I'm The One To Blame [[A02 cellmate]]

How long had it been -- a few hours? A few minutes? I had no idea. Time seemed to stand still as I lay staring blankly at the wall, forcing my mind to remain a blank slate, though I tried to convince myself that Lily wasn't here. 'She's not here. She's not here. She's not here. She's back at her home in District 5. She's not here. She's not here.' Rubbing my face as if it could wipe away any bad thought I had, I turned over onto my back in the cot, ignoring how uncomfortable it was.

Then the cell door opened.

For a split second, I considered just darting out and knocking aside whoever it was that was entering. But I quickly realized that that was a stupid idea; I had no idea where the hell I was. If I did manage to escape my cell, I'd be caught in an instant.

Before I knew it, I was no longer the only occupant of the cell. He seemed like he didn't want to bother me, and I didn't blame him. For all he knew, I could be some mass murderer. But in this cage, did it really matter? He was all the company I would have for who knows how long. Well, if that was the case....

I sat up in the cot, being sure to not hit my head on the metal above me, and stepped out into the cell; however, I paused a moment before approaching the guy, tapping lightly on his shoulder. I had no way to tell him my name, nor any way to communicate with him other than dog sounds. Maybe we could get along, or at least just not kill each other. Having no other way to say hello, I gave the other male a courteous nod and extended my hand to him.

I felt stupid as the other detainee snapped harsh remarks at me -- well, I considered them harsh. You have a tongue, don't you? Oh, ho. This boy didn't know the half of it.

As he went and laid in the cot, I raised my unshaken hand and rubbed the back of my head, running it up and down my scalp. Sheesh, what was wrong with him? I mean yeah, being put into here is harsh, but we're going to be each other's only company for who knows how long. No need to be harsh...

But then he got up, picked up something, and cut his wrist. Was he trying to kill himself? Shit. I forgot about the cold remarks he had said and I was just about to jump at him when I realized he -- he was writing something on the wall. In blood. His name, maybe? MARCUSS. The red letters looked eerie against the wall, and I have to admit, it kind of spooked me. Why was he doing that...? I wasn't sure, but as a thought struck me, I tilted my head slightly. I could talk to him through blood.

Despite how morbid that sounded, I went over to this Marcuss and reached around, taking the rock from his hand and using it to cut my own wrist, wincing as a stinging pain erupted from the rupture. Already blood was streaming, so I dipped my finger in it and wrote beside Marcuss's name:

DEVROUX

And then beside that, I added:

AVOX

Maybe now he would take back that comment he had said earlier. Seeing my name written in blood gave me a sort of morbid thrill, though I still found it eerie. Small droplets of my blood running from the letters, staining the wall.

I reached back around and gave the rock back to Marcuss before placing my other hand over the wound, feeling the warm crimson liquid running between my fingers. I began to feel calm -- a strange sort of calm. As though the sight of my own blood on my skin was comforting. I removed my hand, seeing that it was now covered in blood, and another thought hit me. Returning to where I had wrote my name, I placed my hand against the wall, dragging it down the concrete. I smirked. There was my hand print with ghoulish red smears running downward; kind of neat, if you asked me.

I felt somewhat accomplished that Marcuss now knew why I wasn't talking to him. Even if I hadn't written on the wall, he would have eventually figured it out. I mean, really: eventually he would have gotten so frustrated with me he might have just pinned me down and pried my jaws open.

After examining my red hand print on the wall, I turned my attention back to Marcuss in time to see him licking the rock we had cut our wrists with. I quirked an eyebrow. Why...? Why did he just do that? For all he knew, I could have some rare blood disease that could kill him. But judging by the heinous looking smile on his face, I highly doubt that even a faint thought of any sort of blood-related illness didn't cross his mind. Not only that, but he tossed the rock back to me and I instinctively caught it. Well... it was certainly wet. Kind of gross, but oh well. There was a lot more things to worry about than a rock my cellmate just licked the blood off of.

