on letting go [holliday oneshot]

"Psssst. Wake up."

("...H...Holli...? Wh-What are you doi--")

"Get up, and get dressed. Go wake the others, too."

("Wh-Why...? Where are we going...?")

"...Home.

We're going home."

I killed him.

It was me who did it--I killed McCarthy Balmain.

It is a confession I can now say with the utmost confidence I am capable of mustering; days of denial and choked-out words from ragged breaths and fountains of tears, they are gone.

Long gone, like he is, now.

It wasn't that District Seven girl who glided her sword across his arm, the final blow that caused him to bleed out on the island floor by his allies just moments after he escaped the mountain of supplies that he was fighting everybody else for.

It wasn't everyone who ambushed him as he tried to gather as much as possible, turning his skin red and breaking his bones into two beneath it until it was too much to take and his last breath left his lungs, and the last beat was pumped in his heart.

It wasn't himself, who tried to chase after that girl with the hair like fire from his alliance and ended up finding the other two boys, a path of crimson being created to his deathbed in the process.

It was me.

I was the one who made him volunteer and sentence himself to pain, and an eternal rest.

I killed him.

I killed McCarthy Balmain.

("But...but what about Mom and Dad...?")

Scoff. "What about them?"

("Aren't they going to get angry?")

"You think they actually care about us?

Come on now--they don't.

They never have."

("...But...")

"Aunt Cassi does, though, and so do I. It'll be fine, I promise.

Trust me."

I should have believed him.

He came to me with all of his trust in my hands and I should have believed him.

But I didn't.

I let it all go like it wasn't even worth holding in the first place.

How could I do that?

What kind of friend does that?

He had every reason and right to believe they would go as far as arson to screw over their competition like the pathetic, mean-spirited pieces of shit that they are. He would know.

I would know.

But I didn't believe him.

And that decision has become a weight that pushes down heavily on my shoulders, especially now that he's gone.

Why didn't I believe him?

"Do you like it when Mom and Dad make you sew for so long?"

("...Mm, no..."

"It's really boring, and it takes too long, and it hurts...")

"What would you rather be doing?"

("I...I want to play with my friends, and...drink lemonade from that one restaurant, and...make up lots of stories!"

"I want to draw, and pet that one cat that we always see around our house!")

"Well, don't worry.

Aunt Cassi will let you guys do all of those things--even own a pet.

She's everything that Mom and Dad aren't."

I was a coward.

Was?

I still am.

I could have believed him, I could have worked together with him, and I could have taken action with him. I had no reason nor right not to, especially when I'm already well aware and familiar with how terrible they are as human beings.

But I still didn't.

And I wish I did, oh how I fucking wish that I did, because now he's dead, he's gone, he's no longer here for me to meet up with in the District Square to tease and joke with and spend time with and laugh with--

("No, I'm not a nerd like you are."

"Oh, fuck off."

"I'm just kidding!")

He's gone.

All because I've always been so afraid of them.

They've always intimidated me, and I had every reason and right to be because look what they did to McCarthy and his family. Look at how much they have destroyed in their lives, taken away from them, in so little time, all because of constant comparisons over the quality of clothes.

But I should've done something.

I should've done something, because when he needed me most, I sent him away to his grave. I had the blood, and the knowledge, and every reason and right to help him and rat their sorry asses out but I--

("S-Sorry...that's...that's really nice to hear, Holli. ...Thank you for that.")

I killed him.

I killed Mick.

And there's nothing that I want more than to take back everything I've said on that day that sealed his fate of being sealed in a coffin, and instead just gave him the help that he so desperately had to get for the sake of his family.

There's nothing that I want more than to see his face, and hear his voice again.

(But when you're a scared little girl who fails to act against those who have tortured you and your siblings all of your life,

when you're a scared little girl who lets them control you and them,

when you're a scared little girl who remains just as that--scared...

You're far from deserving of that privilege.)

"Here they are, Aunt Cassi. Just like we talked about."

("...Thank you, Holliday. I promise I'll take good care of them.

