cullen craine | two | fin

if every fool wore a crown
I would be a king and not a clown
'cause love can make us closer
but it's lost on me

Sixteen summers and a bottle of tequila split between them. Lydia was a year older than him, and at age five, his life became about trying and failing to catch up to her. A second quicker, a letter smarter, a smile more confident.

"Keep up, Cullen!" She would call to him as he chased her through suburban back yards. He remembered getting so frustrated at times because he never seemed to be quite as much on his game when she was around. He would time himself in seconds from the patio to the fence and back. Fifteen seconds flat, easy. And then when she was next to him, a wonder of quick feet and a lifted chin, he was lucky not to stumble over his feet.

Even as they grew older, wooden swords traded in for steel and treehouses traded for training centers, he would grit his jaw in agitation when she would stop a spar to adjust his torso. "Your center is off," she would explain. And the thing that got him most was that she never seemed to do it in mockery. She did it to help, because she was a good fucking person.

He had learned later on that those kinds of people were hard to come by.

And why she had chosen him of all people, he would never know. He had convinced himself that it was just a familiarity thing. They had grown up next to each other, had taken each step in their lives hand in hand while their parents barbecued and watched it happen.

And things weren't perfect. They fought all of the time. Cullen had considered becoming a peacekeeper once he graduated, which would have meant moving away and potentially never coming back. His uncle had been a peacekeeper, died on the job. They brought his body back and buried it in the cemetery on far side of the block. No one except Cullen's grandma, his parents, and Cullen himself to attend the funeral, but the Capitol made sure to pay for a fancy headstone.

"That's stupid, Cullen. And dangerous."

"And it's better than mining stone in some cave for the rest of my life."

She had climbed out of his window, stopping just on the other side of it.

"At least then, you'd be able to stay with me."

He didn't reply. He didn't plan on replying, which didn't matter, because she didn't give him time to anyway. His gaze had fallen to the floor for just a moment, and when he looked back up, she was gone.

But then she would put her hand on his shoulder when she walked past him, or laugh at yet another one of his stupid jokes, and even though things weren't perfect, he felt like they were.

—————————

Her face was flushed, which meant she was hiding something. Terrible liar— one of the few things Cullen was better than her at.

"What is it?"

Hands fell to her stomach and he knew. He understood without Lydia uttering a single word.

"Are you sure?"
"You pee on a stick, Cullen; It's idiot-proof.

He didn't know what it meant, or what would be done about it, but he didn't care. If she wanted to keep the baby, they would keep it. If she didn't—

If she didn't, things would have worked out much, much differently, huh?

She was sick for months, and that glow most pregnant women had was never there. She looked ill, and rightly so. And despite Cullen reminding her every day how much he loved her, he couldn't help getting the feeling that maybe she no longer loved herself.

She was placed on permanent bed rest by the time she was into her third trimester. Her cheeks were sunken in, her skin oily, her hair dry.

"This baby is gonna kill me, huh?" she joked once.

"You and me both," he replied.

God, he hated himself for ever entertaining such a possibility.

When River was born, carbon copy of Cullen, she only got to enjoy her mother a moment before Lydia began to fade. It was quick. Doctor said she probably didn't feel much because of all the medicines, and he was grateful for that much. But he was left with a newborn daughter, and a funeral to help plan.

He cancelled the application he and Lydia has submitted for the big house, opted for something more affordable, closer to the square, so that he could find work. Peacekeeper dreams had already dwindled down to working in the masonry mines, and after Lydia died, he couldn't even manage to do that. No one under the age of twelve was allowed through the front gates, and he had a child.

Most places, he learned, didn't accept bringing a baby on board.

Lydia had given him everything for as long as he could remember. She had kept him from biting rebel bullets, kept him from a life of mediocrity. Fuck, she had sacrificed her life so that she could give birth to a daughter, and how was Cullen repaying her? By trading in their big home for a shitty two-bedroom apartment, and applying for work in a daycare because it was the only place where he could bring River with him.

He hadn't ever been as smart as Lydia, and maybe if she were there, he would've made wiser moves, but when they called him back for his interview, he cleared his throat and kissed River on top of her head.

"I'm going to take care of us, Kiddo." he promised.

He promised.

"Listen, bro, I got a kid. Is it cool if she comes in with me?"