i was only eighteen {patricia+pollux}

Pretty sure they brought me here to die.

I ask the nurse when she changes my drip. She's wearing gloves and a mask. I can't see her mouth beneath it, just her eyes.

She doesn't answer me. Doesn't even look at me, actually. Just does her little task and hurries off. Bet she's afraid to even open her mouth in case she catches what I have. Guess I'm dying alone.

"Are you gonna tell her about me?"
"The nurse?" I ask.
"No, her."
"Y'mean that lady."
"Yeah."
"Fuck no."

There's such little space here that people's cots are pushed up against each other in some places. By the time I ended up here, all they could offer me was a bed roll. Now I've got body aches to go with the burning. Feels like someone is sticking a thousand needles into my skin.

The pain leaves me speechless, mouth open to scream but nothing comes out. It's worse than anything I've ever been through and it comes in waves.

This morning, they moved me to my own room. Probably to die.

"You aren't dying, it's not your time."
"I said no mind-reading. It's not fair."
"Yeah well you can see, how is that fair?"
"It's not."

I blink and I'm there. Sitting on the living room couch and my mother at the door thanking the peacekeeper that brought me home because I ran away again. I turn in my spot, knowing it's fruitless I still yell, "I'm just a fuckin' organ cooler for him!" Part of me knows I'm being selfish and horrible but it feels to good to say it to care. It's like I've won, watching my mother's face darken with anger even as the peacekeeper turns on his heel. He doesn't care, he's done his job and now he's going to fuck off.

And they're gonna take my kidney out to give to cass.

I hate him.

I hate him for needing me and I hate him for being sick. I hate him even more when mom makes me apologize to him for running away. He finally wakes up again and he tells me it's okay, but it's not.

I failed him.

And I hate him for not hating me back.

I blink and Cass is sitting beside me on my bed, back against the wall. He looks the same as I remember him, just a little older. And I know he's not there but he's heavy beside me and when I lean into him, he holds my weight.

"If I hadn't run away you would've got the surgery in time and you'd still be able to see."
"We've already been over this, Lux."
"If you could have seen maybe you wouldn't have died."
"Maybe, maybe not."

There's the sound of footsteps in the hall again. I've gotten good at telling who's coming to see me based on their gait. The nurse walks light, doesn't want to wake anyone I guess. The doctor walks heavy, she doesn't think about that stuff. This person's neither.

"Bet it's her."
"No way, it'd be fuckin' dumb to come here."
"Will you tell her about me?"

I don't get why she's come to see me. I don't have anything left in me to offer.

Patricia rolls a can of orange soda towards me. It hits the edge of my bed roll and tries to bounce off but I catch it with my foot. She's wearing a mask. I can't see her mouth beneath it, just her eyes, but they crinkle up when I catch the soda and I can tell she's smiling beneath the fabric.

"Thanks," I say. When I was a kid, at the first sign of being sick my mom would banish me to my room in case I got Cass sick.

But this is an active quarantine zone and Patricia doesn’t seem to even care. She’s met me one time but still came back to see me. I get why people like her.

"I'm doing okay," I lie.

I pull the can closer so I can open it. "But I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be here," I say. The pull tab is too much work so I set it aside, trying to make it look more like a choice than a failing. "You got cleared to go home, didn't you?"

I can't keep the longing off my face at the idea of going home. I ran from home the same night Cass died, so Wolfgang gave me a room at his place. It's the first time I've ever felt taken cared of. Now I'll probably never see it again.

"Come on Lux, tell her hi from me."

"I'd be on the train by now if it were me, Six fuckin' sucks," I say, jabbing Cass with my elbow to get him to shut up.

Pat takes my lie, holds it there between us as if to show me that she knows, but doesn't say a word about it anyway. The dying boy gets to keep his bullshit dignity I guess.

"Too many people haven't come home on my watch, Lux."

And maybe she's only here because she still feels bad about Cass.

I want to push the thought away as soon as I've had it, lock that one up nice and safe again. Don't know how that got out, it's an old thing I think. From when we were kids and everything we ever did was because of Cass. Never for me, that bitter fucking knife twisting into my chest reminds me; I was the afterthought.

But would she even be here if it weren't for him?

I want to yell at her. I can feel the urge to bubbling up in my chest. She's not even doing anything wrong, just tidying up for me, like how any normal person might for someone who's sick but I've only ever done things for myself. I don't need someone to look after me, I'm the one that does the looking after.

"Just let her take care of you, Lux," Cass says and elbows me back, "You're sick, she's just helping."

He's right but it doesn't matter. I still hate it.

"Y'know anger's a sign of the last stage coming."

I think the bigger sign might be my dead twin brother sitting right beside me.

