the long way home // rave

Rum Tum's hands are warm as I leave them there under the shade of the trees, far enough from the district that the worn boy will stay concealed but close enough that I won’t lose my way upon entering. A series of coughs escape my throat as I wipe the sweat away, the heat all but bearable. “I’ll be back in no more than thirty minutes. Don’t you dare move, especially not out of this shade,” I whisper, the never-fading guilt tearing away at my heart as I stared at the blind boy before me, wishing away the horrors I’d dealt upon him.

“If I’m not back in the next few Hours…" and hours and days and weeks and months and days and hours and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to have to sit here staring at metal shelf they call a bed above me and the cell walls next to me pretending like I still remember how to feel, numb and dead but I guess it’s a better prison than the Capitol but No, I can’t let Rum Tum end up there too. If something happens to me, Rum Tum will be helpless: either dead or caught, the latter being the obvious worst. I don’t know how to finish my own sentence. “Never mind that,” I say with a quick shake of my head. “I promise I’ll be back.” I stand up, biting my lip as I turn and head in the direction of the fence. However, it is only a matter of moments before my eyes are back on the boy I am leaving behind. The last time we parted for only moments he was attacked by a wild muttation. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?

My head is spinning as I get nearer and nearer to the fence and ”my mom said to keep the doggy inside the fence, Jeremy! Now look! Thanks to you, he ran away!” and I ran away too, did you know? but I’m almost there, listening for the distinct sound of electricity. Nothing. I slip through the wires carefully, heavy breathing slowing my movement as spots cloud my eyes. A strong sense of hunger protrudes from my stomach as I scurry past a few factories, concealing myself in the empty alleyways until I reach the suburban streets. I don’t even feel alive enough to be curious about what district this is, but it seems much wealthier than District Eleven, the place where I met Rum Tum’s family.

The sun is to the west of the sky’s center, meaning it must be about one o’clock – Rum Tum taught me well – and the majority of the district must be at either work or school. The heat has nearly crippled me, but I pinpoint the first house I come across and trip up the steps until I reach the door. I pound hard on it, to make sure that no one is home before leaning down and digging through the dirt for a rock that will suffice. Despite its tired state, my body has fallen into this systematic mode of doing anything it can for life. Once I've found my desired rock, I cross to the side of the house and aim directly for the window. My toss is weak but it’s enough to send glass shattering. Struggling to get a hold of my weak form, I bring my satchel up to the window and use it to knock out the rest of the glass. Then, I pull myself up, grab hold and slip into the house. However, the attempt is unsuccessful, because as my feet land, the rest of my body tumbles into a forward fall. A cry escapes my lips as my hands hit the floor, miraculously dodging the shards of glass littered around me. Relief fills me as I stand unscathed.

I don’t have time to think about whose window I just destroyed, whose house I’m about to raid or whether this is morally incorrect. I’ve made enough morally incorrect decisions in my Life has left his eyes, and I can see it so clearly...but he can’t. He never will. I stare at the snake bite in his arm and tears fill my eyes as I realize that this is my own doing, I’m his near killer and this is my own punishment, but somehow I’m able to get a couple of lies out of my mouth anyways. “I’ve got you, Rum Tum. I…I’m” hungry. And thirsty. And tired. And probably sick too. My eyes don’t even process the green wallpaper or the soft rug beneath me because in a moment, I’ve already found my way to the sink, holding my face under the running water. A sigh of relief escapes me as I pull my water bottle from my satchel and fill it to the brim. I then open the refrigerator with one hand and pull out a container of grapes. I eat one and then another.

It feels odd and a bit unsettling to have food in my stomach again. I have to eat slowly, in case my stomach isn’t quite strong enough for this yet. Meanwhile, I grab as many cans, crackers, and any other foods that can’t go bad, until I can’t possibly fit any more in my satchel. The heat from the open window hits me, and I cross over to what seems to be a supply cabinet and open it. I immediately grab a bottle of sunscreen and then bug spray as I look down at the disarray of mosquito bites along my arms.

Am I stealing? Is this a crime? At this point, I don’t even “No, Freya, you’re not allowed to go to that park. It’s much too far away and too close to the woods.”

“But Elena is going! Her mom is going to drive us!”

“I don’t care if Elena is going. You’re not.”

“Ughhh! What’s so wrong with the woods anyways?” I stomp my feet and fold my arms.

“Freya, do I even need to answer this question? You know there wild things out there: wild muttations, wild people”—

“I’ll be safe, I promise! Pleeeease?”

