I scrape the remainder of the squirrel and bird from the bowl with my fingertips and offer it to Newt to clean. He takes it eagerly, assuming there's food left in there, but frowns at me when he realises that I've given him an empty bowl to wash. I gesture at the waterfall and he walks over to it, slouching his shoulders. It takes him about five seconds to wash the bowl clean and wipe it dry with his green jacket sleeve.
"You bloody owe me one, love," he complains, sending me a death stare that is not particularly threatening.
"Good to know," I reply, grinning mockingly back at him as he takes a seat between me and the unlit fire, placing the now empty bowl on the pile of sticks. He stretches and hands me one of the water bottles after taking a sip himself. I thank him with a nod, but instead of drinking the water, I pour it in the bowl and reach for a matchstick. Newt catches on what I'm doing and drops a few mint leaves in the water as I strike a match and set the sticks alight.
After only a couple of minutes, I remove the bowl from the flames and set it down to cool before taking a sip. I hand it to Newt, who gulps half it down, too, despite the fact that it scalded my mouth.
"So, what do ya wanna do today, love?" Newt asks and sets the bowl down.
"I don't know," I shrug. "Hunt? Again?"
"We could, I suppose," Newt responds. "We have mint, fennel, clovers, dandelions, chickweed, chicory, sorrel, and duck. I guess we could use some more?"
"Sure," I say, and toss him a painkiller tablet. "We'll go when you swallow that with a sip of mint tea."
He rolls his eyes and catches the tablet in one hand. "My ankle's fine now, love."
"I don't care," I respond, and he sighs in exasperation as he takes the painkiller. I tighten the ribbon at the end of the braid Newt did last night.
"Ready to go?" I ask, standing up.
"Ready as I'll ever be," he says, and cuts my response off with a quick kiss that leaves butterflies swirling in the pit of my stomach.
We both duck out of the cave together. "I'll hunt, you gather," I inform Newt, and he nods.
"I'll meet you back at the cave when your hands are full," he tells me. "I should be around here somewhere."
"Good that," I say and kiss his cheek lightly, giving him a final wave goodbye as I swivel around and head into the thick foliage. After only a few minutes or so of travel, I reach the place where I saw Alby and Harriet camp for the very first time. I remember Alby volunteering to keep watch and him placing the blanket over their heads like a tent as he prepared to stay awake all night. I remember when they shared their dried fruit together. I remember when I followed them to the cave and camped out somewhere else before taking the cave for my own. I remember as Alby's body fell to the ground as if in slow motion. I remember Harriet's blood on my hands, between my fingernails, in all the cracks in my skin.
I break down on the ground in the exact spot that they camped those many nights ago, sobbing. I look down at my hands and all I see are the ones that are responsible for the death of the girl of District Seven and all the other tributes of the arena.
I curl up in a ball and feel an unexplainable urge to just go. Be free.
Go. Leave. Leave the arena and the pain of killing and murder and life behind.
Just leave.
Shaking, I remove my hands from my face, and I know I can't leave. Whatever I might always think in the back of my mind, I know that I can't go. There are people who care about me, who love me.
YOU ARE READING
The Tributes of Twelve | Newt x Reader
Fanfiction(y/n) (y/l/n). A girl from the Seam in District Twelve. She lives under the control of the Capitol with her father and younger brother Chuck. She has avoided the Hunger Games her entire life and has instead focused on putting food on her family's ta...
