people watching || gavin interview

[[nyte]]

Not a single one of them gives a shit about me. Adoring faces fan out in seats below, holding little lenses in front of their eyes in an attempt to capture what remains of their tragic little love story. I'm painted like a plaster doll, done up in pretty pastels to soften all the sharp edges my stylist is always complaining about. They said I'd do better to play into expectations, to be the soft and lovable thing that Chad spoke of with such immeasurable fondness.

I told them, with all due respect, to shove off.

My knees knock together when I sit, hands in my lap and clenched tight enough that rings scrape at thin skin. The pain is grounding and surprisingly pleasant. I'm squinting up at stage lights to keep my expression from twisting into something sour. "I must say, your District made quite the splash at the Tribute Parade. Tell us what you were feeling up there! Confident, nervous, excited?"

There were chains around my neck and wings at my back. They tried to make me beautiful but I don't think they quite managed. "It was funny to watch Cecily struggle to put on her dress around the handcuffs." I snicker with a gentle malice, trying to chase away just how terrified we'd both been after the peacekeepers dragged her in.

"Oh, I probably wasn't supposed to mention that, huh?"

There's steel in the gazes that then turn to me, I'm nothing like I was supposed to be.

"How confident do you feel about the games now that you've seen your Training Score?"

And I don't even have to think before I answer, "Didn't care during the session, don't care now." There's blush on my cheeks meant to compliment the baby blue bow tied around my throat, the knot resting on my pulse point. It's a threat, a very pretty threat at that.

The next few questions are worthless, asking all about a boy I don't know any better than they do. They've caught me off guard, you see, I hadn't quite figured out who Gavin Hale was going to be before they called him up onto that stage. All I've got going for me is how much I hate everything they're putting me through. I'm not offering honesty, though, I'm offering ammunition.

"What about romance? Cute as you are, I bet there is someone back home waiting, right?" Like they don't know. Like they didn't send him to fucking haunt me.

"The whole interview's been leading up to this one, huh?" My cheeks feel itchy, pins and needles dragging down their hollows. I hate that the thought of him can still stain them, I hate that I still love him so much. Might as well be honest, it's not like Chad is around to catch onto the truth.

"Yeah, he's waiting for me. Not back home though." I see Aspen Peake and her fucking spear, dripping with his blood and he's still smiling because he wasn't even given the chance to realize he was dying. He was just dead. "Chad was - well you all met him. You know. He was everything." To me. They never got to have him and it's a little victory. That boy was always, desperately and completely, mine.

"I'd say I can't wait to meet him again, but he'd kill me himself if I didn't at least try to get home."

It's amazing how easy it is to speak to deaf ears.

"And your family?: Sensitive subject, I'm sure, but-"

"I uh." I interrupt the next question. My eyes are numb and my tongue is heavy, I'm glad I can thank the bright lights for the tears now collecting on the tip of my nose. Not forced but careful and controlled, not entirely a lie but definitely not genuine. "I think that's all I can manage. Thanks for your time."

It's an easy out.

I tend to like those.