Reckless Love :: Cricket + Opal

I can’t quit remember the last day I sat and didn’t cry. It was pathetic and tiresome and I knew I had to find some end to it because in all honesty tears did nothing. They didn’t make a problem go away, they didn’t make the world become any better then whatever the fuck it was now. They were useless things and they were consuming me. They were a waste of my time and yet it was an uphill battle, all the way, to stop myself from crying. Most people saw it as a sign of weakness, crying that is, and I did as well, it held none of those typical connotations with the brave and courageous. There was no glorified view of those that cry winning all the love and attention of some mighty admirer’s. Saying that, I never wasted a tear where others could see, I kept them hidden behind locked doors. It was all crying in my room at night as Peri too watch over the tributes, it was crying into a pillow and washing away the tears before anyone could see. It was shaking until they spilled and wishing that I were anyone else in this world.

It was stupid, how quickly I let my emotions escape me. I had no control over what I had at times like this. They were a storm and you can’t control mother nature.

Reflecting back on my fight with Xanthus I had particularly begged and pleaded and screamed and cried like a baby, everything I had done in that arena had not showed how strong I was. Pain and misery particularly leaked out of my pours, I’d been tears and annoyance and the girl that snapped at Yaa over some petty emotions. I’d been the one to fall and cry as Akasha’s body had burned, the one to turn as pale as a ghost as we had stepped into the tar pits. The one to scream as Drace had stabbed them in the back. All of it had been blind balls of raging emotions; a fiery display of everything within me being set alight all at once. There’d been no calmness, no patience and limits; it’d be quick explosions with deadly affects. All of it disregarding every bit of career training I had ever had.

There had been snot and tears and a lot of disgusting liquids, after my leg had been chopped off who knows what my body did, for all I knew I probably peed myself. But who fucking cares, when your leg gets detached from your body who gives a fuck about peeing and crying, the pain is so incredibly bad that even a career would have to crack under whatever façade they hold. And, well, I wasn’t a true career and I never wanted to even try to be one. I was exactly who I grew up as, from the moment I took my place on that stage with dirt smudged across my cheeks to the second I left that arena, falling on the ground as the ladder fell from the sky. I was that kid that sat in a garden that was bullied because of what she loves, and when those bullies came around they’d kick my plants and call me a baby and I’d cry. I’d cry for those plants and not for myself, I’d cry when they’d hit me in the stomach for crying so much and then I’d cry some more.

At the this point in the games both Jem and Charlotte are alive and so I have to sit and watch and pretend I care about their welfare. I have to pretend that I want them to survive and come back home to their families and loved ones. I felt no guilt about that fact that, in all reality, I didn’t give shit about them. They knew that from the beginning, never one did I try to hide the fact that I was here for one person alone. I’m so incredibly selfish, but I think for once in my life I can be. Not even surviving in that arena had been for myself, which had been for my parents, so for the first time in my life I was breaking all the rules so I could be happy for the briefest of moments. I’m not sorry for wanting something for myself; I just wish I had tried for it earlier.

I think a little whole ago I would have cared about those two kids fighting for their lives, but that was before I lost my brother to those very games, that was before he was thrown into those games and I realised that no matter what I do they’re all going to die. I don’t have the energy to care about two people I know not a single thing about, about to pretentious spoiled brats that have a better chance of surviving then anyone else in that arena. So instead I watch Potato and I let myself suffer by his hands, because I deserve this, I deserve this pain; after all I’ve killed people.

This is my punishment.

I’ve murdered innocent people and this is payback. Take it all; take it all until there is nothing left and I am a walking skeleton made of nothing. That’s the aim of this game, to completely and utterly destroy me. In the end not even Ripred thinks losing two siblings is enough, not even he thinks I’ve lost enough because I’m watching the last thing I love slowly get killed and I can’t do a single thing.

When Cricket turns in her chair to face me I pay her no attention. When she talks, I want to tell her to shut up, because who gives a shit that Tiger is dead, who cares that she had “potential” that she was “worth watching”. My brother had potential and he died. My sister had potential and she died. Everyone dies. Twenty-three of those kids are going to die. I can’t say I’m glad she’s dead because that means Potato is one step closer to home, I can’t tell her that Tiger would have killed Potato just as quickly if their roles were reversed.

However, I can spin around in my chair to face her as she continues to speak, her words dripping from her lips like spew: unwanted. My lips tighten into a thin line and I force myself to withhold the glare I want to throw her way.

”I see a lot in him.” I say, and I’m really not sure how to tell her that when I look at him I see my home. When I look at him I see someone who loves the Earth as much as I do, who understands what it is like to hold a plant and feel it grown beneath your hands. Who knows loss, who knows love, who understands me. A man who gave me a name that is my own, a name that wasn’t taken from me when I was first born, a name that wasn’t thrust upon me when I was adopted, but a name I chose because I love him. A name that was given to me because he walked into my life and he made it worth living, he stopped the nightmare’s that came and he ended the pain that had grown in my chest. He accepted me for who I was before and after he knew I had killed people.

How can you tell someone that when you feel like your dying on the inside you just have to think of him and it gets better, or that when he holds you and kisses you it feels like the world isn’t as fucked up. Three years I have known him and three years isn’t enough.

How do you tell someone that you see the world in one person? That you see your life?

”Do you love someone?”


ooc -- i am literally so sorry idek what this is, it's a mess of words and ugh :c