"What are you trying to prove?" I ask, "This is real noble of you, tidying up my dishes and all but I'm just leftovers Pat and I'm not worth the risk. You're a victor, you're someone."

The words burn as they spill from my mouth, raking at my throat. The room is spinning again, everything grows brighter and I squeeze my eyes shut against it, fingers curling up into the blanket beneath me. I slide to the left into Cass's lap and my head hits his thigh, soft, like a pillow.

I'm tired. Laying here, half sturdy, jaw clenched tight in anger and it's not just my body but it's all of me. Every piece of me that's kept myself going these last four years, just so I could die the way that Cass was meant to, miles and miles away from my home.

But Pat's talking about Six and how great it actually is, that it's the people who make it good and they're going to save me.

But there's nothing redeemable about the place to me.

"Flynn," I say, "Flynn lives in Six."

The kid who killed my brother.

And I know he had to do it, I know it was cass or him but I don't fucking care. He took away the person I spent years unravelling myself for.

All for none of it to have mattered.

"I want-" I say, but I don't really know what I want. I only know what I don't. It brings a heat behind my eyes, and for a moment, I forget to guard myself. I squeeze the blanket up tight in my hands and the words come rushing out, "I don't want to fuckin' be here anymore."

I don't even want to fall apart in front of a friend let alone a stranger.

And that's what she is, no matter the fact that Patricia's been around longer than I've been alive. I don't fucking know her. Maybe Cass did, for a matter of days, but she didn't know him, not really and she doesn't fucking know me.

I don't want her here but I don't want her to leave either. When she takes my hand and holds me, I remember that it's been a very long time since anyone has. My first instinct is to pull away but her grip only tightens. I'm too weak to shake her off, I don't know if really want to anyway.

"Just let go, Lux," Cass says, "You're always fighting, just let go for once."

"I'm here. We're gonna get through this, Lux," Patricia says.

But Cass is a hypocrite and Patricia is a liar.

"Just be nice for once, okay Lux?" Cass begs me. Because I'm not a good person. When we were little I was the always the first to throw a punch at recess and then Cass and I would both have to pay for it together.

Like always.

I shake my head. "You gotta go," I tell them both, "All I'm ever gonna do is ruin you." And even as i say it, I hold her just as tight. Because I'm the same as them and I'm selfish, I always have been. It's why Cass is dead and why I was never the son my parents wanted. When I was supposed to put him first I chose me. I'm still choosing me by not insisting on them leaving.

I wipe angry tears off my cheeks with my free hand. My skin is raw beneath my touch, and everything burns with the hate beneath my skin.

"You won't be alone."

She doesn't move from her place beside me and neither does Cass. I'm sandwiched in by my brother and the victor of district Five.

"It's fine, Pat, okay?" I mutter, kind of annoyed, but not at her. No matter what I do, the tears won't stop. It's like a dam's finally been broken and now this is how I am. I hold my hand flat over one eye, as if I can hide the way that I'm breaking from her. But the tears slip between my fingers, they give me away.

"I'm the one that gets left behind."

But I still don't let go of her hand and she still doesn't let go of mine. I try to think of what else I can say to push her away.

"Are you gonna tell her about me?" Cass whispers.

I turn my head to look at him, properly, for the first time all night. There he is, my brother. Same way he's always been, my Cass. Warm smile, dark hair, empty, sightless eyes and a hole straight through his chest the size of a dime.

"And I'm not alone," I say and turn back to look at Patricia, "He's here."

I smile and squeeze her hand a little tighter.

Patricia lets go of my hand, gets up and leaves me.

The pressure's still there, the feeling of her hand holding mine and I still feel the places where it was too much but I never asked her to let go– I thought she wasn't going to.

"You think she's mad?" Cass asks, "That you didn't tell her?"

I don't know. I barely know how to read myself let alone other people. I could read Cass pretty well, even when he was trying to be brave and promise he was doing okay. I could see through him pretty much all the time but I let him lie to me. I wanted to believe the lie.

I think in the end, we all do.

"Good, then we'll both look after you."

Dishes clink. Each hit is another sharp pain in my head, like a hammer driving nails into tin. I bite my lip, push a palm into my eye socket, drag my hand down my cheek, anything to keep from crying out.

"It's okay Lux, I know it hurts," says Cass.

And I know he knows. I've seen pain on his face so many times. Back then, I didn't understand it like I do now. "I didn't know before," I mumble.

"I didn't want you to," says Cass. His hand finds my back and he rubs it gently, slow circles over and over while Patricia finishes tidying and the room grows dimmer. I curl up on the bedroll, fingers finding root in the fabric of the blanket against my cheek, I think I always wanted something like this.

"Thank-you," I sigh, "For being here."

Even when I tried to make you leave me.

