montague serveran | two | fin

For Monty, life was pretty sink or swim relatively early in life. His parents had a very specific image of who he was destined to become in mind, and whenever he dropped below their expectations in any regard, their punishment was absence. Coldness. Silence at dinner, tension so thick it soiled his appetite. They always waited for him to make it right before they caved. And yes, this meant that he got good at 'making it right' so to speak, but it also did a lot of other fucked up therapy-conversation stuff to him as well. He craved being around others, but they also absolutely exhausted him because of how vigilant he was. His life became about achievement and success. And regardless of how successful he was, it wasn't ever enough.

When he was fourteen, he became the youngest career to win the gauntlet at one of District Two's most prestigious post-industry change training academies, and when he mentioned it to them, his parents were too busy fussing over the lining of their custom coats and the gaudy jewels decorating their fingers to care. He remembered glancing at them that night, both of them smiling because of the successful turnout from their seats. They were counting money while the people who paid it to them beat each other senseless ten feet away. Crowds of them stood around and watched, cheering. Waiting their turn. Madeline among them, once the closest thing to a living reflection of himself and now he barely recognized her standing in front of him. One fight finished and a bell rang. Some people booed, others cheered. Money was dealt to those who placed the wiser bet.

He'd always wondered why his sister was spared the expense of their indifference, what made her different enough to somehow be on their side. They were so eerily similar for the longest time growing up, both working to be... better. But as it ultimately turned out, they were working to be better at different things. Madeline was studying their parents, learning them the way she had a knack for. Becoming them.

Madeline stepped into the ring for the first time, excited smile on her face. Neither of them should've been there at all, let alone participating. But far be it him to interrupt; he was playing his part of being no one just as they wanted him to. Monty stood in the doorway like he always did, watching from beneath his mask so no one knew who he was. Why? Because that, it turns out, is what he had been working towards: being the distraction. He was the over-achieving student, the thriving career from humble beginnings. It was an inspiring story, and it did a wonderful job of hiding the truth.

The sick part? He didn't mind it.

He didn't want anyone to know he had anything to do with this. It may have been inconsequential to his family, but the things he worked to achieve did matter to him. It was, strangely enough, his only hope even back then, four years ago. The idea of it all being taken away because of a world he was forced to be a part of set his teeth on edge and made him want to push himself even harder to succeed, furthering the distance between himself and the truth.

He remembered he was about to go wait outside for the fight to finish when he heard a loud CRACK- the unmistakable snap of bone he was unsettlingly used to hearing. His sister's left arm was limp, and he couldn't tell if her shoulder was dislocated as she stumbled backward. Her opponent didn't relent just yet, clear uppercut to the chin that snapped her head back at an awful angle and sent her crumbling to the ground. The crowd cheered. Monty blinked.

The next thing he knew, he was at her side.

"Fuck off!" she snapped, spitting a wad of blood onto the floor. She held her arm against herself, wincing in pain, but she managed to stand and leave him alone on the floor, the crowd around them staring down in confusion.

His parents both stared, unblinking, and unimpressed. He realized in that moment that his hands were balled into fists, and his knuckles ached. Looking down at them, he was surprised to see them split and bleeding. He looked behind him and saw her opponent resting in the arms of a few others, hand pressed to his nose while an unhealthy amount of blood pooled from it.

He stood, lips pressed thin to keep himself from gasping. He bowed and muttered his apologies to the guy whose nose he'd broken, to the crowd who watched it, to his frowning parents. And then he stumbled back to his place at the door and sat in silence.

Four years later, and he was still standing in the same doorway.