70Not much to report here, just that there are two directions this story can go in and apparently I am on the fence about them. That, and I've officially written over 3,000 words for Scar Tissue, so there is hope there!
Let's Kill (Tonight)
Part Sixteen
destruction | dəˈstrəkSH(ə)n
noun
the action or process of causing so much damage to something that it no longer exists or cannot be repaired
synonyms: demolition, levelling, razing, ruination, smashing, shattering, dismantling, breaking up
She doesn't remember running.
The air is thick with smoke and debris, reeking of rotten eggs, of charred flesh. Massie gags, shoving her nose into her elbow, breathing in deep. She smells like sweat and her mother's favorite perfume; she relishes in that, in that one decision she made. It is calming, like her mother's presence had been, which is something she needs right now.
Her head hurts, pounding between her eyes in time with the continuous dropping of the bombs. They haven't stopped. They haven't—
Everything behind her is demolished. Dark clouds chase her down the street, the gemstones in the asphalt managing to still glitter dully without the sun. Her legs ache, muscles of her calves burning, but she doesn't dare stop. She does trip, however, when she spares a glance behind her, just to see.
It's impossible to outrun them and it seems she's the only one trying.
Massie lands on her hands and knees. Pain shoots from her palms to her elbows, sharp enough that she has to grit her teeth against it. The ground rocks again, shaking beneath her, and it feels like it is going to open up and swallow her whole.
She'd welcome it, she thinks, if only it means she can stop running.
But she can't. Not if she wants to live. Not if she wants to see—
Massie forces herself up, breathing sharply through her nose and deeply out of her mouth. Her knees are scraped up and bloodied, skin shredded with grime and rock embedded between the cuts. It hurts, holy shit does it hurt, but she runs.
She runs and she runs and she runs until Victors' Hill emerges in the distance, tall and proud and—
"No," Massie breathes. "No no no no no!"
Victors' Hill remains in the distance, high above the rest, and it is on fire.
Every place is burning from the inside out. Orange and yellow flames lick at walls and doors and the grass surrounding them.
The smart thing to do is to veer to the left, where the bombs have yet to hit and the land is open for miles. Massie does the stupid thing: she runs toward the houses.
She doesn't get very far. Coughs wrack her, forcing her to a stop, and then—
"You're an idiot," Cam hisses in her ear, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her to his chest. He holds on for much longer than necessary, his heart hammering so hard against his rib cage Massie feels it like it's hers. "Don't you remember what you're supposed to do if we're bombed? Don't you listen?"
"Listen to what?" Massie demands. "We've never had any training for that! We're not supposed to get bombed, we're in District One! We're safe. We're supposed to be safe—"
Cam grips her arms. "Don't you see, Massie? Nowhere is safe! Don't you get it now? Do you understand?"
"What are we supposed to do?" she retorts. "If it's not safe, how are we supposed to—" She trails off as another bomb hits, this time farther than the rest. "If I had just played the game correctly…"
"We're at war," Cam shouts—in anger, and to be heard over the sounds of their home falling to pieces. "And yes, you're the reason, what you did in the Games, it made this! But you need to stop throwing a pity party every time you think about it and you need to pick a side. No more flip flopping, no more taking too long to think about it. No more I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to get sold like fucking cattle but here I am, getting treated that way anyway. The difference between you and me is that I don't let it define me. Decide who you want to be and decide fast. Time is something we no longer have on our side."
Massie isn't quite sure if she's thrown through a loop because of the bombs or because of Cam's impassioned speech. All she knows is she's going to cry and it could be due to a number of factors.
"Stop," she says. To herself? To Cam?
"I can't," Cam snaps. "No one else is."
The crackling of the flames seems louder, more intense in the silence that envelops the two of them. Massie turns her head to look, escaping Cam's all-knowing stare. The roof of one, maybe four down from Massie's house, falls. The rest of the building goes down with it. Massie winces.
"What am I supposed to do?" She hates that she still needs to ask for help, for advice. She used to know what to do. "They're bombing us. No one is going to come save—where do we go?"
"The only place we can go," Cam murmurs. He wipes at her face, fingers coming back dark with soot. "The Hub."
Massie wrinkles her nose. "I'd really—"
"I know you don't like her," Cam says quickly. "I don't either. But it's the only place we can go. There we can regroup, find out what's happening, where everyone else is."
"I need to find Derrick," Massie exclaims. Her stomach tightens with unease. "My dad. Bean!" She grabs Cam's hand, squeezes it maybe tighter than she should. "Cam, we need to find them. I won't leave without them. I can't."
"It's not safe," Cam replies.
"And walking to the Hub is?"
"Massie—"
"Look." She points. "My house is right there. It's—we can get to it. We can see."
"And what are you expecting to see?" he asks. "If they're smart, they would've left as soon as the fires started. If they didn't…"
There's either nothing there. Hopefully nothing. It's either that, or… or…
She doesn't want to think it, but she has to. It's a possibility. It's a strong possibility.
There could be bodies there. Three, burnt bodies. The thought of them, of Derrick, dead sends her heart racing. Her hands shake as she grabs Cam's shirt, trying to ground herself. After everything she's done to keep him alive, to keep him with her… she cannot handle it. Cannot fathom that this is how she loses him.
"Okay," Cam says, having read her face. "We'll check. Just… if it's not… if it isn't safe, we're turning back."
"Right. Yeah." Massie nods. "That makes sense."
Cam slips his fingers between hers and tugs her along, taking the lead.
She tries to calm herself, taking deep, cleansing breaths as they climb up the hills. It gets hotter and hotter the closer they get. Sweat drips down her spine, clinging to her skin. The fabric of her romper sticks uncomfortably to her back.
They get to the top.
They get to the top, and the carnage is—it's much worse than she can imagine.
Cam coughs into his fist, pulling her farther along. Massie's eyes widen, taking in the only neighborhood she's ever known. The Cliffords' house is nothing but a porch, the rest of it a pile of beams and wood. Becky Manning's roof fell straight down, crushing the rest of it. All she can recognize of Topher Bank's home is the material of the couch; half of it is in the street. The rest is nowhere to be seen.
"You don't think people were in there, do you?" she asks. No house is left in one piece. "They should've been at the square."
"Not everyone goes," Cam says. He frowns up at the house he was assigned, looking like a bomb went straight through it. He's never in it, opting to sleep in his mother's home, a few down the street, or Massie's dad's, directly across from his. He avoids looking to his left, turning around.
Massie does it for him, more out of fear of seeing her own. She hopes Pamela wasn't there when this happened. Maybe she was at the market, or visiting a friend, or even at the cemetery for her son or husband. Anything would be better than the death she'd suffer at this total annihilation.
"Massie," Cam whispers.
The tone… she doesn't like it.
Everything inside of her is screaming for her to stay still, to not find out. She has to fight against it—the urge to flee—and she does, she really does, if only because she needs to know. Needs to see.
Cam's hand slips up arm to hold the back of her neck. She can't figure out if she thinks that's comforting, or if she feels choked. The warmth of him is something she appreciates though, a different kind of heat than that of the fires around them, dangerous and burning through everything, grass and gardens included.
Victor's Hill is a war zone. Nothing is untouched.
