partners in death {jack/aurora}

[k!ah]

･:*:･ﾟ☆ 

Leaving Flynn my vision is blurred, unshed tears pooling at the corner of my eyes. Sighing I wipe them away with the back of my arm, sniffling as I straighten my dress, running my shaking hands through my hair. Watching him begin to break had almost sent me spiraling, overwhelmed I could no longer be in the same room, desperate for some space, for some air where I did not have to watch my friend break- knowing that it was because of me.

Some friend I was huh? As I wandered through the train I wondered if he might hate me behind closed doors, curse my name into his pillow as sleep eluded, as it would be. The only thing that held me together as I walked through the car, was knowing that Nina was alive and would be alive for the foreseeable future, even if my future was looking kind of bleak. At least she would live, even if she too, cursed me at night. One day she might thank me. Forgive me, even.

Upon request one of the avox's directed me towards the private room that had been designated to me. I had thanked them before following the passage, turning left and the second door. Sliding it open I slip into the room, a sigh of resignation on my lips as I sag against the door. Finally, I was alone, no one looking at me, questioning me, judging me.

Flicking off my shoes I tug open the blinds, why was it so dark in here? Instantly sunlight fills the room and I take a moment to enjoy the feeling of the sun against my skin. I don't realize that I am not the only one in the room until I spin, flopping onto the bed and consequently the person who lay under the covers. "Oh my god- I'm so sorry. I- I must have got the wrong room!" Scrambling off the bed I come face to face with Jack Spragg, my district partner. From the brief moments, I had seen him he looked like a hot mess. Stumbling into the stage, dazed by the sun he had looked like he had already knocked on death's door.

Tilting my head to the side, I take a seat on the edge of the bed, studying him closely for a moment. "You look like crap," I say, as a matter of fact, flicking one leg over the over, using my arm to prop up my chin. "What's your damage?"

[rook]

that's disco, baby!

You didn't say goodbye to anyone. There is no one to say goodbye to. There's just you. You and your dull hangover and your onsetting withdrawal symptoms. You and your self-destructive tendences and your bad decisions. No one cares that you are gone, no one will care when you die.

(Pain Threshold): That hurts. Like a tightening in your chest that someone is cranking firmer and firmer. Thousands will watch you die, and not a single one of them will care, nor remember you the next day. Tighter and tighter, a vice around the sickly abyss where your heart once was.

They shoved you onto the train - a shimmering silver snake slithering it's way towards the capitol, diving under tunnels and weaving through the trees. A bright metal box radiant beneath the beating sun, following the tracks like water running down a creek.

You had upped and left the volunteer and the victor, who sat bickering over her decision to trade fates back in the District Square. You wanted the calming embrace of sleep to reclaim you, for there you didn't matter, for there you didn't have to exist.

(Volition): Might I interject? This fatalistic thing you have going on - it's not very good, is it?

Yeah, so?

(Violition): Well, I'm just saying. It's a pretty poor coping mechanism. You are beginning to spiral, and this time young sir you have no drugs to get you through it. Perhaps you should channel another emotion into this other than futility?

(Half Light): Anger! These people are sending you to your death, boy! Are you going to lie there under the covers crying whilst you await your death, or are you going to face it like a man?

(Esprit de Corps): Unity. Find some people going through the same thing as you. The girl who volunteered. The Victor. When you get to the Capitol, maybe some other tributes. There will be someone who understands you.

(Composure): Acceptance. You cannot change that which has happened. Take control of what is ahead of you, rather than letting it control you.

(Electro-Chemistry): Guys, there's nothing to say we can't just go find some more drugs you know?

You pull the covers up over your head and try to close your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, and you feel yourself drifting towards the sleep that you crave. That place beyond that pale. That other realm where you are not in pain.

Something falls on top of you. Something heavy and unexpected and it's mass is spread across your chest, belly, and thighs. You jump, and the thing jumps too. Your hands scramble to pull the covers off your face.

"Oh my god- I'm so sorry. I- I must have got the wrong room!"

It's the girl. You have forgotten her name already - that's no surprise, you're terrible at remembering anything. You do notice how pretty she is, not like any of the girls who live on the streets like you.

(Physical Instrument): Pretty, and on your bed. The wrong room? A likely story. This girl wants you, man.

(Perception): There is nothing flirtacious about her tone. She does not.

(Drama): I concur, sire. She is being genuine.

Aurora Emerson. That was her name, wasn't it? She picks herself up and moves over, still apologising. It is only now that this girl sees you for the mess you are. It is likely that beforehand she was too pre-occupied with her own situation to even take a second look at yours. Now you are lying curled up in your bedsheets beneath her gaze she sees you for the rat you are.

"You look like crap. What's your damage?"

(Electro-Chemistry): 90mg of Dextroamphetamine. 60mg of Cocaine.

(Logic): It has been three days since you last used. It makes sense that withdrawal symptoms are setting in.

