The Story at the Bottom of This Bottle [Jorg/Kay]

How much longer am I supposed to watch him fall further into the dark abyss he found himself in? Why hasn’t the Capitol allowed him to retire? Hasn’t he given enough, done enough to give back not only to Ten but to the Capitol? There are plenty of Victors to take his place, yet Dad is still expected to be the one who trains the tributes, to represent them, to take the heat when they immediately fall, while the other Victors simply get to be. It’s not fair, and it’s starting to piss me off.

Part of me wonders if the past crop of tributes has been punishment for Dad in some way. First, it was Tristan, then Jericho; it’s not a coincidence that after Krueger lost to District Seven, the tributes have had some connection to him. Why would the Capitol be punishing him for that, though? Krueger came in second, so how could that be a bad thing? These thoughts continue to eat at me as I walk through the streets of the shopping district of the Capitol, wondering if there’s anything I can do.

Part of me feels selfish for not fighting harder for him, but I think out of my depth here. My life has been easy, even when compared to higher district standards, so how am I supposed to handle being the stable one when I can’t relate. I can listen and be there, but is that enough? I feel helpless and not in control, and I hate this feeling.

It’s not helping that finding clothes to fit my curves is proving more difficult than I thought it would be. I’m not even that big, yet not being thin means spending hours trying on different sizes because sizes can never be the same across various stores. You would think that would be something that could have been figured out by now with the damn mutts they create. Yet, sitting here in the third store today, this one supposedly catering to plus-size people, I feel like I’m swimming in these clothes after the last two stores’ clothes were too small. Is there a store just for average people?

After finding a few clothes that fit and look cute, I sit at a bar, TVs showing highlights from the Games interspersed with whatever reality TV shows are being filmed in One. I can’t help but wonder if putting District One in charge of “entertainment” is part of a distraction tactic, diverting attention away from the rebellions brewing in Six and Nine. I take a sip of my mint julep, hoping to find some reprieve from the mountain heat of July, when someone decides to sit next to me. At first, I was annoyed, but this could be an excellent opportunity to meet someone new. Even if it is only for a nightly distraction.

“Put their drink on my tab,” I tell the bartender after they order, turning to the person next to me.

“I’m Coralee, what’s your name?”