Living, Loving, and Letting Go (South)

[Stare]

Give me a reason
and I'll soon give you a rhyme.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>

After the reaping, the Keepers do not hesitate to pull me away from him and his beautiful song and words before I ever have a chance to thank him. They drag me, kicking and screaming at the top of my lungs, into the room where I will say my final farewells in a few minutes. I lay in a heap on the furry carpet, sobbing. I'm going into the Games. I'm not fooling myself- there will be twenty three other children in that Arena. The Careers will have me dead in three seconds flat, and even if I do manage to escape the Bloodbath, what then? I've never used a weapon before in my life. I'm painfully thin and hardly able to stand on my own. No one in their right mind would sponsor me. Currently, I'm little more than a moving skeleton. I have to face facts- that Victor crown isn't for me. It will never be for me. Because I'm going to die.

It's not an easy thing to face. Suddenly, every second seems to go by too fast. The days don't seem long enough- there isn't enough space between now and the moment I will fall into eternal sleep. My fingers dig into the soft white hairs that rise from the ground, trying to anchor myself to something for fear that if I don't I will be thrown off into ink dark insanity. I've seen enough tributes go mad into the Arena to know that I don't want it to happen to me- not because I think I have any chance either way (I don't) but because I don't want my family to see me that way, all broken and open and lost. And I certainly don't want to die screaming at the sky, lost in some slippery, brightly colored world where reality is all but nonexistent.

Across the elegant room I see a large sofa and a few chairs, like a living room. Still sniffling, I manage to drag myself over and collapse on the wonderfully soft fabric of one of the couch cushions, taking deep breaths of the familiar scent. It smells like District Five- like home. And I don't want to lose that scent or that feeling of safety once I step onto that train. I want to cling to these small traces of joy when all else has left me so that I remain rooted to this beautiful place even in the depths of the darkest despair. I wipe my tears away, knowing that I can't appear a mess in front of my parents. They'll come and have the whole hour with me because Imi is in the Detention Center and though Luke sang to me on stage, I doubt he has stayed strong and resisted the things that could make it all go away almost instantaneously. I sure wouldn't have been able to.

My charm bracelet jingles softly on my wrist when I shift and I stare at it for a moment before reaching up and shakily pulling out my earrings and unclasping my necklace, laying them both on the table before me. I do not want my mother's expensive jewelry to accompany me into the Arena- I want this. Those glittering items mean nothing to me, but the charm bracelet is something. It's home. It's Luke and Imi and the flickering light bulb and the days running through a sunlit meadow laughing and a summer day diving into the depths of the swimming hole while Luke talked to some red haired girl. These are the things I must hold onto in the Arena, when all other hope has left in a swirling wind of icy cold.

These are the things that will keep me alive when my eyes have shut for the final time.

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[Deleted]

.:.: I have found the safest place to keep all our old mistakes :.:.

I can take your problems away
With a nod and a wave of my hand
'Cause that's just the kind of boy that I am
The only thing I haven't done yet is die[/font][/size]

Luke's not sure whether he wants to blame his utter terror and sadness and a million other feelings he can't handle or the slow beginnings of withdrawal for the way his entire frame shudders when the Keepers slide open the door of the Justice Building and admit him into the halls with stony expressions that neither give nor take. A distant, removed part of his mind realizes that it's by far the ritziest place he's ever been, all plush carpet and expensive-looking works of art lining the walls.

If he weren't on his way to see his sister for the last time, he might consider pocketing a trinket or two.

He's not sure what to do, staring blankly at the rich wood of the double doors that sit steady but nothing close to reassuring beneath his palm. Will she even want to see him? After all, he's failed her more times than he can count on trembling fingers, leaving her every time she truly needed him. Today was simply the worst of his betrayals, the lack of wherewithal to jump on the stage and throw his lot in with hers.

Luke knows he's a coward. Knows that Ink must hate him. But he opens the door anyway.

