any way you go you lose | [Jones JB]

Kahinta's palms are rough against my skin, calloused rancher's fingers that wipe away tears and brush my hair from my face. More guilt weighs me down, dragging me down to the floorboards. It is her and not I being sent off to the slaughter and yet she is comforting me, shushing me, and soothing me. It's completely unfair.

I sniffle as she speaks, trying to ease my bruised ego. I need to be stronger for her, the Temple that existed for the little girl before the 80th. Before redwoods and throwing knives. I needed to be the older sister I promised myself I was.

"This isn't on you, Temple. I should have been more careful."

I look up, my chin pulling from my hands as I stare up into her face. She's attempting to hold back tears as she talks but as the words flow out they slowly begin to fall. But I hear her words as if they're calling from another room as the meaning of her stoic posture and apologetic words take hold.


I told you I was going to keep you safe and I can't-"

Her words trail off and she falls to the floor with me, wrapping me in her arms. I don't hold her back, my mind is still racing as her words click into place.

It begins as a stern question but I cannot hide the desperation in my voice as I grab her shoulders and pull her back to look into her eyes for the truth. "What do you mean careful?"

I can feel the clock ticking away our time together and I realize I have wasted the last five years and five minutes will not help now. It was not my own actions Kahinta is sorry for but her own. I spent every year keeping my mouth shut and hiding away and I thought that would be enough. I did not think she would do anything to possibly put herself in harm's way. But it is a coward's mind that assumes everyone else is spineless.

"Kahinta, what have you done?"

Kahinta rubs at her face to wipe away a tear.

Like she did as a child. A scrawny five year old crying out for the cow that was indifferent to her kindness. A flower in her hand, still offering it as the bell around the old dairy heifer's neck announced it's retreat. Ma was too busy to comfort such useless tears. I wasn't much older but I wrapped her in my arms. I held her close until her breath steadied and we followed the cow through the prairie until Kahinta could finally extend her offering. The cow ate it from her hands and she had giggled, her sorrow forgotten but her eyes still puffy and her cheeks streaked with tears.


"I told you the day you came back, the day they brought you home."

I'm trying to remember what she had said that day. I had been so take aback by her anger I barely took in her words. She had been so different and that change had scared me. I thought I could keep the Games secluded to myself. To consume all the pain of the Jones' family and hide it away.

And yet it was clear now that Kahinta wore that same pain on her face. My suffering was not limited to my own heart.

"I told you I would keep you safe. How was I supposed to keep you safe if they could still take you, if they could still take anyone? I couldn't let them take you again."

Kahinta's voice was just above a whisper but it felt as loud as the anthem shaking the ground below me.

How could I not see this? I should have seen it- I should have stopped it.

My hands are shaking and I cannot steady them. They wrap into the red fabric of Kahinta's dress and make it harder to eventually let her go.

She wanted to keep me safe but it was never supposed to be her job.

"Kahinta, it's okay," I say trying to put on a smile but unsure if my face followed the direction. Tears are rolling down my face and I can do nothing but let them come. There is no stopping them now. "I'm safe. You kept me safe. Th-"

A sob breaks my voice but I push through.

"Thank you so much," I feel the smile finally pull at my lips but snot covers my upper lip. My grin quivers and it feels like if it falls everything else will with it. "Please, just tell me what you did."

Tell me it's all a misunderstanding. Tell me it was a mistake. Tell me it is something I can fix.

Please.

Kahinta breaks and I feel my heart breaking with her. She's sobbing and all I can do is hold her close. I smooth her hair down, trying to soothe her while also trying to piece her together.

She shoves her face into my neck, hot tears smearing against my skin. I have a vague memory of carrying her upstairs after a long Reaping day when she was still too young to be considered. It's not a comforting memory, it's taunting. How thankful I was that her biggest worry was exhaustion and not the Games.

It's not fair.

"You need to- to find Bette..."

My heart falls into my stomach.

Bette stands in our family barn, her shoes caked with mud, with a crate of weapons behind her.

Kahinta leaving as the sun goes down. She says she's meeting friends but I never hear their names.

"Bette?"

She's saying Bette owes her. I didn't know they had more than a single conversation. They didn't tell me anything.

I want to push her further. I want every detail I can get but I only have minutes left with her.

Instead I rub my hand across her back as another sob shakes her body.

"It's okay," I say quietly. "It's okay, Kahinta. I'll find her. I'll be safe."

I'm staring at the wall and the aging floral wallpaper slowly blurs into a mess of faded green and yellowing lilies.

"But you have to come home."

I hold her tighter as if that might keep the Peacekeepers from dragging her from District Ten and onto the train. As if the stylists can't break my embrace to curl her hair and make her up as a character instead of a young girl. As if I could ever keep the world from treating her harshly.

"I can't lose you."