airen caldwell ; wanderer ; fin

a p p e a r a n c e » I'm pretty, like, you have to admit that.

I keep myself nice.
My sister let herself get messy after she started with the drugs. I went the other direction. I shined. I keep my hair pristine and my skin flawless, and nobody thinks much of anything about it. They just figure I'm another pretty boy. Which I am, I suppose. I've never deluded myself into thinking I'm a "manly man" or whatever. I'm not. I'm so not. Like, it stopped being funny years ago.

I'm pretty tall, but I'm also pretty skinny. People keep accusing me of not eating. Whatever, I eat when I feel like eating. I don't starve myself. This is all just how my body works and eating is not going to change that no matter what people keep telling me. My eyes are blue. People say they're "eerily light," and one time Ros called them "spooky and ethereal," but she was high, so I don't know how to take that. She probably meant it, to be fair. At the time, at least. Not that it matters much. Ros is always high.

There are little scars all over my arms. It's not self harm or whatever. It's from the needles, see. If you didn't get that. I don't know what people think. I just want to clarify that.
Other than those, though, my skin is flawless, if I can say so myself. I think it's one of my best features and- pretty gorgeous. That's about all there is to say.
I wear tight clothes, partially because it makes it easier to find hookups. People like being able to check you out before they "go all the way", and tight clothing is the easiest way of doing that- so that's what I do. Other than that, my clothing is rather nondescript. I don't need my clothes to stand out. I think my face does a good enough job of that.
In a good way, I mean. If it sounded like I meant I was colossally ugly or something- I didn't. I'm gorgeous.

p e r s o n a l i t y » and sometimes I say

I'm not a good person.
It's okay. This isn't a self-hate thing or whatever. I'm fabulous. I'm just not a good person. I've come to terms with it, of course. I think I'm great. I'm just not traditionally good. Maybe my morals are a little questionable. That sounds about right.

A lot of people disapprove of my hobbies. I don't see why, exactly. I just really love the rush you get when you watch the light go out of someone's eyes because of something I did. Sounds morbid, doesn't it? It is, really. It is. It's better than drugs, and honestly, we're overpopulated anyways. I'm doing the world a favor.

This is how my days go: shoot up, fuck a boy or two, get high [again], stock up, pack up, move on. I've been living like this for- shit, a year now? Less? I can't honestly know for sure. It's hard to keep track of time out here. I'm going from district to district, cause I can usually get in around the edges for just enough time to get some drugs and sleep around a little. There's a dealer in almost every district. You just have to know how to find them. Even One and Two- those have some shady people behind the shiny exterior. You just have to know how to find them. I mean, I'm from One, aren't I? And look where it got me. I'm a druggie slut who kills people for fun.

I prefer not to tell people much about me, but it's okay, because the kinds of crowds I find aren't exactly looking to find out. They have their secrets, and I have mine. We don't need to know anything more than what is told. You don't need to know someone's life story to sleep with them. You don't need to hear your dealer's life story. That's how i like it to be. People are too quick to spill their secrets to strangers. Secrets are secrets for a reason. Panem would be a much better place if everyone knew how to keep their mouths shut. I think I'm the only one who thinks that way, though. Doesn't make sense.

I don't believe in love.
Devotion, sure. You can be hopelessly devoted to someone. You can think it's love, but it's not, because love is requited. And it isn't possible for two people to be equally in love. There is always an imbalance on one end or the other. So love? It's bullshit. Forgive my language.
I've seen a lot of people who think they're in love. I remember once, before I knew how to do it right, I hooked up with this guy, right? And he had all this baggage. Like, after, he kept telling me about how he was "in love" with his best friend, and that the guy didn't know and if he did he wouldn't care and all that. And I just sat there and kind of cringed.
That was unnecessary and I don't know why I told you.

Another knife in my hands
A stain that never comes off the sheets
Clean me off
I'm so dirty babe
It ain't the money and it sure as hell ain't just for the fame
It's for the bodies I claim and lose

h i s t o r y » the past is the past is

Here's my family: missing father, distant mother, druggie sister, druggie me. My parents used to be happy and together and all that, but I think we were too much for them. We being me and Roselie, of course. Don't ask where the names came from. I assume they were my mother's idea, before she was disillusioned with her children.
I didn't start with the drugs for a few years. They were more of an escape than anything. It was more easy for Roselie, but she also depended on them more than I did. Do. I still do.
And the murders, well, those and the drugs went kind of hand in hand. I was a nice enough kid, honestly, I just haven't ever been a good person. It's not one of those stories about corrupted innocence and that. I've always been this way. I just make it a little more obvious now.

Roselie hasn't ever been all there, people say. I didn't care what they said, when I was younger. I told her to embrace it. Probably a bad decision, right? It worked for her, though. She's two years older than me. I don't know if she's still alive, either. Might have overdosed or something after I left. Accidentally, I mean. Ros never cared about me that much. It sounds insecure, but it's the truth. We defended each other, sure. We stood up for each other. But we didn't ever have that bond that some people have with their siblings. We were the druggie Caldwell kids, and we stuck together out of necessity. People avoided us after I got into a fight when I was twelve. I don't remember exactly what I did to the kid, but he was bigger than me and they still had to pull me off him before I "did permanent damage", they said. I think that was when I got kicked out of school. That part is hazy at best. It's around when I started the drugs. I think I blacked out a few times. So I don't remember much at all.

I first killed someone when-- I was fifteen, yeah? Yeah. Fifteen. It was my teacher's son, actually. And I had a gun. I got it from a black market ammunition dealer. Cost me a bit, but I figured it was worth it. And oh my Ripred, it so was.
He owed me some money, see, cause I hooked him up with a bit of my stash. And he wouldn't pay me, so I pulled the trigger. I didn't realize I had done it until I saw him staring at me and sinking to the ground. The blood was just- it was everywhere. And it was beautiful. It was getting late, and the sunset reflected in shades of red, and I had never known that it would be that good, you know?
And I left him there. I let him bleed out. And I watched him die, and then I left.

And after that, I didn't mind it so much, the idea of ending human life.
So when my sister came home, and she started talking about a kid insulting her- I didn't get angry, even. I grabbed my gun and that was that. That was a few years before I left. I've only killed a couple people, I promise. That's all. So far.
I wouldn't mind having it be more, but that's not related.

Ros is a burnout.
That's what the kids at school always called her, and here's the thing: it's true. It's the only thing that I don't mind them saying, because it bothers me, it's true, but I don't get angry with people for saying the truth. A slut? No. That's me, not Ros. But she's the burnout. Not me. I still have a life outside the drugs. It's small, but it's a life. And they are all she has.