Bloody Murder! [Chry&Arx]

I can't seem to escape the hell I live in anymore. Ever since my last morning commute out of the house, the drunken master of all things has been keeping a close eye on me. I do wonder how he does it, and I think he may be sobering a bit just to be able to make sure I'm still in my room. The last time I left the house, I had snuck right out the front door. It was easy, with my father passed out on the couch and my brother still asleep. And, because I'm a complete idiot, I decided to come back. I can't remember much about the day, except that my father had been more upset than usual with me. I came home, bleeding, my nose broken (which really was a complete accident) and he hit me so hard I fell and thought I might not be able to get up. But sure enough, he pulled me to my feet and shoved me towards the stairs, screaming things like, "How are you going to explain that to your brother!?" and "What, did you go and get thrown back into the arena or something?!" I didn't get to wipe the blood away from my nose, or help myself ease the pain in anyway. Just go please your precious brother, Lily. I can't even remember the excuse I made for my broken nose - obviously my brother fell for it.

But not being able to get out of the house has been excruciating. And not because it means more beatings for me, but because my brother keeps asking to see a child I don't have. It's becoming increasingly hard to make up excuses as to why he can't see Eden. "I just put her down for her nap." That's the usual excuse I have to give, which worked really well at first. But now my brother has started throwing tantrums after this repsonse. "Why can't I see her!? Don't you trust me at all Lethe?!" Normally I could deal with it - he isn't yelling at me. The kid doesn't even know me. I'm no longer his big sister, I'm a victor from District 5. But my father ... He sees his sons screaming a little differently. He thinks I need to fix the problem. "I thought you were supposed to be smart! Figure out how to shut him up or I swear I will kill you the next time you walk out of that room!" Obviously there are obvious solutions to the problem, but there is no way I'm resorting to that to please my father and my brother and his crazy delusions. Hell no.

But with my father sobering up just to watch me, I can tell the rusty gears in his brain are starting to turn again. And I am terrified. I don't think I have ever been more frightened of him. Most girls would cringe away from his violence and embrace his getting sober, but not me. He broke a very long time ago when my mother left. Just because he has decided to lay off the alcohol a bit doesn't mean he is healed. And it only means he is getting smarter - which is what scares me. I have been relying on having to deal with nothing but his vicious threats and iron fists for years, I don't want to have to deal with his brain as well. I have found lately that he is making remarks about how to fix his screaming son. And the way he has been looking at me ... It scares me. Lately, instead of hitting me, he will kiss me softly on the cheek and tell me to play nice before he throws me back to the ground, telling me to go shut up little Nick. And I can tell when he gets that look in his eyes - like a viscous mutt when it finds a tribute to kill. He looks at me like prey. But not the kind for eating. No, the kind that help the sexual tension. Like a mate. It is easy enough to fix. Spit in his face and he will get back to kicking me in the ribs or smacking me in the face. And I know that a few broken ribs or a bruised face is much, much more attractive than the alternative.

And tonight, I'm going out. I made sure to add a little something to me father's morning beer. Something to keep him out longer than he usually is. And it was simple. Walking past his motionless body out the front door. But I still found myself creeping around silently through the house, avoiding every squeaky floorboard. And the breath of fresh air I pulled in right as I entered the streets was quite refreshing. It was a beautiful night, one of those nights my mother would've insisted were star-gazing nights. She would lay out a blanket in the backyard and and drag me and my father out to sleep with her. I can feel her hand holding mind and hear my father's chuckle when my mother gave some silly explanation for way the stars were arranged. And even though I don't have a blanket or anything, I can feel myself wanting to drift to the ground and gaze up at the sky. My feet are bare, and even though the tiny rocks that make up the asphalt feel nothing like sand, I can imagine walking on the beach. I've never been on a real beach, but my parents did make me a sand box and helped me envision a beach. I liked the way the sand stuck to my feet. I glance at the bottoms of my feet, but only see they are blackened from the harsh chemicals in the asphault.

