, Trig would escape the men holding her and come barreling towards me. A knife appeared in her hand as she tackled me to the ground. She’d slice at my neck and laugh as I bled out, just like her brother Carver died. I felt every moment of it and by the third dream I knew it was coming. I’d struggle against her, attempting release but she’d always manage to hold my down and slit my throat. I’d wake up wrapped in my blankets like knots and in a cold sweat.
I gasped rather dramatically when I felt a hand pull at my shoulder to turn me around. Belba stood before me with Fredrick not too far behind her.
“Congratulations!” She loudly proclaimed but as she leaned forward to hug me, she whispered in my ear. “Are you alright?”
I couldn’t speak. I could only shake my head and fight back the anger that was beginning inside me. Belba sighed and released me, holding on to my shoulders to look over me.
“Of all the people who could have been drawn…” she murmured for only me to hear. She understood how much I didn’t want this.
I opened my mouth to speak but a shrill squeal came from the room in it’s place. My mother came in, loud and ecstatic, she made it over to me and wrapped me in her arms.
“Gemma, we did it! You’re the Rose! Oh the life you’re going to lead now!” She cried. I had to pry her arms off of me to get some air. The feathers at her neck were chocking as it was, let alone her smothering affection. The last thing I needed was her joy.
Luckily, her mother turned her attentions to the other people in the room.
“Can you believe it? My daughter! The Rose! I couldn’t be more proud!” She coed loudly to the room. I could already see her eyes darting around to see who were the most influential and important people in the room. It took everything in me not to die of embarrassment.
My father came around then, looping his arm around my shoulder and only speaking to me.
“This is going to be quite the adventure, eh Gemma? Nothing is going to be the same,” he optimistically remarked.
It was hard to ignore the heaviness in my heart at his words. He meant them in celebration, but I felt them in dismay and despair.
The rest of the party felt like a blur. Important people shook my hand and asked me ridiculous questions such as what colour would be my signature or how tall I hoped my future husband might be. It all felt so trivial and it only worsened my mood. Guilt wracked me at every turn.
“Gemma! Over here!” Belba called at one point. I drifted over to her and the woman standing before her. “Gemma this is Belladonna. She’ll be your stylist this year!”
Belba was starry eyed as she looked over the lean woman who wore all black apart from a red rose. It would seem understated were it not for the large black cages that sat on either hip and her shoulders. A black veil reached over her left eye and gave her a dangerous look. Her blond hair was pin straight, ending in a sharp bob and complimenting her dark carmel skin.
“Charmed,” she purred, holding out her hand covered in a black lace glove. Her black lips quirked up in a smirk when I took her hand and shook it in a daze.
“Quite a shock to the system, this sudden surge in fame,” Belladonna offered but there was something in her eyes like she meant more that she couldn’t or wouldn’t say.
I could only nod before the designer began to circle me. She gently touched the few flowers on my dress and the gold clips in my hair with her spidery like fingers.
“A flower to be sure, but is there anything beneath it,” she commented to herself.
It was then my mother came barreling over. Letta had indulged too much on wine already. Her bleach blond hair was falling out of it’s careful curls and the literal nest she’d secured this morning was falling to the side.
“Gemma! My sweet girl,” she came over and pinched my cheeks. It hurt nearly as much as her checkered dress hurt my eyes. “You’re going to get married. You’ll have a wedding after all,” she explained a little too emotionally.
I looked about at the attention she was drawing. My shoulders tensed with it.
“You know, when Marcius broke off the engagement I was afraid you’d never find a man, or a partner. Honestly I thought Belba might have been your girlfriend for a time but then she found fredrick and I thought you’d be all alone.” Letta continued.
It was all too much, too loud, too embarrassing.
“Stop it mother,” I tried to speak through gritted teeth but she either didn’t hear me over her performance or didn’t care. Instead she placed her hands on my shoulders to speak directly to me, and the crowd that gathered around us.
“You were always such a hard one to match up. No matter how hard I tried, and believe me I tried, I couldn’t seem to get a man to stick around for you but now! Now they’ll have no choice, eh piglet?”
It was a cruel nickname my mother had for me when I was young. I carried too much weight in her opinion, my body not quite the style it should be and my refusal to take Capitol measures to fix it was what spurned the name. I grew out of it to some degree, my baby fat becoming a fuller womanly figure. Still, she could not help but comment on the willowy form that was popular in the city and my much curvier shape.
It was that name that made me snap. “Enough!” I screamed and pushed aside my mothers doting hands aside.
