The Last Hunger Games

Chapter 38 - Separate Ways

A/N: uh, so, apologies for the year long wait. I got distracted with marvel and just forgot tbh. That's literally all I can say. So yeah, sorry, it won't be a year until the next chapter I swear. Also this one is like twice as long to make up for it. Enjoy :) (also there's a lot of blood and stuff in this one so tread carefully if you don't like that stuff but I mean it's a hunger games fic so it's not like it's unexpected) 

I try to sleep, but what really happens is ten blissful minutes of peace in my mind, and then my eyes open and everything floods my brain. Somehow Jack is already snoring, but it takes me considerably longer to drift off again as all I can think about is what I'm going to do next. There's only seven of us left, and a cannon went off earlier so that makes six. I obviously can't stay allies with Jack for the remainder of the Games or it'll end in one of those all-too-common brutal discussions between an alliance over who has to kill who, etc etc.

If we stay a team for any longer, there's a big chance of that happening, so I'm going to have to ditch him. Not right now, but perhaps early in the morning whilst he's still sleeping. 'Or you could kill him in his sleep,'  the darkest part. of my brain says. I actually ponder over that thought for a moment until I realise what an utterly cruel thing that is to do. If I can somehow find some pen and paper, I could leave now. 

I scrounge around as quietly as I can for something to write with, and eventually I give up annd go old-school. The message I carve into the ceiling says, 'Have 2 split. took sum stuff. c u soon x.' I had to shorten a few words because it is extremely difficult to write using a dagger. 

Anyways, I gather up what I think to be half of our supplies into my pack and get up to leave. I feel the first pang of guilt as I stand on the damp, rocky ground outside. I walk until the soles of my feet begin to hurt and I can't see the building above the basement anymore, all the way to the side of the city behind the Cornucopia. But just as I'm about to settle down for the short remainder of the night, I hear footsteps nearby. I immediately grab my maces and silently peer around the corner ever so slightly. Wait, what if it's Jack? What if he saw me leave and followed me? I am literally about to put my weapons back when an arrow comes flying by my face, skimming the tip of my nose. I press myself up against the wall and when the next arrow comes merely seconds later, I get a better understanding of the direction they are being shot from. I sneak around the building, until I reach where the tribute is stood, their back to me. Well, it's definitely not Jack, that's for sure, this tribute looks nothing like him. I feel awful as I swing my arm backwards, but then as I let the mace go flying into the tribute's neck, I remind myself yet again that this has to be done if I am to win these Games and keep the Snow name alive, despite the fact that I hate it almost as much as the rest of Panem. 

I retrieve the mace from where it is lodged in the tribute's neck - I didn't even know their name - and walk hauntedly back to where I still plan on settling down for tonight. The moment I sit though, all I can think about - much to my annoyance - is Jack Egnatia. I wonder if he's noticed I'm gone, or if the cannon woke him up and now he's noticing. I wonder if he thinks that cannon signalled my death, or if he is still fast asleep. I wonder if he is replaying the kiss over and over again in his head like a broken record player.

A cannon goes off. Four left. Despite the fact that I am doing my best not to think about him, my thoughts are occupied with Jack.

How it felt when he was carrying me to that roof, the petty arguments we had, the warmth of his body in that sleeping bag, the feel of his lips against mine, even if it was for only a few seconds.

I hope with my whole being that that cannon wasn't him. I doubt it. Knowing him, he's probably hanging around in that basement until his supplies run out and he's forced to move.