you meant no harm . de la cruz

luca dela

estimated time: year of the 4th Hunger Games

full de la cruz experience here

TW: Drug Use, Mention of Suicide

You are caught between scorch, scorn, and the scotch underneath the bed that rolls you into a grave. You feel nothing today, same as the last. Motivation is debilitating when movements toward success are drawn out and fruitless from fatigue. While Keaton tries to wean you off of your addiction to alcohol, Vito feeds it and then some. He keeps a joint for you both to share and lies to your second roommate. Keaton, though, has come to terms with the fact that funding your habits enables them twice over. You don't have enough money to afford it for yourself. You could crave anything if the person selling it to you in the back of the alley assures you that it will make the pain go away. You toss in your bed and the saliva in your mouth begins to crave. You think of Keaton: don't do it. You turn out of respect for your friend, only for memories of sadness and anger to bless your eyes in the shape of tears.

You crumble, wanting nothing more than to get away from here- from your bed, from District Eight, from Panem. The cliffs that your family used to visit before the Dark Days foreshadow you. Careful, or you just might slip.

One day carries over to the next, and you wake to Keaton lying on your kneecaps. He lets out long sigh after sigh until you pull yourself upright and your legs crawl out from under his torso. Keaton's fingers tap against a glass of water on the nightstand. {"Morning sunshine."}

"Hey," your grogginess anchors your words. "What is it?" Keaton stares at you while you gather the bed sheet across your lap. He blinks once you do so, giving you a moment to calculate what exactly it is that you've done. "Shit, I don't work today, do I?"

Keaton shakes his head. {"No. It's just the selection thing… the Reaping. I figure we can scout it out. Maybe it'll cheer you up, Dela."}

"Why would it do that?" You ask the question and Keaton rises, unveiling the sun to a pair of eyes that couldn't desire it any less. {"Watch someone else bleed and you might figure out how to patch yourself up."}

You don't argue with him. Keaton covers your half of the rent if you can't pay it for the month. The least you can do is oblige to be his guest of honor on the outing. He dresses you as you stumble from bed. It's a rough day for you. Too many days are, but mornings prove to be the worst. Your mobility trails behind the rest of your consciousness. Keaton's breath reflects from behind as he buttons your shirt and throws a jacket around you to fit your arms through. You've gained some weight in your frame. Keaton's clothes fit you much more nicely now.

Vito works today, although he's around the square while the Reaping takes place. He works in the square as one of the maintenance men. After enabling rebellion, Vito has told you that it's better to work than to die. As you approach the square, he gives you and Keaton a wave. You wave back and he returns to funneling trash into a bin. Fair enough.

You feel out of place outside the corral of boys and girls stacked against each other in the square. They all seem unsure, as you're sure you would be too. It's not fair for them to be in there. Many of them were too young to fault for the war, too innocent to observe such a fate as the last three years have placed upon twenty-three.

Keaton stays close to you like a man unsure if their dog is ready to walk without a leash. It's hard to discern how he feels. Keaton Decroix cares for you, but like a brother, a father, a friend, or something else? He motions for an empty bench and you take the right side for yourself. You stumble on your way down, a little dizzy, and you leg rattles as the crowd's volume fades to silence.

The head Peacekeeper recites the treaty signed by the twelve districts not too long ago. It is a demand that all citizens of Panem must know it, the Treaty of Treason, by hard. You're forgetful, though. Keaton whispers the entire treaty, word for word, out of atonement. You don't bother making an attempt. A mockery might just result in a lashing.

The name of the girl is announced first. Luella Duval. You don't look up at first as feet trot to gather her, but Keaton forces you to look. Pretty. You can only suppose she's biting her tongue so hard that it bleeds. A future is what she's been promised but a slip of paper announces a guarantee.

Your feet dance with the pebbles in the creases of the sidewalk. You imagine they dive off the cliff and ripple while they touch the lake.

For the boys, they say. Keaton taps your shoulder and you turn up. The Peacekeeper is digging into the bowl a bit longer than usual this time. He pulls a slip out, but before takes it fully, the Peacekeeper drops it and selects another one in its place. You roll your eyes. He's toying with you, toying with those poor kids.

{"And..er. And-er Dee Lah Cruhz."}

It takes a moment. The man butchers the name, completely. Every part, every syllable is off. You look at the smirk on his face. The man knows it.

{"Come on up, young man."}

Keaton shuffles. He knows what you do not in this moment. While you play games in your head to make the thoughts go away, the what-should-be focus of your attention makes his way to the stage and taps the microphone that the Peacekeeper once spoke in.

{"It's Ander De la Cruz, prick."}

It's the voice that you recognize, not the name. Thorns lace around your neck, your wrists, and your chest. They puncture as your eyes turn up and to the stage. You see him for a glimpse before he and the girl are pulled off of the stage and behind closed doors. Your brother.

Keaton tries to shield you from standing when you begin to get restless. The die has already been cast for you, and as you raise a hand in the air with an objection, you don't gather much of anyone's attention. Other than Keaton, who immediately cues Vito for help.

"What are you doin' with my.. my little brother?" You wander toward the room that they forced him into, the one beside the stage. You push past a crowd of children who question your pathing. You twist the knob of the door and it opens. Foolish of them not to lock it. You walk in, and while a few of the Peacekeepers turn, they don't acknowledge your presence.

"Hey Drifter.. er.. Ander. Get back here! You grab at one of the Peacekeeper's black uniforms and turn him around. "Give him back, ass hat. My baby br-"

The moment you make contact with the Peacekeeper, one pulls Ander back further while the rest come for you. The one you touched hooks you in the face with the right. The die rolled long before this moment reveals itself as one out of your favor. You are too disoriented to resist. The hurdle of Peacekeepers, maybe four or five in total, take you to the foundation of the stage and knock you back against it.

Keaton's there and so is Vito with his hands nervously quivering behind his back. {"He's just a drunken idiot,"} Keaton says, pleading your case, {"He didn't mean any harm in-"}

The Head Peacekeeper sends his baton between you and Keaton, who's hands fall back after an attempt to pull you away.

Your neck buries your head up against the wooden foundation as the Peacekeepers let you fall. You hear what sounds like the unsheathing of a sword. {"Thirty lashes to the gentleman in violation of our conduct. Ten to anyone who tries to interfere."} Without hesitation, your jacket is stripped and shirt torn away. The whip falls onto you.

Lucky, perhaps, you are. You have fucked your life up so bad that you're too distraught to know you've broken any rules. You don't know what is happening, but you feel it. Your brother's backside remains etched into your mind as the Peacekeepers count their lashes.

You fight for the last piece of your family that still functions as it should, even if Ander did not turn his head to see you. He heard you, felt you.

Lash after lash, you figure it's worth it. Any amount of pain is worth seeing him one last time.

The cliff foreshadows you once again. You might not know it yet, but seventeen years from now, you'll jump.