When Luck Runs Out

Hopefully It's Not Too Late To Apollogize

I sighed, my hands shaking slightly with the strong desire to hit something. What did I care that I didn't grow old, who wanted to deteriorate that much anyway. I sat down on my bed, feeling very much alone, and knowing that I'd probably feel this way for a long, long while. John and Molly, going in the games, well I certainly can't let that happen. As much as I would love to go and escort John through that arena I knew I couldn't let him go, it would mess him up too majorly. No, I would have to volunteer for him, I would go in the arena with Molly and together we might just have the chance to get to the last two. Then we would have to pick. The problem with that is that I don't know how able I am to run a sword through my heart. You say you can do it, you say that you'll do anything, but in reality that takes so much strength I just didn't have. What if I missed, what I only stab around my heart and don't die immediately? What if I'm not strong enough to crack my own ribs? Those were all questions I didn't want to answer. No, someone else would have to kill me; Molly would have to break me. Of course I didn't want to leave her with that memory, the last of me, doubling over and coughing blood, but I would be doing it for John, and for Molly, and when their lives were at stake there was nothing I wouldn't do. As I sat on my bed I kind of expected someone to knock on the door, they always do. Molly to make sure I was okay, my parents to find out what in the world was happening; perhaps even John, to apologize for being such a selfish little jerk. I understood what he wanted to do, and why he wanted to do it, but he didn't understand that every cell in my body was alive only because of him. I would've jumped off my roof a lot earlier if it hadn't been for him. When dinner time was approaching I walked out of my room to see my house dark. The sunlight outside was fading and no one was here, there were no lights on, and I nearly tripped down the hardwood stairs as I felt the wall for the light switch. Finally I got the large chandelier that hung over the entrance hall to light up, filling the room with crystal light and making it look very dramatic. I ate alone, making myself a can of soup, but I had so little appetite that I only ate the soggy noodles out of the chicken and no longer noodle soup. I felt bad as I dumped the rest in the sink, I know a lot of people in this District would kill for that soup, but then again, I'm not a one cup of soup kitchen, and it was too cold to go out there and be saint like. I was sitting on the couch when I heard nervous footsteps behind me, snuggled up in one of my blankets and staring blankly at a wall.
"About bloody..." I turned to see Molly standing near the wall, looking a bit awkward. She looked different though, she didn't have that air of confidence and smiles as she always did, she looked almost helpless, small.
"Molly?" I asked.
"Who else?" she asked, coming over and sitting in an armchair, curling her knees to her chest. I saw, or at least I thought I saw, tear streaks over her usually rosy cheeks.
"What's wrong?" I asked. If Molly was feeling sad, that means the rest of us are in for an emotional rollercoaster that only goes down.
"I was just thinking." She admitted.
"Well, out with it." I decided.
"What if I can't save him?" Molly asked in almost a squeak.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean what if we get to the second day of the games and I somehow die, or I can't provide him food or water, what if we both starve to death? All of our plans involve both of us getting to the end, but that is so unlikely. We're most likely both going to die, and I want you to forgive me if that happens." Molly muttered.
"It won't happen Molly, both of you had won the games before, you're smart enough to find water and food, you keep your head clear, and John had enough man power to protect both of you." I assured.
"Everyone else in there has won the games too, that's why this is such a challenge." Molly pointed out.
"Don't let it be a challenge Molly. They can't kill what they can't find." I pointed out. Molly didn't answer to that one, and I had to agree, it was kind of rubbish advice.
"What if he doesn't even go with me? What if he doesn't want to have to see me die?" Molly asked nervously.
"John would never do that, and I'm sure you have more than enough Victor friends to keep as allies, until you have to kill them that is." I shrugged.
"I've got a lot less friends than you probably think." Molly decided in almost a small croak, as if she were on the verge of crying again.
"Do you want some hot chocolate?" I asked, kind of apprehensively, but Molly just smiled.
"That would be lovely." She decided. I got up and did my best to make hot chocolate, but I had to admit, I was a complete failure. Molly sat on the couch still, watching the wall as if it were going to move and start to tap dance or something. She looked relatively normal, if I hadn't known her I'd just think she had gone through some break up or something, but I did know her. It wasn't the physical appearance that was off, it was the mentality. Usually she's be up here insisting on making it herself, or she'd at least make fun of me for not being able to make it myself. It was simply the air around her, the usual spark and happiness she possessed, it was empty.
