buried in broken dreams .| justice + jacinta

will we ever let it go?
we are buried in broken dreams
we are knee deep without a plea
i don't want to know

Just as she expected him to be, Justice Fray is absolutely hammered.

"Violet?" he says, words slurred and voice muddled by the alcohol burning in his veins. Justice is so ridiculously wasted that he can't even tell Jacinta from her sister, even though Violet's hair is shoulder-length and Jacinta's is long. But she supposes she can't really judge him too harshly; the gears of a drunk man's mind just don't turn very quickly. "How are you even here, like, did I miss the entirety of the— oh."

Jacinta opens her mouth to say something, leaning her elbows against the railing, but then stops when Justice begins to laugh. "Fucking hell," he chuckles. Then, through further laughing, he apologizes with, "Sorry. You and your sister look very similar from behind."

She narrows her eyes, not sure whether to find him funny or inappropriate. Spend a lot of time picturing our backsides, do you? Jacinta doesn't let that thought escape verbally, but she almost laughs to herself about it. Justice always finds some way to be crass, but she decides it's probably best not to encourage him at the moment.

He steps toward the balcony and leans against it so that they are face to face now. Justice grins at her with that stupid, drunken grin, the same one she woke up to after being carried out of the Arena.

"You can slap me now if you want. Y'know, just to get it over with," Justice tells her. Maybe she would have obliged if she didn't feel to broken inside. If she didn't want to cry right now, if she didn't feel to weak and powerless, maybe she would have. He probably deserves it.

Sometimes she wishes her time in the Games had truly left her hollow. There have been countless tributes that lost the will to feel, and so they didn't. They left their hearts behind and never looked back. She once thought that perhaps she could do the same, but all she could do was numb the guilt and the pain for a little while, for just long enough so that she could do what was necessary to survive.

"I should have cut your head off when I had the chance," she had said to Cynthia Rose Delgado in the finale. Even in that moment, she had never truly regretted not killing her sooner. Because she could never bring herself to stoop so low, because she believed that Cynthia deserved better.

Even Justice can't drown his emotions. Ripred knows he's tried, with all of the alcohol he drinks.

She watches as his stupid grin slides right off his face. "Sorry," he apologizes again. But then he smiles again, and Jacinta isn't sure if it's forced or if he just can't stop grinning because he's a drunk idiot.

"My schedule is pretty packed, but I think I could give you a few of mine during pillowtalk," Jusitce says. She raises an eyebrow in response, and catches a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and a giggle in her throat.

"You really don't know when to stop talking, do you?" Jacinta says, half playful and half pointed, with a sigh at the end. But to her utter dismay, she realizes that there is an alarming amount of heat flaring up in her face. She places a hand under her jaw and feels the burning of her own skin, no doubt the result of blushing again. Normally, she would brush it off, but Jacinta is wearing no makeup to even slightly hide the pink in her cheeks, leaving her chagrin exposed. As drunk as Justice may be, he would surely be able to pick up on it.

"Anyway, uh—" she pauses for a moment, so flustered that she forgets all of the words she had trapped in her head for hours. "I wanted to talk to you about something." Jacinta stops again, her eyes trailing the lines of Justice's fingers and the iron railing. The blush in her face has not quite subsided yet, and it's beginning to make her even more uneasy than she already was.

Marina would laugh if she could see her now—the former Salazar heir, torn up inside over grief and embarrassment for her own emotions. Her mother would tell her to toughen up, that a real Salazar is never vulnerable like this.

"It's—stupid," she continues, but she doesn't mean her distress over Violet. Missing her sister and worrying for her makes sense. But it's stupid that it's so easy for Justice to catch her off guard, stupid that her stomach is twisting itself into knots.

"But I think you would understand," she says. She wants him to—needs him to. If Justice Fray can't relate to grief and guilt, then she doesn't know who can. Jacinta does not want advice on how to handle her emotions; not with the way she has seen Justice handle his problems. "Even if you're drunk."

Jacinta forces a half smile. "Think you can be serious for a few minutes?"

what it's like to live without you
don't want to know the other side
of a world without you
is it fair, or is it fate?

no one knows
the stars choose their lovers
save my soul
it hurts just the same

Justice is always such a blatant flirt and she hates it, and yet she always finds herself blushing and looking away. She wonders if he's really trying to get in her pants, if he's just drunk, or if he's trying to embarrass her.

"You really don't know when to stop talking, do you?"

"Only in the presence of a beautiful woman."

Jacinta would have scowled playfully if she were in a better mood, but she is not at all light-hearted tonight. She doesn't know how Justice can be, but then again, it's likely all just a facade.

When Jacinta asks Justice to be serious, he replies, "Serious sucks." And he's right, really; if she had the choice, she would be light as a feather, carefree and at ease. But she can't, not when guilt weighs her down like a ton of stones.