Nothing, not even Massie's house.
The windows are blown through, the curtains her mother picked out (her father hated doing that) shreds of gauzy material. Her front door hangs on the hinges, broken in half.
The fire hasn't reached it, or it wasn't set here, but that doesn't mean it's safe to be there. From the looks of it—
"Someone broke in here," Cam announces. Massie shifts further into his side. "Looks like they didn't like what they found."
Massie swallows. It hurts, her throat too dry. "Should we go in?"
"No," says Cam definitively. "We don't know what we'll find in there."
"Isn't that the point of this?" Massie asks. "To find out what's… what's in there?"
He's silent.
He's silent because she's right.
And because she's right, she starts the short walk to what remains of her front door.
There is a heavy shudder ahead of her, halting her steps, and Cam's arms are wrapped around her waist, pulling her back hard and fast. They trip over each other, he falls back, she lands on top of him and her house is nothing but the parts that make it up. All that remains are the memories she made there—the fun she had, the fights with her mother, the breakfasts with her father—they're all in her head now.
And so are the people, if they were in there in the first place.
Cam scrambles to his feet, wrenching her up, and then he's all but running away from this, from where they lived and grew and loved. Where they were victims to the Capitol and their expectations.
All Massie had wanted to do was come home.
They took that away from her too.
Her hand is slick against Cam's. She wants to pull away, wipe her palm on her romper, clean it of the dirt and the sweat and the blood, but he doesn't give her the opportunity to let go. If anything, he holds her tighter, even as she stumbles down the hill. He does not let go, even as the distance between them and the Hill, the district, gets farther and farther.
Eventually the woods close in on them, branches criss crossing above to hide the sun and the sky. The scents turn natural, making it easy to breathe, and Massie takes in the earth around her, glad to be away from the death and decay of the bombing. That joy is fleeting, however, given everything that happened, and she tugs her lower lip between her mouth, chewing the flesh as a distraction.
She also ignores how Cam's head turns this way and that, his back straight, posture tense. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was lost.
He might as well be, but Massie refuses to acknowledge that she's lost her home and will die in the forest surrounding One all in the same day.
So she says, "It's getting late," even though she can't really tell. She's got no concept of time: it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it could have been days.
And Cam replies, "Yeah."
Her hand remains in that same clenched position even after she lets go of him. She stretches them out, knuckles cracking, and picks at what looks like dried blood crusted around her fingernails.
"We should stop," she suggests. She is tired and kind of hungry but mainly very nauseous and full of what feels like shock. But she shouldn't be, should she? She knew something bad was going to happen. She could feel it.
"Here?" Cam inquires. "We're—it's the middle of nowhere."
"There's nowhere else," Massie replies, "and we've been through worse. I think we'll survive."
"Yeah, but then we had weapons, and people sending us water, and—"
"You don't carry anything on you?" Massie asks, accidentally cutting him off.
"No," Cam answers. "Do you?"
Massie kicks her bootie off, pulls a tiny little blade from the inside. She does the same with the other. "I always thought Dad was crazy, but maybe he knew I'd have need of a knife in the future. I don't know." She undoes her belt, drops that in the pile. "If we get close enough, we can strangle something with that, and we can also use the heels of my shoes if it comes down to it."
Her brother blinks at her, mouth agape, and he looks so stupid, so dumbfounded, then, just staring at her. Did the effects of the bombing somehow give her three heads? "What," he says.
"What? Check your shoes."
He doesn't move. Massie sighs, leans forward, unties his laces. Hidden beneath the soles she finds two more blades, similar to hers. She puts them aside and pats his jeans down.
"How did I not feel that?" Cam wonders as she pulls at the strings of an inner pocket her father must've sewn in there. It makes her question just how many of their clothes and accessories he's turned into weapons.
"Getting soft and lazy," Massie drawls. "That doesn't do well in this family, big bro." She taps two fingers to his knee, pushes herself up. "You remember how to start a fire? I'll get dinner."
…
Around a mouthful of rabbit, Cam poses the question.
Massie pretends not to hear it, watching the dark space in the distance. It's the way they came. She's certain if anyone were following them they'd come that way and given their meager supplies, she wants to be prepared. It's also a way to ignore the churning of her stomach—and that's not from the gamey meat of the animal she slaughtered.
No, Cam, she thinks derisively. She always says his name like that in her head, but never aloud. I do not want to talk about it.
It's always that. Always Massie, how are you feeling? Massie, do you want to talk? Massie, Massie, Massie. What is she supposed to do here, tell him her feelings and have him feel sympathetic? Sure, his home was destroyed too but he didn't have to watch it. He didn't just go through the worst year of his life and be denied everything as soon as it was over.
She asks, "Do you know if your mom was in your house?" It's a low blow, but she throws it anyway, if only to see the look on his face: gritted teeth, eyes flickering to the side. "Do you want to talk about that?"
His brother died recently, Harris, around the same time as Massie's mother. That can't have been a coincidence. Maybe she should stop being an asshole.
Massie bites viciously into her food, silencing herself.
It's unfortunate that she can't turn her thoughts off as easily as her voice though.
Every memory she's ever had races in the forefront of her mind: birthdays, training, her parents, Kemp, her dog. That house and all its hiding places when she was younger, the garden she'd pull herbs and veggies from in the summertime, the walk to the market, where she'd indulge in sweets and newly sewn clothes. She thinks about the way her mother used to smell (and pauses to sniff her wrist, to see if the perfume is still there. It's not), and how her father always drank three cups of coffee and pored over newspapers on Sunday mornings. She remembers exactly how Bean yips when she's hungry and the feel of her fur beneath her head when she lays on her like a pillow. Derrick's face appears next, the way it looked when she first met him: freckled and smug, eyes twinkling like he had a secret. She can almost feel his hands twisting her hair behind her, fingers brushing her shoulders, mouth against her temple, her cheek, her own.
They've taken that all away, left her with Cam, who is—he's great. He's fine. She can survive with him, but he's half a shell as it is, torn apart inside and out. They did that to him early, slowly, over years and years and what feels like lifetimes. They seem to be making up for lost time with Massie.
Mouth full, she asks, "Do you want to take first watch or should I?"
Cam groans, leaning back on his elbows. "I thought I was done with that."
"You are never done with the Hunger Games," Massie says sagely.
"I don't really think we need a watch," he muses. "If there was a threat it'd have stumbled upon us by now. We made a fire out in the open."
Massie sniffs imperiously. "As a seasoned Career who wanted to volunteer—"
"—I know how Careers act, Massie—"
"—I would wait until literally, like, right now to strike, maybe a little later. We were actually remarkably stupid to make this fire, now that I think about it, and since we have no real long-distance weapons, we should probably just start moving elsewhere—"
"If it really means that much to you I'll take first watch," Cam interrupts hastily.
"Now we need a plan." Massie drops a bone to the ground, leans her elbows on her knees. "Do you know where we're going and what we'll be facing when we get there?" A leaf rustles in the wind. Her head snaps to the right. "I really do think we should move."
"Fine," Cam says. Stands. "Let's go deeper then. The Hub is on the outskirts of the Capitol, if you remember, so we'll need to go east more before we reappear on the border. I want to get as far away as possible before we're seen."
