unlikely friends | arcadia & nessa [d9 suite]

The sound of my racing heart interlocked with the soft footsteps of another tribute. Each step seemed to bring them closer to the place where I hid, and instantly, I found myself trying to tuck myself in tighter, desperate to keep my presence unknown. The last time I had felt fear like this was back in Grandpa’s laboratory, where one of his assistants held a needle to my throat filled with a deadly substance. I remember clearly how it had felt like time had slowed, and all I could hear was Flynn’s desperate pleas. All I could feel was the ice-cold tip of the needle pressed against the sensitive flesh of my throat.

Back then, the seconds had felt like hours, just like they did now.
The steps came closer, and I sucked in my breath in a last-ditch attempt to remain perfectly silent when suddenly the springs of the bed above me creaked as a body flopped down onto it. Surprised, I released my breath as a gasp and instantly clamped my hands over my mouth, praying that the tribute above me hadn't heard me. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. How terrible did my luck have to be for the tribute to choose the exact bed that I was hiding beneath? I was so screwed, so damned screwed.

Oh no, they heard me! My cover was blown. Any minute now, the tribute would find me, drag me out of my stupid hiding place, and kill me. This was it. That was how things were meant to work here. You weren't meant to stop and think; you were meant to seek and kill. My death would be celebrated, but not in the way that it should have been. It should have been celebrated after 60 more years of life, with stories of remembrance and adoration of the journeys and adventures I had embarked on.
Not like this. Not where my death would be the means for making it one step closer to home. No… Please. Not like this. Not now-

“Nessa?”

Opening my eyes I come face to face with Arcadia, her golden hair glowing like a halo around her head. She reminded me of an angel of death. Perhaps even, my angel of death.

“A-Arcadia! W-What are you doing here?” I stammer, as I scramble backwards, awkwardly managing to crawl out from under the bed. Standing a bit taller I put the bed between us, Arcadia was a career. Had she come here to kill me? “Are you going to kill me?” I chuckle nervously, a couple days ago I wouldn't have thought that she would, but now? I didn't know who I could trust.

I don’t think Arcadia Lumiere-Fray was much of a morning person. She reminded me of soda that had gone flat, her usual bubbliness traded for something more muted and intimidating in a new way. She was silent for a moment, studying me in a way that was similar to the way Pretzel would study a stray mouse that had wandered into her territory, trying to decide exactly what she was going to do with it: eat it, kill it, or play with it.

“Believe it or not, the whole killing other people thing isn’t like, my favourite idea in the world. I’m trying to avoid it if I can.” It was at that moment I realised I had been holding my breath, and I let it escape through clenched teeth, relieved that Arcadia had decided that for the moment I was safe.

When my eyes met hers again, she was smiling at me in a way that made me feel like she was trying to catch a fly with honey. Like she knew exactly what I was thinking. "Are you going to kill me?"

The question surprised me, causing a choking sound to escape my mouth, and for a moment, I forgot we were Arcadia and Nessa, two tributes in the Games. Instead, we were Arcadia, the movie star, and Nessa, the crazy fan girl. “K-Kill you? Are you kidding me??” I almost reached across the bed to take her hand but caught myself in time. “I could never!”

She seemed amused by my reaction, her features almost softening as she began to relax. It was almost like we were back in the training center, me flustered, and her as confident as the sun, almost too blinding to look at. It sounded so corny, and Flynn would have rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head that he would see his own ass if he had known what I was thinking…

But people like Arcadia gave life a different meaning for young girls like me from a district that couldn’t offer much. They represented the life that girls like me could only dream of. A life that was unreachable, so when coming face to face with them, it's hard to find the right words to speak without making yourself seem like a clown.

Life had changed significantly the day Flynn had won his Games, and to the outside world, it would seem like I was closer than others. But I was the victor’s sister, living in his shadow. And Flynn was a mess. The public had no idea just how broken he was. They never really showed the world the real messy part of his life. I would never be like the girls on the shows that Flynn had playing in the background.

I don't really know why I wanted it. Maybe it was because on the TV, their lives looked so glamorous. Easy, even. Maybe it was simply because I just wanted a different life. A life where I didn’t have to watch my family be pulled apart bit by bit, whether it be because of the Games or my mother and father's lack of love for each other. But not this. I didn’t want to be another reason for my family to have to try and put Flynn back together. I didn’t want to be another reason why my mum and dad pushed each other further and further away.

“… you’re going to have to kill somebody if you want to get back home.” Arcadia pulls me back into reality. Kill somebody. Could I do that? I broke that boy's shin early. I had felt his bone crack beneath my foot, and though in the moment I had felt triumphant, it had quickly faded into something else.

Could I kill someone? Flynn did. So I could. Right?

“And while I’m very flattered by you saying you won’t kill me, you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I-” she was right. I shouldn’t make promises. “Right.” I pause for a moment, looking at the hand she had placed on my shoulder. “Have you killed someone before?”

At first, I am sure that my question has offended her, and instantly I regret it. Obviously, it was not appropriate to ask someone if they had killed someone. Hell, even in the slums of Six, you wouldn’t hear nonchalant conversation about murder. Dad was always barking at me that I needed to think before I spoke.

I am about to apologise profusely when she laughs off my question. “Girl, look at me! Does it look like I’ve ever hurt anyone before?” She was right. She didn’t look like a cold-blooded killer that you read about in the news. But again, neither did Flynn, or Saffron, or Opal Earnest. But I don’t voice as much, deciding that this might be exactly one of those moments where dad would say ‘put your foot in your mouth.’

“The closest I’ve gotten to killing someone was plotting to stab the stylist on Young Love with a makeup brush because she insisted on making me wear aquamarine eyeshadow.” There was not one word in that sentence that was relatable, but I played along, nodding as she spoke as though I knew exactly how she was feeling, eager not to offend her for the second time in the space of one minute.

And suddenly, it was like I was looking in the mirror, her face falling in a way that mine had too many times after saying something that I regretted.

“No! No, you're so okay! My sister once nearly kicked my ass for ripping a hole in her favourite sweatshirt. I swear she would have murdered me if Flynn had not walked in in time to save my sorry ass.” I smile widely at her, brushing off her apology. She couldn't control her upbringing as much as I couldn't control my own. “It’s no secret that we both grew up on different sides of the train track.”