strawberry champagne } petelia&justice
Aug 11, 2017 22:52:41 GMT -5
Post by arx on Aug 11, 2017 22:52:41 GMT -5
JUSTICE FRAY
I swear every screen in the entire Capitol lights up in tandem. One after the other, a live update on the fight because everyone thought it was over and had turned their attention to the volcano that seemed to be growing more and more threatening with each passing minute. I'm not paying attention when it happens. I've got a happy buzz and a curvy Capitol girl sitting in my lap while another plays with my hair—how could I be paying attention to anything else?
I'd hoped spending my time in House of Hedonic would help me avoid the games. I'd hoped they'd have enough women and booze to keep my head above the water and my eyes turned away from the television screens. But apparently even in this place I can't avoid it; no matter how hard I try to avoid the Games, it just keeps following me around.
It's like a whisper, just background noise. I could've missed it. I wish I'd missed it. But I can only think of one moment in my entire life when I ever got so lucky. Lips pressed to my neck, fingers raking through my hair, another body pressed to mine—it should've been easy to stay distracted.
A man curses beside me, slamming his drink down onto the bar—"I put good money on him."—while a few begin to whisper and others sit silently. I can feel the gossip spreading as fingers unravel from my hair and lips leave the surface of my skin. And then I feel like all eyes are on me, burying themselves like blades in my skin, tearing at my flesh.
You'd think that I'd be used to this by now. I'm such a fool—shame on me, I guess. Can't believe I tricked myself into thinking this time would actually be different.
Can't believe I cared enough to have to trick myself.
The air in here suddenly feels suffocating. I feel like I'm choking, like my lungs are collapsing in on themselves. Air thick with sweat, perfume, and champagne, I find myself clawing at the collar of my shirt as I stand from my seat and start pushing for the exit. It's risky to stand out in the street when so many cameras and interviewers are bound to be searching for me, but I can't be in here anymore.
"Damn it!"
I mean it to be a curse under my breath, but it comes out as something much louder. Hot air and humidity hits me in a rush as my feet hit pavement. I hear it all in bits and pieces as I pass by a bar, a barber shop, a tattoo parlor, a strip club—stabbed through the neck, killed instantly, best chances of being the next Victor, strong, talented, vicious, intelligent, and still unable to follow in my footsteps.
"You don’t fucking deserve it. She did."
He didn't want to follow in my footsteps; he wanted to make his own. You'd think all these people on television would get it by now. My siblings don't want to be like me, they don't want to be me, they didn't want me. Sure they wanted a crown, but they never wanted it sitting on my head.
I'm reminded of it every single day when I hear my own footsteps echo around my big, empty mansion. When I sit alone on my front steps and watch the sunset. When I make breakfast for one and sit at empty table for every single meal. It's lonely, living life without a family.
I'd take Kaiser telling me he hates me over silence so great that I can hear the tick of the clock from two rooms away.
No chance that'll happen now.
I hadn't realized where I was going until I was practically standing in front of her door. I should've grabbed a bottle of sparkling wine and a bouquet of flowers before I got here; she would've liked that. I hope a hug is enough to gain entry into her pink palace because that's all I've got left in me.
I knock three times. I hope she's in.
"Petelia? It's Justice," I yell at the outside of the door, hands shoved in my pockets and eyes flitting across the doorframe. "I was just passing by and I thought--"
I sigh, gnaw at the inside of my lip and rub at my eyes.
I didn't know I needed what Petelia has to offer. I feel like I shouldn't need it. It's stupid, I never liked him anyway, why the hell would I need--
"I thought you might be able to cheer me up?"
I'd hoped spending my time in House of Hedonic would help me avoid the games. I'd hoped they'd have enough women and booze to keep my head above the water and my eyes turned away from the television screens. But apparently even in this place I can't avoid it; no matter how hard I try to avoid the Games, it just keeps following me around.
("In a shocking turn of events,")
It's like a whisper, just background noise. I could've missed it. I wish I'd missed it. But I can only think of one moment in my entire life when I ever got so lucky. Lips pressed to my neck, fingers raking through my hair, another body pressed to mine—it should've been easy to stay distracted.
("Kaiser Fray has been eliminated.")
A man curses beside me, slamming his drink down onto the bar—"I put good money on him."—while a few begin to whisper and others sit silently. I can feel the gossip spreading as fingers unravel from my hair and lips leave the surface of my skin. And then I feel like all eyes are on me, burying themselves like blades in my skin, tearing at my flesh.
You'd think that I'd be used to this by now. I'm such a fool—shame on me, I guess. Can't believe I tricked myself into thinking this time would actually be different.
Can't believe I cared enough to have to trick myself.
("A well-timed blow and a bit of luck--")
The air in here suddenly feels suffocating. I feel like I'm choking, like my lungs are collapsing in on themselves. Air thick with sweat, perfume, and champagne, I find myself clawing at the collar of my shirt as I stand from my seat and start pushing for the exit. It's risky to stand out in the street when so many cameras and interviewers are bound to be searching for me, but I can't be in here anymore.
("--and it seems Miss Izar has herself a kill.")
"Damn it!"
I mean it to be a curse under my breath, but it comes out as something much louder. Hot air and humidity hits me in a rush as my feet hit pavement. I hear it all in bits and pieces as I pass by a bar, a barber shop, a tattoo parlor, a strip club—stabbed through the neck, killed instantly, best chances of being the next Victor, strong, talented, vicious, intelligent, and still unable to follow in my footsteps.
"You don’t fucking deserve it. She did."
He didn't want to follow in my footsteps; he wanted to make his own. You'd think all these people on television would get it by now. My siblings don't want to be like me, they don't want to be me, they didn't want me. Sure they wanted a crown, but they never wanted it sitting on my head.
I'm reminded of it every single day when I hear my own footsteps echo around my big, empty mansion. When I sit alone on my front steps and watch the sunset. When I make breakfast for one and sit at empty table for every single meal. It's lonely, living life without a family.
I'd take Kaiser telling me he hates me over silence so great that I can hear the tick of the clock from two rooms away.
No chance that'll happen now.
I hadn't realized where I was going until I was practically standing in front of her door. I should've grabbed a bottle of sparkling wine and a bouquet of flowers before I got here; she would've liked that. I hope a hug is enough to gain entry into her pink palace because that's all I've got left in me.
I knock three times. I hope she's in.
"Petelia? It's Justice," I yell at the outside of the door, hands shoved in my pockets and eyes flitting across the doorframe. "I was just passing by and I thought--"
I sigh, gnaw at the inside of my lip and rub at my eyes.
I didn't know I needed what Petelia has to offer. I feel like I shouldn't need it. It's stupid, I never liked him anyway, why the hell would I need--
"I thought you might be able to cheer me up?"
