gage prewett ; seven resub

My family is rich.

I don't mean it in a bragging sort of way; actually, it's one of the reasons I don't really talk to them anymore. It's all about status with them. Sleeping giants warning everyone around them to be quiet, because if they're awoken, they'll crush everyone under their feet.

They talk about how long our bloodline is, how it goes back centuries, how there were entire generations of Prewetts who had never even heard of the Hunger Games, how the home I'd once lived in had been used as some sort of camp during the rebellion, hellbent on training rebels. Eventually, it was discovered and promptly taken over by the Capitol, where it was then used to house the Capitol soldiers until they were ready to completely take District Seven under siege.

But, you know, they like to leave that part out.

Truth is, they are only fragments of the ancestors they're so quick to drop the names of. My father is a useless alcoholic who never learned how to do anything other than spend money- when you inherit enough to last you several lifetimes, you don't really ever learn how to make more.

My mother is one of those white wine/painkiller zombie moms, frigid and ruthless and ignorant of everything going on outside her pretty little bubble. I think maybe her brain has been damaged after several decades of wearing her hair up so tightly.

And then there's the old family tragedy, or I guess that's what he would be called if I didn't exist: Also known as my older brother, Gaspard. He was always what they'd hoped, I guess. Strong and smart and witty, the kinda guy you wanna shake the hand of. The kinda guy you wanna watch your girlfriend around. They were proud of him, which was fine because it meant I got to do whatever I wanted with zero expectations. And then he had to go and get mugged outside a diner, stabbed for a wallet that only had a couple hundred bucks in it. Seriously, though, why do people always try to rob rich people in the street? Do they think we just carry our wealth around with us wherever we go?

Anyway, after that, they tried to set their focus on me, but it was too late. I was already doing all the things Gaspard was too pussy to try, and had zero interest in becoming some hollow sad-sack, posing for a holiday card with a reindeer sweater and a sadness in the eyes that everyone except me could see.

So, naturally, they bargained. Prewetts always get what they want, they say. Maybe I'm more of one than I care to admit. I got to move out on my own, live my life the way I want. Only catch is that I can't tell any of their fancy circle friends and I have to make an appearance at any event they attend or host wearing a suit and a smile. It's not so bad, they're getting pretty boring in their older years. But even still, I'm getting to the point where I genuinely resent them, the way they can laugh and my mom can touch my father's chest like they've even kissed a single time in the last decade, or the way my father introduces me like I am the source of his pride when he hasn't spoken to be away from a crowd of listeners in almost two years now.

It's all about status with them. They think they're sleeping giants.

I'm wide awake, and I'm not afraid of them anymore.