Why can't I just escape from here? This place is so bitter and unfair - my life is a complete mess. I'm sure no one else has to play pretend like I do everyday. I watch on TV how some of the Capitol citizens dress-up as their favorite tribute and can only cry. They just don't get it do they? I have stopped watching TV. It only makes me drink all of my father's beer which makes for a particularly harsh beating. I want to erase my life for just an hour, just a single hour, but I'm not sure I can manage it. It's times like this when the people of Panem would look to a victor and ask themselves, "What would they do?" But I'm not the regular person. I would rather die right here and right now than imagine what a victor would do in my situation. I am forced to ask myself what Lethe Turner would do much too often for my liking. Instead, there would be much more promise in asking a squirrel what they would do.

But I before I can go about looking for a squirrel to ask to solve my problems, I end up nearly walking into people. I don't know what it is a bout being locked up in your home for years on end, but it tends to make you run into people. "Oh, I'm s-sorry."

You watched as the figure came closer, shifting into the shape of a girl. She appeared to be only a couple years younger than yourself, but in comparison to your height, she was tiny. You were sure that it hadn't been her that had called your name, the voice you had heard was not one that would match up with her stature. Your green-gray eyes watched her, picking up little details to comprise an analysis, learning whether she was a threat or not. In her eyes, there was a coldness, nothing near the frozen stone that was your heart, but a frosty edge. She might be willing to cause some trouble, but a shame for her, she would be messing with the wrong person.

Your lack of worry was well placed, her form moving right past you without incident. That was nice, only one person's blood on your hands tonight. In truth, that saying was quite inaccurate, as you never go blood on your hands just your knife. A small, razor blade of a smile touched your lips at the thought. Yes, in your pocket, within a moment's reach, was a blade with a man's blood on it. Did you need it, not really, but you liked how easily you could kill without leaving a trace using it. That girl had been smart not to try and attack you, otherwise the end would not have been in her favor.

Behind you, there was a sound, a scuffing that meant someone was close. You spun to face the point where the noise had some from, and nearly drive your elbow into the nose of a girl. Had she had been about to attack you, you would have made sure the blow had landed. Instead, you just looked at her with indifference, even as she stuttered out and apology. "Oh, I'm s-sorry." The words mean nothing to you, as you had never heard them used, let alone genuinely. You look her over once, before turning your attention back to the girl who had passed you before. The one who thought she could be dangerous.

Listening was a strength of yours, it wasn't as though you had supernatural hearing, or even better-than-average hearing, you just knew was to listen for. Like now, the shift of fabric as it rasped against itself, and breathing of the girl who had just gone around the corner. For all she had tried to make it seem like she was leaving, there were no footsteps. The moment that you had spent with your attention on the second girl had not been long enough for the sound of footsteps to be too distant to hear. A fatal flaw in her plan, for her trick was one you had done many times before, only with more success.

Your harsh gaze bore into the spot just at the corner of the alley. There, a flick of cloth, she hadn't even been bright enough to move away from the entrance to the alley. Shaking your head just the slightest bit, you felt your razor blade smile return. "Careful, little mouse, you wouldn't want your tail cut because you left it in harm's way." Ah metaphors, the easiest way to give a warning and cause your target to pause at the same time. Let her figure out what that meant, you could gather more knowledge on what her plan was as she did. An attack on you would be fatal, for her. Having told her as much, she would either run or try it anyway. Perhaps she might come out of hiding and try conversing. Of course, you preferred as little chatting as possible. Your heart was too hard for genuine talk.

The girl who had nearly bumped into you, had nearly caused you to act without thought, was still by your elbow. You turned your attention to her as you waited out the other girl, may as well have something to pose as a fake distraction so you could lure her out faster. You attempted a kinder smile, for you benefit as much as hers, but it was far from genuine, and even further from calming. Simply put, it was a larger version of your razor blade smile, devious and cold, with sharp points on either end. No, you were not known for your kind smile. "You might want to watch where you place your feet, as being stepped on is far from comfortable."

One side of your mouth lifted higher than the other, turning your expression into a hostile grin. "An elbow to the nose might also be a bit painful." It was as close as you would come to an apology, which was saying a lot from you. Apologies weren't something you put much stock in, and thus they were never uttered from your lips. Either way, whether the girl wished to continue talking, or to simply flee from you, it didn't matter. Being almost home, you would be able to call on your mother for help at any time, and you were sure that your father wouldn't mind having his own time with these two, even if they were a bit young for him. You almost shuddered at the thought, it being one of the very few things that affected your cold heart. No, father will never know of this. He doesn't need to.