Chapter 8
I'm standing in my bedroom staring at all my belongings, wondering what to take with me. I'm not an overly sentimental person, but I'm also not sure when I'll be back, so I want to make sure I have everything I need.
I pack a few clothes, knowing I'll get whatever custom cadet uniforms they have once I arrive. I pack a few of my favorite books.
Willow comes into the room holding one of the only picture that we own and shoves it in with my belongings.
"Will, I can't take that. We don't have another one."
Willow shakes her hand at me, not even bothering to look up, and flops down on her bed.
"We'll get another one done when you're out. For now, I want you to have something to remind you of us."
She shrugs like this isn't a big deal, but pictures cost a fortune and the likelihood of being able to afford another is zero.
I don't want to take it in case I don't come back and it gets lost in the shuffle, but I also know my stubborn sister has made up her mind.
Picking my battles right now will get me further than arguing over everything before I leave.
"Have you talked to Deacon yet?" Willow asks without making eye contact, face scrunching up at the uncomfortable topic.
I stiffen. I had tried to catch up with him after he'd stormed out of the diner, but I was no match for his long legs, the dust clouds ramping up made it impossible to see, and a girl can only be blasted in the face so many times before she gives up.
If he doesn't want to say goodbye to me and let me explain, that's his choice.
"I have not. Although he knows I'm leaving."
Willow taps her lips with her pen thoughtfully.
"I'm sure he'll come by before you leave."
I shrug.
I had already decided to write him a letter and leave it with Linden, explaining everything. It would be easier than trying to track him down. I don't want to spend my last night fighting with everyone. Instead, I would spend the evening writing lists.
Lists for bills to pay, how to fix certain things should they break on the house, lists for people to contact if either of them gets into trouble.
I'll write down everything I can think of in case I don't come back.
I fight tears at the thought, but I don't have the luxury of being anything but practical right now.
I think bitterly how lovely these types of instructions would've been from my parents.
Maybe then I'd have known who to pay for what instead of running out of everything the first couple months our dad was gone.
But I'd give Linden and Willow a leg up wherever I could.
Later that evening, with everyone else in bed, I sit staring at the fire, my eyes tired.
The wood pops and crackles, and I take a slow steady breath to try and ebb the worry filling me up.
Worry they won't be able to get enough firewood.
Right now it's accessible, with all the dead trees, but what about later?
Months from now? Things change fast here.
A soft knock at the door wakes me up, and I know exactly who it is before it even opens.
Deacon steps in, shaking off the dust, and shucks his coat and boots at the door. He stands there awkwardly, emotion fleeting across his handsome face.
I stay on the couch, unwilling to leave my cocoon of warmth, the fire barely embers now and leaving the room in shadows. A few moments pass in silence before Deacon breaks it with a simple, "Why?"
I give him a soft smile.
"The Council is making cutbacks. They are tripling the cost of Willow's medication along with a bunch of other things." I sit up now, the wool blankets falling around me as I whisper. "We are barely surviving, Deacon."
He looks panicked, and he goes to say something. I know he's about to offer me a bunch of half-baked solutions. I lift my hand to silence him.
"Do you not think I have thought of every alternative? You know me. I have worked through every possibility already. This idea was already in place long ago when I realized I'd have to work the Games in the beginning." I try to say it softly, but it comes out strained.
"You could have come to me. I would have helped you figure out another way. We could have asked my family or seen if there was someone in The Centre we could talk to. You didn't even bother," his voice choppy and his eyebrows pinching as he speaks.
I cock my head slightly.
"Why? Because your family gets a few extra privileges, you think you can persuade the Council to break protocol and pay for your friend's medication?
The world doesn't work like that, not even for you––and definitely not for us.
You have issues when I ask for anything extra from the yard because of how dangerous it is. You think I'd let you do this?"
I can't help the irritation dripping from my words.
"We could have at least tried something, Maple. You could have asked for help."
He comes and sits across from me on the worn coffee table, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in frustration.
