need to know [kareem + celeste train]

[ines izar d11a 🖤 cait]

celeste brere.

The train carriage is a locked room from my past, reflected as an alternate life. The walls here are stripped bare, but I can see tattered pieces of paper stuck haphazardly to them, some sad childhood attempt at interior design. There is a single corner bench and table placed in the centre of the room, but I can see the single bed in the corner, the bedsheets that smell like lavender inviting me in to escape the world.

I thought choosing the barest room in the train would make me feel better. But it just makes the pain of the life I’ve left behind all the worse.

I feel nine again –

like I’ve just been caught red-handed trying to sneak out of the house to see my friends instead of helping with the weekend chores.

Rebellions never go unnoticed.

I sit, waiting for my punishment, desperately hoping in a change of heart. Some type of processing mistake, a knock at the door come to take me back home.

And there is a knock, but it doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like freedom. The hand is too heavy, the sound too hollow – it sounds like finality. The sentence has already been decided; the jury has been adjourned.

There’s more people in this train carriage than most – ghosts from a successful past shuffling through the rooms, tired of their victory duties after so many years. Their presence should ease my anxiety and give me some sense of hope that this won’t be the last train ride of my life. That they know how to survive, and that I would be so lucky as to as well. Instead, it makes me want to shrink away – from their expectation, from their pity. From the mess of it all.

I chose this fate.

“Go away.” I want to be strong and brave, but my voice is whinging and desperate, and I cringe at the sound of myself.

It doesn’t deter the newcomer, and the dread in my stomach increases tenfold. I see my mum with her narrowed eyes; I see the judge with a gavel coming down on me.

The time passes, the world continues to turn on its axis, and I’ll forever be a little girl trapped, no clue on how to be more than a daughter.

[rook]

I'm sixteen. They wake me up before the sun has risen. Gloved fingers grab handfuls of my hair to drag me forcefully from my cell, batons at the ready to begin drumming at my ribs. A rhythm of pain commences.

They leave behind a broken boy, his bare skin now blossoming with deep purple bruises, spreading like galaxies across his back. A constellation of sorrow.

I'm eighteen again. I'm being ushered down a long, regal corridor to a back-exit that leads directly to the station where my train awaits. White light bleeds through, burning my retina as they pull back the double doors and lead me out onto that pale platform.

They are gentle with me. I am not theirs to hurt. I must be in immaculate condition for their Games, nothing less will be acceptable.

When the sliding doors of the carriage open and they ready me to board, I don't look back. What is there to look back upon? Abuse. Regret. Anger. Betrayal. Better to leave it all behind.

I'm looking out the window at the dense forest outside the district boundaries. So much land, it almost seems larger than the entirety of Eleven. I wonder how many acres of woodland there are here, just unused, untouched. What if there are people in there, living a life away from it all - lawless, but free. That would be nice, to live a life away. Away from all of it. I look at the darkness between the thick trunks, desperate to see eyes staring back at me.

No eyes. Just trees.

We are shown our rooms - the trip to the Capitol is a long one from the outer districts. After Celeste and I choose where we want to lay our heads, we are left to our own devices.

I spend this time staring at the wall by my bunk, pillow tucked under one armpit as I lie on my side.

I'm seventeen, a year into my sentence. I'm staring at the wall of my cell, lying on my side trying to shut out the noise of cellmates fighting amongst themselves in the night. If I stay in my cell, I am safe. This wall is my church, it's my sanctuary.

I gently press my palm against the surface, it is plastic with rippled texture. Not the same as the dry concrete in the detention center, but close enough a sensation that I can calm myself, find my peace again.

It's just me that's here. Just me. Everything else is noise.

I breathe.

Some time passes. The pale shade of lavender sky begins to burn at the edge of the horizon, slowly slipping into deeper hues of byzantium as the night turns. The shadows grow longer, creeping tendrils up the walls, reaching for me. The room's central heating suddenly whirs into life, and warm air flushes through.

I exit, moving through the carriage and picking up and following the scent of food. One thing you learn in the detention center is to eat at every opportunity - you never know where you'll need the strength next.

I pass Celeste's door and pause for a second, my hand trails over the wall and rests on the wood. Celeste, the girl who said no. Why? Vasco claimed to have no knowledge of her motive, but he spoke with her after I was moved away onto the train.

I knock sharply, but I am met with rejection. As soon as she tells me to leave, my hand drops, as does my head. She doesn't want to speak to anyone, least of all the murderer.

I look down the carriage to Harbinger, Kirito, Katelyn, and Kassandra.

Well, they're all murderers too.

I knock again.

"It's Kareem. Will you let me in, please?"

[ines izar d11a 🖤 cait]

celeste brere.

I don’t know how to feel about the boy on the other side of the door.

At first I’d thought it was Kirito bearing gifts of food and a warm shoulder to lean on. And whilst Kirito is kind, he’s not what I need right now.

The world is shifting right before my eyes – there is no more kindness to be found. I accept it, submerge myself in the discomfort as a solitary figure.

I thought I had wanted to be alone – something about self-preservation, where keeping your distance means you don’t have to stab anyone in the back. The friendships from here are nothing more than convenience, for how do you trust anyone but yourself? It’s better to be alone.

It’s better not to know the boy on the other side of the door.

But he persists, and I’m just a girl with a soft streak on her heart, no venom in my bloodstream to sting him with. This is a bad idea, but I’ve never listened to my head before – why start now?

I stand slowly and walk towards the closed door, where my cheek comes to lie against the cool metal.

Bad boys and I have history. It’s a summer of the past and curious eyes and a weak heart. Growing new wings, ready to follow a boy even more lost than yourself to the end of the world, it’s a mistake I still haven’t recovered from.

It’s the reason I’m even here in the first place.

I slide the door open and watch him slowly raise his face to meet my eyes. He’s not the boy I want him to be, but it’s better like this. There’s a hint of rejection settling into his frown lines, and the pain in my chest seers a little more than before. I try a smile, but it doesn’t fit.

Seconds pass in silence; I don’t move, and neither does he. My small frame only takes up half the space in the doorway – he could easily push past me, and my pulse involuntarily quickens.

I’d be a fool to not be on guard. But I don’t feel frightened of him. Not yet, anyway.

I’d be a fool to think it would stay that way.

“Sorry,” speech on impulse, I don’t know what I’m apologising for. For shutting him out. For my caution. For a life that could have been, that’s been stolen from him against his will. For his hurtful past, his doomed future.

For nothing. For everything.

Finally, I step aside and walk back into my compartment. I hear the soft padded footfalls behind me and turn around just in time to watch him sit precariously on the

“How… how are you going?” I wring my hands together to distract myself from the heavy thumping of one and a half heartbeats. “Do you want anything? I can make you some tea?” I’m reminded of an Avox in another carriage who’s probably only here for that very reason, but it feels comforting to make the offer myself. Feels like I’m still in control, in some insignificant way. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room expectantly, eyes looking anywhere but at Kareem’s inquisitive face.

Because what I really mean to ask is, what do you want from me?