Show 'em the ropes // Arx

Apparently it's top of the line. Custom mold, titanium alloy, weatherproof, carbon frame, and realistic plastic meant to match my skin tone. As if anyone would actually confuse a fake leg for a real one. Especially mine which was publicly amputated live for all of Panem to see. And I wish I could be upset about it, but all I want is to figure out how to use my new one before the victory tour starts. I refuse to use crutches or a wheelchair. I'll stay up all night walking up and down the halls if I have to. No one is going to see me fall.

Everyone encourages me to rest. And I don't mind obeying that order for a bit. The beds here are beyond comfortable and the I'm allowed all the pumpkin pie I can eat. But the nurses and attendants insist on having the television in my room on with the volume at full blast. They replay the same scenes over and over again, rattle off statistics and facts about me and my family. But what's entertainment to them is a nightmare to me. So when they smile at me and wish me a cheerful—"Congratulations!" I feel sick to my stomach.

As surprising as it is, I find relief in the brief interjections of updates on the Katelyn Persimmon and her latest and greatest reality show. It's a real laugh. Real for me at least. Nothing about what is happening on the screen puts the 'real' in 'reality' though. There's a big difference between the gleam in the eye of a potential suitor and someone whose life is flashing before their eyes. I'll give you just one guess as to which one gets more views—love or death?

I switch off the television when the beginning of my fight with Scout begins to play for the billionth time. A nurse offers me a wheelchair as I step out of bed, but I wave her away. Each step is a challenge. A single movement that used to be so simple and natural feels more like running a marathon now. And I don't know how long I spend practicing, but I'm no better than when I started. Footsteps down the corridor break my concentration and my knee locks. I growl in frustration as I'm fall into the wall, forced to use it as a crutch.

I push myself upright as she gets closer, the smile on her face looking rather genuine despite all the practice she has had faking them. She offers me a hand and I shake, a small grin dancing on my lips. I can see why she has her own show. She's pretty damn fun to look at. And the best part?

I twist her hand and pull it to my lips, kissing her knuckles with a smile.

"You know," I muse, with cheeky grin. "I think I heard somewhere that you're single?"

I drop her hand and chuckle, running a hand through my hair. "And I can't help but think, 'What a coincidence!'" I lean closer, holding a grin that stretches from ear to ear as I speak softly.

"'So am I.'"

If I had to guess, I would've thought she'd slap me. Or maybe yell or simply just walk away. She could've kicked my leg from beneath me and I would've simply tumbled to the ground. It's not like I'm not used to the response; it's usually my goal to piss someone off. Either the girl smiles, giggles, flirts back. Or they hit me. Either way, I'm left a lonely man by the next morning—just how I like it.

And there are a thousand reasons why I'd love to sleep with Katelyn Persimmon, all of them being: She's pretty and she's breathing. But I won't. Because there are a million things she could've said, and a million more she could've done. And none of the millions of reasons I could think up included an offer of friendship. And one that was apparently still on the table despite my obvious intent to offend. I suppose I can see why she and Opal get along so well.

I've never had friends. Maybe I could've, eventually—Stevie, Machaon, Atlas all were decent bros—but I've never known anything more than one night stands, gold diggers, and competition. It's one thing to let Opal—a Career, an outcast in her family, born and raised to be one thing but choosing to break out of the mold and be someone different—see inside the walls it took me years to build.

But some victor from District 11 with a reality a show and a thousand other people she could whisper my secrets to? I don't know.

I'd only planned as far as getting shot down and pushed aside, making an enemy and someone easy to avoid for all eternity. Instead she's making jokes, laughing, and smiling. I thought it'd be easy to hate her. She was the beginning of the trifecta of victors that ruined my life, made career training absolute hell—'Do you really want that? Some lower district scum taking our fame? Our glory?'—it should be easy for me to push her away and write her off as an enemy. I was trained to despise her.

But I don't.

"You’re an ass," She shrugs, her lips curl ever so slightly. "At least it’s a cute one."

I really don't.

I laugh because it's funny, not because I'm obligated for show. I can only hope that her offer isn't for show either. As easy at it would be to pretend I enjoy being part of some pretty girls master plan for scandal, I'd rather not be anything than just a boy. At least for a few minutes until the real world comes back to haunt me.

"Seems you've got me all figured out," I say with a devious grin. "Suppose it takes one to know one."

I look at her, but not with the devilish grin or the sultry stare I usually afford to the people I tease. It's more with the hope that she understands that I play a game, too. While she plays for the public's entertainment, I play to keep myself safe.

"And as for the walk,"

I pull the smile back onto my face and twist to offer her my arm with a crook in my elbow and my hand pressed against my stomach, steadying myself as best as I can on my good leg. I raise an eyebrow at her.

"It'd be my absolute pleasure, Miss Kate."

I try not to look down at my feet when we begin to walk, but eventually I get frustrated with all the effort it takes to move in one fluid motion. It's either look at my feet or rely on Katelyn to hold me up. And there is no way in hell I'm doing that. My pride has taken enough hits for the day.

I turn my head to say something witty, flirtatious. But it feels ridiculous as I stare at my feet with all concentration and focus being put into simply keeping upright. I decide to switch back to the topic of Opal. Funny how she's already become a safety point for me.

"You don't have to worry about Opal," I say with a shake of my head. "We've already worked out--" I pause as I remember the threat she made the last time I brought up anything to do with Potato. "--an agreement."

"But, uh," I say with another goofy grin and half of a chuckle. "If you ever get bored of Kinkade, you're always welcome to a dinner with me."

I turn to look at her with a raised brow.

"You know, as a friend?"