The bedsheets you lie in are already damp from your sweat. It comes in waves, too hot, too cold. You want to curl up in this blanket and close your eyes, but you are suffocating. Your mouth is dry. You're hungry, but food seems pointless when you're going to die anyway.

(Composure): You should probably answer her question.

"Yeah, it's worse than it looks." You say, your eyes meeting hers, "When you stop taking drugs your body tends to shut down just to fuck with you."

(Authority): There he is. Welcome back.

[k!ah]

･:*:･ﾟ☆ 

Jack Spragg looked sticky. His face glistened with sweat, and his skin was pale, and I was sure that if I was to reach out and touch his skin that it would be clammy. I had seen people like him before in the hospital. The ones who barge into the emergency department late at night, off their faces on one drug or another, a few days later they would be curled up with cold sweats and the shakes, begging for just a taste.

Addiction was dangerous, lethal.

I think Jack Spragg was an addict, substance abuse was his escape, his weakness, his way of running away.

And as I watch him twisted in damp bedsheets I feel pity for him. I shouldn't, but I did.

Maybe it was because of the emotional trainwreck that this day was turning out to be, or maybe it was because I didn't have the energy to put up my walls, but I climb from the edge of his bed, reaching for the pitcher of water as he speaks. "Yeah, it's worse than it looks," he starts and I am not sure that I believe him, because he looked like trash, but I take him for his word, flipping over one of the glasses that rests next to the pitcher.

"When you stop taking drugs your body tends to shut down just to fuck with you."

So Jac Spragg was an addict. I wonder what Flynn might think about that as I pour him a glass of water, taking my seat back on the edge of his mattress. Had Flynn even noticed Jack when he was reaped? Or had my betrayal occupied him? Would it be wrong of me to hope that maybe Flynn might be too absorbed in saving my life that Jack might be pushed onto the back burner, an afterthought that might be the difference to me living-

Ugh, stop. I scold myself, my face screwing up ever so slightly. I couldn't allow thoughts like that in. Not yet, it was too soon, everything was too fresh. The thoughts made me feel gross, dirty.

Shaking myself I give him a small smile, handing him the glass. "Here, you should drink this." I pause for a moment, crossing my legs, making myself comfortable. "Seems like a double-edged sword- drugs. Stop taking drugs and your body fucks you over them, take drugs and your body fucks you over..." I think of the time when one of the kids had been rushed into the room next to mine, mouth foaming, eyes wide, and doctors speaking in urgent voices as they rushed around him shouting orders.

"I'm Aurora, by the way," I wasn't sure if he had caught my name back at the reaping, I wasn't sure if he would remember it by the morning, after all, it had been a long day and an even longer night awaited us, especially him. "Drink the water, you'll feel better."

I don't know why I am helping him, maybe it's because it would be what Nina would have done. Maybe it was because the longer I stayed hidden in his room, the longer I could avoid Flynn.

[rook]

that's disco, baby!

(Perception): She is judging you, drinking in every inch of you with her big beady eyes and digesting what kind of human being you are. She is deciding whether you are worth her time. If you are worth emotionally investing in. There is sympathy there, true, but more pitiful than empathetic, we suspect.

"Here, you should drink this."

She extends something towards you - an offering. Her fingers are wrapped around a rippled tumbler of clear liquid.

(Electro-Chemistry): Vodka? Gin? Absinthe?

No, it's water. The lack of smell and subsequent queasiness at the pit of your stomach confirm this to be the case. It's probably a good idea for you to do as she says, and so you take the glass from her and begin sipping at it lightly, like a wounded animal.

"Seems like a double-edged sword- drugs. Stop taking drugs and your body fucks you over them, take drugs and your body fucks you over..."

(Authority): What does this little girl know about drugs? I doubt she has so much as puffed on a cigarette, let alone comprehend the complexities of your inebriated state.

You probably should have gotten off the good stuff a while ago. It's always been your vice though, your coping mechanism. Sad really - and you're not even alone in it. There are countless others your age littering the streets of six, their eyes wide with short-lived ecstasy. People abandoned by their District.

Your plan wasn't to develop a dependency, but then everyone says the same at the start. Either way, it won't be a problem anymore, will it? You're never going to do drugs ever again.

(Electro-Chemistry): WHAT?

(Logic): They won't give you the opportunity, I'm afraid. You've sniffed your last gram, rode your last high. Unless you win, of course.

That makes you sweat a little more, but maybe it's for the best. It gives you some kind of sick incentive, and in the meantime you'll be clean enough to have a good shot of achieving such an objective.

"Thanks. I'm Jack."

(Logic): To her you are a junkie loser with nothing to offer. You aren't big, you aren't strong. You aren't nimble or quick. You're a sorry sack of shit with no brains and no wits. You offer her nothing, and she will discard you as quickly as she found you - unless you can give her a reason to keep you around.

