Triple Crown

More added.

“Luke, I have to fix you up so you don’t die, but then,” I tell him, uncomfortably reminded that that’s the same thing I told Jackson after rescuing him from his attempted execution.
Luke looks slightly more happy, and I turn back to his injury to be struck by its severity again. It’s a gaping, clearly infected slash that’s inflamed and red, with pus oozing steadily from it but, thank God, doesn’t have any signs of blood poisoning or anything more serious than the infection. Taking the golden top shirt of mine that’s laying off to the side, I rip a clean strip off, run to the cave entrance to stick the cloth out in the rain, then return to Luke to dab at his gash with the wet cloth. I then set the cloth down to the side and am about to go back out into the rain to find more of the healing plant when suddenly something wet gets pressed into my right hand, and I turn to see Winston nosing me with more of the healing plant in his jaws. Wordlessly taking the leaves and stalks from him, I turn back to Luke, shred up the plant matter and squeeze out the juice onto Luke’s wound to have him sigh in relief. Almost immediately, the pus begins to pour out of his wound, and it’s my turn to breathe deeply in comfort, because I know that means that his body’s reacting to the plant’s medicine and is flushing the toxins out. Looking around for something that could be used to catch the pus, my gaze falls on one of the packs, the one that’s empty after being used to hold the land mines, and drag it over to sit it right in the path of the pus streaming down his side. The inside and outside of the pack is completely lined with a waterproof coating, so cleaning it by setting it out in the rain or finding running water to rinse it in should be easy. I then lay the rest of the plant materials on Luke’s wound to let more of the extract seep into his skin, and am about to get a drink of water and some food myself when he speaks.
“Why do you care so much?” Luke asks me suddenly, startling me and causing me to look down at him in surprise to see him staring up at me with those incredible ice-blue eyes covered with a haze of pain. When I look down at him in confusion, he adds, the effort of talking clearly draining him, “Why do you care about keeping me alive so much? One or both of us are going to die in the end, and it would be easier for you to just put me out of my misery, so why are you doing this?”
Opening my mouth to answer, I freeze when I realize that I don’t know why I’m doing all of this. I could kill him, like he said, which would be easier on both of us, because then he wouldn’t have to be in pain any longer and I wouldn’t have to waste my supplies on keeping him alive, but I can’t kill him. Me killing or leaving him would most certainly make the fans in El Nieve hate me, but I don’t think this is about acting anymore, and I don’t think this is solely about not being able to go home without him either. As all of the kisses we’ve shared run through my head, the ones that made me feel something lingering in my mind, and I think about how my mood is made so much lighter by just seeing him and being around him, I realize that I’m not acting anymore.
“Because I love you,” I murmur in reply, looking down at the boy threatening to die before me and knowing, in the bottom of my heart, that it’s true, at least to a larger extent than it was a while ago. “I love you,” I repeat, more for my sake than for his, realizing the impact those three words are going to have on my life. For a moment, my mind wanders onto thoughts of Jackson, but I quickly force myself not to think of him, because I know that I’ll only hurt myself even more by doing so.
Something in Luke’s eyes changes, and I think he recognizes that I’m not acting anymore, because he tells me quietly, meeting my gaze with his own unwaveringly, “Te amo siempre, Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning.” After a few moments of silence have passed between us, he questions, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth, “Do I get to hold you now?”
“Can I get a drink of water first?” I ask him, my eyes darting to the open jug and back again, and, like I knew he would, he concedes.
“All right. Just come right back,” he tells me, his smile getting playful and his ice-blue eyes twinkling as he watches me. I’m greatly relieved that Luke is feeling so much better, but I still know that he could very well die if the infection in his wound doesn’t go away.
After taking a few long swallows of water and one vitamin pill and quickly eating a strip of tasteless jerky and a few strips of not-so-tasteless dried fruit, I cross back over to where Luke lays, pull our soaking wet clothes over to find that they have dried some, help Luke slip one arm into my waterproof jacket, not covering the other side of his torso to let his wound continue to drain and air out, and settle down against him, resting my head on his shoulder and feeling his arm tighten around me.