Massie pouts her bottom lip, chapped and so very dry. "Shouldn't we cover the fire? And our tracks? Make it seem like we were never here?"
"We could." Cam enunciates the words slowly. "But if we leave it like this they'll think we're returning and maybe they won't try to search too hard for us. Whoever they are," he grumbles under his breath.
"Seems reasonable," agrees Massie. She even deigns to leave her half-eaten rabbit, the creature not settling well in her stomach. It's astounding she managed to survive off of those for as long as she did without dying.
Slipping her collection of tiny knives—much tinier than the ones she normally favors—between her fingers, the blades becoming a literal extension of her, and plods along after Cam. It's chilly, she notes, but not cold enough to warrant a complaint. It's one of those typical summer nights, not quite as pleasant as the weather in Four, where she felt as if she could continue to lounge in a swimsuit if she felt like it, but warm enough that she doesn't need a jacket. Not really. It would just be nice. The slight chill can settle in bones quite easily. Multiply. Make her feel colder than she is.
They walk for what feels like a half hour. Fifteen minutes into it, Massie stops dragging her feet, steps as quick and light as a mouse. She erases their trail then, makes it look like they climbed a tree.
Focusing on the survival skills she'd learned for the Games somehow does wonders for her sanity. It's remarkably easy to fall back into it: to listen for suspicious sounds, to be on high alert, to see into the dark. Her hands remain still, steady, and her heart slows into that calm she always possessed before she was faced with a murder, be it animal or person. Not once does she think of what occurred today. Not once does she wonder about the state of One.
And if she does, she tests the sharpness of her blades and uses the others to sharpen them. They're fine, if she's not trying to do any lasting damage, but she decides she wants to be able to throw them and have them cut straight through skin. Slice through necks. Take out an eye, splinter bone, shred brain tissue.
If she focuses on that enough, there is no place for her current worries.
"I thought I said I'd take the watch," Cam whispers beside her, back against a tree trunk.
Massie barely spares him a glance. "I can do it," she says. "Sleep if you want. I'm fine."
"Sure," Cam replies, anything but. "It's sharp enough, by the way."
She purses her lips, eyes it. "Could be sharper."
His hand covers hers, stopping her in her path. "Massie," he sounds out, slow and deliberate. It makes her listen, really listen. Her hand wavers. "It is sharp enough."
Okay, but it isn't, can't he see? Can't he see that—
Her hands are covered in thin scratches. They're of varying lengths, long and short; the only reason they're even noticeable now is because of the blood that coats her fingers and her palms like a second skin.
She presses them together, accidentally digging her knife, the sharpest one, into her thumb. It doesn't hurt, it really doesn't, but it does break through the void that's overcome her.
Cam says something, wrestles the knives out of her grip, places them by her thigh. Massie doesn't hear him, doesn't feel him. She watches the new blood drip drip drip down her finger, staining her wrist and arm as it travels towards her elbow. It reminds her of the Games, which makes sense because she's acting like she's in them still, but the memories are not good.
Not like they're supposed to be good, the Games are traumatic, but—
It's Derrick it reminds her of.
The first time they really, truly interact in the arena. She's on watch, she remembers, and he refuses to sleep until she's done because he… he feels like he has to, for their alliance.
Because he loved you, her brain whispers. Even then he loved you and you let him die today.
She whimpers right then, she thinks.
He comes to sit next to her even though he shouldn't because they're trying to be secretive about it, not like that worked, and then he's flirting with her and she with him, and he's in her personal space, hands literally in her jacket. He pricks himself on her knives, just like she did now, and he acts surprised. He knows she has those in there, so he should have known better. She never notices when she hurts herself like this, which is why Cam had to tell her.
But Derrick doesn't do what she does, he uses a trident that he can't accidentally harm himself with, and he's very aware of the pulsing of his finger. Massie is stupid at this point, bored with lack of action, and she leans forward, and—
In real time, Cam pulls his sleeve over his hand, squeezes her finger until it throbs and the blood slows.
His shirt is stained when he pulls back. He merely hums, rolls the sleeve back up, and continues staring straight ahead.
Massie's heart pounds. Races. It may shatter, too, but she's not very good at things like that, so she's not too sure.
Her knife is not sharp enough. She reaches for it.
Cam is faster than she is, darting out to intervene and wrestling their hands into a very uncomfortable, very unwanted handhold. He doesn't say anything, but doesn't let her let go, either.
Massie coughs, throat closing up, and moves closer until they are but one, burying her face in his side. There, she works to steady her breaths. Cam only shifts to throw his arm around her, taking her hand again to keep her from using it.
At some point, Massie falls asleep, and he doesn't bother to wake her for the second watch.
Her dreams have no rhyme or reason. They're dark and twisted, and she sees the faces of people she knows, people she knew, and then they're gone in a burst of light. She feels jittery as she wakes, heart pounding, blood racing.
And then there are the voices.
Often Massie dreams she's woken up to realize she hasn't actually and she wonders for a brief second if this is real. Because it can't be. It really can't.
"I could kill you," Cam snaps. "I honestly—for fuck's sake."
"You really look like you could kill me," Derrick drawls sarcastically. "All cozy like that."
"I could," Cam shoots back, "if I thought you were a threat. But, you know, you're not, so I didn't bother."
But she'd seen it, she'd been there. The house… it fell. Collapsed right in front of her.
She'd never once thought he wasn't in there. She'd just assumed.
Derrick snorts. "Don't think I'm a threat," he repeats. "Right. Sure."
"Oh, shut up, you caught me off guard, okay?" Cam slackens his hold on her; she hadn't realized he'd been gripping her so tight. "I haven't had to worry about this shit in years, but I can still use a knife if I had to."
"And there are four right there, and yet…"
"There's still time," Cam promises.
"You wouldn't," Derrick replies. "You'd miss me too much."
Cam hums, noncommittal.
"She looks cold," Derrick observes. He sounds closer now, like he's sat down nearby. She could find out, but Massie is too scared to open her eyes and realize it's all a dream.
Having him alive and well while she sleeps only to wake to him dead… that's crueler than any of her nightmares have been lately.
"That's because she is." Cam squeezes her shoulder. "She just won't tell me."
A rustle, then warmth on her arms. Fabric that smells too much like Derrick for this to be a fabrication, with just a hint of smoke. Less than her and Cam, like he somehow missed the fire and the bombing.
"Here, let me," Derrick offers. "You go to sleep. God knows you need it since your first reaction to me was to, y'know, do nothing—"
"For the last time…" Cam begins, but doesn't finish, because faking sleep has convinced Massie she's really asleep, and she doesn't hear the rest.
Her dreams, the second time, are softer. Warmer. They all smell like Derrick. They all take place on a beach.
When Massie wakes again, it's still dark out. This time, she opens her eyes, having forgotten what she woke up to the first time.
A lone owl hoots in the distance. A buzzing sound indicates some bugs around, but it's hard to determine which ones they are. There aren't that many, but cicadas are prominent some summers. Not all.
She notices she's warmer than before, too, and her upper body is covered in a blue flannel shirt, which she's certain she's seen on—
"Hey," he says softly, probably because Cam is asleep somewhere to their left, "you up?"
