Take Care {of} You [Chelsey]

Five synchronized knocks told me that it was Damian. A sixth knock told me that Rhine had decided to tag along. And sometimes there would be the occasional seventh knock when my dad insisted he wanted to see our little fort. Sure, it was only a cardboard door stood up against a few chairs, and the fort was made out of nothing but blankets and rubber bands, but it was ours and we had made it all on our own. Rhine even helped by letting us borrow her jaded hair ties and even though Damian complained how it was a man cave and no baby girls were allowed, Rhine made sure to get in anyway. And then my mom would yell from the kitchen, telling us that it was time for dinner and we needed to come eat - except we wouldn't until she came and found us herself, tickling us all to death for hiding from her. And then dad would carry me and Damian to the table, thrown over his shoulders while we laughed and screamed that we wanted down while mom held Rhine's hand close behind and pointed out how red our faces were getting. And then we would all take our seats at the table after washing our hands and eat as a family. And we would share what the best part of our day was. Damian and I said something about the fort. Rhine said seeing our faces get all red and my mom agreed with her. And my dad looked around the table and said we were the best part of his day. Everyday.

I wonder if I am still the best part of his day, even if he never sees me and I have no idea where he is. I hope so. Because those memories are still the best part of my day. Memories are about the only thing that makes my day anymore - at least the good memories. But there is so much bad that sometimes I can't remember any of the good. Evil consumes all the good in my mind and makes sure it will never resurface because evil is strong and good is weak. How is a guy like me supposed to hold a knife to someone's throat if all he thinks about is how much he loves his family? That's why my mind is filled with my dead sister, my lost father, my homicidal brother, the whips that gashed my back, the cold, dark, smelly cells of the Detention Center, and the threats of Peacekeepers. It helps me focus on the task at hand - getting money. Evil makes sure I don't worry about my victims circumstances. Evil makes sure I don't wonder if they need the money for their dying grandmother, or if they got the diamond from their dead mother. But I don't like evil, I like good. But good is never around, not anymore. Except maybe deep down inside - good memories still loom there. And sometimes they resurface. Those are the moments I like to live for.

I hear the creaking of wood and can't help but smile. She is here and she hasn't left yet. I can feel her at the door, see the shadows her feet make as they stand just behind the door. But the knob on her door doesn't turn. I take a step closer to the door, leaning in close, listening. I hear a sigh, as wistful as the wind during a summer day, and take a step back. I think about telling her that it's okay if she doesn't want to talk or that we can just see each other tomorrow morning, when the door opens on old hinges, making small squeaking noises as she shuts it slowly behind her again. "Hi." she whispers, keeping herself turned away from me. "Hey." is all I have time to whisper back before she gestures down the hallway, away from her room, and walks quickly ahead of me. I take a few longer strides to catch up to her so I am walking beside her. "I would let you inside, but Damea's sleeping." Then I remembered what hour it was and realized I must've woken her up. And sleep was precious around here, sacred almost.

"I didn't mean to wake you." I hadn't meant to wake my sister the night she dies either. But it seems the gun my brother held in his hand had wanted to and even had a bullet with her name on it. I shook the thought away. I didn't like thinking about that night - especially if I was applying it to Kris. She wasn't going to die just because I woke her up, even if sleep was a precious and ultimately valuable thing around here. Sure she had trouble with money sometimes, but everyone at the Nox residence did every once in a while. But that wasn't what I worried about - she always had the money when the time came. But when she came back to the house with bruises everywhere it was hard for me to ignore it. She always insisted she was fine, but the purple and black bruises that were sometimes etched across her face told a much different story. I hate the men she meets, maybe just as much as she does. But I try to leave her to her work as much as I can which is really a very little amount. It got so bad at one point for me to just drop it that I followed her. She didn't notice, I made sure of it but after she was done at the house I went in and killed the guy. It was one of the very few occasions that I used my knife and felt good about it. The bastard fucking asked for it and I honestly don't even regret it.

The grand staircase reaches my view and as we walk down the stairs, no doubt making our way towards the living room, I couldn't help but admire it all. My family had always had it pretty well off, and our house was really quite nice, but this was a mansion and it was beautiful. If I didn't have to think of it as a dungeon I would probably enjoy staying here. And despite it all, I really do like watching the flames of the fireplace dance around the floor at night. We had a fireplace at our house and when I was really little, mom would let me sleep near it during the winter and would wake me up with a cup of hot chocolate. And sometimes there would even be a few marshmallows floating in the froth at the top. My dad would always pretend not to notice the mustache it left on his upper lip and I would laugh endlessly as he asked why I was laughing. But those sleep overs in front of the fire ended as I got older. And my mom worked a lot of the time and my dad started to drink more than he probably should have. But I couldn't blame him for it. It was hard to live with a kid who hung out with gangs and did drugs and robbed a jewelry store and killed his little sister.