I’m startled out of my thoughts of Luke dying interspersed with warnings to myself that I shouldn’t think about things like that because they could very well come true by Luke saying, attempting to sound disappointed but only sounding in pain, “Oh, come on, this is all I get? Just you sitting next to me? To make it worth it, you have to sit on my lap.” He then shifts some to give me room to sit on his lap, and looks at me expectantly, a hopeful and teasing grin illuminating his face.
After giving him a mock look of exasperation accompanied by a roll of my eyes, I move over to sit myself gently on Luke’s lap, being very careful not to bump him but getting the feeling that I’m causing him pain anyways.
However, Luke doesn’t give any indication that he’s in pain and instead wraps his arms around me and murmurs in my ear, his lips tickling my neck, “You know, Lizzie, I want to have kids some day, and I want you to be their mother, so I was wondering what we should name them.”
At his comment, my heart freezes and shrivels up. I don’t want to think about having kids, because, even though I do love kids and desperately want to have some of my own some day, I know that any child of mine would constantly be in danger since I’m so infamous, and I don’t think I could do that to my children. I’m also too skinny to have children; at five-eleven, one-fifty, nie percent body fat, I physically could not get pregnant unless I put on more weight, and I have no intention of willingly changing my physique any time in the semi-distant future, because I know that, if I were to put on more weight, I wouldn’t be as agile and limber when it came to combat.
But I know that I can’t let any of my thoughts or true feelings show, since that’s not what the audience in El Nieve wants to see, so instead I give him my best fake smile and tell him, partially truthfully, “Well, I like the names James and John as middle names for a boy, but I don’t know what we’d do about first names. If it was a boy, maybe Thomas, after my dad, since God knows my dad’s a great enough guy to have a kid named after him. Besides, then we could call him Tommy, and I think I’d like that.” For a few milliseconds, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like, to settle down and have kids and not have to worry about my and my loved one’s safety constantly. The reality that I don’t know if I want Luke to be the father of my never-going-to-exist children and that I could never have kids and that I will always have to worry about my and my loved one’s safety then comes flooding in and ruins my little fantasy, but for a few moments, a few shining moments, I could see it: myself, perfectly happy, with a perfect life and perfect husband and perfect kids and a quaint little house on lots of land and Gwillan and Gruffen, retired successful NFL players, coming by to visit their nieces and nephews often, and Timmy in college and playing ball and winning a Heisman or two. And, yet again, it all comes down to me wanting to go home.
“Thomas John Gates,” he says out loud, seeming to be considering the name, and I adjust myself so I can see his face. “I like it,” he agrees finally, giving me a smile. “But it doesn’t matter what we name our kids, as long as we have them.” I feel my heart free fall out of my body onto the cold stone floor, but I force myself to give him my best fake grin that I hope makes it look like I agree.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Luke exclaims suddenly after a few moments of silence have passed between us, moving a little so he can almost face me. “I haven’t gotten a real one of these yet,” he murmurs before kissing me gently, almost weakly, and, even though I know it will hurt him emotionally, I push him off of me and raise myself off of him to stand above him with him staring up at me in confusion.
“Luke, you need to save your energy,” I tell him when I see his hurt expression. “Besides, I need to go check on Winston.” Winston’s ears perk up at my mention of his name, and he looks at me quizzically for a few seconds before understanding that I want to get out and leaping to his feet to clamber out of the cave.
Following after Winston and forcing myself to ignore Luke’s eyes on me the whole time, I climb out into the pouring rain and take few deep breaths so I don’t so something stupid, like cry. Collapsing against a tree trunk, I’m grateful when Winston sits down next to me and nuzzles my cheek gently and affixes me with a beautiful, compassionate amber gaze.
“What do I tell him, Winston? I physically and mentally can’t have kids.” Pausing for a moment and painfully aware of the fact that I’m being recorded for everyone to hear, I shake my head slightly and a grimace of distaste crosses my face at the fact that there is no privacy anymore, then make myself go on, since I know that it’s better share it with the world than keep it locked inside of me.
