One Fire: A One Direction Fan Fiction

24

24

   We had to continue on without Niall, Louis, Chiffon and Dolly – assuming they were really all living, and we hadn’t just missed a cannon fire – hiking through the dense jungle on our own.

   It hit me hard, not having the mockingjays here in the arena with me – obviously a plan by the Capitol – and now leaving me as the only one of my kind (metaphorically at least). I was the only of the Capitol’s mutant birds here. If we wanted to reunite with Louis, Niall, Dolly and Chiffon, we’d have to use the lightning.

   We set up camp, not far from where the water had washed us just after noon had hit. In no time, the shelter and the fire had been built. We roasted the game Leah and I had killed before the flood hit us, and feasted as the sky turned dark. In the sky, the only tributes shown were those who had been killed near dawn; Dosa and Gabbi, telling us – relieving us – the other four had certainly survived.

   As the moon rose higher and higher, Roti, Mousy, Liam, Leah and Topaz moved over to the shelter to rest, tiring early, leaving Zayn and I sitting out by the crackling flames.

   “I keep thinking about my mum and dad, and my sisters,” Zayn said to me, quietly. “I didn’t even get to say a real goodbye.”

   I nodded, as I hadn’t either. The other blazing boys had also been denied this luxury. “I know what you mean,” I purred, “This time I really just want to go back in one direction.”

   “Home?” Zayn asked, meeting my eyes with a smile.

  Last year, that was all I had said leading up to the last few tributes and our final bloodbaths. We were five boys who wanted to go in one direction; back home to our families. Now, we were twelve tributes from nine different districts who wanted to return. It was all we’d ever wanted.

   In the silence following our small words, I heard a distinct sound come from the lean-tos we’d built to sleep under. It was a series of panted breaths, and, underneath, suppressed sobs – ones I hadn’t yet heard. But, apparently, Zayn had.

   “Topaz?” he asked into the empty darkness, forcing an abrupt halt in the crying.

   I followed Zayn as he rose and stepped over to where the stalky girl sat under the shelter. Both of us crawled under the structure with her, and Zayn first saw the problem; the cuffs of her sleeves were drenched, but not in water.

   “Topaz, you’re bleeding,” he breathed.

   She only responded with a sob as Zayn grabbed her wrist, exposing a flash of silver behind her; a knife she’d been trying to hide with its blade stained scarlet. Once Zayn’s eyes locked on the tool, his fingers worked to roll up her long sleeve, showing us both her bloody skin, with dark slashes perfectly aligned, some fresh, some a few days older.

   “Don’t ever let me catch you doing this again!” Zayn demanded, making Topaz cry harder.

   “Why would you do this?” I asked her in a softer tone.

   “Because,” she squeaked through a sigh, “I’m fat! In District One I’m always told I’m worthless! What have I done so far in here?! I can’t fight, I can’t hunt, and I’m no help with the shelters, or making the fire! I’m useless!”

   “No, you aren’t,” Zayn breathed, holding her blood-drenched hand in his. “I think you’re worth something,” he purred, “I think you’re beautiful, and I think you’re smart – aside from this. Don’t make yourself bleed. It just hurts you, and it makes you feel worse.” He moved her drenched wrist to his mouth and pressed his lips to Topaz’s fresh scars. She was crying much harder than before – probably in regret she’d been caught doing this to herself.

   Zayn led her into his arms and murmured compliments to her, making her see them to be true until she promised not to abuse her body again. That was the last I heard of Topaz’s insecurities, or, so I thought.