The Hunger Games: Staying True. (Completed)

Chapter Seventeen; Rough Couple of Days. [Edited]

I scramble up from where I'm perched on Zephyr's thighs.

She rises slowly, glaring as she brushes dirt from her ass. She's taller than me, with dark umber skin that has hints of tawny red undertones. Her hair is black as pitch, even darker than mine, and where she used to have it straight and flat down her back, is now in tight twist braids which she wears loose. They reach all the way to her ribs.

It's only as I'm noticing her braids that I realise there is a knife in her hand.

I stare at her, gauging whether or not she will lunge. She's coiled to spring, knees bent and elbows out, her sharp chin tilted down and close to her chest. Her eyes - amber, closer to molten gold than anything - are full of disdain and contempt for me.

No matter, my knife is bigger than hers.

"Why were you following me?" My voice is a growl.

Her growl is much better than mine as she bares a set of pearly white teeth at me, "I was thinking about killing you."

"From behind?" I smirk at her, "While I was unarmed? You always were a sly bitch."

"No worse than you, babe." She puckers her full lips and gives the air a sweet kiss. When she angles her head into the sunlight like that, the markings on her face are thrown into sharper focus. 

The designs really are beautiful, dots and dashes of cool silver and brilliant gold, framing her elegant eyebrows and curving down to grace her sharp cheekbones. The tattoos look much better on dark skin, and it was a huge fashion trend among the black citizens of the Capitol a few years back. Her mother and sisters have the same ones. 

I knew she was part of the Games, of course I did. She was Reaped after me. But we've done a marvellous job of ignoring each other throughout every single moment of it. I assumed it would be the same in the arena, evidently, she decided to take advantage of a golden opportunity.

"And now? Now that you don't get to shove that in my spine-"

"I was actually going to shove it up your ass."

"- What do you plan on doing? Gonna fight me, Zephyr? Gonna be brave for once?" I smirk at her, because I know she won't.

"Maybe I learned a few things during training." Her eyes are tight, those pretty tattoos creased as she glares. Her mouth is a thin, hard line.

I lift an eyebrow. "Certainly didn't learn how to feed yourself in the wild."

I wave a hand towards her body, noting immediately that her coat is pulled in too tight at the waist. I know for a fact that her trousers were skin tight when we were stood on our discs counting down to the bloodbath. Four days in the arena has sapped some of her curves.

"What concern is that of yours?" She snaps. Her teeth are bared again.

Suddenly, I straighten from my crouch. My hand falls limp against my thigh, and after a long moment I tuck it back into my boot. She stares at me, blinking those big golden eyes in shock, and watches silently as I sigh.

"I'm tired, Zephyr." My voice cracks, just a little bit. "I don't want to fight anyone else."

Zephyr straightens too, but her hand is still tight on the knife. She doesn't believe me. She thinks it's an act. For a moment, I consider letting it be one. Consider taking out my dagger and flinging it at her to save myself the energy it will take to win the fight that's brewing in her eyes.

But I don't want to kill anyone else. I don't want to relive Thorny's death, Lux's, Reeve's, Larron's. I just... I just want to talk to another human being and not watch them die.