ghostboy. } stray

JUSTICE

The rim of my mug burns my lips, my fingertips. I take a sip, cringe as the scalding liquid washes over my tongue. It hurts, but only for a moment before my nerves grow numb to the heat. I breathe in deeply, letting the comforting smell of cider overwhelm my senses. I open my eyes and stare at the axe mounted on the wall, the shiny opal twinkling in the sun's outstretched arms. I exhale. Apple cider, gorgeous fall evening, an aesthetic view from my brand new couch—I should be happy. Or at least content. But all I feel is--

From the open window the breeze carries a string of laughter. I jerk my head in the direction of the heavenly sound, a smile slowly creeping across my face. I catch a glimpse of Opal and Ky rushing through the window frame. I stand slowly, ceramic brushing softly across wood as I set my mug aside and shove my hands in my pockets. I move slowly, the allure of happiness something foreign yet comforting to me. I get to the window just in time to see her scoop him up. He squeals and laughs as she peppers his face with kisses. I find myself smiling along with them.

They sit like that, framed by my window, hanging like portrait on my wall. But life is more than just a single frame. And I'm not a part of their lives, not really. So they move on, out of view and I'm—"Justice?"—just stuck behind my own window pane. The smile falls from my face and I reach up to shut the window. I click the lock, my eyes refocusing to stare at my own reflection.

I look--

"Justice? You okay?"

I put on a smirk and twist on my one good heel.

"I don't know, darling," I say, running my fingers through my hair and adjusting my jacket on my shoulders. "You tell me."

She doesn't even really look me over. My prep team has taken to trusting that I know how to dress myself appropriately. They simply provide the clothes. The rest is all me. She smiles.

"Looking handsome as ever, Mr. Fray," she responds as I offer her my arm.

And we step outside to begin my day. She begins to list off everything today is meant to accomplish. But I don't need a reminder; I already know how I'm supposed to act, feel, exist for the next 50 years of my life. And when I slip up, they'll be right there to clean up my mess and remind me that I'm a victor. I'm the Capitol's golden boy, their most prized victor to date. I'm the Career who finally ended the upper district drought. I'm the bad boy—the freaking sex icon—of Panem. I'm everything that the other victors aren't. I behave, I'm compliant, I smile for the cameras, and I love bathing in the limelight.

I'm the perfect victor. Their perfect victor.

So it's no wonder I feel so... lost.

"Hey, are you listening?"

I tear my gaze away from the horizon line and look into her eyes with a raise of my brow. I give her a curt nod so that she'll continue. But I already know the drill. It's the same shit Patricia does. Fight the biggest and best Careers in the district. I'm aware that for her it's a form of... punishment. But for me? Cool. Just another fucking day getting beaten to a pulp in a training center. I'm used to it. So if they think that public embarrassment is supposed to break me, then they're sorely mistaken.

"Try not to beat all of them," she whispers as we step inside, assuming because I'm a victor that I've got the skills it takes to pulverize ever single one of these Career kids that have been raised since birth to kick when someone is down.

"And make sure to smile for the cameras," she says through her teeth as she puts on her own toothy grin and slips my jacket off my shoulders. "They're looking to get some good shots for the next magazine."

And with that, it's lights, camera—action!

I glance around the training center, taking in what is supposed to be my competition. But if I'm being really honest, I think this is a good opportunity to snatch a girl to keep me company tonight. I suppose somewhere in the back of my mind that had always been my plan for today. Do a bit of flexing, a bit of grinning, throw a few winks here and there, guide hands and legs in the right direction when one of them whispers: "Show me." But apparently the people mediating this event have different plans.

I stand at the center of a circling crowd of Careers, my smile slowly becoming more and more forced. My prosthetic leg clicks against the ground as I step forward and square my shoulders. I stand with my arms crossed and my gaze forward—serious, but still holding the smirk on my face and devilish glimmer in my eyes. I wink at a blonde to my right.

"Elara Stell!"

My eyes snap to the girl who steps forward. I take my sweet time looking her up and down. Her legs seem endless, bare and strong, her feet almost gliding toward me as if she were walking on water. The smirk on my face grows as my gaze dances over the curve of her hips, to her stomach, to her chest, her neck, her lips, eyes. I would die happily if it meant I could suffocate between her thighs--

"Fight ends when I blow my whistle," the man says, guiding us into sort of boxing ring. I smirk, shrug at her as we start to circle one another.

"Elara," I say in as sultry a voice as I can manage. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

I take a step toward her, poised and ready for her to swing at me.

"Got a boyfriend? Nah," I say, leaning closer and whispering in her ear. "Doesn't matter. You'll forget all about him after you've spent the night with me."

A bell rings to signal the beginning of the fight. I step back and gesture for her to bring it on.

"Do your worst, baby."

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