"Where's John?" Molly asked as I came back with two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of marshmallows (I kept them on hand in case Molly or Mrs. Hudson came over).
"We had a bit of a disagreement, and I suppose he's giving me the silent treatment." I decided, stirring in a marshmallow of my own.
"He probably thinks you're doing the same thing." Molly pointed out.
"I'm not the one who needs to apologize." I defended.
"Well, once again, he'd probably say the same thing. I guess it just depends on which one can last the night." Molly shrugged.
"I hate that you said that literally." I muttered.
"It is literal." She pointed out.
"That's why I hate it." I agreed. Who can last the night, as in who gets the nightmares first and comes crawling back, where our dysfunctional future is better than our bloody past.
"So what happened?" Molly asked. I sighed, grabbing a blanket from the floor and draping it over myself, the fire was low and I think I turned off the heat because I threw a plate at the thermostat (long story, not really important now).
"I just said that it was really selfish to go and kill himself." I shrugged. Molly groaned, but there was an amused smile on her face.
"I'm sure that would've sounded really weird if I didn't know what was going on." She decided.
"But he's not thinking about me, he's thinking about himself. I don't know why people who kill themselves wanted to be honored as heroes, when in reality they're just cowards." I decided.
"How are they cowards? I think going through all of that pain to save people you love is heroic." Molly decided.
"Well sure, it hurts them, for like a second, minute tops, if they're not particularly good at killing themselves, but that's just physical pain. The people they leave behind, who undoubtedly blame themselves, they get the long term, the emotional pain that doesn't seem like much, but after years and years it just builds up, eats your heart away. Physical pain heals; emotional pain just gets worse as you reconsider what you could've done to save them. What if I had volunteered, what if I hadn't even become involved with him, what if we're the reason Snow picked this as the Quell in the first place? That's why I have to volunteer, that's why I need to die, but first I need to clear his head of all doubt, assure him that there is no way he is responsible for my overdue death." I decided.
"Being one that is much too familiar with loss and guilt, I must admit you're dead on." Molly decided, looking into her hot chocolate sadly.
"How do you smile Molly?" I asked her. Molly sighed, plastering once again a fake smile onto her face.
"Because I've taught myself how to." She admitted. "And that's what we're all going to have to do, because in this world no one is happy, not truly, but you just have to deal with it and enjoy the time you have with the ones you have. So you go over there right now and apologize to John, because come three weeks, you might really going to wish you had." I groaned, but I knew she was right, as she usually was.
"What about you?" I asked.
"I'll go back home, read a book, make some tea, snuggle up in a blanket and listen to some classical music." She decided.
"Well, just know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here." I assured.
"I know Sherlock; I always knew that, I just don't need to talk." Molly insisted, getting up off the couch and getting to her feet. "Thanks for the hot chocolate." She decided. "Now go make up with John." And with that Molly turned and left, walking out the door into the harsh cold.  I groaned, setting my mug on the table and getting to my feet as well, going to the door and pulling on my coat and scarf. What was I supposed to do, bring some flowers, perhaps chocolates? Sing a song, buy him a diamond? For girls, making up was as simple as long as you had the money to do it, but how to make up with a man who had everything he wanted? I guess I'd have to talk to him, which, of course, was definitely not my strong point. But, nevertheless, Molly was right, and I had to make up with John before I regretted, which I no doubt would. So I ground my teeth and walked out the door, squinting against the harsh, cold wind. The night was frigid, but the sky was cloudless, so the Victor's Village was illuminated by the star light, but it didn't make it look angelic, or homey, if anything it looked like a graveyard. Identical white houses sprouted out of the cold ground like mausoleums, holding the already dead, the wrought iron fence surrounding the perimeter, even the perfect landscaping was identical to a well-kept graveyard, to make it a lot more bearable for the visiting families to think that their dead were in a better place. It wasn't a better place, not at all. In fact, I think I'd rather live in a mausoleum, with the dead, than with these people. Dead have no issues, they don't pamper you, they don't have fights, they don't try to sacrifice themselves (because they're already dead) and they don't have pasts they never tell you about. They're just there, they're company but they don't bother you. The only downside is they're downright disgusting and they smell bad. I went up on the pale stone walkway and knocked on the door, too late to back down now. I stood there, waiting, half expecting him to not even answer. But, after no more than ten seconds or so, the door opened a crack, and John's beautiful chocolate eye peeked out.