jemma holloway. capitol. wip

I joined the trainer's guild because my dad always wanted me to.

I know that maybe that's going to sound gross and cliché and like, oh whiny little rich girl lost her daddy and wants to follow in his footsteps. I know. But I promise, there's no one in the world that hates me for being this way more than I hate me for being this way.

I can remember, so many years ago now, my dad taking me up to the rooftop of our apartment building and telling me about my mom for the first time. The capitol socialite, the most beautiful woman in Panem as far as he was concerned. She died, tragically I guess, taken from us before her time in a freak accident that no one ever liked to tell me anything about. Oh, you have your mom's eyes, people would say, holding my chin between their fingers and staring down at me. I always wanted to yank my face out of their hands, scream and shout and throw a tantrum that no one ever wanted to tell me anything real, left me with news articles and Capitol TV reruns to live off of, little scraps and pieces of who my mother was on screen and in the public eye, but nothing real. Nothing honest. Nothing that was all mine, mine mine.

It's hard though, feeling like everyone in the world knows your mom better than you ever will be able to. Like they love her more than you ever could.

That was always the thing that undid me.

wip wop or something werk

Little rich girl with a victim complex and too much time on her hands to think about all of the things she has ever done wrong, I'm here because I have to be. You look at me like I'm not important, like I'm a waste of everyone's time and space, the girl who doesn't know how to do anything and just threw herself into this room as some sort of way to prove to the world that she isn't the empty-headed socialite everyone thinks she is. And you're not wrong, I guess, much as it breaks something inside of me to admit that I have been empty inside for so long.