“It’s not that I don’t want them; in fact, there’s almost nothing in the world I want more, but I couldn’t bring kids into the world to have them constantly fearing for their lives because of my infamy and all of the enemies I’ve made. And, of course, there’s also the Triple Crown, and I couldn’t risk having them being forced to compete. It just wouldn’t be fair for the kids for me to have them.” Shaking my head, I add after a few seconds of quiet, “Of course, I’m too skinny to have them right now anyways, and I don’t intend to put on weight any time in partly-distant future, so I guess I have a pre-made excuse.” Smiling bitterly and shaking my head again, I give a deep sigh and wrap my arms around Winston, clinging to him desperately and wishing he could save me from this capsizing ship that is my life.
“Murr,” he rumbles sympathetically, resting his head on my shoulder and staring up at me in understanding. He gives me a gentle lick on the cheek and lays down to set his head in my lap, his gaze on me the whole time.
“You know, Winston, it’s really a shame that you can’t talk,” I tell him as I stroke his head and look down at him with a small, sad grin on my face. “I really could use your wisdom right now.” Instead of rumbling at me again, however, he just noses my hand and looks at the cave entrance and then at me expectantly, clearly wanting me go back to Luke, which I really don’t want to do.
“Winston, I can’t face him right now. I need some alone time, I really do,” I murmur, hearing the desperate tone in my voice and almost laughing a fake laugh out loud at the fact that I’m pleading with a cat.
However, when he refuses to stop nosing me and giving me looks, I sigh and rise to my feet to enter the cave again to find Luke dabbing at his wound, which looks infinitely better now, with the same strip I used to clean it up earlier.
Giving him a smile, I ask him, very surprised and very pleased by his already-increased energy, “You feeling better?”
“Lots,” he answers, returning my smile, but all trace of a grin falls off of his face when he sees the black and blue bruises covering my stomach, which he hadn’t noticed up until now because he was in too much discomfort too. “What in the hell happened to you?” he exclaims, a shocked and worried expression convering his face.
“I nearly blew myself up with homemade hand grenades,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders, and when he looks even more horrified, I add, not knowing why he’s so horrified when he lay dying for a few days, “I said nearly. I didn’t actually blow myself up.”
“Please tell me it was for a good reason,” he almost begs of me, and I can’t help but laugh at the still-mortified expression on his face. “I just don’t want to think you got those for nothing,” he finishes, gesturing to the bruises on my abdomen.
After taking a few moments to stop giggling, I tell him, “I blew the careers’ supplies up too, so yes, I did accomplish something by nearly killing myself.” I see Luke’s expression lighten some, and I shake my head as my grin gets bigger. Well, I guess that me actually getting something done by almost dying, considering that I put myself in mortal peril a lot, is much better than the norm of me nearly dying for nothing.
“Well, that’s good,” Luke murmurs, my grin becoming infectious and spreading from ear to ear on his face too. After a couple seconds of very awkward silence have passed between us, Luke pipes up and asks, “How on earth did you make homemade hand grenades? Did you find some explosive plant or figure out how to mix plant extracts so they would blow up on contact?”
“Well, I guess they weren’t really homemade hand grenades per say, since I dug land mines attached to our ankle cuffs out of the ground and loosened the cuffs enough so that the mines would explode on contact with anything, but they definitely weren’t intended to be hand grenades,” I explain to see Luke staring at me in confusion. Before he can ask the inevitable question, “How did you figure out there were land mines attached to the hand grenades?” I hold my hand up and answer in advance, “One night, on the victory tour, Max got really drunk and leaked that there were land mines that they never deactivated attached to all of our ankle cuffs near the giving hands, and I remembered that.” Shrugging again, I take a few steps towards Luke to push him back against the rock he’s supposed to be leaning on but is currently sitting up and away from. “How many times do I have to tell you to conserve your energy?” I ask him, fully aware of the fact that I probably sound like a preschool teacher or his mother, but I don’t care. Luke needs to get it into his thick head that he’s not helping himself by insisting on moving and talking and wasting energy he can’t afford to waste.