Massie gasps, head lifting from where it's rested on his chest. She's not sure if she wants to slap him or kiss him or maybe yell. The last one is not an option in the slightest, so she twists in his embrace, peering up at his face.
His face, still as she remembers it. Beautiful, tanned, freckled. So, so symmetrical.
She presses her palms to his cheeks, squishes them. His nose wrinkles.
"Huh," she decides to say. "When'd you get here?" It is much calmer than she is inside, which is a plus.
Derrick shrugs. "Coupla hours ago. Did you know Cam is very loud? It wasn't hard to find you."
This annoys Massie, especially because she'd hated Skye for that same reason. She shoots Cam's sleeping form a glare; he's curled up in himself, halfway across the clearing.
"Said he wanted to be as far away as possible when you woke up and realized I was here," Derrick tells her. "He seems to think you plan on punching me in the face."
"I don't think I would have punched you," Massie replies. "I just… a lot happened yesterday and I might have thought—" She breaks off, looking past him into the distance. The darkness grows heavier back there. "I thought…"
Her house, nothing but a massive pile of wood and beams and furnishings.
Her district, exploding around her. Hovercrafts dropping bombs on the town square, because… because…
Fuck.
She meets his gaze again, not knowing what he sees there, and surges forward.
He meets her move for move, kissing her back with as much desperation and fear as she's kissing him. They've been through two particularly trying events recently, both that could have ended in the destruction of the other, and Massie doesn't know how to handle any of that in a way that is not this. Not bodily contact, touching every inch of him, slipping her palms over the muscles of his stomach, his arms, his chest.
They could talk, she supposes, but that doesn't do a thing to prove he's here. She's here. Alive, in one piece. She wants to tell him never to leave her again, wants to make him promise, because something has changed here, she can feel it.
The words die before they can fully form.
Derrick devotes time to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone as slowly as possible. His tongue follows the path his lips take. Heat rises where he touches, all the way down the deep neckline of her romper. He noses the material of it, pushing it aside. The strap slides down her arm to her elbow.
Massie mewls, soft, grinding her hips down in time with the movement of his tongue.
Derrick stops, breathes heavily against her, and slips his hands up her legs. Up up up.
"How do I get this off?" he asks.
"Just—" Massie swallows, shimmying. "Just push it to the side, it doesn't need to—god," she whispers. "Should we—should we be doing this with him over there?"
Derrick tugs her lower lip with his teeth, sucking it in his mouth and letting go. "We'll have to be quiet," he decides. "Can you do that for me, baby?"
Massie nods.
He smiles and she runs a finger over his dimple, the one on the left. This is what she's fighting for, the chance to see his face every day, no matter the context. No need to kill bugs to call him or bribe train conductors to leave without him or wait until Capitol-mandated parties to even get a real glimpse of him.
Cam was right, and she hates that she has this tiny thought of him right now. She needs to make a decision and stick with it. She can't keep saying one thing one moment and acting a fool the next.
This is a sign. He's a sign. Derrick living through all of this—the arena, his own punishment, the bombing, the fire—all of the things that should have killed him… they didn't. And that's—that's what she needs.
She's always known her decision. She's said it out loud twice, three times, maybe. But she's never fully acted on it. She's done some, but not enough.
They've taken her mind and her home. They will not take this. They can't.
"You okay?" he asks. He's never stopped looking at her, meeting her gaze as her mind runs rampant.
"Yes," she answers, "now that you're here."
She often wonders if he can read her mind; he always knows what she's thinking. Now is no exception. He kisses her again, soft and sweet, with enough understanding that makes her think her thoughts are written all over her face.
He presses his nose against hers. "Let me make you feel better than okay," he whispers, "but you have to be quiet."
His hands disappear beneath the shorts of her romper, which makes her wish she had the hindsight to know this would occur and beg Jakkob to put her in a dress instead.
Her breath hitches.
…
The sun is rising when Cam rouses, sky painted with the softest shades of pink and yellow and orange. Massie doesn't think it's quite fair the world gets to look so pretty after what happened in One, but nature never once cared for the woes of humans. It continues on.
Days begin and they end, that much is true. That much she's seen. But the sun has set on District One.
"Oh," her brother says. "You haven't been murdered." He frowns, eyes focused on her face (the swollen lips, the messy hair, the perpetually flushed cheeks). "That's a shame."
Derrick throws a stick at him. "Stop denying our love, Cameron," he shoots back.
"I'm not," Cam says loftily. "I believe the strength of it was what brought you back to us."
"Sure," agrees Derrick, "if you're basing it on how loudly you walk and otherwise exist."
"In my defense," Cam retorts, "I haven't had to worry about snapping branches or sneaking up on people in years. Give me a break, Newbie."
Derrick sniffs, throwing his arm around Massie. "We should get rid of him," he tells her conspiratorially, loud enough that Cam can hear. "He's only going to be dead weight in the end." He sighs. "Give me a break. Honestly."
Massie is surprised by the giggle that escapes her, and she hides her face in Derrick's bicep.
"I am a vital member of this team," Cam says loudly. "Can you just tell me what happened to you? I was worried."
"Aw," Derrick coos. "Did you hear that, Massie? He was worried about me!"
"Yeah," says Massie. "We thought you were dead."
"Or worse," supplies Cam. It's easy, the way he delivers it, but they can all hear just how concerned he actually was. Maybe he isn't just important to Massie anymore. Maybe he's important to a lot of people.
Fingers tug at Massie's hair, pulling her braids apart just for them to be put back together. She moves so he has better access to her head and listens as he speaks, gaze firmly on her hands.
"So, your dog is an angel," he begins, "and she's with your dad."
"Will was there?" Cam asks.
"Yeah." Derrick pauses. "He's… probably the reason I'm not dead. He—I think he knew this was going to happen," he continues. "He's in the Capitol."
"He just… let it happen?" Massie questions. "He knew they were going to—and he didn't try to stop them?"
Cam murmurs, "What was he supposed to do? Stand up in front of Myner and tell him no? He's supposed to be on his side."
"Yeah, but I don't think he really is," Derrick replies quickly.
"Obviously," Cam says, harsh.
"No. I mean to say there's a lot we don't know, and I attempted—" His finger gets caught in a knot in Massie's hair. He shakes it out, continues to braid. "I found two different versions of the Fiftieth Games in your house."
"A complete and an edited," Cam remarks.
"No. They were—they're not—just look at them."
Massie twists, not caring that her braids are uneven. For the first time, she notices a lot more about Derrick than she did before. He looks exhausted, for one, and his arms are covered in large bruises, marks that take up the entire length of his forearm. He also, oddly enough, has a pink, sparkly backpack with him. Massie's pink, sparkly backpack from when she was, like, eight.
"Were you in my room?" she demands.
Derrick grins at her. "Yep."
"Ugh." Then: "What did it look like?"
"I dunno, like your bedroom," he answers. "Freakishly clean for not having anyone live in it for a year."
Right.
She doesn't remember what it looked like, if she's honest, and now the only description she has is "freakishly clean." Cool, cool, cool.