You have one of those. You have a really good one, but you're not sure if you should tell her, and even if you did you're not sure she would believe you. You suppose it's better than lying here in your cold turkey state waiting for her to get fed up of your sorry existence.

"I know I don't look like much, but I've got something no one else here has."

(Physical Instrument): We're bringing out the big guns are we? That's what I like to see. She won't look at you the same again, once she knows.

(Authority): Good. This pity act will only last so long. She needs to fear you. She needs to know what you did.

(Suggestion): Are you sure you want to do this? Once this has been said, it cannot be unsaid. This is an irreversible moment in time.

You swallow, almost nervously. You're not bragging about this, you're admitting it.

"I've killed before. Twice."

[k!ah]

･:*:･ﾟ☆ 

For a moment I don't think he is going to take the water, but he does, thanking me with the confirmation that his name is Jack. For a moment there is silence, and my gaze turns to the window to watch as the world zooms past us, watching as we leave district six behind. As I watch the shape of the horizon change I can't help think of the future that awaited me- us- in the Capitol. My stomach twisted at the thought, a sharp intake of breath I tear my gaze from the window, fixing them on Jack once again as he spoke.

"I know I don't look like much, but I've got something no one else here has." The words spike curiosity within me, my head tilting to the side slightly as I study him with a frown. The way he said it should have had me shuffling away from him slightly, uneasy by the tone of his voice. He looks at me nervously, almost as though he wasn't sure he should tell me what he was about to, as though it was a secret he had kept to himself for years, never planning for it to be revealed.

"I've killed before."

Oh. I feel my mouth go dry, and I fight the urge to slip from his bed, taking a deep breath. So what he had killed, it wasn't like it was something so unheard of, I tell myself, lost for words for a moment as I stare at the sheets between us. He didn't look dangerous, tangled in sweat-saturated sheets. He looked harmless skin pale, hair a mess from sweat and grass and god knows what else.

"Twice."

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay, okay. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine.

Hell Flynn was a killer and I considered him to be one of my closest friends.

But wasn't it different with Flynn? He killed because he had no choice because if he didn't he would be dead. He had killed, but I knew he had hated every moment of it. I didn't know if that should justify whether or not it was okay, but it was what I choose to believe because when I looked at him I didn't see a murderer, I just saw Flynn Garner, Flynn Garner the boy who pissed me off. Flynn garner the boy who drove me insane. Flynn Garner the boy who I called my friend. Flynn Garner the boy who I had grown so accustomed to that I could not see a life where he didn't exist.

A boy who had killed the same way I might have to in a matter of days.

But hhy did Jack kill?

Maybe it was because of self-defense, maybe it was because he didn't have a choice.

Did it matter why?

Of course, it did. Of course, it mattered.

Mirroring him, I swallow nervously, my eyes meeting his. I needed to know why suddenly he didn't seem too harmless.

"Why did you do it?"

[rook]

that's disco, baby!

"Why did you do it?"

You have to have a good reason to kill someone. To take another life, that changes you forever. To do it twice, either you're all kinds of fucked up or just plain unlucky. You believe you sit somewhere firmly in the middle.

The first time was gang violence. A contact had given you bad intel and set you up, with a high value drug package on the line and no backup coming. You had to shoot your way out with a pistol, with now-dead but then-youngster Walter Blake in tow. You didn't shoot to kill anyone, but your aim was bad, and you caught someone between the eyes.

(Half Light): Your aim was good, then.

(Logic): Not if he was only intending to wound.

The second time was a drug deal gone wrong. A rich aristocrat who refused to pay street value for the goods, and tried to overpower you. Tried to kill you. His hands wrapped around your throat and you did the only thing you knew you could, and stabbed him three times upwards from his ribcage.

(Authority): That one felt good, didn't it? Knowing you had one over on that pretentious rich prick. No matter if it was morally right or wrong, you enjoyed seeing him die.

"Same reason they're giving us now. Kill or be killed."

Your fight is the same as it's always been, it's just in a different setting now.

[k!ah]

･:*:･ﾟ☆ 

I watch him carefully, looking for any ticks that might give away if the words he spoke were lies or the truth. I liked to think I had a good read on people, even strangers who I had only known for a short period of time. But most of the time I just make shit up in my head, I guess, just looking for the things that I want to see and now what is actually there before me.

"Same reason they're giving us now. Kill or be killed."

The words nearly have me breathing a sigh of relief, my shoulders tense as I study him for a moment longer, trying to decide if I believed him or not. I think I did, after all why would he lie? What would he have to gain by lying to me?

"Kill or be killed... The future that awaits us." I sigh, slipping off the bed I grab the water jug, refilling his cup. "Drink more," I instruct, hoping that maybe hydration might help a little with the fight he had to fight before the real fight for his life begun. I pull the blinds closed again making my way to the door.

"Get some rest, if you need anything I'll be next door- but please don't tell Flynn!" I finish, I just needed some time to myself, away from his hurt worrying eyes and words of guidance and expertise in there area of surfing a killing game.