" 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔳𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔱 𝔞 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔠𝔢 "
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
With a mind burdened by her own actions,
Rowan Everdeen must return to her home
district, and face her loved ones. But around
her, a...
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" there's a big storm coming "
rowan's view
𝕴n my dreams, I was a merchant of death.
I traveled to the doors of those whose lives I stole, informing their families of every detail of their deaths, and watched as they cried, screamed, and slowly died too.
When I woke, I was much worse.
A coward, incapable of facing the people I care about most. The bed I had woken in for the past few days was not my own, but rather that of Haymitch's guest room. Haymitch had proven himself to be a very effective guard dog, keeping any and all visitors away. I had no desire to see Katniss, Prim, or Cato (and Gale, though he didn't even bother to visit once). I couldn't bear to lie to them about the truth of Snow's visit, nor could I face telling them, and so the simplest solution seemed to be avoidance.
After all, I didn't have to avoid them for very long. The victory tour was set to start later this very afternoon, and after only a few days of hiding out, I felt relatively successful in my efforts. I had garnered enough time to craft the right lie for my little sister, and my vacant mother, though Katniss presented more of a challenge.
The most difficult person to avoid had been Cato, who was remarkably persistent. In fact, I hadn't gotten much sleep at all last night, as the sound of Cato throwing rocks at Haymitch's house was quite hard to ignore, particularly knowing I would have to face him the next day anyways.
I nearly ripped the window off its hinges as I pulled it open, the night breeze making tears jump to my eyes before I could attempt to see what was causing the infernal tapping outside, the cause of my lack of sleep deep into the hours of the night.
"What the fuck!" I shouted when my eyes landed on none other than Cato, standing directly below my window with a hand of moderately sized rocks and a mildly surprised look on his face.
It only took a second for his expression to morph into one of stark, frankly terrifying, anger. "What the fuck to you too!" he yelled, loud enough that I would be surprised if Haymitch heard nothing. I winced, feeling some of my initial anger fade.
"It's the middle of the night, Cato!" I exclaimed, grasping onto the only straw I had.
"I'm aware of that," Cato growled, throwing the rocks to the ground and stepping forward. "You don't think I know that?! Apparently, it's the only way I can get you to talk to me!"
His words hung in the air for a moment, and I ran my hands across my face, removing the sleep from my eyes and pushing my tangled hair back. "Look, Cato-"
"Don't bother saying I'm sorry, I know you don't mean it," Cato snapped, "and I don't care. I don't need you to be sorry, I need you to be okay."
