gomorrah | lillybird i.

It's a weird feeling to watch everyone else get to go home. To watch as their faces flood with relief because this year, some stupid girl decided to play with fire and inevitably get burned for the sake of — proving a point? Nobody ever said growing up would be easy, but nobody ever told me that it would be this hard either. Why do I feel like the real enemy here is myself?

The escort grabbing my arm and leading me away from the Reaping stops me from spiralling any further, and I think that's a good thing. And whilst a crisis averted may only put a lid on a stormy teacup, it is at least contained for the time being. As her grip around my arm tightens, the reality of what I've done seems to fade away. The room begins to glisten with an impeccable silver lining that dances in the afternoon sun which glides in through the window panes. The armchair I sit in feels more like an embrace than a hug because it cradles me gently, and allows me to sort of melt into it.

I suppose this is what freedom feels like. Is freedom the right word? I don't know, it's probably more like living on borrowed time, if anything. For someone who is technically supposed to already be dead, that's not much different to what I'm used to. Becoming a volunteer, however, at least means I get to live out some aspects of my dream before I actually, really die. These people — they are all here for me. Sure, most of them are here to stop me from running away but some of them are here to serve me, and that is crazy. Signing up for death shouldn't make anyone special, it's a really stupid thing to do, but I don't think I'm going to complain if they sing my praises and herald me a star of the past, present and future.

These stars in my eyes could definitely blind me. They probably will if I'm not too careful. Every glistening silver lining can cut like a knife. Because it's all an illusion at the end of the day, I know that, I promise, but can you blame me for trying to make the most of the circumstances?

"So, is anyone coming to see me?" I ask rather plainly, half of my body positioned to soak up Five's sun before it goes away forever. The other people in the room look to each other with an uneasy expression and I can tell that nobody really knows who to look at, until a few moments pass and every pair of beady eyes blaze right through me. I fall back into the warmth of the armchair, slouching down with a hope that it'll swallow me whole. The escort stands up and paces her way over to my side, crouching down with a tilted head to stare at the side of my head. As she opens her mouth to speak, I don't let her.

"Well, can we keep waiting please?" Because although they probably don't think I have anyone, I am expecting one person to say goodbye to me before it's too late, and that's Marcus. He's not the kind of friend that would just let me go without giving me a proper hug, a hug that feels more like home than any place and provides more comfort than any shabby armchair. We have been through everything together, so it wouldn't make sense if he wasn't here now.

I met him under the overpass last year. He was wearing a jacket with different patches sewn onto the sleeves, had a shady eyeliner on and walked with the kind of swagger that you just don't ever see in Five. Pouring sweat in the summer haze, we got talking that day and never stopped. And we'd talk about anything and everything, and he'd always make even the most serious conversation funny with his dark sense of humour. We'd talk about how if we didn't find anyone else by the time we were thirty, we'd just marry each other. We'd talk about how between the towering wind turbines that stretch for miles, off and out into the horizon, there must be a way out for the two of us, and that maybe, if we just ran and kept running, we would eventually end up in the clear.

That was the only thing he didn't crack jokes about when we spoke about it. It was too serious for him. Life is hard and we both know that, but I told him that it didn't have to be so heavy anymore because I'd carry half the load to make it a bit easier. And even if we ended up as ghosts together, at least we'd still be together.

When I think about that, my heart skips a beat, because we promised that we'd always have each other's backs. And as I think those words over in my mind, my skin feels static and my soul shreds itself through my stomach because the walls of this room start closing in around me and the faces of the people here start melting in the sunlight and that glinting silver lining is really starting to look like a thousand knives right now because, because —

— because I think I've just broken a promise.

And it's not just any old promise. It's not like that. It's a promise to my best friend, a promise to the only person I'll ever call family. How did a promise so strong break just like glass?

My head falls into my head because I realise that Marcus isn't going to be coming. I won't get to say goodbye to him because I have made a huge mistake that I don't think he will ever forgive me for.

Why did I do this? I shake, stomping my foot on the ground in frustration. Why did I do this? My eyes fixate on an empty spot on the wall on the other side of the room as I battle with myself to not cry, but as I stare at said spot on the wall, I lose my first fight of the Hunger Games and a tear rolls down my cheek. It's only one, but that's an ocean to the world — nobody ever roots for the person who paints a target on their own back.

The ticking of my pulse rings through my ear but I silence it with a few deep breaths. Everyone is looking at me and they are probably all going to laugh at me when I leave the room. I don't look at them. I don't let myself. I continue to stare solely at the same empty spot on the wall as I swallow my feelings and force a smile.

"He's not coming, and that's okay." It's not okay. It's completely not okay, but at the same time, it is okay. It's justified at the very least; it is okay because I deserve it.

The sun rolls behind a cloud and the room fades to grey. I leave the armchair and rise to my feet with puffy eyes and a lump in my throat. Everyone else gets to go home but I'm here choking on my pride and drowning in a promise.

I have made a very big mistake, and I am so sorry.