The room was silent from my outburst but I didn’t care. The startled eyes could look at me all they want, it wouldn’t help calm the simmering rage beneath my skin.
“The one thing I’m most grateful for mother, is the time I’ll have away from you,” I hissed before turning and storming out of the room.
All eyes watched and I could hear one quiet comment over the silence.
“The flower has some thorns,” Belladonna spoke.
I walked home that night. Few people stopped me as few people thought the Rose would be anywhere but the largest party of the night. I managed to get home with relative ease and went straight for my bedroom where I locked the door. The room was still silenced from this morning, the first quiet I’d found since this morning.
Finally I could have a moment of peace. A moment to process. A moment to sink to the floor and cry.
It felt like hours alone. I managed to pick myself off the floor and into my bed where I hid under the covers, hoping this was all a dream. No matter how many times I shut my eyes when they opened, it still wasn’t a dream.
A pounding fist on my door startled me. Letta’s voice came through.
“Gemma! Open this door this instant!” She screeched. I could hear my father trying to make her see reason and not confront me but she wasn’t having any of it.
My rage renewed I stood and marched to the door, opening it to both of their surprise.
“Gemma!” My mother seemed as angry as I was, even more of a mess than the last time I’d seen her. “What were you thinking!? Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me!”
“I embarrassed you?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes! Your blow ups, Gemma they’ll be the death of me I swear,” she tried to head into my room for her next performance but I refused to step out of the way for her.
“I wish they would already,” I spoke through gritted teeth.
“Gemma,” my father scolded but Letta took the insult and ran with it.
“You wish me dead? Is that it?” Large fake tears began to fall over her rosy cheeks. “Oh isn’t that wonderful. I give my daughter the world and she wants me dead.”
“Quit your crying, we all know you don’t mean a word of it,” I spat.
“Oh I mean it! These tears are real but they’re not for me! They’re for you!” She tried but I rolled my eyes. “You know this is the reason Marcius left you,” she tried.
Without thinking I reeled back and slapped her across the face. Silence prevailed as shock replaced my mothers dramatics. Not even my father dared to say another word.
“How DARE you!? I should-”
“You should what?” Letta was interrupted by a nasally voice. Behind her and my father stood Havvery and some guests he’d let into the house. Garth stood with Belladonna and a few others behind her.
“I.. I… she…” Letta sputtered but Garth was already moving past her towards me.
“Might I come in?” He asked and I stepped aside for him, casting Letta another dirty look. The others followed and when only Letta and my father were left in the hallway Garth offered a pleasant thanks and shut the door.
“Gemma Silver, I believe you’ve had the change to meet Belladonna Ivy.” I gave a not to Garth’s words. “Well this is Remington and Imogen, members of her, and now your, style team.”
I had no words, the sudden change from a fight to such polite introductions was staggering. Garth used this as a chance to speak a rehearsed welcome he must have given to all the Roses.
“As we begin the 8th Annual Red Games you will become the centre of focus for all of Panam. As such it is imperative that you make a good impression on the country. As such I will help guild you through these tasks and assist in any way I can. Together we will craft your love story and show Panam that life is always better unified.”
I was barely listening as he spoke and it seemed Garth didn’t care much.
“Now, I will take my leave. Belladonna will see that you are ready for your send off and we’ll head out on this marvellous adventure,” he spoke, again rather board.
I only nodded again. Garth accepted that and left to no doubt calm my mother down, perhaps scold her a bit if I was lucky. Though luck hadn’t exactly been on my side as of late.
Belladonna began rounding me once more. Her assistants, Remington and Imogen, who happened to look like twins with their lavender hair, near white skin and sweeping fitted cloaks. The only differences lied in their eyes. Remington’s were a soft grey and Imogen were a deep jade. They began taking notes on a small tablet while Belladonna circled me like prey. She came to the front and took my chin, raising it to meet my eyes.
“Tears of joy perhaps?” She commented, noting the redness of them and what must have been streaks of gold carried down my cheeks with my tears. She didn’t need me to answer. Instead she moved to my bed where Imogen placed a large box, unsnapping latches and opening all the various folding trays. Inside lay a smattering of colours, all waiting to paint my face. Her collection of paints and brushes put mine to shame. Belladonna spoke while examining the many tools and trays.
“My job is different than most stylists. Where most stylists are meant to help tributes find sponsors, my role is far more important.” She stopped and turned to me. “I am to make you worth dying for.”
My heart dropped at the idea. I hadn’t even thought of what the tributes might think of me.
“Now now, not to fear,” Belladonna sensed my fears all too clearly and reached for me, pushing my hair back and taking my face in her hands.