Jacinta can live with the fact that every year, she will watch two tributes from her district die and it will be partly her responsibility. What she can't stand is that this year, one of them is her sister.

"But uh," there is a pause as Justice sorts through his hazy mind to find the right words, "Sure, yeah, I can try. Just—" he looks away for a moment and tries to unbutton the collar of his shirt. It must be uncomfortable for him, because the way his hands move almost strike her as frantic.

He looks back at Jacinta with one of his classic stupid Justice smiles. The nonchalant, almost impish expression on his face does not touch his eyes, Jacinta notes. But she decides not to read into it, that it's probably just because he is absolutely hammered. "This top button is killing me, can you get it for me, please?" he requests.

Jacinta raises an inquisitive eyebrow. She tries to say something sarcastic, but she finds that the words simply won't come to mind. So instead she stands there for a moment, flustered and blushing like an idiot. If there wasn't a layer of makeup on her skin, her entire face would have been flaming bright pink; instead, it is a less severe rosy tinge.

"O-okay?" she responds, narrowing her eyes. Jacinta takes a tentative step forward, careful not to look Justice in the eye. She wonders if he takes pride in embarrassing her or if he's just not thinking at all. It could be either, really.

"But don't get any funny ideas," Jacinta tells him sternly. She is closer to Justice than she would like to be — it isn't that she's repulsed by him, not at all, but sometimes, he gives her this nervous feeling that is all too familiar. That uneasy feeling deep in her stomach; she had described it once to Valentino when she was a child and had felt it around a pretty girl, and he told her that she had butterflies in her stomach.

Jacinta has never liked the idea of having butterflies in her stomach, and she likes it even less that Justice can inspire that sensation. Clementa made her feel that way, too, but much more intensely. It was cliche and she always felt so stupid thinking about, because Marina always taught her that loving and caring too hard makes a warrior vulnerable. So the fact that Clementa made her flutter like a little caged bird made her uncomfortable. Jacinta did not want to be weak.

Her feelings for Clementa were her greatest weakness in the Arena. From a tactical point of view, it made her stronger that she died.

("I wish I could have loved you, Jacinta."

In another life, maybe she could have.)

Jacinta pushes the thought of Clementa Lowe away. Dwelling on her is dangerously depressing, and Jacinta has enough problems to deal with tonight.

She doesn't look Justice in the eye as she unbuttons the top collar of his shirt, because she knows that she would regret it immediately. Jacinta can feel the heat exuding from his body, and when she breathes in, she catches not only the smell of the city air, but also a musky scent that must belong to Justice. Alcohol, sweat, and cologne — it isn't the most unpleasant thing, she supposes.

Once the top button is undone, Jacinta does not linger. She quickly steps away from Justice, and now that she is at a more comfortable distance, she is able to muster the courage to look at him again. To her dismay, she was closer to Justice than she realized, only an inch or two away.

"Anyway..." she clears her throat, trying to change the subject before he can make a stupid joke or poke fun at her. "I came here because I wanted to know, because I wanted to understand... How are we supposed to live with ourselves, after everything?" She means killing less so; Jacinta is more focused on the part she has played in Violet's imminent death than the lives she destroyed in the Arena.

"Not that you've done anything wrong," Jacinta continues, careful not to strike a nerve in Justice. She isn't blaming him for Pillar's death, nor does she truly blame herself for Violet's encroaching demise; she blames Snow. "I just mean—how am I supposed to keep going on as normal when my sister is going to die?"

And there they come, the waterworks. Jacinta sniffles and blinks back tears; she doesn't want to smear her eyeliner and she doesn't want to cry in front of Justice. It seems like such a arbitrary, meaningless worry, but she tries to focus on the little things rather than the big picture. (Violet's death, her blood glistening on the snow, Marina's disappointed stare at the Reaping — that's enough.)

"I don't know how to pretend like everything is okay. Despite the fact that my sister's life is on the line, I still have be presentable to the press — and to Snow," Although her voice wavers, Jacinta's words are bitter and full of venom, but it is not directed at Justice. She doesn't look at him when she speaks; rather, she stares into the cityscape, picturing Snow's familiar, smug smile. Instead of focusing on her despair, Jacinta focuses in on the rage and hatred that has slowly been building inside of her since the moment Violet was reaped. "I still have to make appearances and smile and act like I'm happy."

Happiness, joy — they seemed so far out of her reach, now. There is nothing Justice can say that can take Jacinta's pain away, but she does not seek true relief. She knows that is impossible.

She came here for understanding; Justice might be drunk — he always is — but maybe there is something he can tell her that would make her feel less alone.

and i can't tear myself away
did we ever see it coming?
will we ever let it go?
we are buried in broken dreams