Your parents won't know a single thing about this, not if I can help it.

They'll be safe here.")

"Thank you. That's...that's all I want."

("Holli...?"

"Holli, where are you going?")

"...I'm just going to be visiting McCarthy's family. I won't be long.

I love you guys.

Take care of yourselves and Aunt Cassi for me while I'm gone, will you?"

("Okay...we will!"

"We love you too, Holli!")

His coffin came back today.

Both his and the girl's, actually--she didn't last long, either, so they arrived back home in the crude wooden caskets together.

This is what we get, after all, for finally getting ourselves our own victor in however many years before, and in a Quell games with more than double the normal amount of tributes there are no less.

He looked so peaceful, even with the dried red that marked his body and brought him to this state of a permanent sleep.

But I couldn't stop looking at the flowers.

That girl...I was never going to forget her name for this, especially considering who her family was.

Emberly Lowe.

She had tried to help Mick as he quickly began to lose consciousness for the final time, tried to stop the bleeding. She then held his hand, and comforted him, told him about her life in Ten...and then she made him a flower crown with that boy from his alliance. I could never get his name right for the life of me, but he went by Wal.

It was her idea. White, blue, and purple orchids--they remind me of the night sky. We both loved looking up at the night sky together, as we talked about whatever we wanted.

All I wanted to do was repay that girl, but in a fight for your life...doing so was almost impossible.

So I prayed.

I prayed for a few minutes every morning after I woke up, right before every meal, and every evening before I went to bed. I prayed so fucking hard to God, for him to let her come home to Saffron and Mace and her family.

A person like her didn't even deserve to be stuck there in that arena. Nobody does, but especially not her.

Those next few days were perhaps even more agonizing than they were before, after Mick put himself up for death. Emberly was getting closer and closer to victory, living up to the feast, up to the solo fights, making it to the final four--

("...Don't stop fighting."

"Never.")

But she didn't make it out of there.

She died, right before she had reached the finale.

I had found myself becoming more and more hopeful that she would win this one, and even began preparing to meet her. I was going to give her the shirt that he had the night his house was burned down. It was far from a nice gift and token of my appreciation, but...it was all that I had left of him.

Now there was no longer any reason to hand this over to Emberly Lowe.

There was no longer any right to hope for anything.

There was no longer any meaning in...everything.



Later that evening did I finally decide it was high time to give it all up.

Not just the cowardice.

Mom. Dad. My siblings, Aunt Cassi, the Queeneth name. A stable life of a roof over my head, food on the table, a school to attend to, a future laid out for me no matter how much I despised it. The Balmains.

I was going to run away from it all.

None of it mattered anymore. I didn't care whether this actually still made me a coward, or even a bigger one--I wasn't going to worry about being one anymore.

So I talked to and arranged plans with Aunt Cassi. She understood, she listened to everything that I was going through. She even offered her home to me too--but I refused, so she lended me some money instead to help me on my quest.

I wanted to break away from my surname, and become my own person. I was tired, and the Lord--as hopeless as he was--knew just how much I needed it.

So in the dead of that night did I bring my brother and sister to her house. And once I did, I walked away.

I wasn't going to look back.

I cut the red string that tied me to all of them with the shears that McCarthy used to severe the colored bond between us.

I did love him.

Still do.

But that alone won't bring him back, because I killed him.

And I was never going to forgive myself for it.

I was going to be a Queeneth no more.

("...What the hell...? What do you want, it's fuckin' 4 in the morning for fuck's sakes...")

"...Sorry. You're...Cyrus, right?"

("...Yeah, that's me. How'd ya'know?")

"We go to the same school, I've heard your name in conversation."

("Oh, I see...I don't know yours, though.")

"It's fine. Look, this is a long story, but do you mind if I crashed here for awhile? I'll explain if you let me in."

("...Uhh...sssssure. I'll see what ma says about it in the morning, but for now, I'll say yeah.")

"Thank you. Thank you so much, I really needed this."

("Mhm, yeah, yeah...so what's your name?")

"...Just call me Holli."