“I’ll stop moving if you do,” he shoots back, looking up at me defiantly and seeming very much like a preschooler himself. When I don’t budge, even when he gives me his best puppy dog eyes, he pleads, “Come on Lizzie, please. I want you to keep me warm.” He then fakes shivering, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes at him, half-jokingly and half-not, and settle down next to him to rest my head on his shoulder and sigh deeply, allowing myself to admit that I’m enjoying the physical contact. That’s one of the many great things about Luke: he definitely isn’t bad to look at or to snuggle with. Despite the fact that his incredibly muscular upper body – I can’t help but sneak a few looks, since I know he’s sneaking a few looks at me – speaks to the fact that he’s a lot stronger than I am when he’s not injured, he’s always gentle and even hesitant when it comes to physical contact, which is a lot better than Jackson and his numerous non-consensual contact attempts. Luke is also, if I do say so myself, very attractive, with his fluffy blonde hair a few shades lighter than my eyes, his stunning ice-blue eyes and his amazing smile.
Hearing a throat being cleared, I snap out of my thoughts to see Luke giving me an almost incredulous look, and I know exactly why. Sighing for effect, I am about to scoot myself over onto his lap when suddenly he scoops me up into his arms and sets me down gently on top of him, which I find downright amazing.
“That’s amazing,” I murmur to myself as I wiggle around a little to get comfortable and Luke’s arms wrap their way around me and clutch me to him. I then lean back to stare him directly in the eye, feeling, for once in this Triple Crown, completely content.
“What’s amazing?” he questions quietly in return, raising a hand to gently caress the side of my face and giving me a warm smile. Without waiting for my answer, he begins to kiss my neck, and I’m tempted to push him off of me, since I find it very distracting.
“That you’ve recovered enough in such a short period of time to be able to lift me,” I tell him, shivers running up and down my body and goosebumps raising on my arms as his lips tickle a particulary sensitive spot on my neck. However, I almost immediately curse myself for my stupidity, since, as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know exactly why Luke’s recovered so quickly. I’ve been drawing energy from the storm and its electricity, and have been unconsciously transferring this energy to Luke, like I did on the rooftop the night before One-Person started.
Luke stops for a moment, removing his lips from my neck, to consider it, and finally agrees, “Yeah, that is odd.” However, he then adds, and all of my fears about him having lingering suspicions are quelled, “Let’s just consider it a miracle, and make the most of it.” He returns to kissing my neck slowly and deliberately, and, deciding that I have nothing to lose that I haven’t lost a long time ago, give it up, close my eyes and just let myself relax and enjoy his company and his touch.
“Did you know, Lizzie, that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?” Luke murmurs in my ear as he holds me against him even harder, and I can’t help but smile. For a moment the thought flits across my mind that I shouldn’t be this happy with him complementing me, since I don’t love him as much as he loves me, but I brush it away and tell myself that I do love him, at least to an extent, so I don’t have as much to feel bad about anymore.
“Did you know, Luke, that you are the sweetest guy I’ve ever met?” I question him in return, turning my head to kiss him gently on the forehead and resting my head against his for a moment before pulling back to close my eyes and lean against him again.
“Did you know, Lizzie, that I don’t even know your birthday, so I don’t when I should get you gifts, or throw you a party, or tell you I love you more than I already do?” I open my eyes to find him looking up at me expectantly, pulling back from kissing me on the neck and cheek for a moment.
“February thirteenth, and I turned seventeen four and a half months ago. Did you know, Luke, that I don’t even know your birthday, so I don’t know when to give you more crap or when to try to punch you in the nose again?” I hear him laugh into my neck, and I can’t help but giggle myself because he tickled me, and, when I realize that I really should make him want to tell me his birthday, add, “Well, and kiss you more than I already do.”
At the last comment, Luke obviously perks up some and pulls away to tell me, almost eagerly, “June thirteenth, and I turn seventeen… well, I don’t when I turn seventeen.”
A confused expression expression takes over Luke’s face as he realizes he doesn’t really know how old he is, and a somber silence then falls over us. However, I use the time to calculate when exactly he turns seventeen, and, after about two seconds, as my mind works at about two and half times the speed of the average human mind, I say, quickly checking my math and finding that I’ve done it right, like I always do, “Luke, you turn seventeen in five days, if I’ve done my math right.”
“That means that I’ll get to marry you for a late birthday present. Man, I am one lucky guy,” he murmurs in my ear, and, despite the fact that I really don’t want to agree with him, that I really just want to forget that I’m supposed to be hopelessly in love with him when I love him a fraction of that, I force myself to tell him, accompanied with my best fake smile, “I think I’m the lucky one.”
