Citrine Hale -D1- {FIN}

"I am not who you think I am," That's my favorite quote. I know, I know... Of all the things I could've chosen and out of all the famous pieces of literature, I call that one line my favorite. I'm sure there's something out there that's deeper and is written with more meaning than I could even fathom. But I've learned that anything deep or anything that even gives the slightest hint of a heart doesn't bode well with me. I mean honestly, have you ever met me? "Yo, dude! Thish is annnn 'mazzzing party," Somebody from the crowd slurs into my ear, their arm hooking around my neck. Even in his drunk state I recognize him as one of my 'friends'. I watch him as he gawks at anything in a skirt and tries to straighten out the $250 dollar leather jacket I bought for him. I've learned that the word 'friend' is BS for leech. "Aren't they always?" I say cockily, taking a drink of punch. The liquid burns like a fire in my throat and leaves an interesting taste in my mouth. Smacking my tongue I look down at the drink and swirl it around a bit. Spiked. Figures.

"Catch ya' later man. There'sh some nicce ones by the door," He pats my shoulder and staggers over to some girls only wearing a couple inches of fabric. On the inside I'm mentally shaking my head, but on the outside I shove him forward and even howl after him. God, I'm such a douche. You would think that some one with my kind of status would show some manners or have some respect. I do know what those things are, but my brain just never puts them into play. It's kind of frustrating. Standing there and silently hating the skin I'm in I hear the sound of a crash slice through the music. A circle of people starts forming around the staircase in the parlor and I shove through walls of bodies to the source. Did someone fall down the stairs? Are they dead? What if they are!? There's no way I could come back from that! Standing at the front of the circle, I find one of our crystal chandeliers in pieces on the tile floor. Light bouncing off the diamond like fixture. My heart relaxes and I can feel my fists unclench by my sides. I didn't know I balled them up in the first place. My common sense screams at me to be angry and to kick everyone out. And of course what do I do except the exact opposite.

A small smile creeps up on my lips and I look up to see three people scram away from the railing on the second floor. Putting one hand in my pocket and the other cupping my mouth I shout "Thanks guys! I've been wanting to piss my old man off!" Once those words leave my lips the air around me relaxes and the music goes back to its pounding bass. A couple people laugh here and there and the world keeps spinning. Two girls come up to me and cling to my arms, pestering me to come and sit with them on the couch. Looking down at them I could tell by the way they clung to me and how their clothes revealed more than they should that they had no respect for themselves. I hate girls like that. They're easy, needy, and, if you stick around them long enough, bitc*y. I groan inwardly and maybe, if I wasn't such a coward, I'd shake them off, but no. Instead I give them one of my best charming smiles and lead the way to the nearest empty sofa.

The rest of the party kind of starts to slip away from me at that point. I remember I kept asking the girls to get me more punch and when the room started spinning I headed to the bathroom. I can't recall exact details, which kind of scares me. All I know now is that I'm crouching over a toilet, throwing up my insides. Catching a pause I quickly reach for a towel and wipe my mouth with it. When the towel reaches the extent of its use I throw it on the floor. The maid can clean it later. When I'm sure any trace of, well, anything, is gone from my system I move to the sink and desperately try to get the taste of acid out of my mouth. I want to cover up the mirror. Cover up anything that might show my reflection, because I'm afraid if I even look at myself it will make the pathetic person I am all the more a raw reality. But just like in every other situation, my body betrays my heart. Turning the faucet off I ever so slowly look up at myself. Slitted dark brown eyes, unnaturally colored hair, expensive clothes, and even a real diamond stud earring in one ear. But underneath all the smokes and mirrors I see puffy red eyes and sleepless dark circles. My cheeks look sunken in to me and my eye lids hang low over my eyes.

Suddenly my eyes are open
Everything comes into focus. Blinding
We are all illuminated
Lights are shining on our faces. Blinding

My father is a very successful business man. He's managed to own many brands and chains in which about half of those businesses supply to the Capitol directly. That's how I'm able to keep my money sucking friends around and throw stupid parties that I don't have to take any responsibilities for and dress myself like a Capitol model. My father doesn't care what I do as long as I don't embarrass him in front of the media. That's the way its always been. As long as I can be his little puppet in a suit on TV, then I'm fine. Well, maybe I shouldn't say always. When mom was alive she'd read to me and would take me to places like the zoo when dad was working. I only have a handful of those trips in my memory though. She died in a car accident when I was seven. After her funeral dad completely blocked me out and I barely went outside. Apparently I look too much like her for him to look at me for more than two seconds.

But that shouldn't bother me right? I should be grateful that I can do whatever I want, buy what I want, and eat what I want right? I mean, look at those kids in District twelve. You can count their ribs while I've plenty of muscle and body mass to spare. This is the kind of stuff people always tell me. But what good is any of that if you don't have anyone to enjoy them with? What good does it do me if I don't live and actually enjoy it? Last time I checked, that's not the definition of being alive. Makes me think that maybe going into the Games wouldn't be so bad. I mean, at least I'd have a chance to fight for something and not just have it handed to me. Maybe then people would look at me differently than just a businessman's son. I know how horrible those words sound because I do know that the Games are a terrible thing. Then again I know a lot of things, but what good is the knowing when the doing is what really counts.

Song: Illuminated by Hurts