Everyone splits apart sometimes.

I've done it before this, left my heart back in my parent's house, in that hiding spot beneath the floorboards in Cass's room. Always used to hide things for him in there that mom didn't let him have. Five cent cinnamon twists from Magnolia's that we both liked mostly. They'd make them from the ends of bread loaves that no one wanted, twist 'em up, dip 'em in butter and douse 'em with cinnamon. Pure sin.

I forgot to take all of me when I left home. Maybe I didn't know how. Part of me still thought that my mom and dad wouldn't want to lose both sons at once but I was wrong. They never looked for me, never even saw a single flyer up saying I was missing.

It's probably because I let him volunteer.

I was supposed to push Cass back into line, hold a hand over his mouth and take the words from him. I was supposed to do it for him, save him, like always.

I didn't.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, but the sound stays there, caged against the back of my lips.

"Shhh," Cass says and brushes my hair back off my forehead, slick with sweat.

I think I'm splitting apart again.

I don't even know how long I've been like this. Could be hours, days maybe. I don't think I'm meant to still be alive. Doctors don't know what to do about it. Couple days back they told Pat to say her goodbyes because they guessed I had hours left, but that was then and this is now and I'm still here.

Don't know how much longer, maybe forever.

Just live like this forever. 

Still, I'm slowly getting better. I'm stronger than I was yesterday but not by much.

I raise my hand, elbow against the bed and Cass takes my hand in his. Squeezes it. I used to do that, when he was so sick, I'd sit there beside him, feet propped up on his bed and I'd read him all the stories he liked. After a few times I started to get bored of it but Cass never did. Something he always looked forward to became a chore for me. 

Now I miss those times so much. It's crazy how even the most menial things hurt to think about now. It's fucking crazy how much I miss him, even after all this time.

Whoever said time heals all wounds is wrong. All time does is ravage it, cut away at it until the pain just lays there, heavy, raw and exposed, stinging at every small thing.

"Lux, I'm right here," Cass says.

"They tell me you're not," I say, "Logic says you can't be." Not like I've ever let logic make decisions for me before. I'm just desperate for something to hold on to that's concrete these days.

Patricia comes and goes, I'll open my eyes and she's just sitting there beside my bed, gaze somewhere else, until she sees me looking at her. She stays with me like she promised that she would. I've grown up surrounded by people full of empty words, I wasn't expecting her to keep hers.

Every time I open my eyes and she's there, I have a reason to keep living, to get better.

But I'll never get better with him here.

"I think I need you to go, Cass," I whisper. A tear falls out the corner of my eye, betraying me. We both know I don't want him to.

I know I'm splitting apart again.

"Yeah," Cass says, then he lets go of my hand. He stands up, give me a little half smile, "I'm not even really here, you do know that right?"

Part of me does.

Part of me splits off, doesn't let go of his hand. Stands with him, slings an arm around his neck like I always did before. "I know," I say, "But I really want you to be."

He just smiles at me, soft and gentle, forgiving like always.

There's no big send off. Cass doesn't even say a proper goodbye. One minute I'm laying there with his hand in mine, the next I'm opening my eyes to weak light filtering in through the skylight high overhead and an empty room.

"Cass?" I whisper.

I wait.

There's nothing.

For a long time, there's nothing. I lay there, gaze trained on the ceiling and I know I've halved myself again. I don't know how many times I can do that before there's nothing left of me. I guess that doesn't really matter, I know I should be dead but I'm not. I should just be happy to be alive still.

I roll slowly, body stiff from being stuck in one position for so long. My joints pop as I move, the floor hard beneath my elbows as I push myself up off the floor. I take a step forward, then stagger backwards. My shoulder hits the cement wall with a soft thud and I wince.

It barely hurts in comparison to the way the rash did.

Oh.

I reach up to touch my cheek but it feels clear. I go to move over to the small sink and cheap mirror in the corner but something pulls at my hand. I wince and look down to see a tube stuck under my skin. It runs to a bag hanging off a pole. "Fine," I mutter and drag it along with me.

"God damn," I whisper as I stare back at a pale, gaunt version of myself. My hair is oily from days of laying in my own sweat and my eyes are dull, but I don't look like a plague patient anymore, no rosy cheeks at least. Looks like the rose sickness doesn't kill everyone.

I don't know how long I've been out for. I do know that at some point, Patricia came back to see me and I think I said something embarrassing. I'm not entirely sure but I think she came back a few times, which means she might still be around.

I glance up at the skylight. The light is weak, it's early still. Knowing the Victor and her habits a little by now though I decide to make the gamble that she's awake and go looking for her.

My drip drags along behind me, rattling slightly against the concrete floor. I pass a lot of rooms but I don't see Patricia in any of them. I take that as a good sign, means she's probably not gotten sick still. Maybe the rumours that Victors are all actually just robots is true. Wolf will be stoked to hear that.