I sat down on the couch, thinking I could easily pull off ignoring the urge just to lay down on the floor and watch the flames make light dance over my fingers, but I found that it took most of my concentration to stay sitting on the couch. I could just hear my mom humming a soft tune to herself and my dad's footsteps as he came home from a late night at work. He would come in and kiss my mom and then lay down next to me and ask me how my day went. He always smelled like cologne - the cheap kind sure - but always the same. I blinked as I remembered Kris was here. I turned to look at her, thinking I could tell her the about my parents and those nights I slept in front of the fire but she looked more distracted than I had been a moment ago. "Have you ever slept in front of a fireplace?" I asked still looking at her, the light of the fire just touching her face, sparkling in her eyes.

"Do you want to?" I asked, smiling a bit at the thought. A piece of her hair dangled in front of her face and I brushed it away, gently tucking it behind her ear. I waited, knowing full well she may say no and then I would be left feeling silly for suggesting it. Or maybe I would crawl down on the floor either way. Because my fingers wanted to dance with fire and I could feel the fire asking for the dance - and what kind of guy would I be to decline such a beautiful thing one simple dance?

"Just sign here." How is a kid off the streets supposed to know that those words are a death sentence? How is a kid who lost everything supposed to resist the idea of becoming rich? How can a kid who hasn't eaten or showered in days supposed to decline an offer where he can get both? And all for what seems to be free? Three words was all it took for my life to change dramatically. I didn't even hesitate. I didn't read the fine print. I didn't understand what I was doing at the time. Grinning from ear to ear after I scratched my name at the bottom of the paper, thinking I was signing over something much less valuable than my life. And I got new clothes, and got to take a shower, and eat whatever I wanted when I wanted. I was beaming as I entered my new room - but the sullen faces of the other residents told me there was more to it all than getting free things. We all have to pay. I have to pay and pay and pay and keep paying until there is enough to please Magnus. I saw him as my savior one hour and the next I found he was the devil in disguise. And then to watch more people walk through his doors, looking for a way out of their crummy lives and into a better one, only to discover later that they have been caught in a trap. And I couldn't stop them from making the biggest mistake of their lives. And I regret it. All of it. Usually.

And if I could go back to the day Kris walked in the door I would make sure she stayed away. Then, she was just another one of the sad souls that would have to figure out the hard way that Magnus was a sick asshole. Just some girl that thought she could escape her old life by signing her name. I regret thinking those things as she is my only true friend now. I regret not forcing her out the door and back into the streets. Is that a cruel thing to wish? I can never decide. Everything has its consequences. Signing gave me a place to sleep, food to eat, and clothes on my back, but forced me into holding a knife and scaring the hell out of people for their purses or wallets. I could've avoided ever having to harm people if I hadn't signed. I would've never had to threaten to kill, or have deal with seeing other people's looks of horror in my dreams, but I may have died out in the streets all alone - no one would've cared if I had died. Like anyone cares now ... But I can't help but wonder if death would've been the better option.

But if I were dead, then who would look out for Kris? Would anyone care like I do? They should. But they don't.

She turns away from me and I think she will say no. But then she crawls to the floor and looks back at me, smiling, patting the empty space next to her. That space next to her was made for me. "Let's hope Magnus'll make a hell of a fuss out of this." I have to laugh a little. I'm sure having a good time in any form is something he hates. I'm pretty sure he hates all happiness in general. Is that what she is referring to? Or is it that we are going to sleep on what I assume is "the finest rug in Panem - worth thousands of dollars!" Or is it that we are too close to each other for his liking? Whatever it is, I hope he dies of a heart attack at the sight. "Fuck him." is all I say as I kick off my shoes before crawling off the couch. I pull my hoodie off and throw it to the ground as a makeshift pillow, hoping it will offer more comfort than just the rug. And then I process the purple mark on her face and stop smiling. She is hurt and I haven't noticed this whole time? And she has been out tonight. Anger rises in my chest but is quickly replaced with sympathy. I can't get mad at her for something that is not her fault. And I could get mad at her for lying to me, but she never really did - I just inferred. Damn it.