Zipping open this pink bag, Derrick pulls out two disc holders. One is small, with maybe two CDs inside. The other holds about ten. Both are labeled 050-01, but the tiny one reads simulation. It has more wear and tear on its cover than the other, which looks to be in pristine condition, despite the—
"Is that blood?"
Derrick picks at it. Lifts a shoulder. "I think. It won't come off, whatever it is."
Massie shudders, smacking her lips. There is no reason for that to have blood on it and she knows she will be provided with no answer as to why it's there. And she doesn't really want to know, but her mind… it whispers her mother's name.
"Let me see that." Cam holds his hand out. "Mine is divided by time of kill, kind of like a table of contents in a book."
"Mine too," Derrick puts in. "That's where it gets weird."
He cracks open the bigger case, reads off numbers and names until Cam goes, "What? Who's Charlotte?"
"The girl from Four," Derrick says slowly, looking over yet another list. This one, Massie sees, has the names and ages of each tribute in the year's Games. "She killed the twins from Seven at hour one hundred thirty, minute twenty-seven."
"No," Cam disagrees. "Will killed the twins from Seven at hour thirteen, minute four."
"See what I mean?" Derrick poses. "It's confusing. It doesn't make sense. Why are there two different versions of—"
"My dad had the shortest Games in history," Massie interrupts. "Less than two days."
"Which never made sense, did it," Derrick responds. It is not a question. It's a fact. "How could he manage that? There was only one of him, right, and the only time to knock out that much competition is during the Bloodbath the first day. He couldn't have gotten all of them then. Even if he had help, some of the smarter tributes will run off without bothering with weapons until later."
"So what? They made two different versions and only aired one?"
"No, they aired this one"—Derrick indicates to the version he's holding—"and when William struck up an alliance with Myner's brother to literally stab him in the back four hours later, they created a simulation of the Games we know to be played after all the newly risen rebels were murdered, publicly and gruesomely, showing whoever was still sympathetic to the cause that they lost, and they had William Block, symbol of the rebellion, on their side."
There is a loud, drawn out moment of silence until Cam goes, "You literally just made that up."
"No, William told me that," says Derrick. "I asked him, like I suggested we do, and he answered me."
"He doesn't even," Cam starts, puzzled. "Have you two even talked?"
"Twice," Derrick answers. "This was the third time."
"Sometimes he'd mention someone named Charlotte," Massie contributes, memories assailing her. "He… I always thought she was, like, someone he'd been interested in before my mom, with the way she acted, but—that's not true, is it? That's your mom, Cam. She was the other—the Charlotte he was talking about, it must've been this one. He spoke very highly of her."
Derrick bobs his head. "They were allies. She was the only one he trusted. Fabiana and the kids from Two were shady."
Uncanny, Massie thinks. Her dad also partnered up with a Four.
"One and Four have a very companionable relationship," Cam notes. He, too, worked with the tributes from that district when he was in the arena. They're basically the ones who saved his life when the unnatural heat came.
"You're talking about this like you were there," Massie comments, ignoring the way Derrick kicks at her foot when Cam says companionable.
"We talked for a while, your dad and me," he says. "It was—he told me to take these, to watch them if we could because the answers are there, but he tried to explain enough to feed my curiosity. He never wanted you in the Games, Massie. He never wanted you to turn into him."
She knows that, but only because her dad is telling other people, not her. She wonders if it's harder for him to talk to her about it than it is to talk to other people. Maybe he just doesn't trust her.
"But what did he say?" she wants to know.
"Just what I told you," Derrick answers. "And a little more, but that doesn't apply here. Not really."
"Not really?"
"Not now," he amends, making a face.
Massie opens her mouth to argue, because none of this makes any sense, and she wants to know more. Wants to know why her dad talks to everyone but her, what he's hiding from her, if he's hiding anything. Why can't she know these things? Why is she in the dark if he doesn't want her to go down the path he has? Shouldn't he be guiding her?
Words do not leave her before Cam starts talking. The boys are always talking and she is always silent, always listening.
"You said he knew? About the bombing and the fire? How?"
"Dunno," answers Derrick. "I imagine someone in the Capitol told him. You know the only reason they're doing this is because Massie is back. They're not even trying to hide it anymore."
"The rebellion isn't hiding either," Cam reminds him. "You've seen the papers. They may not have declared it, but we're at war."
Derrick rubs his face. "The districts against the Capitol. Again."
"Do you wonder if they've done anything to Four?" Massie asks. "Or is it just here?" It seems, given their shocked silence, she's the only one to think this. "I'm not the only person involved in this. We both did it."
"I'm not saying you're wrong," Cam says, "but you're the one who initiated it. Derrick was willing to die so it would end properly, you… you weren't going to stand for that. You embarrassed them, so they chose to destroy you."
"But what's going on with you—"
"—is normal," Cam finishes bitterly. "Victors are sold all the time. We pay back our debts like that. Your punishment was different. It wasn't even a punishment, it was a manipulation. They wanted to make the world hate you so it was easier to get rid of you. That was the purpose of the brainwashing. That's the purpose of making you tour and showing you your Games after the brainwashing didn't work. They're just trying to make you unlikable enough to have people stop following you."
And then, to add fuel to the fire, he adds, "It almost worked."
"But it didn't," Derrick amends quickly. "It didn't," he repeats when she doesn't move, doesn't say anything. "You've fought all of it. You didn't let them win. The districts can see the person I see all the time."
Though he makes that girl up, doesn't he? If he can't find her, he pushes and pushes until there's a tiny part of her there. The districts can't be much better in finding a hero in her if Derrick can't.
"They want who you were in the arena," Cam elaborates. He's a bit rougher than the other boy is. "Are you ready to be that girl or do we have to keep waiting?"
"Cam," Derrick warns.
"Derrick," he shoots back. "I'm not telling her anything she doesn't already know."
"We aren't going to force her into—"
"I get that you're in love with her and don't want to make her uncomfortable, but my home was just destroyed," Cam snaps. "If there were ever a time to force her to make a decision, it would be now, while we're still alive to make decisions."
"I didn't mean to," Massie mumbles.
Cam's face softens. "I know," he replies, "and I'm sorry. You don't deserve to be talked to like that. I'm just—it doesn't seem like it's going to end, is all, and it hasn't even started. Not fully."
She reaches out her hand for his, intertwining their fingers, and lets the guilt wash over her. She hadn't considered the consequences of her actions, hadn't considered they'd affect everyone else.
"We should get moving," Derrick observes after some time, squinting up at the sky. The sun has moved closer to the highest point, almost noon. "I think if we make good time we can get to the Hub before nightfall."
Cam helps Massie up, presses a soft kiss to her temple, and offers to scout ahead. She shoves their collection of tiny knives in his hands, a sort of peace offering, and watches him go. She makes sure to keep an eye on him from where she walks, a few feet behind, just in case.
"He doesn't mean it."
"I know."
"But he's—"
"—right, I know that too."
"You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," Derrick says. "Don't say things just because they'll make the rest of us happy."
"You know me," Massie answers. "I don't do that." She steps over a log. "I've chosen. I chose long ago, but today really cemented it. It's just… it's hard, and I don't know who to trust besides you."
