"Maybe it's been years
since I genuinely smiled.
Maybe it's been years
since I wanted to be apart of anything."
Dexter Lowhill, District Elevens sixth winner of the 69th Hunger Games at the ripe age of eighteen years old.
It was his last reaping for...
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"He wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Chin up, smile for all, and please don't get too drunk tonight, okay Dex?" Marina stressed as they walked up the steps to the victor's party Dexter was forced to attend. She'd been anxious all day and Dexter wasn't sure how many times she had changed her outfit or her hair, he lost count after a while. She made probably ten outfits for both herself and Dexter, trying to find the perfect in-between of casual and fancy for Dexter, and completely over the top for herself. She said it was the designer's right to dress up as pretty as she possibly could for these events.
Dexter nodded with a small roll of his eyes, adjusting the golden leaves and vines that wrapped around his arms and shoulders. "I don't get that drunk," he told her, fixing his sleeves a little bit. She just shrugged.
"Whatever," She mumbled, putting her hand on his back to lead him to the gate. "I still think Haymitch is a bad influence on you, so don't talk to him."
"I won't," Dexter lied. He'd definitely be talking to Haymitch if he saw him, he happened to like Haymitch's company.
"And don't drink anything he gives you, either. He'll get you all drunk again, and you might make a fool of yourself-" She continued to ramble on and on, her hands jittery as she spoke.
"I know, Mar," Dexter assured, taking her hand in his. She had bright, pink nails that were huge and pointy, the pink a strange comparison to her darker skin. His nails were also painted, with gold on his pointer, middle, and ring with the rest painted black.
Luckily, it wasn't a party for Dexter. It was the two winners of the last games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Millark. He still remembers his Victor's party, and it was a little terrifying just to think about it. He, surprisingly, wasn't fond of big crowds. But since it wasn't his party, no one was crowded by the doors when he showed up to congratulate him or anything. He wasn't the main attraction of the night.
He walked with Marina into the party until she was dragged away by her other designer friends. Dexter made an immediate B-line to the table where all the drinks were, kindly accepting the kisses on his hands from random people he'd never met before but walking away before they tried to talk to him. At first, the people kissing random parts of his body and being begged to take off an item of clothing at these types of functions made him nervous. He's gotten used to the treatment by now.
As he was peacefully pouring himself a drink, humming along quietly to the song he recognized, he felt someone bump his shoulder. "Hey, kid," the older man mumbled to Dexter, obviously drunk and stumbling.
