flood flare // beck phonecall blitz

l o r e n z o

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Oh good. 

He does hate me. 

I hear it starting from the second sentence and I feel so fuckin' desperate clinging to that voice again; it felt good when we were friends, and it feels even better to hear him hate me. Blame me, I'm almost grinning with him talking about what he's worth to me. There's a twisted bit in my gut that's validated because thank fuck I ruined the last good thing I had. 

Now I can just do what I want, I don't owe Beck anything. "Oh, I didn't know photoshoots were an option between us. Thought you were busy being public with Lysander these days," Beck's never been good with secrets. It's clicking, that every second I spent investing in this kid was me buying my own sister's death. I painted his guest bedroom and hung string lights in my boat, and those homes aren't shit but assets. 

I've got to be honest, I think keeping things vague was making me hate him. All the little rumors about us in the capitol, Piper and Luke joking about it in their last week, I can say for sure in the way my hand grips the phone that it isn't vague anymore. 

"Anyways sorry for not calling sooner. Our line's been dead," like my sister, y'know. We had one good summer together, and the capitol saw and took the last good thing I had. Is another happy day with Beck worth it? Is this phone call worth Jimmy or Rogue? 

Is Beck worth talking to? When I'm just gonna fuck it up anyways, maybe it's best to cancel my ticket and hang up. 

If I could I probably would, but Saff would kill me. 

l o r e n z o

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"Other than being my only decent friend."

"Laugh out loud," that's a funny way to treat a friend but I can't say much. A year ago it was us jumping past the train station trashing Lysander Mae's name, and now she's his good friend and I'm on the other side of Panem. Living through the telephone again and I want to laugh thinking if it was supposed to be hurtful -- was I a friend, Beck?

Was that all I was?

I can't be mad about it, it was my choice to be vague and our choice to hide inside from the cameras, sharing meals and sofa's and the way he looked at me. I must have been a good friend before hoping that he hated me; pretty damn close. He's right that we never owed each other explanations, not like we started off with them anyways. Just like he never explained to me what Hailsham was, because he never took me seriously.

"Hell, I like the sound of that." But it's all my fault, I didn't pick up the phone and distract him from what hurts; I guess that's on me. "If that's the type of victor you are, life must be worse than I thought, Beck. But sure, I'll be your cover story again." It's what I'm good for.

Make life exciting, the adventure's the fun part, right?

l o r e n z o

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"What do you need then, huh?" I guess this is what makes him happy, what he's waited seven months for. 

He pegs me as jealous and maybe he's right! After all this time, I have a fuckin right to be. But I'm not jealous of the crown, money or whatever that's not what's got me jealous. Beck can do anything he wants with his life, he's got all the money a twenty something can ask for and he's still as useless as I am; he can't save anybody! Why would I be jealous of that.

But then I see him with Lysander, his new close friend, and maybe I am jealous after all. "What do you want me to say? You said it yourself, I don't owe you a fuckin' explanation!" I hate how complicated this feels, like somehow I fucked things up by doing nothing -- I never liked complicated. There's enough of that, enough of conversations like this going on for other people and I wish Saffron had never made me pick up the phone. 

My gut was right, bud. Always is. 

Beck's just another Victor, I've met so many of them by now that they become indistinguishable. Big ass word out of my mouth, but he's five years from alcoholism, celebrity relationships and the second to last interview of a Sardonyx Crowe special. I hear it in the way he talks now, "I have my own life outside of you," and hating him won't bring her back. 

Talking it over with him wouldn't have made it hurt any less, I don't understand what the problem is. He's the Victor, and I'm the scandal, that's all it fucking is. 

l o r e n z o

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I feel more angry than pity, he grovels something through piety like I'm all that's on his mind. It's almost flattering, to hear Victor Hailsham beg for me, god maybe I wish I was a victor after all. Maybe I just wish he couldn't hang it over my head; that's all that comes from it. Shy and Lysander and Beck and all their names are above mine solely because fourteen year old me wasn't the war vet they were. 