"Well, Cam, for starters. He'd never do anything to hurt you."
"I know." Massie tucks her hair behind her ear. "But there is something going on between Angela and District Three, and you know I don't trust Angela either and I refuse to do the bidding of people I don't believe in again."
Derrick runs his hand through her hair. Has her stand still. He deftly and quickly twists the locks into two braids down her back. "I don't like her either," he agrees. "Chris Abeley is doing more than she is—has done more than she ever has in years, actually."
Thank god. If he didn't feel the same way she isn't sure what she'd do. "I wish we could go anywhere else."
"It's the closest place," Derrick says, like that makes it any better. "We can regroup, shower, watch the tapes. We'll go from there."
"Go where?" she asks. There's nothing left for her. No home, no mother. Just a father and dog miles away from her, under the thumb of the very man trying to eliminate her.
Derrick pulls on a pigtail like they're kids on the playground, forcing her closer to him. "Home," he answers, "to Four."
Her heart pounds so hard in her chest it hurts. Home. To Four. Home. It'd be nice to have a place that felt like that again. Nice to have that with him.
She fists his shirt, the v-neck he's been wearing under the flannel she's got on over her romper. It's dirty, covered in grass stains and blood, which makes her realize he never really explained how he managed to make it out of Victor's Hill.
"I really thought you were dead," she whispers.
He moves his hand from her braid to her face, holding her cheek. "Me too," he says. "I just can't believe I found you."
"Don't leave me again," Massie orders.
Derrick brushes the pad of his thumb along her jawline. "No," he agrees, "I don't think I will."
…
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That."
"I don't—"
"Cam?"
"What?"
"Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That."
"You have to be more specific, that could mean anything. It could be the owls, or the bugs, or my own breathing—"
"Shut up and listen!" Massie hisses.
On her right, Derrick mutters, "Whatever it is, it can definitely hear you."
If Massie could see, she'd stomp on his foot. It's dark as hell, so dark she can't make out what's five feet in front of her. It could be Cam; it could be a fucking tree. They found out a while back that without the lights from One they were basically sightless; the stretch died out miles back and now they were traveling based on Cam's "internal compass." Massie thinks it's a bunch of shit, but she's been no help for the past two hours.
"I don't—"
"Shhh," she snaps, throwing an arm out blindly to cover his mouth. She cuffs him in the ear instead.
"Ow." Derrick laughs. "What, did they not fit you for night vision contact lenses at the Academy?"
"There is no such thing as night vision contact lenses," snaps Massie. "Now will you please just listen?"
"I am listening, it's just I don't hear—"
"Listen with your ears, not your mouth."
"I don't think I can listen with my mouth, that's not how it works."
Massie slaps at him again, knowing where his face is and estimating where his hands are. She gets his chest this time. "That," she hisses. "I can't tell where it's coming from, but—"
"Remind me to never go anywhere with you two again." Cam groans. "It's like I'm with an old married couple."
"Aw," Derrick says. He's taken to doing that every time Cam says something remotely offensive.
The rustling Massie heard gets louder, and she's able to determine where it's coming from. Her body shifts, knees bending, easing into a fight stance she's been so accustomed to as of late. What's out there? She doesn't know and won't know until it's too late, but—
Stupidly, Derrick notes, "I hear it now. If that's the sound you've been mentioning."
"Christ," Massie mutters, kicking her foot back. She gets his shin.
"Ow," Derrick whispers, then, "Cam, that better be you next to me. I will freak if a bat comes within a ten mile radius of me."
"Seriously? Bats? That's your thing?"
"They are unnatural flying rats," Derrick defends. "They are also virtually nonexistent in Four. I hear you have them in abundance around here. I'm not about it. No me gusta."
A light flickers on while the rustling grows. Branches break in an easy pattern, indicating footsteps. It's a person, and they are not as uncomfortable in this wood as Massie and her companions are. Not as annoying, either.
"Derrick, is that you?"
The blonde takes a step forward, brushing against Massie's shoulder. "Josh?" he calls out, voice hesitant.
Massie grabs his wrist, holds tight.
Cam comes up on her other side, silent and swift. He is at full attention, but there is something off in the way he stands. His energy is different. Massie chalks that up to him not seeing Josh in a while, in them pretending like they aren't nervous Four also got bombed.
"Is Massie with you? And Cam?" Pause. "Where are you?"
Cam's arm comes behind Massie to slap Derrick on the back. "Don't answer that," he hisses.
"But," Massie says.
"It's just Josh," Derrick adds.
It's too dark to see Cam's face but Massie can picture it: brows furrowed, mouth in a thin line, cheeks sharp. "We don't know that."
And though it makes sense—even though it's Josh, they know him—and even though neither of them say a word after that, it doesn't matter. Josh and his flashlight find them anyway. He looks just as rough as they probably do, dirty, hair mussy, but his eyes flicker when he finds them. His mouth curls into a smile, then drops again when he makes eye contact with Cam.
With the addition of the bright light, Massie can see. And what she sees—
Cam, red in the cheeks, eyes blazing.
Josh, determined yet apologetic, eyes wide.
And Derrick, stepping closer to Massie, frowning deeply.
They're having a whole conversation without words and Massie is left out of the loop. Like always, a snide voice in her head whispers.
She ignores that because this seems… it's different than she's used to. It's like they're all saying different things at the same time, but no one is listening.
Cam's voice echoes when he says, "Please don't do this."
When he begs, "Please don't do this."
"I have to." Josh winces. "It's the only way."
"It's not," Cam insists. "Josh."
Massie looks away, uncomfortable with how Cam is speaking to Josh, appealing and desperate and yearning all at once. She shifts into the protective stance Derrick has over her, if only to feel less awkward. If only to feel someone else is here with her.
Derrick wraps his arm around her, pulls her closer. His mouth is against her temple, a chaste kiss pressed there. "When I tell you to," he whispers, breath hot against her ear, "run."
Run?
She twists her head to look at him, opening her mouth. He shakes his head just once and she silences herself, pressing her lips together.
Run? What does he mean by run? Despite the obvious. Why should she do that? What is Cam talking about? Why does she feel so dumb all the time?
"Josh," Cam says again. Cam appeals again. "You don't have to do this. Come with me and we can—"
The other's sudden movements stop Cam from speaking, and Josh is cupping his face, noses touching. "You know it's not that easy," he breathes. "I can't just… you can't… it's not—it's the only way. I'm in too deep. I'm not—I'm not… they bought me—" Their faces are so close, the darkness is making it hard to see, but the words he says reverberate. "If I don't, Kayla and my mom… even my dad, they'll be in trouble, and I can't—"
"You've already gotten them into enough trouble." This is Derrick now, someone who knows explicitly what results in doing the opposite of what is expected of him. "I know what that's like."
"I can't do that to them again," Josh says. "I already—our coming out was enough for them. I can't let anything else happen, I can't." He finally looks away from Cam to glance at Massie and Derrick. His eyes swim with tears. "Even if I wanted to, I'm not alone."
"Please," Cam begs again. "Please."
"I can't," says Josh. "I'm sorry. I love you."
Cam blinks. His hands drop from Josh's elbows.
