Blood - The Middle East (mree cover) [Opal/Potato]

My train arrived this morning and I was off it as soon as it stopped. I spoke a few rushed words to the tributes of my district, promising them advice and time to talk with me in the coming days. I think I saw bewildered looks, I know I expected it, but I’m not quite sure, after all I was in a rush, trying to escape before they could even look at me. I don’t know what they were expecting, but whatever it was they wanted I wasn’t going to give it to them just yet.

And then I was running down the streets – gait slightly uneven, because trust me, running with a fake leg wasn’t the easiest thing in the world – past the few cars that roamed the streets, because I had no time to ask the Capitolites for a ride back to the train station. Why would I either? What would I say? I need to see some other tributes? Take me to the station because I want to see, speak and listen to tributes that aren’t from my own district? That there is someone I need to be waiting for? No. They wouldn’t have it. So instead I am running.

Tributes had been pouring into the training centre all morning and as of now there was only two districts remaining. District twelve and district eleven. I only had eyes for one.

I was puffing, heart beating rapidly in my chest as I forced myself past the crowd of Capitolites. There obnoxious cheering was the only thing I needed to hear to know that the train had pulled in. I force myself into a jog, pushing myself through the crowd, past the peacekeepers and anyone who got in my way. The doors to the train slide open and there was a flash of movement – that was all I needed – and I was running forwards. I smashed into him, careless of the chaos it would cause. Careless of what people would think, because he was there, he was here. Wrapping my arms tightly around his body I bury my face into his chest, tears spring to my eyes.

"Miss Opal,” they were the only words I needed to hear. He breathed them onto my skin, his arms wrapping themselves around me. And I cried. I cried, but I was happy, and yet I was so terribly distraught, because all I could see was Argonite’s, Emerald’s, Locust’s, Xanthus’ dead bodies, I couldn't protect them. This boy right here, in my arms, couldn’t join them. I squeeze tighter, and bit my lip, hard, using it as a way to prevent the sobs that want to be heard.

”You’re here.” Was I happy about that? Yes. My head said no, but my heart said yes.

I finally gather enough wits to look at him, and I smile. But I can’t find the right words to say.

"I was hoping to see you too," it was a spare of the moment response. The truth in those words was evident. I wish i could have stayed in district elven, so I am so happy to see him. But at the same time I wish it could have been under different circumstances. Like sitting at his house, or standing in his garden admiring the strawberries he had told me he would be planting. Or even back at my home, in my garden (something I was still trying to build as grand and great as it once had been) at my table as I made tea and something to eat for us.

But not here.

And yet when the peacekeeper interrupts this moment of pure perfection I can't help, but know that I am just so happy to see that face again, with those bright eyes and that crooked grin and that goofy accent (the one that is so hard to not imitate when he speaks, it makes me smile, hearing his voice), even in these circumstances. Clasping his hand tightly in my own I lead the way. I've been here and done this too many times. But if I had not done this that number of times I would never have met him, so, in some twisted way becoming a victor had been the best thing to happen to me. If it had not I'd still be in my garden, passing the hours and waiting for the next child to come along tease me, bash me and beat me down and into the ground.

"Have you ever been in a car before, Potato?" I ask as the car pulls up beside us. The corners of my eyes crinkle as I throw him a large grin, bearing all the pain and sadness behind the joy of this moment. Sometimes you just have to let it all go, let it go and love the moment you're living in before it is gone forever. I would not weigh him down with my grief. Not now.

Stretching upwards so that I stood on the tips f my toes I brush my lips against his cheek. My eyes flashed cheekily and I tugged him forwards, "come on, you're going to love it."

Okay so he wasn't loving it as much as I was. I had expected it, of course. For a boy so in touch with nature and just his entire style of living, hell even the accent was a big enough hint to show the world that he wasn't, well, modernised. He was a boy that thrived in the older times, like the ones in the books we had read for school, where the people looks like cowboys and stuff. I didn't mind it one little bit, in fact, I wish I had the same frame of mind to go flying back into such a time and place. His world was so much more perfect and peaceful then my own.

