The Candidate [A Hunger Games Story]

Chapter Five

Drew glared at me, and I couldn't blame him. When he'd entered the Games as a young boy, he'd been nothing, but a child. He'd been innocent. He'd been resigned to his death. And yet here he was. Still stood before me, years later, but twisted up and near destroyed by the things that had happened to him in the Games. Why shouldn't he glare at every stranger he met? Why shouldn't he turn his nose up at everyone who showed up at his door, only wanting to know him because of who he was?

"Do I know you?" he asked in the cold tone I recognized from his time as a mentor on the Hunger Games. I had always thought it was a facade; each Victor had their own character to keep up, after all. But his coldness was clearly no illusion.

I shook my head at him. "No...my name is Aurelia. You don't know me, but...I need your help..."

"You know the rules. The Peacekeepers will have your head if they catch you around here. You're not supposed to come begging from Victors. If you want me to help you, I can get you some work at the stables tomorrow..."

I was certain that any work he had to offer me I wouldn't be fit for, unlike the real children of the District. I shook my head.

"I need...I need to come inside if I can."

"I just told you, you need to go. Here, let me see if I can find you some bread..."

I was beginning to feel desperate. I knew staying another night outside with only some bread to line my stomach wouldn't do me well. I had to get fit in time for the Games, or else I was going to be in trouble. I felt like dropping to my knees and pleading, but I knew even I wasn't at that level yet.

"Please...you have to help me."

Drew leaned against the doorframe as though he could barely hold up his own skinny frame. It was common for Victors to get rich and fat from Capitol food, but Drew wasn't like them. If he bothered to feed himself, it wasn't obvious in the way he looked. He was all sharp angles and hollow cheeks to match his hollow eyes. He had all the air of a man who wasn't interested in whether he lived or died.

"Yeah? It's funny, because everyone that's ever come here says the same thing to me. Where was my help when I needed it most? When I was chosen for the Games, who was there to help me? No one. So do what everyone else does. Take extra tesserae. Line your belly. And don't come here again if you don't want to be shot by Peacekeepers."

It sounded like a cruel thing to say, but his tone, though sharp, wasn't rude. He sounded like he had my best interests in mind. He was about to shut the door, but I stepped forward.

"That's kind of why I'm here...I'm about to be in the same position as you. I...I'm going to be taking part in the Games."

Drew stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me. "How do you know that? No one knows before Reaping Day who will be picked...unless they're a volunteer. Are you a volunteer? If so, are you crazy?"

I considered lying, but I'd never been very good at it when it mattered most. I took a deep breath.

"My circumstances...they're...unusual. I'm not from here. I come from the Capitol. I've been sent here because...well, my mother was a traitor, and-"

The door slammed in my face. I gasped. I'd never had a door closed in my face before, and I didn't take to it well. Despite better sense telling me that I shouldn't, I pounded on the door once again. When I received no answer, I kept going. I'd got it in my head that it was my right to be answered. I heard his cry of frustration loud and clear on the other side of the door.

"You deserve everything coming to you," he hissed. "You've spent your whole life supporting this shitty system...and now that it's turned its back on you, you want my help?"

"You don't even know me..."

"And you clearly don't know me if you think I'm going to support you. Just because I won the Games doesn't mean I'll play yours. I don't want to know why you're entering the Games. It doesn't matter to me. To me, you're as good as dead."

The comment was like an ice pick to the heart. It hurt, but the iciness of his tone only spurred me on. I knocked hard on his door again, barely noticing when my thinning skin cracked and began to bleed.

"You're going to be my mentor...if you want to see me dead, fine. But at least put a roof over my head until then...they starved me..."

"Now you know how it feels to live in a District."

I gave in, pressing my palm to the door and feeling my heart sink. Everything he was saying was completely right. He owed me nothing. Just because I was on his side of the tracks by then, it didn't mean we were the same. And yet, it hurt knowing he was happy just to leave me out to die without knowing a thing about me. But at that moment, I learned something about myself anyway.

I was a hypocrite. I'd turned my back on hundreds of tributes over the years. He was choosing to favor whoever the male tribute would be automatically...just because I was a Capitol girl. There was no difference between us. I might have been ignorant...but I was also smart enough to form my own thoughts on the Games. I just chose to ignore my own moral compass until it mattered to me.

I was about to give in and walk away. I'd find some other way to survive until the reaping. But then the door opened once again. Drew stood before me, watching me with dim heat in his green eyes. Like he didn't quite have the strength to be angry with me. He stepped aside to allow me in, his distaste clear, but his big heart won out. I saw something in him then that I think many people around him might have overlooked. From his time as part of the Capitol, I'd seen him become snappy, often cruel and callous toward anyone who came his way...but only to those who deserved it. To the people who beat him down. To the people who asked him insensitive questions about his time in the Games, or his fallen tributes once he became a Mentor. I knew by letting me inside he was choosing to believe that I had some good in me, despite my background, despite my response to him, despite my Capitol upbringing. It wasn't that he liked me...quite the opposite...but he would tolerate me. Probably because he knew I'd be dead within weeks anyway.

I stepped inside tentatively. I didn't say thank you, though I wish I had, looking back. I wish I could change a lot of those first few days we spent together. But the silence between us at the time seemed like defiance of each other. As he closed the door, we regarded one another coldly. I didn't notice at the time how his home smelt of pine and smoke. I didn't notice how his skinny chest rose and fell as he tried to control the anger inside him. I didn't notice that I was so used to lavish surroundings that his home felt so completely average to me. All I noticed was how much he didn't want me there complicating his life. He sighed.

"Take the sofa. Eat some bread. We'll talk in the morning."

With that, he left me. As he scaled his stairs, he kept looking over his shoulder at me. I think he was scared. Scared that I wasn't who I claimed to be. Scared that I'd betray him like every other citizen of the Capitol had. Scared that I would be like the rest.

But for once, I didn't crave any kind of resemblance to who I used to be.