Voice cracking, Josh asks, "Don't you love me?"
"I do," Cam answers, "but if you do this… if you let this happen, I don't think I can continue the same way." He runs his fingers through Josh's thick hair. "You know better than this. You know it's not the only way. We can protect your family, we can."
"If it were just me," Josh starts. "If it were just me, you know I'd pretend I didn't see you. I scouted ahead just so I could warn you."
Massie blurts, "Who are you with?"
"Me," Fawn Davies hisses, wrapping her fingers around Massie's throat. She laughs, a husky sort of thing. "Miss me?" Massie waves her arms, whacking Fawn in the face, trying to get her off her. "I figured you'd be of no help, Hotz. You're so predictable, with your stupid relationship and your insignificant feelings."
Massie hits her again, trying to break her nose, which she can do, she knows how, she just needs to get the right angle…
But she kind of can't breathe, and… and…
"I always hated you," Fawn snaps, low in her ear.
"Because you were jealous," Massie forces out, voice half a croak. "No one likes you, not even your Sponsors." She coughs, settling her elbowing Fawn in the stomach instead of hitting her in the face. She is not expecting that, and she eases up on Massie's throat, just a little. It gives her enough time to pull in a large breath, filling her lungs. "You volunteered when you shouldn't have, because you weren't picked, and your winning was a fluke. You've never done anything interesting or worthwhile your entire life, and now you're a washed-up thirty-something trying to kill a teenager because—"
"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," Fawn interrupts, a seductive coo. "That would be kind compared to what's in store for you."
She lets go of Massie suddenly, and the younger girl drops to her knees, panting. Her body feels heavy, her head lightheaded. Her knees dig uncomfortably into the ground, a stick breaking the skin there. It stings. Massie imagines she can feel the blood leaking out of the wound. It is always her knees, and always her throat, and she is always taken unawares.
"Get off me!" Fawn shrieks. Her voice echoes in the night, spooking a couple of birds, who immediately take flight, squawking. "You - big - lug!"
"Tell me what you mean," Derrick orders, pinning Fawn to the ground. "What else is in store for her? What are you doing to her? Why are you here?"
Fawn laughs, like actually laughs, deep and throaty. "Why do you assume it's just her?"
"Tell me," Derrick repeats.
Massie turns her head, still catching her breath, and watches as he slams her head back down. There is a dull thud as the back of her skull meets the hard dirt, but Fawn just seems entertained with the whole thing. She was always crazy like that, one of those true District One Careers, even if she was never meant to be one.
"Your nephews are alive," Fawn informs him. It's not an answer to the question, but it does the job.
Derrick loosens his hold on the woman, shell-shocked, and gives Fawn the opportunity to shove him. He falls back, staring at her, and Massie crawls over to keep her from doing… doing whatever it is she plans to do next.
Fawn presses her face close to Derrick's, noses touching. He stares. Says, "You're lying."
"They never found the bodies," Fawn says. "That's because there were no bodies. We took them, so we could have something to hold over you. You haven't been a very good boy, have you? You know we couldn't hurt Massie when you stepped out of line, but we could hurt…"
"No," Derrick snaps.
Fawn titters. "There is nothing to say no to, sweetheart. It's already happened. Every missed meeting, every unsatisfied customer… did you think there wouldn't be consequences?"
"You're lying to me, trying to trick me," Derrick hisses. "I won't fall for it, Fawn. You're just a pathetic—"
"Josh!" Fawn calls. "Are Derrick's nephews still alive?"
Massie looks up, catches the look in Josh's eye. "Barely," he whispers, wincing.
"Barely?" Derrick shouts. "What do you mean barely?"
"Josh," Cam hisses.
"They're alive," says Josh. "I swear. I've seen them, they're fine."
"They're not fine." Fawn laughs. "And neither will your pretty little girlfriend be when we're done with her."
"You really underestimate her," Derrick snarls. "You can't do anything to her, she's—"
"She's the pathetic one, Derrick Harrington," Fawn tells him. She enunciates his name weirdly, which makes Massie look over at her again. "She can't do anything right. Can't tour the country, can't make her own decisions, can't even win the Hunger Games." She tuts, running a hand through his hair, cupping his face. He jerks out of the way. "If only you'd just killed her when you had the chance. You wouldn't have been involved in all of this. You could have lived a perfect, normal life…"
Derrick scoffs, batting her away from him. "My life would not have been normal or perfect had I won alone," he tells her. Fawn's face contorts. "She may not have won the Hunger Games the right way, but who fucking cares? The Games are just a way to control us all. There is no glory in it, there is no fame, no peace. Are you happy, Fawn? Did you imagine your life would turn out just like this when you won? Were you dreaming of doing the Capitol's dirty work for them—is that why you volunteered? To become a puppet?"
All the emotion leaves her face; she is just pale and blue-eyed, dark in the starlight. She and Derrick look so uncomfortably similar then, hair shimmering, shadows dancing across their cheekbones.
"Of course I didn't," Fawn answers, and Massie thinks it's the most honest she's ever been. "My home life was hard. We can't all be rich and famous in One, and I volunteered because I needed to. I needed to win to help my family eat, and I was eighteen, and I had no other choice." She shuts her mouth abruptly, teeth grinding, like she's ashamed of herself for even considering the questions Derrick's thrown at her.
Somewhere in the distance, Massie hears voices, footsteps. It's not just Josh and Fawn. If it was…
She pushes herself to her feet, stumbling as she rises.
Fawn keeps talking, but Massie is only focused on getting the knives from Cam. They're tiny, but she's sharpened most of them, and if she aims correctly, she can—
If it's only Josh and Fawn, they'll make it out of here. Massie just has to get rid of the rest of them.
"Give me," she says to Cam. To Josh, she snaps, "Are you going to be useful?"
"I just want to survive," Fawn tells Derrick. "You have to understand that. We all do shitty things to survive."
"Surviving is not living," Derrick replies. "Surely you've got to realize that. This isn't a life, what you're living, and… and you don't have to."
Fawn is silent, as if Derrick has really gotten to her, but Massie knows better. Massie knows Fawn, and the way she agrees with people just to get them off her back, and the way she doesn't believe in anyone but herself, even if she tells you otherwise. She believed in Kemp, not Massie, and she believes in whoever she's working for, not Derrick.
The knives are light. Massie slips three between the fingers of her left hand, holds another by the hilt with her right, ready to throw if she has to.
And she will have to.
Regardless of who is there on the other end, she'll throw it. She'll throw it because she's made her decision. She's made her choice, and it's time to act on it.
"I'm sorry, Derrick," Fawn says, "but you're wrong. There's no such thing as living. Not in this world. And your girl over there? She's ruining my chances of survival."
The words, and there are a lot of them, expand in Massie's mind. It's like she can see them, written in the forest around them, in the stars. She sees them, she hears them, and she knows what will come next.
She pivots, takes one step forward, and throws.
The wind whistles, sharp and deadly, and there is a shocked intake of breath.
"Massie," Derrick says.
"You killed Danny Robbins," she retorts. "Please get my knife back for me."