But every time he spoke, looked at me or touched me I gained a glimpse of that perfect world. I wanted to see, hear and feel it more and more and more. I wanted to be apart of his world, I wanted to be in his head as much as he was in mine. Because these days he was all I could think about. He saved my life in those fields three years ago and I saved his two months ago. And even when I saved his he still saved mine. He mended this broken shell, and he stitched it all back together. I've never been one to believe in love after such a short amount of time, but why the hell not? Why can't I be in love? And even if it is some hormonal driven urge I didn't give a damn. Because it felt wonderful.

I've spent three years thinking about him, wasn't that enough?

His entire body seems to stiffen with fear as the car moves along. His hand tightens around mine and I lean into him. Pressing myself against is lanky figure, trying my best to use it as some sort of reassurance.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's alright, okay?" My other hand reaches forward and I cup the side of his face, forcing him to look at me. "Trust me, you'll be fine. I'm right here, I won't let anything happen." I stay there holding him until the car stops. We both get out, our hands still entwined tightly together. Pursuing my lips I raise a questioning eyebrow to his escort. It only lasts a few seconds before my face morphs into a delighted grin and I take off, waving an arm at his escort, who stands gaping at us, "don't worry, I'll show him around!" I call back, dashing forwards before they can stop us.

He's like the sun on a cold winter's day. You don't want him to leave, ever. In fact, you want to get as close as you possibly can to him. You want to feel the warmth of his touch, because after being wrapped in a blanket, you've forgotten what it felt like. And when he touches you, you don't want it to stop. You just want to get closer and never lose it again.

The elevators close shut with a ding and it takes off. It seems this is just another contraptions that causes large amounts of fear to rise up in Potato. I let out a yelp of surprise as he tips sideways, dragging me with him. I crash into his chest, and he wraps an arm around me. In that jumbled mess I find myself looking upwards at him, the rapid beat of his heart so easy to feel. I press a hand to his chest, over his heart, wondering if there is someway I can make it run steadier. I didn't want him to be scared. Not now, not with everything that was coming. I wanted him to feel safe, to feel happy and cared for until the time comes when I can't face the danger by his side.

It is my turn to feel the rapid beat of a wild heart as he places his free hand on the side of my face. Fingers ever-so gently brushing my cheek. I've never had anyone touch me like that. With such tenderness that I can feel my heart melt. It's always been abuse, fists, legs and weapons. I don't think I love my plants more then I love this feeling swirling inside me. Because not even my babies could hold me like this. So when he moves his hand to the back of my neck I move into the kiss.

I'm lost in a moment that I don't ever want to lose. I've never felt my heart race so rapidly, it feels like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. My breathes are short, and when we pull apart my eyes are closed. I pull them open, my lips curled into a small smile and I look at him, one hand still inter-woven in his, the other wrapped around his neck. Using that leverage I draw myself upwards, and pull him down and I kiss him again.

When the elevator dings and the doors open it takes all my self-control to draw back and away from his lips.

"Come on, hot stuff," I say with a smirk.

I felt like I was walking on air, I was giddy with the ecstasy of it all, with the fact that I had him here by my side, right now. He wasn't in district eleven, some unmeasurable amount of distance away. "I'll show you to your room."

I've never kissed someone before, the tales I had heard from my sisters had made it seem like something so simple to do. Like it required no effort and the outcome was the same every time they did it. But it wasn't as simple as they had implied, that had been a lie. It wasn't as plain and simple as they had made it out to be either. If I had to use one word to describe it, I would use magical. And I'd be lying if I were to say that I'd rather be back at his house, sitting there, no kisses, but he'd be safe and sound. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want that, I'd trade my soul (the blood-stained broken thing) for that to happen. Because if I were there right now, in that situation I'd still kiss him. No matter what.

