Promises of a Sacrificial Lamb |Destiel x The Hunger Games|

-15-

Okay, maybe a little too bold and arrogant there, Dean.  Now the other tributes are going to think you're not scared of them.

But the audience loved it.  Rowena's advice briefly flashes through my mind, about being coy and flirtatious, and even though I'm far from it, the crowd seems to react strongly to anything I do.  Might as well go the extra mile and really make sure they remember me.

I turn toward everyone watching me, cast them the most coquettish smile I can, and run my fingers through my crunchy hair.

The response is instantaneous and uproarious.  Excited shrieks from both men and women echo into the sky.  They're so loud that I can feel the vibrations.  These people are crazy.

"So dauntless and cheeky!  I love it!"  Caesar cackles.  "You must have a lot of admirers back home.  Tell me, Dean.  Is there a special someone you had to leave behind in District Nine?  A girl, perhaps?"

The crowd falls so silent that you could hear a pin drop.  I see some of them leaning out of their seats, eyes wide and expressions agog, anticipating my answer.  Most of the other tributes were asked the same question.  Some said yes, others said no, and some managed to avoid the topic altogether.  I wish I'd gotten that lucky.

"No,"  I say, shaking my head.

Caesar looks aghast.  I even hear a few gasps of disbelief coming from the audience.  "You must be joking,"  the host says, hand over his heart, as I've just told him the worst news he's ever heard.  "You mean to tell me that someone as good-looking and charming as you doesn't have a girlfriend?  I don't believe it.  Do you, folks?"  He turns to the crowd, and their response is a deafening series of shouts and cheers.

This really is a reality show.  All they care about now is whether or not a romance is involved.

"Honestly, Dean,"  Caesar continues.  "You can tell us.  I'm good at keeping secrets."

I want nothing more than to cut off this conversation before it can irritate me any more, but it's too late.  Charlie flashes through my racing mind.  Not my girlfriend—I think she'd rather gouge her own eyes out than be with a boy—but my best friend, the one who's probably watching this interview right now and missing me as much as I miss her.  I wonder what she's been up to since I've been gone.

Thinking about her and my family and my home just makes my heart ache.  I hope it doesn't show on my face.  "I'm not in a relationship,"  I persist.  "I do have a best friend, though, who just so happens to be a girl, and I miss her a lot."

The crowd murmurs noises of compassion again.  It sickens me, but toying with their emotions is the only way to make an impression.

"I'm sure she misses you, too,"  Caesar says, his expression understanding and tender.  "Is there anything you'd like to say to her?"  He motions toward a nearby camera, which I can see focusing in on my face.

I wasn't prepared for anything like this.  But it's Charlie, I remember, and the rest of the audience doesn't matter right now.  This might be my only chance to communicate with my best friend before the Games begin, even if it's just a one-sided conversation.  That's more than I ever thought I'd get.

I tune out the hushed crowd, and I look directly at the gleaming camera.  "Charlie, I hope you're doing okay out there.  I feel like it's been years since I last saw you, and hopefully it won't be long until I see you again.  Stay strong until I get back, all right?  Keep an eye on Sam and my parents.  And remember, I miss you, and I love you."  I pause, thinking back on our final farewell in the Justice Building, and smile.  "Platonically."

Some people in the crowd wipe tears from their eyes, while others let out a laugh at my last words.  It's bold to assume I'll make it back home and see her again like I promised in my statement, but I can't exactly be morbid on live television, can I?  I might have to be added to the list of Capitol citizens stifling their flowing tears.