He then kisses me on the lips lightly, and I make myself swallow and kiss him back, all of a sudden painfully reminded of Jackson. I can’t think about Jackson right now though; my heart is getting pulled out of my chest enough by Luke already, so I make myself act like I’m enjoying the kiss for the sake of the crowd and for Max’s sake. After all, I’ve probably already turned some spectators by kissing Marshall and admitting that I don’t want kids, so I have to do everything I can from here on out to repair the audience’s opinion of me and make up for my earlier blunders. Still, I can’t help but feel bad that I have to act, even now, and desperately wish that all of this could be real, that I could feel the same way about Luke that he does about me, that I could be completely sincere and not have to know that I’m fooling Luke as well as El Nieve. In fact, I think there may be only two or three people watching right now that I’m not fooling.
One of them is Max, since he put me up to all of this to begin with, and, while he may suspect I feel something for Luke, he knows I don’t mean everything I say to him. The second one is Rush, as I have a feeling that no amount of acting will actually convince him and that the only way he would believe me would be if I actually were completely and hopelessly in love with Luke. The third one that I’m not so sure about is Jackson, because I don’t know what he’ll believe and what he won’t. He may make himself believe that everything I say is me acting, even the part about telling Luke that I love him, or he might believe that everything I say is real, and that I’m not acting at all, and get even angrier with me than he was on the rooftop the night before One-Person started – was that really only three nights ago? – or, even though it’s highly unlikely, he might actually be able to tell when I’m acting and when I’m not, which might almost be worse than having him believe everything I say is real, because then he’d know I’m deceiving Luke as well as everyone watching.
I don’t know which one I’d rather have him think. If he believes that everything I say is a lie, that I don’t love Luke at all, then he won’t be angry with me right now, but he’ll be incredibly angry with me when he finds out that it isn’t all a lie. If he thinks everything I say is real, that I’m not acting at all, that I love Luke completely with all of my heart, he’ll be incredibly angry with me for betraying him again, and there might not be a Max around to save me this time. If he actually is able to differentiate from when I’m acting and from when I’m not, which I don’t think he will, he will be also be incredibly angry with me for loving Luke some, but he also might feel vindicated by knowing that I don’t have to act with him, that I love him more than I love Luke. Of course, he also could be even angrier at me for faking Luke out as well as everyone else watching, so I guess none of those options is very appealing in terms of Jackson’s reaction.
All of a sudden, I am jerked out of my depressing thoughts by an agonizing scraping sound very similar to fingernails on a chalkboard, and, feeling Luke pull away and clapping my hands over my incredibly sensitive ears and gritting my teeth as tears come to my eyes, I look around to see the stone ground in front of us sliding away to reveal a large basket that, based on the smells coming from it, is filled with food, and the presentation is complete with silverware, china plates and cloth napkins and is even spread out on a decorative tablecloth. The intoxicating smell of fresh, excellent cooking fills my nose, and, leaping off of Luke, carefully drag the tablecloth topped with the basket, silverware and napkins towards him to have the stone cave floor close itself up again with the same horrible noise. After covering my ears a second time, I finish pulling the feast towards Luke and settle down next to him, opening the basket to find a mountain of hot rolls, four whole roasted paoton wrapped in fern leaves to keep them warm, six dishes of steamed vegetables and a selection of about five different kinds of fruit, all of which I’ve never seen before but am very eager to try. I then hear the clicking of toenails on rock and look up to find Winston sitting just inside the entrance of the cave, his eyes glued to the food as he licks his chops. Smiling, I toss him a roll and part of a paoton, thinking that, with the wordless advice he’s given me recently, he definitely deserves them.
However, even as I am helping myself to paoton, two rolls, a heaping pile of greens and a fruit that appears to be an orange-colored plum, I can’t help but wonder what on earth Luke and I did to convince Max and the betters to send us something this expensive and extravagant. The betters and Max sent me the suit because they wanted me to survive, which I understand perfectly, but they know that I can hunt and gather well enough to support Luke and I for a while, so what made them send us all of this? But then it hits me: my comment about me being the lucky one most likely moved them enough to chip in money to make sure that we wouldn’t go without so our romance could continue, and I know what I have to do. To keep us alive, to make sure that we stay in the audience’s good graces and keep them dipping into their pocketbooks for us, I have to keep on acting and coming up with things like that. Besides, even if the betters did want to send us something, Max probably wouldn’t let them if I wasn’t acting like he wanted me to or as well as he thought I could, considering that he set me up to this in the first place and knows that I know Luke’s and my survival could depend on the goodwill of the people I’m fooling with my acting.