I round a corner and there she is, sitting in a chair at the end of the hallway beside one of the only windows in the whole place. The light from outside is getting brighter, lighting up the copper tones in her hair. It catches strands of silver too though, fine wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her under eyes are dark, she looks tired.

Beaten down.

I approach slowly, one hand holding the drip steady so that it rolls smoothly along beside me to help keep the silence of the early morning.

A tear falls down the Victor's cheek and it makes me stop in my tracks. I waver there for a moment, unsure of what I should do. 

I've never seen her cry before. I don't think anyone has. It's kind of like seeing your parent cry for the first time. You think they're immovable, more than human before that moment. I think about turning around and leaving her to it, it's not my place to intrude, but something stops me. She was there with me through my pain. I'd have to be a dick to let her drown in hers. 

"Pat?" I whisper to warn her that I'm here. She doesn't tell me to leave so I approach slowly to sit at her feet, like a child at their mother's knee. I hold my hand out for hers.

"We can talk if you want, or just... sit, whatever, point is, I'm here for you too," I say to her, then echo what she told me only days ago, "You don't have to be alone anymore either."

This time it's just her and I. I glance back down the empty hall, half expecting to see Cass come around the corner but he doesn't. My skin is cool, the fog cleared. I'm weak still, still putting myself back together.

But because of her, I'm still here.

Now it's my turn.

They have us on the train before anyone notices the way she's suffering but that's just how she's always lived, heart held close like cards against her chest. She's never let anyone see. I should have known what was happening when I first saw those tears. Maybe I did but I didn't want to. Guess I'm still good at lying to myself, even after all this time.

Patricia's sick.

I try to help her hide it, her flushed cheeks and that faraway look in her eyes, like she's in the dark again. I hold her hand so tightly and she holds mine but her fingers dig deep into my skin, bruising the bones in my hand. Still, I don't let go of her, even when she starts calling me by another name, a boy from the dark that most of us forgot, just another dead kid whose name and face faded over the years. Not for her.

I'm good at taking care of sick people, not because I care but because of Cass. I know what flushed cheeks mean and I've known how to diagnose a fever even before it really sets in, like how some people get really good at seeing a change in the weather.

We sit in a row near the back of the car and no one bothers us. I let her lay across the seats and I sit on the floor beside her. I brush the hair back from her forehead and I tell her things, out of stories days ago, now just whatever I can think of, anything to keep her talking. I don't remember half the things she said to me when I was sick but I do remember her hand holding mine, grounding me.

"I've got water for you," I say, "You need to drink." I take her free hand and wrap it around the cup but her grip is weak. I remember that terrible exhaustion, some of it still remains, just a little too heavy on my shoulders.

I try to remember if it was this bad for me but the days of being sick are already hazy even though it was only two days ago that my fever broke. Memories of that time come and go like a strange dream and I can't hold onto anything except Patricia being there and the pain, consuming every part of me, eating me raw.

But she was there, in a way that no one ever has been for me.

I push the straw up against her lips, willing her to even have just a little bit but she comes and goes out of clarity. Sometimes she looks at me and I know she's seeing me but then the light changes, she's gone again.

"I know it hurts," I tell her, "I'm sorry."

And I squeeze her hand a little tighter. That old ugly feeling is in the pit of my stomach from when I was a kid and I'd get home from school, nose running because some kid in my class had a cold. I'd try to hide it, wipe my nose on my sleeve when my mom wasn't looking like I could just pretend it wasn't happening.

Then Cass would get a fever and my mom would find my snotty sleeves on my laundry and she'd know what I'd done.

Patricia's sick because of me.

By the time we reach Five, there's no point in trying to hide it from anyone. Patricia is past the first stages, cheeks rosy, skin burning with fever. The peacekeepers try to separate us on the platform but she can't walk without me and I refuse to let go of her, I said I wouldn't.

It doesn't matter, we're all going to the same place. Gingham Electric's factory is shut down, workers gone home on paid leave to turn the work floor into a quarantine zone. Cots are laid out in rows and they shut the gates behind us with armed guards. No one is getting in or out.

I push my cot up close to Patricia's and I start to lie. I tell her that everyone's getting better even as they pull a sheet over a body a couple rows away. It doesn't matter, they would have died in Six anyway, at least now they got to die at home and be buried by the people that love them instead of a mass grave.

"You got us home Pat," I whisper in the dark, "You did it."

Her breathing's laboured, her gaze focused on the ceiling, still resolute after everything. She started saying weird things on our journey, things I know aren't meant for me but I listen anyway.

I lay in the dark long after everyone else has gone to sleep and I listen.