When Luck Runs Out

Back at it Again with the Sulking

I got to my room on the train and locked the little silver lock, hoping that would be able to keep even Molly and her lock picking skills out. Honestly the things you didn't know people could do until they invade your privacy. I sat on the freshly made bed, not a wrinkle on the fabric, taking in the fresh smelling room, the beautifully carved wooden bed posts, the polished walls, and I hated it. The very train, the feeling of the world moving below me, I wanted to throw up. This is the train that lead me to my undeniable death once before, and now again. It was funny, the first games had killed my spirit, my soul, and this game was going to kill my body. It was quite fitting, don't you think? I watched the trees rushing past the window, the rain splashing the glass, but it only reminded me that I was back, so I got up and closed the shades, plunging the room in a nice, peaceful shade of darkness. I had ridden this train so many times now; it was starting to feel more like home than my actual home did. But then again, the useless shell of a house the Capital had provided me was far less than a home than my old house used to be. Even though that hadn't been much, with the creaky wooden floorboards, holes in the wooden walls, rain leaking through the tin roof, that had been home. And it still was, even if I go to the Victor's village, sleep in the Victor's village, eat in the Victor's Village, that little shack on the edge of the District, that was home. Every time I had ridden this train I had promised myself I was never going back to the games, during John's games that was pretty much the only thing that kept me sane, during the Victor's tour, I kept saying that no matter the memories, I was never going to go back. I was never going to be a Tribute. Well, here we are. I had sunken from a Victor, to a mentor, to a lowly tribute. And after this is over, I'm going to sink into the ground. There was a knock on the door, John, from the carelessness of it.
"Not now." I muttered.
"It's John!" he called, as if that changed my desire to be alone.
"I know, just not now." I decided.
"Look, if it's about the punch, I didn't mean it, I was just..." he started.
"It's not you, it's everything, and it's hitting me like a truck. I just need to be alone." I insisted.
"Well, if you need someone, I'm just a compartment away." He decided.
"I'll remember that." I assured. I couldn't hear his retreating footsteps, but I knew he had left. I didn't like being on the bed for some reason, it felt uncomfortable, the perfect bedspread scared me a bit, it reminded me that I was once again in the Capital's possession. So I sat on the carpet, which was still soft and perfect, but it made everything seem a lot smaller, even though I was lower to the ground. Down here I knew that no one could see me (Even though I was alone), I knew that I was away from whatever hidden cameras the Capital might have installed, and it felt more like a bedroom than a luxury suite since I couldn't see the decorations or fancy TVs and stuff. I grabbed my bag from my bed and rummaged through all of my crumpled up shirts and pants to find the one shoe without a partner, even though it served the most important role of all. I dug out some of the cigarettes I had acquired in District Eleven and lit one with the red lighter I kept in there as well. Smoke filled my lungs and the space around me, and it made me feel so much better. It dulled my senses, relaxed my mind in ways hot chocolate and hugs just couldn't. Smoking may be absolutely horrible for you, but it wasn't like I had very long to live anyway. I sat on the floor for a while, smoking the cigarette until it was just a little stub in my fingers, and then threw it in a small plastic bag I kept under the bed as well, for all the used syringes and cigarette butts that I didn't want Molly finding. She was quite a snoop, last year she had confiscated my drug shoe by picking the lock and stealing them away, causing one of the worst freak out attacks ever. Of course ever since then she's been insisting that I deal with my addiction maturely, and every time I had a withdrawal I had to go down to my basement where she had made a little padded panic room, since I get violent. It had worked perfectly fine; I hadn't felt the need to use in a while, until that man in District Eleven got shot right in front of me. Everything had been fine until him, I don't know what it was, maybe it was an omen, maybe it was a banshee or something, but that had been the first real blood I had seen since my games, and it had torn down whatever callouses I had built up against those memories. I opened the window to air the room out, since John would most likely be spending the night here, and if he smelled cigarette smoke Molly would definitely hear about it. Then I took a quick shower, changing out of my funeral attire and into a soft pair of sweatpants and a loose grey tee shirt, something nice and comfortable, very unlike me. I felt physically okay when I finally unlocked my door and went into the real world. My curls were still wet, because I didn't really feel like using the extreme blow dryer, and they were dripping into my eyes and being quite annoying.
"Sherlock, there you are." Molly said, looking as if she was worried.
"Where else would I have gone?" I asked.
"Who knows with you?" Molly asked.
"At least you trust me." I muttered.
"You know we don't." Mrs. Hudson pointed out, and I shrugged, sinking into an armchair. I didn't know where John was, but he wasn't here, so I was stuck with the moms, and that meant lectures, or deep conversations where they expected to pour my soul out.