Sighing despite myself, I look over to find Luke feeding himself with difficulty, and can’t help but smile as he accidentally drops his fork and a piece of paoton in his lap because his hand is too shaky to hold the fork still long enough for him to eat. “Luke, you’re still hurt. Let me,” I tell him, and, without waiting for an answer, pick the fork up to feed him the paoton slowly and carefully, making sure that he doesn’t drop it again.
“Thank you,” he tells me after he finishes chewing, giving me a beaming white smile and reaching a wavering hand up to gently touch the side of my face. His eyes drop down to my exposed stomach for a moment before darting back up, but, despite the sneakiness of his look, I can’t help but notice and begin to laugh out loud. When he realizes what I’m laughing about, he mutters apologetically, averting his eyes to the ground, “Sorry.” After a second of silence, he adds, looking back up at me, “I’m just marveling at the fact that you’re not cold when you’re in a sports bra and skintight, thin black pants.” When I give him a skeptical look, partially because I know that’s not the only reason and because I desperately want to avoid me not being cold because it’s related to me being a wolf, he finally concedes, “Well, and I’m admiring your eight-pack and tan.”

More added.

Glancing down at myself for a moment, my eyes fall onto his exposed torso and onto his eight-pack, much better than mine, and I say to him, catching his gaze with mine, “You’re one to talk. How much did you bench as a max?” I know it’s somewhere in the three-fifties, three-sixties, but I can’t remember exactly how much it is.
“Three-fifty-five,” he admits quietly, dropping his stare again in a humility that he doesn’t deserve to have, and I whistle softly through my teeth. However, instead of taking my compliment, he instead says, “But I know that’s nothing compared to the fact that you weigh fifty pounds less than I do and are benching three hundred. Besides, what’s Jackson benching? Somewhere near four hundred, right?”
“Luke, you can’t compare yourself to me because I’m a girl, and Jackson happens to be the number-one high school recruit in the country and has three inches and twenty pounds on you, so you can’t compare yourself to him either.” I smile slightly when I see Luke bow his head in capitulation, and, gently pulling his chin up so that I can look him in the eye, tell him at least partially sincerely, “I still find the fact that you’re incredibly strong very attractive,” to have him kiss me again, and this time me kissing him back isn’t as forced.
“I still don’t know how you’re not cold though,” he murmurs when he pulls back, taking the fork out of my hand and clearly attempting to feed himself again. As I curse him for being so damn stubborn and doing exactly the opposite of what I want him to do by bringing up the topic of me not getting cold again, I idly think that he might actually not need help eating this time. His hand has stopped shaking violently now and realize absentmindedly that I must have transferred more of the energy that I’m drawing from the storm into him.
“I just…” I begin, realizing that I have absolutely no explanation and deciding that I’m going to have to hope to dear God that Luke is still dazed enough to not really care, “don’t get cold.” Shrugging my shoulders and painfully aware of how lame an excuse that is, I allow myself to roll my eyes at myself before looking back at Luke.
Luke, thank God, just nods and says, “Well, that means I can snuggle with you if I get cold,” as he gives me an almost mischievous smile that would make Marshall Moore proud.
All of a sudden I can almost see Max in front of me and hear him telling me, “Go on, say it,” and, returning Luke’s grin with a fake one of my own, tell him, “You can snuggle with me any time,” and know that Max is happy with that, since I’m actually being a good girl and doing what he told me to for once.