When I looked back up at Marcuss, he was kissing the wall. I blinked, utterly confused. Why on earth would he kiss the wall? Though, as he pulled back, I noticed the bloody lip stains on the wall. I found that a bit strange, but it really didn't bother me. Marcuss could paint whatever he wanted on the wall; it was property of the Capitol, so hopefully this little game we were doing would piss them off. I would like that.

"Now, if you don't mind turning around for a minute, I really have to piss."

I nodded, turning around to face the opposite wall. It was empty -- an open, untouched grey canvas -- and as I tilted my head slightly, I figured that it would look a whole lot better with red. Lots of red.

My first cut was still bleeding, so I rubbed my fingers in the sticky crimson and began drawing on the cement wall. Long, elaborate strokes of red; curved lines and straight lines. Eventually, after inflicting a few more cuts on my forearm to give me more "paint", I stepped back, examining my "art work". It wasn't a very big picture, but you could still see it from the opposite wall: a Justice Building on fire. I smirked. It had been quite some time since my brother's attempt on burning District 11's Justice Building, and I had been thrilled to accompany them -- but the plan had gone horribly wrong. We had never actually set fire to that building, but here, in this dark cell, I had drawn out our original plan in my own blood. My lips curled up into a morbid smile as crimson droplets began streaking down the cement. For all I knew, my brothers and their rebel allies could be dead, and here I was laughing about it -- well, more like a distorted, hyena-like cackle. I had no tongue, remember? Every sound I made was pretty much screwed up.


I was already losing my mind....

By the time I had finished the bloody painting on the wall, I was beginning to feel lightheaded. Well, that certainly wasn't good.

I dropped the rock onto the ground, grabbing the end of my shirt and tearing a long strip off, using my teeth to assist as I used one hand to tie it around my wrist, covering the wound. It didn't take very long before the cloth was turning red, so I just gave up and let it turn red. So what if I bled to death in here? There was nothing anyone could really do to me once I was dead.

Waiting until what's-his-face -- Marcuss, that was it -- waiting until after he was done with his business, I turned around and leaned back against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. Small droplets of blood were running down my palm, but the amount seemed to have lessened. That was good, I guess.

"Well, it looks as if we're gonna be here for a while. Why don't we get to know each other?"

I looked up at Marcuss. I had absolutely nothing else to do, so I just shrugged and nodded at the same time, trying to signal that I was alright with that idea. It didn't take long before he launched into his story, and so I listened to his episodic tale.

Well, now. It seemed that this kid was in for more reasons than I was. He had murdered, and all I had done was stayed out in the forest. But I was an Avox, and he was not. He was lucky, the damn bastard. At least he had a tongue to tell me his damn story...

I couldn't help but be reminded of Lily, though. How I had tripped and landed square in front of her in that path. How she had taken me in and insisted on replacing my ratty and tattered clothes, and then I had gone and--.... yeah. I had screwed her life up, hadn't I? And here I was, sulking in a cell with nothing to do but grind my teeth and wallow in despair. At this thought, I harshly thrusted my head back against the wall, emitting a low growl as the welcomed pain coursed through my head. Trying to tell Marcuss my story would be harder than hell, but it was worth a shot, especially since maybe it would relieve some stress that was bottled up inside.

I stood up and went over to pick up the bloody rock, drawing a circle and writing D5 in the center. I then drew a line into the circle, paused, then drew one heading out, where I drew a wretched looking tree. By now the blood on the rock was running out, so I just ended up scraping into the cement blocks, leaving streaks of ground up white powder.

So how exactly was I supposed to draw what I did to Lily? The poor girl... I felt horrible now. Absolutely horrible -- even I was repulsed by my own action. How far along would she be now? I wasn't any good at this guessing game.... hell, I didn't even know if she was pregnant. If she was, though... I don't know what'd I do.

Not knowing if Marcuss would understand my symbolism, I etched out on the wall: 1 + 1 = 3. Whether he got it or not, I didn't really care. That was the story of how I ended up here, so if he wanted to mock me for getting in the DC for a stupid reason, fine by me. I had better things to worry about. But if not, well, we'd get to that bridge sooner or later. I tossed the rock back at Marcuss, not really taking into consideration that he was lying down.