"This isn't about you, Deacon. You can sit here and argue with me, or you can accept that life is shit sometimes. Be my friend... just support me and trust I know what I'm doing."
I look at him in question. His face softens, and he gets up and sits beside me, pulling me in for a hug. I melt into his embrace. Deacon buries his face in my neck and smothers himself in my hair, inhaling deeply.
"I can't lose you," he whispers against me. "You're my person Mae, my favourite person."
He chokes the last words out like he's trying not to cry. I lean into him more, needing to comfort him, my tension leaving at his confession.
"You won't lose me. I'm like a cockroach. Impossible to kill." He squeezes me tighter, not letting my attempt at humor lighten the mood.
His hands move slowly down my body, grabbing my thighs roughly. He spins, so he's sitting back against the couch and moves me so I'm straddling him. I pause.
This is new.
Heat pools in my belly where our bodies connect, despite my confusion. He leans forward, our foreheads touching and breath mingling, his hands staying firmly on my thighs.
"You don't get it," he says, shaking his head slightly.
"What do you mean?" My voice comes out breathy, surprising me.
We have never crossed this line. We've come close a few times.
A few lingering touches, heated stares, and nights where we passed out talking and woke up with entwined limbs, but it never felt like this.
Almost desperate. His jaw clenches. His hands tightening where he holds me in place.
I pull back slightly, eying him in question.
"Say you won't leave..." he breathes out in a plea. His steady brown eyes demanding a response.
I'm caught, not fully wanting to give in to this moment, but unwilling to end it, either.
Slowly, my hands come up to his strong shoulders and I marvel at the hard muscle there.
I remember when he was all awkward limbs.
How much has he changed since then? I'm still frozen, unable to give him what he wants, which is for me to tell him I'll stay, I'll try for him.
I can't give him that though, and recognition floats across his face with my silence. He blinks slowly as pain slices through his eyes, and my hands wander slowly up his neck, into his hair as I hold his face gently.
"I'll come back."
It's all I can give him. A half promise I'm not sure I can keep, but it's something. His eyes dart down to my lips. Hunger replaces the pain in his eyes, and suddenly his mouth is on mine.
I gasp, unable to stop the shock as he presses into me for more. The familiarity of him washes over me as my hands slowly roam back up through his hair, pulling him closer, sinking into his warmth.
This connection feels familiar and new all at once, and I float into it as all my muscles relax.
His hands drift up as the kiss deepens. I arch my back slightly as his rough hands glide up, pulling a deep rumble from him.
The sound does something to me, and I open my mouth for him, our tongues colliding.
His hands are underneath my shirt now, and there's both caution and desperation in his touch. I'm surprised by how natural this feels. Like we were one step away the whole time. My body grinds against him on instinct, his arousal clear, and I revel in the way his body shudders at my movements.
He seems as affected by me as I am by him, and I can't help but be surprised.
This is Deacon. My Deacon. But he's never seemed to want me in this way before.
Or maybe he has and just never acted on it.
In the back of my brain a little voice keeps asking, why now?
But I ignore it in favour of exploring whatever feeling this is.
Our movements and kisses become more fevered. I move against him, loving the sounds I pull from his throat. I start to take off his shirt, wanting less between us when he pulls back and catches my hands with his own.
"Maple, wait," he says breathlessly, holding me in place. I look at him in question.
Hesitation ripples through his features, and suddenly I'm horrified that maybe I've gotten carried away. He didn't want me like that. I pull away, rolling off him as fast as I can. He catches me though, knowing exactly where my mind has gone.
"Trust me, it's not what you're thinking. I just.... I'm sorry, I can't right now." He looks at me guiltily. For what, I'm not sure, but he's hoping I'll understand.
And truthfully, I don't. I know then that I didn't imagine the heat between us, but I also have no clue why he would snuff it out so thoroughly. Maybe he was feeling what I was feeling, just less of it, which is just as embarrassing.