“No and if you ask me one more Time" has only crafted me into the animal I’ve been told all my life to stray away from. It’s funny how they taught us in school to stay from the monsters that roamed the woods and led crimes in the districts, and yet we were the monsters – the beautiful monsters. I scurry up the stairs and cross to what seems to be the bedroom. My eyes flicker to the bathroom as I think about how much of a relief it would be to step inside a shower, my frazzled hair and dirtied skin contributing to the disaster that I’ve become. However, I remember that I don’t have time for that, that there’s a boy waiting for me out there: a boy that I love – not in the shallow way that brings butterflies to your stomach and hearts scribbled across the pages of your notebook, not that crushy kind of love that people fall into only to realize that there are so many more types of love than just romantic fantasy: there's friendly love, family love...However, Rum Tum is the only person I have left to love, so I guess he just gets it all. At this point though, I'd say I'm about ready to be done loving. I’m about ready to wake up in my Capitol bed and realize this was all just a dream: a vividly beautiful and horrifyingly tragic dream. Rum Tum probably still thinks of me as a monster. At least he's right to.

I cross to the dresser and grab socks, long shirts to protect me from the sun, and clean clothes that actually seem like they might fit me before moving to the other room to grab another set of clothing that actually seems like it might fit Rum Tum. Well, that’s convenient. Then, without an eye of my usual curiosity, I rush back down the stairs, and put the clothes on the table, next to the sunscreen. I pop a couple of more grapes into my mouth, already feeling full. It’s hard to believe that a year ago I ate three meals every day. Is there even room for that much food in my stomach?

I sigh and go through the kitchen drawers one last time to see if there is anything else that might be of use to me. I find a bottle of Advil and sigh with relief, quickly shoving the pill into my mouth and taking the rest with me. After stuffing as much as I can into my satchel, I lean against the kitchen table behind me and breathe heavily. The silence of this comfortable, and somewhat messy, house is interrupted only by the slight breeze that whistles through the empty gap in the wall where the window used to be. As I finally take notice to this somewhat simple home, the shame begins to settle in.

My eyes scan the green wallpaper, the dishes that fill the sink, the books scattered across the table, and even the picture frames places nicely upon the living room walls. I don’t dare go nearer them though, not wanting to stare into the faces of the people I’ve just taken from, another piece of shame to fill my guilt-ridden heart. I shake my head, trying to draw myself from the dangerous curiosity I’ve fallen into, but my eyes find the piano in the living room and in only a matter of moments, I’m seated on the bench, placing my dry and callused fingers against the keys.

I’m not sure I remember how to play; it’s been so long. Still, I find A and the only song I can possibly recall floods from my hands. The sound isn’t at all as graceful as it should be, wrong notes strewing from my fingertips. I pause, looking up at the music and trying to find the spot at which I messed up. However, the notes are merely a jumbled disaster that I’m still quite incapable of reading, so I begin the piece again, a sigh of frustration heavy on my lips. I hear someone shifting on the couch behind me and quickly turn around to see my father. “I didn’t even know you were”—

“Oh, I’m just listening,” he says, a smile on his face. “It sounds beautiful, Freya.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I say honestly, turning back towards the keys with a frustrated huff, wishing I could be done with practice already. I begin playing again, looking at my father through the reflection of the piano every few minutes. He never leaves the room, only sits there with a delighted smile upon his face – who knew it would make me smile Too many memories find their way out of the locked drawers I’d pushed them in, pouring into my brain. No, this is just what I didn’t want to happen. I was supposed to get in this house, grab some things, and get out: no guilt, no shame, no memories, no love, no nothing, but now there are tears pouring down my face. Home, home, home: that’s all I want, to go home. I was silly and stupid, and the woods aren’t my home anymore – they never were, but neither was the Capitol.

I have no direction, no finish line, no sense of belonging. Now that Rum Tum despises me, all I can do is endure the pain of all that I've done and hope time will ease the shame. Everything I touch shatters; even this beautiful mazurka so ill-played, shatters the divine silence. My fingers fumble to make sense of the incorrect notes, but I can’t remember anything past this phrase, the memories grown distant. I stop playing, cough, and bring a hand up to wipe the tears from my eyes. If only they could wipe away the stains of my past just as easily.

ooc: 1. sorry this is so long - long enough that I don't really feel like going back to edit it oops and don't feel like you have to make your post anywhere near this long cuz like idek i just ramble and ramble and ramble and yeah sorry this post is so bad ahh
2. flashbacks are in italics, fyi
3. if you have any questions about the post, ask.
4. yAy