Forever Could Be Severed By // [Opal/Mace]

You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye

One hour ago Potato Earnest died.

Was it one hour ago? She couldn’t remember. All she could remember was running, running so far and fast that she did not choose to stop, but rather he body did. Her prosthetic leg had cut into her skin, slicing open her flesh at the jerky, sharp movements; she hadn’t put it on properly that morning. She didn’t care. But her body did, and so she tripped and fell and stayed right there. She didn’t care where she was. It was quiet though, she had liked that. And she had sat there, staring at the wall in front of her, blood dripping down her leg, but she didn’t care, why should she? What was there to care about? Nothing. So why bother caring and so she didn’t.

There weren’t enough words in the world to describe how she felt. There wasn’t enough time to begin to fathom everything that raced through her all at once. It was like a dive forwards, a crash and a snap; a bang and then there was nothing. A rush of fifty thousand things, pain, oh there was so much pain and then blind, cold numbness. It was like drowning, it was like having your head forced into a bucket of water, it was like being held down as your hands gripped the edge, as you struggled, thrashed and fought with every ounce of your strength to breathe. It was like the pain that struck you, the agony in your lungs, as they got no air, the shocking stabs that split your skull in two as it was deprived of what it needed to survive. Then all at once there was that mighty tug, that one moment of searing agony that decided your fate, whether you held on for a few more seconds or you gave up, parted your lips and sucked in the water.

She wasn’t sitting on that moment anymore. She’d given up long ago, swallowing the water like it was air, breathing it in and letting it consume her. When you reached that point your body forgot how to work and all at once you simply let go. It was over, you were no more then a soaking, wet, ragdoll and that was exactly what Opal Earnest was.

The wall in front of her was, quite frankly, revolting. It was clean, it was oh so very clean, there wasn’t a mark on it, but then this was the Capitol. Everything had to be perfect, everything had to be clean and shiny and just exactly right. Because the Capitol could have nothing less then the cleanest rooms, the whitest walls and the most perfect little victors. They had to have everything they wanted and the wall in front of her was everything she did not want. Everything she wanted was lying in a patch of sand, bleeding and dead. Everything she wanted out of this entire world was right there and this wall was mocking her, yes it was, the perfect, clean thing was laughing at her, it had everything it wanted and she did not, she’d kill it. She’d-

"I came to pay my respects, Mrs. Earnest. It ain't fair what you been through, these last few years."

destroy it and make it pay for all it had done to her. Was that the wall talking to her? Perhaps, who knew, the Capitol was full of vile surprises. The wall actually mocking her would be no big surprise. What respect did the Capitol have? Nothing, it had not a single drop of it. Pay it’s respects. She didn’t want it’s sympathy, she didn’t want any of it, and she wanted to be left alone. She didn’t want to be reminded that the Capitol had stolen her real parents from her, which it had stolen her sister and her brother, which it had taken from her every ounce of happiness she had ever had. That he Capitol had taken her best friend and made her kill so many people. She didn’t want to hear it or see it, because every drop of her pain was the Capitol’s fault, ever but of agony and heartache she felt was because of them. But she didn’t have the strength to fight.

She wanted to see him; she wanted to feel his arms around her she wanted him to keep his promise.

They were supposed to grow old together.

They were supposed to plant a tree together, they were supposed to make a garden together and hug and hold hands and kiss. They were supposed to grow old and live in a house with a little white fence and a garden made of dreams. They were supposed to be together and in love and with one another. They were supposed to be together, they had their happy ending right there, they had everything they could have wanted right there, she had everything she wanted right there, but it had been taken in one moment.

He’d promised her, she’d promised him, but here she was and here he was not.

"What can I do to help?"

Kill Leon fucking Krigel, kill the bastard.

It was those words that forced her to blink. She looked at the wall harder, and then she slowly, ever so slowly swiveled her head around, because the Capitol would never offer help, the Capitol would never choke on its words, the Capitol hadn’t asked that.

He had.

Mace Emberstatt stood there, hands behind his back, staring at Opal. And Opal laughed.

She laughed and she rocked backwards and forwards and laughed some more. And she laughed until there were tears in her eyes and she stared at him the entire time.