"How are you feeling?" Molly asked.
"I feel like liquid crap." I decided.
"The feeling's mutual." Molly agreed.
"At least you don't have to go back in." I pointed out.
"Yes, about that, I thought I was going to be the one to die?" she asked. Mrs. Hudson gasped with horror, but the term had been so overused throughout the last week I didn't even flinch.
"I thought I was preventing John from going in." I muttered.
"How'd that work out?" Molly asked.
"He and I agreed that the both of us couldn't go in together, since then there would be absolutely no chance that we could end up together." I pointed out.
"Well, obviously, he broke his promise as well." Molly said, raising her eyebrows to show her dislike in our decisions.
"We need to start pinky swearing." I decided. Molly couldn't help but crack a smile, but it looked forced, like she had just taped a happy face to her head to make it look like she wasn't suffering. Maybe people who hadn't been exposed to the games would've fallen for it, but I saw right through her since I saw that look every time I looked in a mirror. Although I wasn't really one to try to be happy for everyone else, I was miserable and they knew it.
"Where is John?" I asked.
"Probably mimicking you and hiding." Mrs. Hudson guessed.
"I wasn't hiding." I insisted. The two of them just looked at me with disbelief, and I just rolled my eyes.
"I mean, you all knew where I was." I pointed out.
"No I didn't. We established that when you walked in." Molly pointed out.
"Oh you and your details." I muttered.
"How are you dealing with it?" Molly asked.
"Same way I used to, but sober." I muttered. "Because someone likes to take all the easy and fun ways of coping away."
"It's not healthy Sherlock." Molly insisted.
"Ya well, it's not like my life span is that much longer anyway." I snapped. Instead of getting the usual eye roll or little slap, Molly just sunk her head and stared at the floor.
"Don't say that Sherlock, please, please don't say that." she muttered.
"Sorry." I muttered. I definitely didn't want to see Molly cry, not again. That had been mentally scaring enough.
"It's okay, but please, let's try to think positive, at least out loud. I don't want to have to think..." Molly started, her voice cracking and her sentence trailing off. Mrs. Hudson patted her hand sympathetically. This is why I hide in my room, because I make one observation and everyone gets emotional and the tears start flowing. Women. Reason number ten why I'm gay.
"So, when will we be at the Capital?" I asked. Schedules always cheer them up.
"We should arrive tomorrow morning, then we'll get to the stylists and then it's already the parade." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"Do we know the outfits yet?" I asked. I just didn't want to be another hunk of coal. If I was going to die, I didn't want to be remembered as black rock number two. It was like a bad part in a school play, where they wanted to include everyone.
"Not yet, but I know the stylists are planning something." Molly guessed.
"Speaking of the stylists, where are they? They were here to put on our makeup and all." I pointed out, looking around to see if they were hiding behind the sofa or something.
"They took another train back to start planning." Mrs. Hudson pointed out.
"God, they're just like the Avoxes. You never know where they come from or where they go." I decided.
"Cotton eyed joe." John arrived, at the perfect moment to mention the one song no one wanted to remember.
"Yes, bravo John." I muttered, but was secretly happy to see him. He too had changed, into his usual jeans and plain maroon tee shirt, but still, it was nice to see him in something other than a suit and makeup.
"You look comfy." He decided, sitting next to me on the armchair even though only one person could sit comfortably. Not that I was complaining, I liked being close to John, his hair always smelled good. In a totally not creepy way...of course.
"Diner should be arriving soon." Mrs. Hudson guessed, looking around to see if there were any Avoxes in the dining car yet.
"Usually at five thirty." Molly decided. It was five twenty one.
"So, John, are you okay?" Mrs. Hudson asked. John sighed, but nodded.
"I guess I have to be." He decided.
"It's perfectly fine if you're not, we know this is very emotional..." Mrs. Hudson started.
"No one in this room is happy, so if you want some group therapy sessions or something, be a dear and leave me out of it." I decided.
"I wasn't going to suggest that." Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"But of course every day you ask how we feel, what happened, how that made us feel, and if there was anything going on that we wanted to talk about. Honestly, if being a mentor doesn't work out at least you've got therapist to fall back on." I insisted. Mrs. Hudson looked slightly offended, but just glared at me.
"Oh, I think dinner is here!" Molly said excitedly, breaking the very tense silence.