He does, pulling it out of Fawn's throat, where it makes a squelching sound. The blade glitters in the light of Josh's flashlight, a big lamp, and blood drips from the tip. It feels like she's in that arena again, killing people for getting in her way. The thought should make her nauseous, but it doesn't. She knows now that the Game never ends. There is no winner, only a slew of losers, all trying to convince themselves that being alive and staying alive is the real prize.
Honestly she did Fawn a favor.
Derrick flips the knife back into Massie's palm after wiping it clean on his shirt.
"I didn't want to find out what was in store for me," Massie announces, feeling like she has to explain herself.
"She was just buying time anyway," Josh remarks. "She's waiting for them to get here." He nods towards the sounds, getting louder and closer. "She was just humoring you, Derrick. She likes her sorry excuse for a life."
"Liked," Massie amends.
Josh bites his lip, uncomfortable, and moves away, just a smidge, from Massie. She pretends not to notice.
"Don't head towards the Hub," he says. "They'll be waiting for you on the way there. Go back towards the districts. Try to get to Three, if you can. I know it's far, but it's the only safe space there is now."
"The Hub—"
"Was never a place for you," Josh finishes. "Massie was right about Angela. You can't trust her. She's not running a rebellion. She's just another person trying to keep the Capitol in power, and the work she's doing, it's all for Myner anyways." He swallows. "This way he knows who is loyal to him and who isn't. Go to Three. That's where the real work is. Abeley… he'll be the one to save us all."
"Come with us." It's Massie that says this, not Cam, not Derrick. Massie, who hates Josh, and who Josh hates. "I killed Fawn. They can think we killed you too."
"I can't," Josh replies. "I wasn't exaggerating. My family is in danger. They've been in danger for years, and I can't keep putting myself first. Kayla, she's my sister, she's only fourteen—when Myner found out about Cam and I, when he thought Cam wouldn't be able to be sold anymore, he had her beat within an inch of her life as a way to keep us quiet. She was eleven then. I can't put her through that again."
"You never told me that," Cam whispers. "I thought…"
"That I was having second thoughts? That I didn't…" Josh shakes his head, distressed. "I've been in love with you for years. I never thought you'd ever—and when you did, it was… it was like… I felt like I was finally more than the murderer I was. That I could be loved, even after everything. You know," he says, "when the dust clears, you're just a person that killed a lot of kids. You have that on your conscience for the rest of your life. You did what you had to, and yet… you didn't have to. None of this is necessary. It doesn't do anything, sending two kids from each district in there. But Cam, you made me feel… you made me feel like I was more than that, for once in my life. You still do."
Massie feels her heart plummet to her feet. It's disorienting and painful, but there it lies, in pieces on the ground. She knows that feeling. They all do.
"Come," she pleads again. "It's not going to be easy, but it will be better."
Josh shakes his head. "I've got to report back, once you've gone," he says. "They're… Kayla is in one of the rooms, and they're not letting her eat. I'm afraid what they'll do when I don't bring you back, but…"
Derrick's hand is sweaty when it slips into Massie's. She squeezes tightly.
"I'm going to need you to punch me," Josh continues, glancing at Cam. "Make it seem like we fought and I lost, and you got away."
"Derrick," Cam says. "Can you—?"
"No. I want it to be you," Josh states. "I deserve it from you. I've been playing you for months, and I just had to tell you what was going on, and I could have… It didn't have to be like this, I know, if I had just been open about it, but I wasn't, and—" He grabs Cam's hands, slack at his sides. "Make it count."
Derrick starts to pull Massie away, veering left and deeper into the forest. "Cam'll find us," he promises her when she struggles. "You don't need to see that."
"I don't even like Josh," Massie argues. "Maybe I want to see Cam punch him."
"You don't," says Derrick. "Trust me."
"Cam." The sound of his name, the way it falls from Josh's lips, it makes Massie flinch. Derrick tightens his hold on her hand, afraid she's going to go somewhere, maybe, not like she would, and murmurs something under his breath in that language she doesn't know. Josh continues in the distance, and they are not far away enough that they can't hear him.
Massie kind of doesn't want to be able to, not liking the sheer level of emotion Josh possesses. It stresses her out.
"I meant it," he tells Cam. His voice travels. Massie tries to get control of her hand, the one Derrick is clutching, to cover her ears. He won't let her. She has to listen to each excruciating word and it makes her itchy. "When you asked and I said—I'm in love with you, you know that, but I can't just… this is the best I can do. You don't understand."
"You're right." Cam is gruff, biting off the edges of syllables, making them sharp. "I don't. How long have you been doing this?"
"A couple of years." Pause. "Three, maybe? She… she promised she'd take care of Kayla, and she did, but I didn't realize there'd be a price. She said she was better than him. I believed her."
Massie bites her lip.
"Three years," Cam repeats. "Three." He huffs out a laugh that makes Massie's skin crawl, reminds her of their time in Two. "Did you know about all the extra people she made me fuck? Did you know and not tell me?"
Derrick's fingers twitch in Massie's hand. She squeezes, remembers how he looked in the Capitol, and in Four, and in Two.
"She told me," Josh admits. "She told me to punish me, so I could suffer."
"So you could suffer," Cam bleats, deadpan. "You."
"Do you know what it's like knowing the person you—the person—" Josh struggles to find the words and for one minuscule moment Massie sympathizes with him. She knows.
Cam snaps, "No, but I know what it's like to be that person. I never wanted any of that. I only ever wanted you. I didn't realize you were so scared of everything you'd turn into this."
"I didn't—"
"I had been willing to lose everything for you," Cam interrupts. "I already had nothing, so it wasn't like there was much to lose."
"They're taking too long," Massie whispers to Derrick, the boy frozen beside her, listening. "It's only going to be a matter of time before whoever is with Josh catches up to him."
Derrick only breathes, shaky, almost like he isn't even there with her.
"I trusted you," Cam says. "You were the only person who understood"—his voice cracks—"and this whole time… this whole time… you've been with them. You've been against me."
"She tricked me," Josh defends, practically wailing, and time ticks on and on and on, running out. "They all did! It's all the same, no matter where you go, it's never about you, there's no way to fight it—"
"Massie did," Cam hisses. "Massie is. She may have taken a long time but they fucked with her mind and she still knows who is to blame."
"I'm not Massie," Josh shoots back. "I can't… I'm not so self-absorbed to think I can take on the entire—"
"Stop," Cam snarls. "I get that you don't like her, but at least she's doing more than you."
"Cam, I've been trying," Josh pleads. "I'm here, aren't I? I could have just asked for you to be spared when you showed up at the Hub, I didn't have to—" He cuts himself off. "I told William about the bombing, I saved him, I dropped him at Three—"
"What," Cam says.
Josh says, "I'm the reason Will isn't dead. I told him. I warned him."
"How did you know?" asks Cam. "About the bombing, how did you know? I thought you were Angela's lapdog. The Capitol bombed One."
"Yeah, and Angela is Myner's wife, so I guess I'm the Capitol's lapdog, too," Josh answers, small and wavering.
Cam breaks his nose—well, no, Massie can't be certain of that—but Cam breaks something, that's for sure. They can hear the crack from where they stand, Massie and Derrick, even as the words Angela is Myner's wife spin around and around in Massie's mind.