“Well, I thought so, but I just wanted to make sure,” Luke replies, his smile getting even bigger and gently kisses me on the cheek before returning his attention to the plate of food resting on his thighs. I stare over at him for a few moments, wondering how on earth he had the misfortune to fall in love with me, since I can tell that he thinks I’m not acting and, in his daze of pain, has forgotten about the fact that I don’t love him as much as he loves me, before looking down at my own plate, and eat the rest of the food piled in front of me with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
No matter how much I don’t want to recognize it or admit it, the fact that I’m deceiving Luke as well as everyone else watching bothers me greatly, and I really wish that I could just tell him everything: about me knowing what Max wants me to do and say; about me acting and then, a second later, not acting and maybe not even being able to tell when I’m faking it or not; about me being an immortal and a shapeshifter who, in the greatest irony of them all, wants to die even though I can’t; about all of the horrors Jackson has experienced that make him as unstable as he is; and, above all, above everything, about how I actually feel about all of this, about the fact that I want to be able to tell him what I think but knowing that I can’t, because it’s not what Max and Rush and El Nieve want me to think. I want to be able to tell him when I’m faking and when I’m not, so that way I won’t be deceiving him, and I’ll know that he won’t actually believe I mean what I say, that I’m not just acting the way I am to survive. I wish that Luke and I could have met this intimately on different circumstances, by both of us agreeing to it, not by one of us professing his love for the other on national television and therefore creating the pressure to be in love, even if it is fake, for the sake of the camera.
And that’s when a disturbing thought occurs to me: somewhere in El Nieve, we are probably being sold. They are undoubtedly making souvenirs about us or relating to us: pictures, quotations, our outfits even. Hell, they most likely have already started selling CDs or tapes or whatever technology they use here of Hand-on-Hand so that way people who have no lives – most of El Nieve, in other words – can relive how we first ‘fell in love.’ You know, if people in El Nieve didn’t treat the Triple Crown as such a game, if they didn’t consider it quality entertainment, then there might not even be a Triple Crown in the first place, there would just be more, non-public oppression of the Sections. But, since the Triple Crown is such a popular entertainment event, a huge moneymaking opportunity and a way of shutting down any rebellion in the Sections, they would never stop it, not with its relevancy and marketability. A shot of pure rage at El Nieve floods my bloodstream and my hands curl into fists as I realize that Abby died for the sake of money and amusement, but, despite the fact that all I want to do right now is unleash the largest, most violent hurricane the world’s ever seen on El Nieve and watch in satisfaction as the scary-white city and its scary-white people are destroyed, I force myself to take a few deep breaths. Losing it right now and at least revealing myself to Luke, if not hurting or killing him, would definitely be counterproductive.
All of a sudden I’m aware of the lack of a sound, like when an air conditioner turns off or engine stops running, and look over at Luke to find him fast asleep, his empty plate still on his lap and his fork still clutched in his hand. Gently taking the dish and silverware away from him so I don’t wake him up and setting them over to the side, I adjust the jacket he’s wearing so most of his torso is covered and pick up the backpack into which his wound drained as well as a half-empty water jug quietly. Exiting the cave almost silently to have Winston, who I had almost forgotten about, follow me into the cool, incredibly humid night air, I glance around me with my very sharp eyes, much better than a human’s especially at night, and, when I see no danger, sniff the air inconspicously, trying not to give myself away to the Triple Crown committee. I roll my eyes at myself when all I smell is water, since the humidity makes it impossible to pinpoint a specific site with lots of water, then stop breathing for a moment to let my keen ears have a go at detecting running water. I sigh partially in relief and partially in exasperation when I hear the unmistakable rushing sound of a stream that is at least three miles away, and, knowing that I’m not going to get there any sooner by wishing it were closer, take off in the direction of the brook I detected with the backpack slung over one shoulder and the water jug in hand.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the creek, a decent-sized, fast-moving body of water with little to no debris or clouding. Taking the backpack off, rolling my pants up and wading into the at-least-sixty-degree water, I shove the pack under the surface, being careful to keep my hands away from where all of the pus drained into. An incredibly large amount of pus is quickly washed out of the pack under my satisfied gaze, and, after numerous inspections and rinsings, I’ve deemed the pack sanitary again. I then fill the water jug, which I had left on the shore of the stream, to the brim, add one drop of purifying chemicals, and am about to take off for the cave again when Puck’s booming voice interrupts me.