I lay down next to her with a sigh. I should be going out to beat the hell out of guy that did this to her, but I can't. I can't leave this spot. Instead I stay silent. I don't want to ruin this night. It turned out so nice, even if I couldn't stop Kris from going out and working. At least she isn't still out working. At least I'm not out working. At least I still get that dance with the flames. I think about telling her that I used to do this when I was a kid but can't find words. It's amazing how saying nothing at all is sometimes the best way of putting things. I stare up at the ceiling, the light of the flames flickering through the dark. I turn my head to look at Kris. And I just watch. The light flickers across her face, in her eyes. I blink and turn my head back towards the ceiling.

"Light only shines in the dark, Dex."

I used to think my dad was right when he said that. Because I never really found an exception to the rule. But I think that this moment, even if it were set in broad daylight, would shine brighter than anything I've ever seen.

Only my thoughts could ruin the silence. My thoughts of nothing but pain. Not my pain - who could care about me? But her pain. Bruises are what everyone else notices, but I see right through them. Pain doesn't sit on the surface your whole life, only showing in the blacks and purples of bruises. No, pain intertwines with your being and slowly starts to strangle you like a snake squeezes the life out of it's prey. I've felt it before, but not like Kris does. It just isn't the same for us. Where my pain is nothing but scars criss-crossed across my back, hers is something deeper. I know she can hear them - her ... clients. Their voices ring in her ears like my victims' ring in mine. We are so different. I am a monster who hunts the innocent into dark alleys to steal everything from them. Kris is the innocent who is hunted by monsters. Monsters who'd I like to believe are not in the same category as me. Are they?

"You know, Dex, you've always looked at me differently."

I almost don't hear her. The words are barely a whisper and I wonder if I imagined them. I keep staring at the ceiling, dismissing the words as my imagination. But then she speaks again. "I mean, different from them." Them. The monsters. The sick freaks that try to pass as men. The bastards I hope die as slowly and as painfully as possible. They dare to hurt her and I will hunt them down, making sure that they will forever regret buying something that should never have to be for sale. I clench my jaw, suddenly angered by the idea that I could be like them. I am not like them - I could never hurt Kris. But what if I did? Not in the same way as the men she meets, but what if I did? What if I couldn't protect her? What happens if she runs out of money or gets stuck with some asshole she finds and can't get away? I can't let that happen - that will never happen. I don't know if she needs me (I doubt she really does) but I sure as hell need her. If I ever lost her ...

I throw the thought away. I can't think of what might happen if I lost her. Is that why I don't just tell her how much I care? Because I'm afraid she might leave me here all alone?

"It's a good different, though." I blink up at the ceiling in surprise for just a moment when I feel her hand drifting effortlessly into mine. I turn my head back to her, watching her smile at me. I would kill have killed to keep that smile there forever. But just as it always does, it evaporates into nothing more than a memory. I smile back, hoping with my whole being that maybe one day that smile will stay there. I don't even have to see it, I just need to know that it is there and that someone will always cherish it.

"And you look at me differently," I say, knowing it was the truth. She doesn't look at me the way everyone else does. Everyone I met was frightened of me. My large stature, my black jacket, my glinting knife: They all cause fear and terror to shoot through peoples eyes. Even here the people in the house find me intimidating. Which I suppose isn't a bad thing, considering I'd rather keep my distance from most of them. "So I guess we are even." But even I say the words I have to wonder - Are we really even? Or am I looking at her differently than even a good friend would? All I know is I have to tell her. She should know, even if she doesn't believe me when I say it. She still holds my hand and I squeeze gently, holding on tighter to keep her here. She is always out and I can't stand it when she is. So maybe if I never let go, I can keep her inside forever, always safe from the outside - Always safe with me.

Frustration plagues me when I know I can't do that and I clench my jaw, trying to ignore my rage towards the world. Why does someone so amazing get the shittiest life across the whole of Panem? The purple on her cheek taunts me to leave right that instant. I swear I hear it whispering to me, telling me to find who did it, telling me to fix it - as if I could actually fix it. I turn my head back towards the ceiling where the light continues to dance. I can tell she feels ashamed of the blemish, as if it represents something more than some asshole, as if it makes her a failure. But it doesn't - not even a little. "I hope someday you realize how amazing you are, Kris." I say, still focusing on the ceiling. I know I should look at her, to prove how sincere I am, but I can't. Instead I roll onto my side, still holding her hand, and lightly kiss her purples cheek.

"You'll be okay, right?"