The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

34. Salt in a Wound

“I tortured myself, waiting for you to come back. I thought...”

“That I’d be hurt? Please. Have you forgotten that I’m Hadrian Lore?”

“No,” I say. “But...how well is a one against three fight going to go down?”

“Extremely well,” Hadrian says. “I would have bested the lot of them.”

“Sure,” I say, reaching for another pear. “Tell yourself that.”

I don’t want to admit to him how scared I was. Not just for him. The arena brings out your weaknesses. It brings out the worst in people. When I was alone, I was afraid of being by myself, afraid of death, afraid of the other tributes. Even afraid of the dark.

I haven’t been afraid of the dark since I was little.

“You thought you were scared when you were worrying about me?” Hadrian says. “Eunia, I almost didn’t leave. I’d half-convinced myself I’d starve to death, as long as you were at my side. I think I would have let myself, if I hadn’t realised how bad for wear you were.”

“I still think you should have taken me with you,” I say. “Didn’t you need help?”

He shrugs. “Between you and me, I think Arabella might still be sweet on me. She didn’t put up too much of a fight.”

“I hope you’re not sweet on her,” I say, frowning. What he said...would Arabella really still have feeling for him? It makes me feel a little sick. I crack my knuckles, a bad habit I’ve been trying to abolish.

Hadrian drops the roll he’s eating. The low sun makes his hair glint like gold as he cocks his head slightly. He probably knows how vulnerable it makes him look. How endearing.

He comes over to me, and brushes his lips across mine. I shudder slightly, and not because of the cold wind.

“Convinced?” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear.

I’m about to reply with some sort of witty comment, when I think of something. Something Hadrian said, what seems like years ago.

He presses my knuckles to his mouth, which is distracting. Does he know what I’m about to say?

“Do you remember when you asked me to meet you in secret?”

I feel him smile against my skin. “Ah, forbidden love.”

“Then you remember when I started to cry.”

“What man can resist a pretty girl’s tears?”

I don’t appreciate his sarcasm. It makes what I’m about to accuse him of so much harder. The words stick in my throat, and I have to choke them out.

“You said that you had a sister, and I reminded you of her.”

“Mmm?”

I have to pull my hand away from him, finding myself instantly craving his warm touch. “Do you really have a sister, Hadrian? Because from what I’ve heard, you’re excellent at lying. If I reminded you of your sister, would you treat me as you do? I don’t think so.”

“What are you suggesting?”

An edge of hostility, of hurt has crept into his voice.

“If I was really like your sister, you wouldn’t sweep me in your arms so eagerly. It would feel...wrong.”

“Does it feel wrong to you?”

His question makes me dig deep. Does it feel wrong? Not in the way he thinks it does. I know, deep down, that I shouldn’t let him kiss me, shouldn’t even be allies with him.