Friday Morning
3 Days Before The Hunger Games
This was all her fault.
Her mother had been right.
Her mother had been right and this was all her fault.
Short, fast burst of air left her. Her body inhaled the air around her so quick, quicker than she wanted it to. Her silent, smothered cries into her pillow were so pitiful.
Liville tried to call him three times that night. It had been Tigris that finally picked up, telling her Coriolanus was feeling unwell and wouldn't be able to answer the phone.
This was all her fault.
She'd led him on. It's completely what she'd done.
Led him on for what?
For nothing.
Nothing by heartache.
Because nothing would ever happen with them.
So she cried into her pillow that night. Her eyes soaking the pillow cover.
Liville had to hide her emotions when morning came.
The Academy was back in session today. Gaul insisted it not be shut down any longer, especially not right before the games. So Liville prepared herself, bathed herself, dressed herself.
She was downstairs early. Far earlier than she had to be. Because she hadn't been able to go to sleep. And she figured if she was in the living room, it'd be easier to keep herself from crying.
She was downstairs and ready before six thirty in the morning. Sejanus probably wouldn't be up for another hour.
"Oh-Liville." Mrs. Plinth let out a startled breath, coming down early to get a cup of coffee for her husband. "You're up and dressed already."
She forced a tight lipped smile. Her eyes ached with exhaustion. "Good morning, Mrs. Plinth."
"How did yesterday go with Dr. Gaul? You seemed to have snuck back in, I didn't get a chance to talk with you."
"It went alright, thank you. I'm sorry, but I can't say too much more. She's asked that it remain confidential."
"Oh, of course, of course." Mrs. Plinth glanced towards the stairs. She sighed, walking closer. "I apologize for how Sejanus has been behaving lately. He is very sensitive. Especially when it comes to you. Even when he was just a boy, he'd get so defensive about you. If anyone were to even mention your name, he'd force his way into the conversation. He'd stay up way too late reading your letters, and get angry if we tried to send him to bed."
She hesitated. "He would?"
"Oh yes, he'd read each one at least a dozen times before responding. Then he'd write at least a dozen drafts. He'd always try to be so perfect for you." Another sigh. "He still tries to always say the right thing. But he is a rash, emotional boy. I do hope he grows out of it."
"Emotional isn't always bad," Liville said.
"It is in the Capitol. For people like us, from the districts. If he doesn't toughen up...I fear the city will break him." Mrs. Plinth said kindly, "You are a very nice girl, Liville. I am glad to know that I'm the future, even if he continues having trouble, he will have you to help him."
He would have her.
Because she was to be his wife. And he was to be her husband.
And their loyalty should be to each other.