"Perfect timing." John muttered, getting up first. I crawled to my feet and followed everyone to the dining car, where there was loads of food and platters waiting for us. Everything was steaming, fresh, and hot, and the aroma filling the car was almost (almost) enough to make me hungry. But still, I looked at the heaping pile of mashed potatoes, steaks, carrots, and it made me feel like I was going to throw up. We all sat at the table and Mrs. Hudson said the traditional prayer, which she does before every game, but there was more to it this year. It actually meant something, other than just repeating it for more tributes you knew were bound to get skewered on their first day, she was praying for us to live, and I knew it came from the bottom of her heart. When we were done everyone dug in, well, almost everyone. Mrs. Hudson had the most, Molly had a small meal, John ate a couple of pieces of chicken and some beans, and my plate was empty.
"You need to build your strength back up Sherlock." Molly pointed out.
"Malnutrition got me through the games fine." I pointed out.
"Listen to your mentor Sherlock." John insisted. I groaned, not liking that Molly was once again the boss of me, and moodily grabbed a piece of bread and ate a bite.
"There we go." Molly said with a smile. When desert came out I had a little bit of rice pudding, but they were low on cinnamon for some reason so that made the whole thing a bit disappointing. John had a piece of chocolate cake with peanut butter icing (I tried a little bit of the icing with my finger, and it was amazing), Mrs. Hudson was eating a very large sugar cookie, and Molly, ever the healthy, was having a bowl of fruit salad. When finally the dishes were whisked away we sat at the table for a little while, staring at the condensation marks left on the fancy silk table cloth. They were talking, and I wouldn't even go to the extent to say that I was listening. I just kind of sat there, lost in my own world, and really wanting to leave. It was just like last year, I wanted to be alone very badly, I craved it, much different from John's games, when I couldn't go anywhere without him. I felt separate from him for some reason, during his games I knew exactly what he was going through, I was his mentor, I was his superior. But now it just felt weird, we were coequal, the lowest of the game's hierarchy, we were both tributes, but still it felt like we were more separate than ever. I thought about Mrs. Watson's not so friendly request, demanding that I die for her son. Of course I didn't need reminding or encouragement, but I didn't think she knew the extent my love went for John. I think she saw me as a bit of a cougar, if that term applied to men as well. I was just finding the weakest, most vulnerable person I could, which would be John, and pulling him towards me. Maybe she thought I was just using him, which was preposterous because we've only kissed like five times, and that I didn't have any feelings for him at all. Well she would see, she would see when I kill myself on live TV, or if I shield him from a flying blade, or save him from certain death, or even accompany him and encourage him through the games, she'll see that there was more to me than just a scowl. If all goes well, she'll never see me again. What a pleasant woman. We walked back to the living room car, where the light was fading quickly. The rain had stopped, probably because our train was moving faster than the storm was, and the sun was quickly descending. There were lamps lit, casting a nice orange glow through the darkness, which gave the train a falsely homey appearance. There were four mugs of (surprise) hot chocolate waiting for us and several cookies on a silver platter.
"The Avoxes are obviously catching on." John decided, sitting down on one of the couches and grabbing a mug of hot chocolate. We all followed suit, sitting in a comfortable silence and sipping our hot chocolate as the train whizzed by the country side. I was always curious about which District we were passing as we went by, and judging by the time it was and what I saw, I'd say maybe eight, since I saw some large buildings past the shrubs and weeds of the train tracks. It was painfully silent, I sat there, John sat there, Molly sat there, even Mrs. Hudson didn't open her mouth once. So once our mugs were drained and the only remnants of the cookies were some crumbs, we all said our good nights and went our separate ways. John looked over at me hopefully, as if he needed some sort of invitation.
"Door's unlocked." I muttered to him as I passed, which made him smile a little bit, as if he thought I wasn't going to let him in this time. Just because I had the smallest bit of alone time didn't mean I didn't want to be with him, quite the contrary actually. I changed into my pajamas, and by the time I was snuggled in my bed the door opened once again, and John poked his head in, his eyes closed.
"Are you decent?" he asked.
"Depends on your definition." I muttered with a laugh.
"What?" he asked.
"Yes." I assured. John opened his eyes and walked in, shutting the door with a snap as to not to disturb anyone else on the train, even though they were several compartment away.
"How are you holding up?" John asked, crawling under the covers next to me. I just smiled sarcastically; there was no happiness in it at all.
"Horrible, of course. I'm going back, we're going back, and I know that when we're done, we will be I." I muttered.
"So you're agreeing to let me die?" John asked.
"No, of course not. You will be the I." I decided. John just frowned, picking at the corner of his pillow case. I decided not to mention his mother's tremendously friendly visit, because then he might think I only want to die because his mom told me to. Of course that wasn't the reason, but who knows what goes on in his little mind?
"So, no nightmares tonight I hope." John decided.
"Into battle." I agreed, clicking off the lamp and plunging the room into complete darkness.