a minor miscalculation; puppy

The door to the basement gym swings shut behind me. I reach up with an arm and wipe off the sweat from my forehead. I needed to train, I needed to show that I was strong because I was weak.

I could never be as strong as Meredith. I could never be as fearless.

I could never defy Victor again.

She's far away from him, so it's probably easier for her to do what she wants. But my lip is still healing from when Victor had struck me from my last indiscretion. I don't think I could ever stand up to them until I find some way to escape.

Finn's in the kitchen, I think. I hear some noises coming from there. Of course, Killian, Victor, and Octavia would probably be in one of their offices dealing with Meredith's middle finger to their family. Our first tribute gave us a break from their terror as they deal with her.

Thank you, Mere.

I move to open my door, just planning to reach in and grab my towel so I can shower off, but something's immediately off.

"Hi Fiona."

At first, I'm at a loss for words. What was she doing in my room? Why was everything strewn about?

"Uh..."

My eyes narrow as I begin to understand. She was going through my stuff.

"What are you doing, Iz?"

Did Victor send her? Was he looking for an excuse to throw me out of the hosue? Or worse, just slit my throat, have a funeral if he's feeling generous and be done with it?

No. Isabelle was a monster, but I don't think Victor would trust her with something like this. This was something the little klepto sociopath decided to do on her own, I know it.

Then I see it, the plugged in curling iron on my bed that she was trying to conceal behind her and a piece of a slightly burnt sheet. My eyes widden.

"What the-" Then I catch myself. She might be an aspiring murderer, but she was still just a kid.

"Your room is very nice."

"Are you trying to burn the house down?" I say, rushing past her wide, innocent eyes as I pick up the curling iron and set it down on my desk where hopefully it won't burn anything to the ground.

I sigh, turning around and taking a better look at the floor. Makeup strewn everywhere, clothes sprawled across the little carpet in my room, and my perfume's overwhelming scent filling the room.

I turn to her, my eyes narrowed with anger and a little bit of disgust. I remember when Izzy first came to the house, thinking that she was just an innocent little girl who the Strauss' had convinced into coming into their home with empty promises of love. I had thought she was just like me, fearful for the future but wanting to appease the people who doted on me with luxurious comments.

But no, I had quickly realized that this girl was more than the front that she put on for the crowd. She wasn't an innocent little child. That's what Octavia taught us to do, right? Find the mask that fits our face best in this never ending masquerade.

Before I could give her an earful about not going through my things again, the little monster speaks.

"You’re not hiding anything, are you?"

My face falters for a moment, my eyes going from narrowed to wide with surprise. What could Victor have told her? What could she have heard? Maybe he did task her with finding a reason to have me slaughtered.

It was only a moment, though, and my expression quickly turns back to that of suspicious annoyance.

"Don't pretend you're here for any other reason besides messing with my stuff, Iz."

I crouch down to begin grabbing my little makeup containers off the floor, snatching a case of concealer and throwing it onto my desk.

"Ugh, what were you doing in here anyways? Just trying to give me a headache?"

Throwing things from the floor back to my desk, I want to yell at the little girl.

"I don't know, I was bored." She says to me.

I remember when she first came to the Strauss home with Annabelle. I had thought she was just like me, desperately craving the hints of approval in Octavia's mysterious smile. It hadn't been long until I realized the truth about her twisted little mind.

But I can't get more upset, I can't break. Despite her youth, her ambition mouth was as loud as one of the older kids. Our parents might not entirely believe whatever escapes her lips, but I can't put anything past them. My most recent break with Annabelle has already attracted too much attention from Victor.

If only I had Mer's courage. If only I could flip off Victor and Killian and Octavia and run away from them.

I feel an urge to whirl my head around at her next comment, but instead I just freeze, a dress held in my hand halfway to the chair at my desk.

"Why doesn’t Victor like you? Don’t you want to impress him? Don’t you want to be a winner?"

Her constant, sociopathic ignorance forces my teeth to clench together as I finish placing my dress on the seat of my chair. Standing back up, I look at her and force out of my mouth what I've trained myself to do when confronted. Lie.

My mouth forming my serene, kind smile that always earned me some extra attention in my last foster home, I respond, "Don't we all."

And then, cursing my mouth, I add, "And Victor's not mad at me," despite the ghost of the bruise that was slowly disappearing over my upper lip, "Some people just make mistakes. No one's perfect." Even if that's who we're supposed to be.