the color red | {wynter/maximus}

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

MAXIMUS HILBROOKE

[presto] I'M SORRY I'M REALLY A MESS RIGHT NOW I'M TRYING MY BEST TO KEEP IT TOGETHER SOMEHOW I CAN'T STAY THIS WAY, LOCKED UP IN THIS PAIN [/presto]

His life was still on hold.

After months of silence and waiting and trying to ignore the pitying looks his parents and his old friends gave him, he was still in the same exact position he had been the day he had arrived. His feet were bare then, caked with dirt and blisters. His clothes were old and tattered, his hair matted. He had lost several pounds after his escape. If he could admit one thing about the place it was that he was well fed, and in the time he was too afraid of showing his face, of turning up as the missing boy they were certainly looking for, he lived day by day, hour by hour, not quite sure how he was going to get his next meal, or where he would sleep when night came. Hopefully somewhere warm the next time. He remembered thinking he couldn't take too much more of the restless nights filled with shivering and those damn silent tears that always came when he started thinking about things.

Finally, he was never found and he was so close to death that he had no choice but to climb out of the shadows of the mountains and re-enter society. His mother had cried for hours, his father had taken off a few days from work, and things were supposed to have gotten better. But they hadn't. He was still trapped. He could still remember the cages. He could still remember watching the dimly lit pair fight until one couldn't anymore. He remembered the terror that some day it would be him in that situation, and eventually it happened. Time and time again, and each time he had stooped to the lowest level of humanity. The Hunger Games were one thing. At least what they had to do was rewarded. Maximus had gotten nothing, just another match and more eager onlookers. He was sure only a fight or two more would have granted him freedom but fuck, he couldn't anymore. He couldn't murder anymore people.

Six.

That was how many lives he'd been forced to claim. Six. Four boys and two girls, one of whom he had been good friends with. He had to do it, though. He had to or they would have killed him and then they would have went for his parents and he couldn't let that happen so he just kept fighting and fighting and one day he had enough and he found a stupid chink in the cage's wiring that had probably been there the entire time. (He could have escaped months before and he had no clue and he was so fucking stupid for that, but he had found it eventually and he was going to run and that was all that mattered.)

He waited until the fights for the day were finished, when they were all upstairs sorting out the betting money. After a few attempts he ripped the fence free from the ground and crawled out into the open room. The others all gasped and begged for his help but fear made him run and he didn't want to, he wanted to save them, but he told himself he would be sure and tell the peacekeepers so they could come back and save them all and he ran and he never looked back.

The peacekeepers claimed they searched the entire building and couldn't find anything. No bodies, no blood, not even a fingerprint. Maximus sometimes wondered if they believed him at all after that...

He still couldn't go out at night, but the days were becoming something he could look forward to. Returning to school had been something his parents wanted to put off. He had been through too much already, they thought. He needed his rest, they said.

He liked going to the square, though, and looking at all of the faces he knew, but didn't actually know as they walked by. It was always interesting to him, seeing them live their lives so carefully, so aware of the dangers of the world, yet still embracing it with open arms. This time was different, though. This time, there was a face that he definitely knew. An old friend. A very, very close friend. She walked with her head down and didn't even seem to notice him, but he knew it was her.

"Wynter!"

♠ 

[✨ zozo.]

WYNTER ROCHELLE

[presto] DRIFTING APART LIKE TWO SHEETS OF ICE FROZEN HEARTS GROWING COLDER WITH TIME THERE'S NO HEAT FOR OUR MOUTHS [/presto]

I do love her, my sister. I thought I had drowned that thought in the blood we share but I have barely left the house since the reaping - watching her closely, carefully, not letting her leave my sight. And when I do leave I am greeted with surprised expressions and questions on faces people are too afraid to ask. I'm not the girl who refused to grace the stage. I am her reflection and I'm the one that stopped her.

Summer did not die in the Capitol's icy grasp but I fear she may shatter under my own. Memories scatter like shards of porcelain and china hitting my reality - I stop breathing for a moment. My hands are trembling and I can still feel the way the plate cracks her skull. I was terrible to her. I am terrible to her. Words don't leave my mouth - only fogs of warmth against the freezing morning air.

"I'm sorry."

It hangs between our cores like string binding us together. I wanted it to snap for so many years, freeing us both from each-other. But we can't. We started off as one and in a way I think we still are that: singular. She's broken and I like to think that I'm not. Singular, so alike, yet so different.

I've seen glimpses of the reflection our saviour left behind. She is sullen and I can see the ice behind her eyes freezing over the aching hole inside of her heart. Her name is Amberly, I think, and guilt rises to my throat every time I pass her: that should be me. That should be me.

I would have survived. I learnt how to live with the ice.

She hasn't.

Yet I wouldn't let my sister walk into death's open arms. She did.

This world is cold. It needs more Summer in it's days.

"Wynter!"

I freeze.

❄