“This is your kindness to them, do you understand? They will be chosen, no matter who the rose is, tributes will be chosen and will die. It’s a service to them, you see, that you make yourself a worthy prize for all the loss they’ll face.”
Her words added more pressure that I hadn’t even thought to add to my shoulders. I would be their ruin and now I had to make myself worth that ruin? I had only hours ago let myself down. How could I not do the same to 24 unfortunate souls I’d yet to meet?
“Where are they?” Belladonna asked, confused.
For a moment I thought she might be speaking to her assistants but it seemed she was looking for something on my face.
“What?”
“Your thorns dear, where did they go? I saw them at the party,” she clarified with a kind smile on her black lips that didn’t match her usual mischievous grin.
She waited until I cracked the smallest of smiles before she released me and headed back to her work. My face was cleaned and drops were placed in my eyes to calm their redness. I was stripped down and placed in a robe as well, my hair untied around my shoulders to start from scratch.
“You made a sweet impression at the reaping, but let’s not have them think you’re some kind of soft girl. You’ll need to be capable. You’ll need to seem in control.”
The way Belladonna spoke, I had the impression the tributes were still more on her mind than the Capitol. That did ease my worry in some way. If her worries were alined with my own it would make this all so much easier.
Belladona began, painting my face with brushes and powders. She and her large cages stood in my way that I couldn’t see her work. Behind me I could hear the twin assistants working and moving, all in silence.
All the while Belladonna made small conversation. She asked me questions, about my family and my life. I wasn’t sure if it was to get to know me or to ease and distract me but it worked on all accounts. Soon she turned me and began working on my hair. I could see now that the twins were laying out clothing options, accessories and more that Belladonna gave the most subtle cues to. I couldn’t even perceive them but they seemed to know what she wanted.
The colours that laid on my bed weren’t far off from my peach choices this morning. White crossing strips of ribbon were embellished by flowers in blues, lavenders and soft pinks.
“So we’re taking the rose thing rather literal this year,” I commented to Belladonna. I instantly regretted it, I shouldn’t have been so rude to someone who was just trying to help.
“Oh the flowers aren’t about your title,” she corrected without skipping a beat. “The capitol can be cold, fake and cruel. Every district knows this but you, you will be different.” She finished with one last pin in my hair and encouraged me to stand with a push to my shoulders. The twins were already removing my robe and holding out a nude strapless one piece. The lines in it and corseting gave detail and shape as I stepped in.
“Though the Capitol look can be very alluring, it won’t be to tributes. I want to make a statement that separates you from the rest of us. A beacon for tributes to flock to.”
Once laced into the corseting, the white ribbons were lifted over my head. I could see now what the idea was. Each white ribbon wrapped around me as though the outline of a dress rather than the full piece. It began around my neck in a chocker and down my shoulders. More lines moved across my waist and at my hips the ribbon became stiff, moving away from me to create an a-line gown that reached to the flood. Through t it reacted the illusion of a dress my full leg was shown all the way to my one piece. This would have been rather risqué were it not for the flowers that wrapped around my waist and flowed down the ribbon cage. It was beautiful to be sure but…
“Ah, ah ah,” Belladonna waved her finger before me. “No second guessing yourself.” She took my shoulders and turned me towards my mirror.
On the other side of the mirror stood a beauty. Every line of ribbon the dress created was meant to accentuate my figure, making me look mature and kind of sexy, while the flowers made me look feminine. My make up matched that tone, colours that were reflected in the flowers of my dress had been painted on my lids, making my eyes large and my skin dewy. My hair was far less tamed than most in the capitol these days. My hair was pulled back in loose braids, nearly falling apart, that ran down my back. Delicate flowers had been woven into my brown hair all the way to its gold ends.
Belladonna picked and perfected a few of those flowers as she stood behind me. Imogen placed simple pearl earrings on my ears while Remington added a perfect violet gold band to my finger.
“You, my dear, will be a natural beauty amongst a world of harsh illusions.”
I gawked, unaware my curvy shape could be celebrated rather than altered. The look felt, simple and authentic yet would not be questioned by the capitol citizens.
“Thank you,” I whispered as my hands began to explore the garden at my hips.
“Don’t thank me yet, we have a long journey ahead of us,” Belladonna added as she made a motion to the twins. In mere moments the entirety of their tools and things were packed away and ready to leave.
I was lead out to my living room where Letta and my father sat. Father read from his tablet while mother bowed her head. It was clear that Garth had been disciplining my mother. He all but ignored my father behind him and stood directly before Letta.
