The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

37. Twisted Perception

I wake, and see from the stars that it’s still night. I can see the outline of Hadrian, but it’s too dark to make out much else.

“Hadrian,” I whisper. “Hadrian.”

He rubs his eyes. “Hmm?”

I laugh. “You idiot. If you’re tired, why didn’t you wake me up?”

He stretches his arms above his head. “You looked so sweet.”

“Myself and ‘sweet’ don’t belong in the same sentence. Not anymore.”

Hadrian presses his lips to mine, kissing me delicately.

“Whatever you think,” he says. He lies down, and closes his eyes.

The tiniest of noises makes me flinch. My eyes try to take in the whole forest, scanning for a potential threat. I’m being paranoid, but I can’t help it. Surprises really are far too common in the arena; they’ve caught Hadrian and myself off guard before.

My mind wanders, and I find myself thinking of the mist and how it showed me my father. Did the shapes actually form in the mist? Or was the mist a drug that induced a hallucination? Hadrian saw something too. What he saw, he won’t say. Maybe it was Marina.

How much longer can Gladius hold out? He’s doing well. District Eight has a good chance of gaining another victor.

Hadrian has helped me. He could have stabbed me in the back; wouldn’t that be easier than telling me the truth? There’s something inside of him that makes hope flutter in my chest. Some quality that...sort of balances him out.

I can’t give up on him now that I look back and see he’s done me so many indirect favours, trusted me when he shouldn’t have. I owe him.

If I don’t trust him, I’ll make his job of keeping me alive harder than it already is. What took me so long to realise that Hadrian really was on my side the whole time. Trust can’t be an issue now; Hadrian’s proved his worth. And if I can’t trust him, who is there left to trust?

I lie down beside him, so that my shoulder touches his. The blanket is wrapped around my shoulders, but my whole body is cold, cold, cold. Hadrian radiates heat in the sleeping bag. I don’t really mind being cold as long as we’re safe for now.

So I just look up at the stars.

***

Tule watched the screen. Wade was sitting on the plush coral-coloured couch having just finished dealing with a gaggle of sponsors mimicking playing cards; they had been dressed in white, black and red, decorated with clubs, spades, diamonds and hearts.

Wade came to stand next to her. On screen was Eunia, lying down next to Hadrian.

Tule was still angry. Alright, so Hadrian had played hero around Eunia a couple of times. She trusted him after such a small display? On the other hand, at least he had the decency not to slit her throat while she slept.

And Eunia, trusting him like that, ignoring everything Tule had said. Did she realise she was being offered advice? Useful advice that could keep her alive.

Tule ran a finger delicately along her scar. Every day for the past nine years she’d looked in the mirror and seen how it marred her face. Every day she’d cursed the Games, cursed Panem. She wasn’t vain, but there were...unpleasant memories associated with that scar.

Even if Eunia won, there was something Tule couldn’t save her from; the nightmares. The waking up, panting, with your head still in the Games, trying to think a way out of it-