I didn't want the day to come when I would call out his name, or reach for his hand and find nothing, no reply, no warmth. All I would find was another dull ache in my heart, another piece torn away.

I think my heart agreed with magical essence of it all, however, it was hardly keeping up with me as we wound down the hallways. I found his room in no time and he lead me in. It looked almost the same as the one I stayed in. Except for a few things here and there. I could almost picture myself sitting on the bed, hands shaking, body ready to throw up every single bit of food I had eaten on that first night. I remember the terror, and I did not want Potato to feel that at all. He flops down on the bed and I don't hesitate for a second to follow suit. We lay close together, but not too close, I turn my head to stare at him, knowing that even at this distance I could stretch my other hand over and touch his face.

But I don't. Because his face has fallen into a serious expression, as he gazes up at the ceiling. My chest tightens, knowing what is about to come. The only thing keeping me from running away and avoiding it all was his hand, still wrapped around mine, his fingers gently playing with my own. It was that warmth that pushed that edge of panic away from over-coming me.

"Miss Opal, we gotta talk 'bout what's gonna happen ter me 'cause I don't wanna make believe that everythin's alright, 'cause it ain't,"

I don't know how to respond. Do I tell him that his chances of survival are slim? Do I tell him that he is going to see pain and misery and things he should never see? Do I tell him that in a weeks time I might never see him again? No I don't, because if I began to breathe even a tiny bit of those words I'd break. If anything I need to be strong for him, I need to be strong for myself, because when that gong sounds I won't be able to hide from the truth. But for now I can pretend. And even if this perfect world is only for a moment I have to.

Rolling onto my side I stare at him, lips fumbling over what to say. "I don't know what's going to happen. I know that at the end I want you back here by my side. And until you do come back I want to just live in this little world where I can kiss you and hold your hand. " The words come out ever so softly. Because I'm scared to say some of them. I squeeze his hand, dreading when I will have to let go.

"I can't think about it, Potato. I'll break if I do."

I don't think I deserve all the pain I have been through. But saying that I don't want sympathy or pity for anything I have suffered. I'll continue to suffer until the day I die, that's a fact. I don't want to tell people that I think I've suffered more then they have, because that can't be true. Everyone suffers, everyone deals with it differently and I don't think any one persons suffering is worse then anthers. Because in the end no one should have to suffer anything. I also can' blame people for my won suffering. No one could end it, I could not end the suffering I face now, because no matter what I'd still think of Potato, I'd still think of his smile, his lips and his skin. I'd still think of his garden, his home and his smell. Even if I were to push him to the other end of Panem I could not stop the ache.

Not even after I have told him the pain it will bring me does he stop. But I understand. Because I know what he has been through in more then one way. And if our positions were reversed right now I'd be asking the same thing of him. I know the fear, terror and uncertainty that must be screaming through his veins. And I know that every instinct would be telling him to push me away to save me from pain and I am so thankful of his selfish need. Even if he had tried I wouldn't have budged, even if he had of told me he hated me to push me away I wouldn't have believed it, he's a horrible liar.

This time when he speaks I close my eyes and squeeze them together tightly. If there was some way I could run away from all of this I would try. I'm a coward, truly. And it's terribly selfish of me to want to dance around what needs to be said, because I'm scared of hurting me and of hurting him.

"I'm so afraid as well." I draw my hand out of his and scoot closer to him, until my body is pressed against his, but I don't look at him, instead I bury my face in his side, hands feebly grasping at his shirt. Don't cry.

"I don't want to cry, you know?" I say, squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I can, because I can feel that pain in my chest and that prickling behind my eyes. "It isn't a certainty, you might not di-." my voice breaks and I have to take in a shuddering breath. Pull yourself together.

"I can't tell you not to be scared about what's going to happen in that arena. But I do know you're strong enough to get through it. I can't protect you there."

And even with my eyes so tightly held together I can feel the tears leaking through.

"I can't do anything to stop it all." I whisper, "I wish I could."