“We’re ready,” Belladonna announced and Garth lifted his gaze with a smile.
“Ah, aren’t you lovely,” he complimented and moved to my side with an offered hand. “Now, we’ll take you to the train station where we’ll begin the Reaping Tour. It is customary to say your goodbyes here.” He let his gaze turn to my uninterested father and emotionally exhausting mother.
“Goodbye,” I gave in a short tone. Father gave a wave and a smile, knowing he’d see me soon. Letta only made a blubbering sound, unhappy she wasn’t being doted on for her fake tears.
I gave Garth a nod and he seem to be quite understanding of my lack of sentiment. He lead me out the door without question into an awaiting black car.
This time I, or rather the car, was clearly noticed. They waved and screamed from either side even though I was sure they couldn’t see me through the tint of the car.
“You can stand and wave if you’d like,” Garth informed me when he noticed where my attention was. He motioned to the sunroof above us.
“No,” I spoke and cast my eyes down to my floral ring.
I’d been right not to wave. There was no need. It seemed the whole city had turned out at the station.
Citizens and reporters with their insect like cameras trained directly on my face all pushed to get just a little closer as the car doors opened. Peacekeepers kept them at bay but it seemed a struggle for them, especially once they caught sight of me. They screamed and hollered for even a second of my attention. This was fame it seemed.
I caught a glimpse of myself on a television screen on the wall that was airing my arrival live and felt gratified that I appeared just as Belladonna hoped. I looked natural, especially amongst the capitals vivid colours and multitude of augmentations.
I gave small sweet smiles but I just couldn’t hide how overwhelming this was.
I was ushered towards the train, eager to be out of the spotlight. Still, I was forced to stand a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobbled up my images, then we were allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us. The train began to move at once.
The speed initially took my breath away. It had been years since I’d been on a train. The last one brought me back to the capitol almost eleven years ago. It was one of the high-speed Capitol model just like this one. I ran a hand over one of the chairs, it even smelt the same as before.
The staff on the train wore Red outfits with golden trim and showed us each to our rooms. I was surprised as I passed door after door. Twelve to be exact, one for each district on this section of the train. Their handlers and designers would be at the other end of the train. My room was larger and set just before the last car of the train. I’d be close to the viewing room with all it’s windows, but every single person on the train would know where to find me.
Stepping inside my chambers had a lavish suite. It would have been a well sized room were it not for the monstrous bed taking up most of the space. There’d have been room for a sitting area otherwise. Instead I had only a bathroom and dressing area apart from the sleeping area. I wouldn’t have seemed so… spoiled if I didn’t know exactly why the bed was so large.
Though I’d avoided watching too much of either games, it was impossible to ignore. It was broadcasted everywhere and all anyone talked about. I’d seen the blood and carnage. I’d seen the parties and events. I’d even heard of and seen one of the more heated nights between the rose and a tribute. I could never understand how the rose agreed to allow the broadcast of such an intimate moment. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it, let alone be broadcast doing it.
The drawers were filled with fine clothes all approved by Belladonna, as was expected. They were simple and comfortable. The real dresses were in Belledonna’s room, those were the dresses for the cameras. For now I was free to wear whatever I wanted.
After carefully taking off my outfit I looked over the clothing and opted for the thick, warm robe instead. I pulled out my hair and all it’s flowers as well as wiping off my make up. They’d just re-dress me again when we arrived at district one in a few hours.
That was our first stop. District one. The district took turns deciding which way they would be reaped. The rose was to be present at each so the order the districts were reaped mattered strategically, it added time alone on the train with the rose. This year would begin at 1 and end at 12B
The only thing I kept on was the violet ring.
Flowers weren’t often real in the Capitol. They were silk or other materials and the ones that were grown were genetic mutations meant to look perfect. The petrified violet on my hand however, that was a real flower. Or it had been once upon a time. I let my finger stroke over the now preserved petals. Real, genuine beauty. That’s what I wanted to be. Belladonna’s natural look was to make me stand out and it had certainly done that. I wanted more. I wanted to be separate.
I’d always played the rebel. I stood up to the capitol in meaningless, insignificant ways. A braid, a secret aversion to games, a reluctance to participate fully. It was pitiful attempts to make up for my birth given status. This time I would make it clear, I would pick a side. I would choose the districts and their tributes instead of the capitol I was born to. No matter what happened, I would be on their side.
Garth came to collect me for supper. I followed him through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There was a table set for myself and my team.