He takes in the sight of her for a few seconds, the willowy form he knows as well as his own slumped defeatedly on a lush sofa as she gently places her jewelry on the smooth surface of a nearby coffee table. Luke feels something hot and salty pricking at the backs of his eyes again and growls at himself to hold it together. After all, he couldn't save Ink. The least he can do is stay strong for her in their last moments together. So instead of collapsing into fresh tears he puts his eyes to better use, tracing over every aspect of her face and committing it to memory he prays won't be as fuzzy and transient as his usual drug-addled thought processes. He tries to memorize the exact shade of hazel that her eyes are, the dark shimmer of her hair under the harsh fluorescent lights, the delicate bird-bone structure of the hands clutched in her lap. The only thing he has left of her to hold is the faded photograph back in his apartment, and his entire being screams at the unfairness of it all. Ink deserves more than that, deserves to smile and laugh and live outside the painted smiles of a photo, the happy ghosts of a long-broken family.

If anyone in this room deserves the Arena, it's him.

"Ink?" He's always been loud, too loud some might say, voice an exuberant baritenor flow that hasn't quite lost its farm-kid drawl. A voice that usually drips displaced confidence and plastic masks of nonchalance he's never really felt (he's cared, he's always cared, but caring hurt too much so he buried it all under slow poisons and lies to himself that he didn't need any of them) is now a hushed echo of itself, unsure and wavering as Luke wars with himself, fights back tears again before he's across the room and pulling her so tight against him that he begins to maybe think they can become one person and she won't have to be so alone at the end of all things. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything."

He has too many regrets to say in the time he has, enough I'm sorrys to fill libraries if he were to list each one - I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I'm such a mess, I'm sorry I screwed up your life, I'm sorry I'm not brave, I'm sorry you're going to die - so he simply settles for a shaking summary of everything he's ever lost, fingers laced through the midnight silk of her hair that's just one more thing he tries to memorize. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe."

And it's me and my plus one at the afterlife
Crowds are won and lost and won again
But our hearts all beat for the diehards
So long live the car-crash hearts[/font]

[Stare]

I will love you
Always and forever.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>

"Ink?"

The face that appears in the doorway surprises me, and my fingers freeze over the smooth surface of the silver links on my bracelet. It seems rather hard to connect the two- there is but one memory in which both the charm bracelet and Luke are present, and it is blurred by tears and scarred by pain so that it is absolutely unrecognizable to even me. It seems wrong for the two to both exist in my life at the same time, like now that he's here I should just throw the charm bracelet out of sight because he's here and I don't need it anymore. But I know I will need it, when I enter the point of no return, and so instead I just watch him very steadily. The last time we spoke to each other was months ago- before Imi got taken away. Before my world got turned inside out and upside down. Before my limbs became too thin and weak, and before my tears ran out. This boy may be my brother, but he has grown into a stranger during the years that spread between the warm, happy us that once was and the cold, uncertain us that now is.

But then his arms are around me and none of that matters anymore.

When Mom and Dad come in, I'll have to be strong. I'll need to old into my tears and smile and make promises that I have no intention of keeping. But Luke is different. Luke knows all my secrets and cradles the same memories I do and always understands when no one else does. Luke is my older brother and I'm his baby sister and that will never change, no matter how the years pull us apart (one willingly, but the other kicking and screaming, because I will not give him up no matter what they say). Without hesitation I bury my face into his shoulder and cry, trembling uncontrollably. Once I leave this room they can react to my tear stained face however they wish- I am going to die and the least they can do is treat me with some respect before I enter the Arena. We all know I have no chance, so there's no point in pretending that they'll be able to apologize to me when I come home. That future is gone.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe."

I know I should be mad that it took my certain death for him to give me the apologies I've deserved for years now, but I'm beyond caring. He stayed strong and came and all that matters from this point forward. When some Career lands a fatal blow, Fate won't care about my past. All that will matter is the present- the fact that I'm dying. Death is death no matter what one has done to deserve it. It's easy to forgive him- he's my brother and I love him. I'll always love him. "It's okay, Luke," I whisper, looking up at him through my tears. "It's not your fault. You're not the one making me go in- they are." I raise a skeleton hand and bury my face in it, trying to suck all the problems away with my icy fingers. "Imi's in the Detention Center, so I won't be able to say goodbye. Tell her for me, please? I don't think Mom and Dad will be able to."

