if i was a wealthy girl // georgina & jules

Trust me not to be able to do the god damn survival stuff. Trust me to think 'I'll just get a goddamn lighter' like the bitter bitch I am. The longer I'm here the more tense I get. Thinking about home. Thinking about the games. Thinking about having to kill all these kids. Thinking about Noah. Thinking about thinking too much. Thinking about not thinking at all.

James would tell me to pull myself together but he's always had it fucking easy. Everything came naturally to him. I had to work twice as hard. God damn it, now I'm getting bitter about my favourite person in the world and with all my anger, with all my frustration, with all the twisting of my hands around this damn twig I still cannot get it to light, let alone smoke.

"God damn it," I sigh, giving up with a hurl of the stick to the ground. It bounces lamely and rolls to a stop, my hands red and raw from the effort. "Fuck this," palms at my eyes. Keep it together, says Jamie in the back of my head. They'll think you're unhinged. They'll kill you with it.

He's right. But he's not here. I am.

But it'll take him twice as long, if not more, to die.