I sat at the head of the table. Garth took the seat to my right and Belladonna to my left with the twins beside her. The rest of the table held countless chairs with no place settings. It would be for each of my doomed suitors. A shiver ran down my spine at the horrid idea.
Supper came in course after silent course. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Garth kept blathering on about all the exciting things I would experience in each district. After the Reaping they would put on some sort of feast, celebration or custom to entertain me. It would all be for me. I knew Garth was trying to cheer me up and get me excited but every word grated on my nerves and worsened my guilt.
I remained quiet until the meal was over and the moment I was free I excused myself and rushed straight to the last car to be alone. This time of night it was actually beautiful, the capitol was so bright that seeing the stars was impossible. Out here, they twinkled far above me, perfectly displayed through the glass ceiling of the car. I curled up on one of the chairs and stared at the sky.
All night the parties in the Capitol would continue. They would rerun my reaping, speak about all the things they could find out about me through the day. My age, my parents of which Letta would be thrilled, my past in District 7, my past engagement and tragic break up with Marcius, it would all be playing all night for the Capitol to indulge. My life, their entertainment.
I didn’t mean to but I fell asleep in that chair. When I woke to sunlight I ached from being curled up. It took time to stretch myself out. The sun felt too bright and I stumbled even though the train was no longer moving. We were stopped at District 1’s station, ready for the first of district reapings.
FIC SUMMARY: Laing reflects on his life and plans ahead
RATING: M (for disturbing situations)
WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHOR’S NOTES: Characters Reserved to Death, Dark, Disturbing Situations, Drugging of Characters. A prequel of sorts to Our Tiny Grace. No smut. Dark and related to the book. Book spoilers! This book is seriously taking over my life and I love the darkness. Was listening to the new soundtrack for the movie when this idea hit me so yeah just had to write it out. Feedback is always welcome!
It’s all so perfect. So impossibly perfect and flawed in its own right. The outside world, made up with its seemingly free constraints on society, keeping the disgusting and gluttonously blood thirsty from their pleasures. Pushing us to our confinements that leave us more freedom than we could ever have in the outside world.
Laing mused to himself as he stared off into the distance. The newest high rise already having it’s revels, it’s first steps of infancy to freedom. Only four or so cars destroyed, only two death, as far as he could see. A possible kindred spirit from afar stepped out only to turn tail and rush back in as he had so long ago, only to never return to the light again.
Looking past his neighbors he spots the landscape of the prison he once lived. Everyone tottering about, doing this and that according to what they should be, far past his vision. Their lives unknowingly controlled, given the facsimile of what they were expected to be and only few able to break the mold.
His home, his tower, his castle peak in the sky, his high rise allowed him the freedom of what his heart desired.
Turning around to peer through the open doorway to the bedroom he sees his sister, Alice, and Eleanor. The two already taken to feeding themselves to the cat. Greedy little feline nibbling hungrily at their flesh, gave him the urge to return to the bed with them and bask in all their filth.
The rancid scent that permeated through the apartment-no the entire building-was the smell of home for him now. No other fragrance as sweet and welcoming.
His eyes momentarily blinded by the sun’s slow descent, finally reaching his vision, reminding him of the time. He made eye contact with Alice as she looked up, knowing exactly what time it was and what was to come but not caring all the same. It had become routine and she knew her and Eleanor’s deaths were near but she reserved herself to that fact long ago.
She only hoped Steele wouldn’t paint her in any atrocious colors. She looked terrible in mustard yellow.
Laing turned to the kitchen to get his supplies and prepare their meal. The morphine mixed easily with the canned beans and stale biscuits he’d found in an abandoned apartment two floors up. He was surprised to find them, the entire apartment having been ransacked and looted months ago. He’d found an accountant slumped over the food, Steele having reached him before with his face painted but not moved like the others, his body most likely stiff from death far before Steele had reached him. Laing only had to push him over and he easily clunked to the floor on his side revealing the food. A stroke of luck really.
He prepared the meal noticing his supplies running low. He only had enough for maybe three more meals and then they would most likely begin withdrawals and, in their state, most likely die. Well, might as well quicken the inevitable he thought as he poured the remaining supply into their meal.
The two were losing his interest and he’d already been eyeing a woman and husband four floors up who’d been attacked by Wilder and his hoard of children for their food. That man and his childish ways, running amuck, naked as the day he was born, as if this were his own private playground. Laing imagined he no longer speaks intelligibly anymore, having taken to grunting and violence for communication.
His only dilemma, finding a new supply of morphine. How could he keep his patients without coercion? He needed to restock but his only options were outside of the high rise.
Was he ready for that?
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