”Help me?” She asked, tone devoid of all emotion. ”Why ever would I need help, there’s nothing wrong, he’s alive you know. There’s nothing wrong.” She said and she laughed again, rocking back and forth, eyes wide and wild. ”There’s nothing wrong at all, Mr Emberstatt! Nothing at all, he’s alive you know? He’s coming home.” She smiled, but there was no warmth, no emotion, it was a dry stretch of the lips as devoid of life as her face, her soul and her heart.

”Nothing wrong at all, he’s alive.”

She laughed.

”Nothing wrong.”

It died in her throat all at once.

”He’s alive.” She stared at him.

Her heart tore like a piece of paper, but she felt no pain.

”He’s alive.” She repeated.

There’s nothing wrong.

”He promised.”

I love you, Opal Earnest. Always.

And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
And anywhere I would've followed you

You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye

There was more blood then she had first assumed and she stared at it blankly. Suddenly she could picture him, see the way it fell onto the ground. She could picture a sword slicing his skin open and blood spilling from the wound – blood as bright and is real as this one. And she wanted to cry, but nothing came out. She wanted to feel pain and agony and sadness but there was nothing. So she moved her gaze away from the blood that flowed steadily from her leg and she looked up at Mace. He moved, until he was eye level with her and she followed his movements, she watched as he raised his hands and she looked away.

Her attention returned back to the wall before her. Opal couldn’t understand why her insides were so hollow, it was like someone had shoved a hand down her throat and pulled everything out and now she was an empty shell. A dead, empty doll.

"It's just Mace, remember? Just plain ol' Mace from Ten."

Mace. Ten. Old.

They were supposed to grow old together. What was he saying now? She wasn’t really listening in all honesty. She wasn’t really doing anything. What was she doing here again?

Oh.

Yes, that was why.

He said something else and then his hand moved to her leg, she saw it, from the corner of her eye and this time she looked at him, some light of life sparking in those dark, dead eyes. But it was a flickering flame, being blown out by the cold of her soul and yet for a second it was brighter, the cold dying as she watched his hand touch her fake leg. Suddenly she was thrown back to that night, with his arms on her, where he had undressed her and kissed her. Where he had looked at her and then ever so carefully removed that leg, when he had kissed the stump and told her that she was still perfect, that it didn’t matter.

She’d have loved him without his arm, in fact she’d have laughed, taken her fake leg off and told him that they were both the same now. One part missing and that she would give him her own arm to guide him and that he could have it and hold it and she would protect him. It didn’t matter that it was gone, because she was there and he was there and she didn’t need her leg because she had his legs, just as he didn’t need that arm, because he had hers to hold him.

He’d made that cold plastic bit of her seem like something real, as though it didn’t matter that it wasn’t fake, or the thing she had been born with.

Why wasn’t she crying? She wanted to.

Then Mace held up all of his fingers and she stared at each one of them, seeing them, but not seeing anything, and then they disappeared and their was a spike of pain and she gasped, but didn’t move. Instead she slowly turned her gaze down to the source of the pain, she raised a hand and drew it over to the wound. Two of his fingers were clotting the blood, but enough had spilled. He leaned in closer to her and she could feel the warmth that flowed off of him. A finger pulled at the puddle of blood, and she tipped her finger in it before drawing it away. She dragged it along those clean tiles, smearing her blood even further across them. She moved her finger this way and that, each movement achingly slow, each one robotic and without a sense of purpose.

And Mace reached forwards with a hand and brushed the hair from her face. When she saw him again he would do that right? He’d press his forehead against hers and he’d move the hair from her face, he’d trace his thumb across her cheek and her lips and he’d kiss her.

Mace spoke about promises and things and she really wasn’t listening. Promises were fickle, stupid, breakable things. It was foolish of her to think that they’d last, her parents had taught her that much. And yet she still believed he’d keep those promises he’d made. After all Potato wasn’t her parents, he wasn’t her siblings and he wasn’t a family she had never known. He was home, he was her everything. And what had she promised him? When she had smiled at him and laughed and pushed that ring onto his finger, when she had pulled his shirt off, wrapped her legs around him and kissed him. Most of the things she had promised had been silent, a shared, unbreakable vow between the two of them, something neither needed to see, because they both already knew.

”Everything. Everything I am and everything I could be.” She said softly. The words slide between her lips and she wasn’t even sure if he could hear them.

”I promised him my life.”

I love you, Potato Earnest. Always.

And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
And anywhere I would've followed you