It Comes in Waves

Two

The small room inside District 4's Justice Building is even stuffier than my house.

Moisture seems to cling to every surface, even the awful slick, leather loveseat. If I stare long enough at the magenta walls, I can make out a glimmer of sweat glistening on them.

I wish I could open a window. I wish there was even a window that could be opened. I suppose the risk of newly chosen tributes jumping out of it bypasses the risk of us suffocating from the humidity.

I can hear Gemma before anyone comes to the door. She's talking softly with the guard outside, asking him something, and I can hear her request (whatever it may have been) being denied. The door knob turns a few moments after that, and she walks in alone.

I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, suddenly unsure how to handle any of this. This is Gemma, and I have never had to be someone I'm not around her, but who I am isn't good enough to get me through this.

"Where is Mum?" I ask. My voice comes out just as weak and choppy as I feared.

Gemma walks slowly across the floor, her hands fidgeting. She stops in front of me and slowly sinks down onto the floor, until she's sitting cross legged right in front of me. I'm taller than her from this angle, too.

"I wanted to come in separately. I'm sorry, I know that's selfish. I tried to get them to extend your allotted minutes, but they refused." Her voice is thick and I can see the white surrounding the hazel of her eyes slowly reddening. And I am suddenly terrified to my very core of that she is going to cry. I have never seen my sister actually cry.

"It's fine, Gem. There are things I need to tell you that I don't want Mum to hear, anyway." I whisper. I did not even realize that was the case until I said it, then I realized there was a lot I needed to tell her. A lot I needed to ask her.

She rubs a hand over her face and breathes deeply. Nothing is said for a few moments. The room smells of mildew. I start to feel panicky, terrified that neither of us will be able to say what needs to be said, and she'll be taken away and I'll miss these last remaining moments with her.

I cannot find the strength to say anything, though. The words are thick and sticky in the back of my throat, no matter how many times I try to clear it.

Gemma reaches up and rests her hands on top of my hands that are around my calves.

The tear that is sliding down her cheek breaks me into tiny pieces. I imagine I'm just like the sea glass vase I broke as a young child. It was my mother's prized possession. I knocked it off the table and it fell onto the floor, exploding into millions of tiny shards of light green glass.

"Harry." She sniffs and angrily pushes the tears off her cheek, as if she is furious at herself for crying. It's probably the first time she has cried in years. I hate that it's my fault. "I'm going to ask something of you, and I am so sorry."

Her words confuse me.

I glance up at the crystal chandelier and count the teardrop diamonds hanging from it. What could she possibly ask me that would be worse than what I already have to do? What could be worse than dying for the nation you despise against your will?

"Anything, Gem." I finally say, looking down to meet her eyes again. They are swimming in tears still.

"Harry, I need you to win." She says.
My eyebrows automatically pull down in confusion. Is she joking? I have less of a chance of winning than anyone who has ever entered the games, probably.

"Gemma..."

"No. Harry, listen to me." She grips my hands so tightly it hurts, her eyes digging into mine almost angrily. "I cannot bear to have you die. Do you understand? I can't. I will not lose you. Mum can't lose you either, and then I would lose her too."