The Tributes of Twelve | Newt x Reader

30 | Alternate Ending Part 5

This morning, it's not the scent of mint tea, or even sunlight that wakes me up. In fact, this morning I'm awake before both the sun and Newt are. No, this morning, it's a blast of a cannon that wakes me up.

Miraculously, Newt sleeps through it, which leaves me to wonder who's life just ended.

Frypan from Five, or Aris from Ten?

I try to remember as much about each of them as I can. Frypan was always kind, a little sarcastic, though not as much as Minho, and seemed to enjoy cooking - at least, that was what he did in his training. Aris was different; he was a little younger, quieter, shyer, spent time crawling around the Training Centre during training.

I wonder which one we'll have to kill.

I snuggle closer into Newt, careful not to wake him up, and try to soak up as much of his warmth as I can. I stay in this position for a long time, until I finally rub my eyes and stretch out, laying the blanket back over Newt as I head over to the waterfall and take a large gulp of water. I wipe my lips with my sleeve as I grab the rest of the clover and dandelion mixture that Newt has laid out for us as breakfast this morning. I take a bottle, top it up with water and throw some mint leaves inside to heat over the fire, which I light with a match from the dwindling supply.

I try to throw myself into my work to ignore the fact that soon, Newt and I are going to have another kill on our hands. Harriet, Gally, Ben - will it ever stop? Are Newt and I ever going to be truly safe?

This leads me onto thinking about life back in District Twelve, if we do get there. I'm sure I'll live in a house with my father and Chuck in Victor's Village, along with Newt's family, for the next few years or so, at least. Minho, only a year older than the two of us, lives alone in his house. I have no idea what happened to his family, if they're even alive anymore. A surge of pity runs through me for Minho, the only victor from District Twelve, and even if Newt and I make it home, there'll be a grand total of three.

I sit down on the cold stone ground and draw my knees to my chest, stroking Newt's blond hair. What will happen to Newt and I once we go back? I don't know if I'll ever be able to bring Newt's children into the world, marry the boy I love - not because I don't want to; that's not an issue, but because I'm not sure if Newt will. Will he love me in that way after the Games are over?

Will I ever marry Newt? It goes without saying that it'd be the future that I want, but is it realistic? Will he still want me in the same way I want him, or will he forget the week we're sharing now?

I'm just a broken girl, a murderous girl, not the heroine he deserves.

Third Person POV

The girl strokes the boy's hair. Unbeknownst to her, he's awake, and every small touch sends a jolt of electricity down Newt's spine. He wants her to talk to him, tell him her problems so he can help her. But the girl's just sitting by him, letting her thoughts run wild through her head.

He knows she's thinking about something that worries her; Newt can tell through the tensed gestures and sharp breathing. He would talk to her, comfort her, but the same plague of self-doubt that captures her has ensnared him, too.

Is she in love with him the same way he's in love with her? He desperately wants her to be, but he can't believe it.

He's just a boy with a limp that serves as a painful reminder of the past that he tries so hard to ignore. But it's hard, so hard, to be strong when no one seems to understand. No one except her.

Her smile, her laugh, her e/c eyes. She's told him she loves him, but does she truly love Newt the same way he does her? Will she forget about him in the future, marry another man, bear that man's children?