Raising my face up, I look at him with wide hazel eyes. This is it- the last time we see each other. I have to sit up a little further to wrap my arms around him (despite him being short, I'm still haven't passed him in height, and now I never will), causing my knees to shake as they unbend slightly. My chin digs into his shoulder blade and I'd rather just hide in his jacket again, but I need him to hear me. "I love you, Luke. I always have and I always will. Don't forget that, okay?"

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[Deleted]

.:.: The world may call it a second chance :.:.

Feel like an ambulance chaser of faith
Pray I could replace her
Forget the way her tears taste
Oh, the way her tears taste[/font][/size]

Luke knows he's never been strong.

He's a good actor, nothing more and nothing less, a master of self-deceit that's spent the last four years of his life lying to himself at every turn and burying the things he knows to be true (that he's lost everything, that he's been his own destruction, that he's a vessel of a limitless anger that will eat him alive one day, that he can't save anyone, that he can't even save himself) under a haze that clouds his bloodstream and mind until he believes the things that have grown over time from white lies into something bigger and darker than he has the power to control. (that he doesn't need anyone, that he's the self-proclaimed king of his own world, that love is for suckers and is something he doesn't want or need, that he's not addicted and can stop anytime he wants, that he's got a tough-as-nails strength that nothing can rival).

No, he's never been strong, not really, and all the proof he needs to tear the thinning veil of lies that he's put on like armor until now is the soft shakiness of Ink's voice, so empty of hope or the slightest optimism that he's so used to hearing poured over her words like candy-coated dreams. Luke doesn't have dreams anymore. Only nightmares or hours of blackness that he can't fill. He's not sure which is worse. Her words tear him apart at the weak-threaded seams, goodbyes that she shouldn't be saying - she's so young and she doesn't deserve this and Ripred why couldn't it have been him? - mixing around inside his muddled mind only to be met with him holding her tighter, still trying to memorize the bony structure of her shoulders beneath his hands, the way she smells like lavender and the hayloft and home against the clinging musk of smoke and stale regret that clings to his jacket, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against his rib cage.

"I love you, Luke. I always have and I always will. Don't forget that, okay?" He's never been strong, and that's why the tears prick behind his eyes against his will, spilling over even though he promised himself that he'd hold it together for her sake. Despite all he's done to her she loves him and the bittersweetness of it all makes the liquid fire roll down his cheeks and into the dark curtain of her hair. He knows better than to hope, knows better than to tell her she'll make it out and come back to him, because all of his hopes have invariably ended up shattered by Fate or his own failures, and Ink deserves better than to be a checkmark on the too-long list of his mistakes.

So instead of telling her all the pretty reassurances about how she can be a fighter if she wants and how if Lethe Turner can do it so can she that he wants to weave on a soothing melody through midnight strands, Luke chokes on a sob and takes a rasping, shaky breath in a futile effort to compose himself. "I love you too, Ink. More than anything."

They come for him then, figures in white that waste no time in pulling them apart, leading his limp, sobbing form back through the door, pulling his fingers from where they intertwine with hers as an endless mantra of I love you, I love you, I love you

[/i] blooms over his lips. The air outside feels too cold, the wind biting even through the thickness of his jacket as Luke shuffles home in a daze, separate from the world as the tears refuse to stop.

If someone sees him like this, he doesn't care anymore.

An hour later, and he still hasn't left the sunken couch in his apartment, hands gripped white-knuckled over the frayed edges of a faded photograph. The ten-year-old twins and fourteen-year-old him smile wide at the camera in the last memory of happiness he has, and Luke absently brushes a finger along the deteriorated black of Ink's hair, pauses for a moment almost as if in thought, staring hard at the grainy photo before he bursts into tears all over again, lungs heaving in ragged sobs as he throws the paper aside and dives for the already-prepped syringe of a dose of heroin that's oversized for someone his weight. Luke tells himself he doesn't care if he's comatose for days as the needle finds a vein and the world falls away. It all hurts too much for him to ever be sober again.

Because he's already forgotten the sound of her voice.[/color][/size][/justify][/blockquote]
Put another X on the calendar
Summer's on its deathbed
There is simply nothing worse
Than knowing how it ends[/font]