"Don't be so humble," I regret it as soon as I say it. 

Normal Beck, someone more fun than seven months of guilt and shame and a red letter phone call. Hot iron to my ear and it rings and stings and "that's not even what I asked, god has the Capitol gotten to your brain?" If you want to beg and kneel and change, just be the Beck I knew a year ago -- we can live in your delusions in my boat house and pretend nothing bad ever happens. The games don't exist, it's just you and me and the ever rolling seas. 

"Cut that shit out and just yell at me already, bud, all this because I didn't pick up the phone? I can't hold your life together and mine Beck, not halfway across goddamn Panem!" I hope Saffron can hear me, I hope she's happy because her little playdate plans are going just as well as I thought they'd go. I'm clenching my jaw, standing and pacing around the hallway and trying to picture him sleeping on his kitchen floor. Ever so devoted, waiting to hear from me; god. He needs some better friends in Four. 

"Just tell me you fuckin' hate me, get it over with!" 

l o r e n z o

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It's kinda cathartic to hear all the ways he hates me, it all comes at once and I hold myself still, leaning against the hallway wall listening to it. There's a hanging photo of Mace and Saffron across from me, and it's like they're watching this whole conversation. Is this fair? For him, for me, have I really done him so wrong? 

If there was a magic lantern in his hands right now I wouldn't exist, and he still says he doesn't hate me. I try not to grin, but damn is it interesting to hear it all. Beck Hailsham doesn't hate me and I guess that's the answer I was looking for all along. These minutes past and it's all summed up in one last sentence from Beck's mouth, he can't hate me. I take it to my ego, honestly, for how terrible he makes me sound I'm surprised there's still something redeemin' about me. 

I'm quiet for a second, not because I'm overthinkin but just because there's no words coming to my head -- how do I respond to that? 

The door slams downstairs and I know I'm home alone. Saff's probably heard every word and if she didn't, she'll insinuate what she missed. Seven months ago, back before Beck thought I dropped the world, what would that Lorenzo say? The publicity doesn't matter, that was just a dumb joke, and that's all I've ever been really. Dumb joke after dumb joke, "so, would you really want a scandal with me?" My timing's never been worse and my heart's skipping a stupid beat, I'm feeling better already. Just takes a little truth telling. 

"Where I'm from, we consider that flirtin', y'know."

l o r e n z o

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As the air clears, I just feel dirty. He's hurt in a way I can't fix, not that I'd try too hard -- when did I get to be such an asshole? I'll meet him half way, I'm a pretty selfish person. I wasn't always? Stealing for profits and helping my old home out in little ways, maybe I'm just lost on when I became so bad. Somewhere in the depression and survivor's guilt, I'll just ask my therapist about it. 

I've gotta blame Beck or Shy or something, else it's my fault and I can't agree with that. If that makes me selfish than I guess all them shellfish changed me some, Beck rolls with the joke. He always has, because we both know it's just easier. You pretend it doesn't hurt and laugh it off and you make it from thirteen to twenty, live long enough to watch every good thing die in your place. I think I'm allowed to be a little selfish, it's what's got me this far. 

If Beck's just a friend, then that's not my strong suit. This was doomed from the start, dear. 

"I've heard," that's the type of victor you are, Beck, "so what's this whole thing with Lysander anyways? I know the audience loves hate couples, but gotdamn."  Maybe he thought I'd forget, or maybe it's just his way at getting back to me. I don't want to go down the rabbit hole of how she's better for him than I've ever been -- she's just as bad, you know. Everything she touches dies just the same, she's no goddamn Midas. 

That standard is only high when it's in my hands, because I couldn't even live myself. I don't have a single win unlike the rest of them, and I'm still bitter over it, god. I'm healthy and everybody hates me, welcome to being Enzo.