“There were no kills today, so your kill leader is still Lizzie Lightning, with eight kills-” – I sigh and roll my eyes, really wishing that they didn’t effectively paint a target on my back like that – “-but there is a very important annoucement you all should listen to.” Instantly I sit straight up. Puck’s tone is emphatic, like what he’s about to say might actually matter, and I wonder if the announcement is important or if they’ve just finally resorted to having Puck read aloud advertisements during the actual Triple Crown. “If one, two or three of your Section partners are still alive, you may team up with one of them, and you may both win One-Person Survival together. Good luck.”
It takes a few moments for the news to completely set it. When it does, I give Winston, who’s currently gnawing on the bones of a fish he recently caught and ate, a beaming smile. This means that I won’t have to kill Luke later, like I might have if the Triple Crown committee hadn’t changed the rules. It’s made all the more sweeter by the knowledge that Luke’s and my actions and the reactions they provoked out of spectators in El Nieve made the Triple Crown committee change the rules.
However, suddenly it occurs to me that there’s something off about this. The Triple Crown committee, with its incredibly strick adherance to tradition, wouldn’t actually change the rules that have worked for ninety-nine years. Then I realize that this is just them faking us out and making the most interesting Triple Crown. By having us believe that we can win and then changing the rules back at the last moment, they can make it incredibly interesting for the crowd, who would undoubtedly love to see team mates turn on team mates. It also will serve as a harsh reminder that we, as the Sections, are constantly at their mercy and would never be able to successfully rebel. Even as a wave of anger washes over me and makes my hands ball into fists, I know that I can’t let my revelation of the Triple Crown committee’s real motive show, so I take a few breaths to calm myself.
I can’t give anything away: not my real identity, not my real feelings, and certainly not my real thoughts. I have to keep everything guarded, because the only people that I can really trust to keep my secrets right now are myself and Jackson. Under torture, I have no doubt that, if Luke or Abby or Max were to actually know something about me, they would eventually break down and tell it. But Jackson and I wouldn’t do that; we’ve been through too many horrors together, been to hell and back too many times together, been protecting each other for so long that nothing could make us betray each other. Well, I take that back. Jackson might betray me if Alexa were going to die, but I don’t think anything could make me betray him. The thought that I might betray him if Luke were going to die flits across my mind for a moment, and I capture it to consider it carefully. Do I really care enough about Luke to betray a fellow immortal, who I love and trust and have sworn to protect till my last breath? Do I love Luke enough to forsake my honor and oaths and love for Jackson even?
The possibility that I might alarms me greatly, and I instantly make myself think about something different. I can’t dwell on this love triangle, because I will go insane without learning any answers if I do. Shaking my head, I look up to find Winston regarding me expectantly, and I know that it’s time to go back. I place the water jug in the newly-clean pack before slinging the pack over my shoulders, completely covering my tracks and taking off in the direction of the cave. As I run, I can’t help but think about what Luke’s reaction to the announcement will be. Undoubtedly he won’t recognize the deception, and will most likely just be happy, but that’s probably best. Sometimes – well, almost all of the time, when it comes to the Triple Crown – what you don’t know can most definitely hurt you, but being completely ignorant can also be completely blissful. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of being ignorant; I’m too preoccupied with the honor of being cherry-picked to win the Triple Crown to be ignorant.
Sighing, I wade back out of the water, roll my pants down, and take off in the direction of the cave again. I hear Winston running almost silently beside me to my left, and smile slightly after glancing over to find him with two fish clamped in his huge jaws. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Winston now. Even though he does take up some resources, I can justify his presence by his moral support and his hunting ability. Besides, he’s one of the few things keeping me sane in this place, and I think that I could very well come unhinged if Winston died on me somehow, so the food he takes up doesn’t matter as much in the long run.
It takes about fifteen minutes for us to get back to the cave. Turning to Winston and sighing, I ask him quietly, to avoid detection from Luke, “Well, shall we?”and gesture for him to enter. It’s not like I’m going first, since there’s a very high possibility Luke is awake and waiting for me.
Winston rolls his eyes at me but does disappear into the opening of the cave, and, bracing myself for Luke’s unknowing reaction, slide into the cave myself.
“Lizzie,” Luke greets, a beaming smile creeping across his face. He’s standing up, with one hand resting on Winston’s head for stability, and is attempting to take a few steps towards me, despite Winston rumbling in protest.
I close the gap between us and embrace Luke so he doesn’t fall on his face like he’s threatening to. I feel his arms lock around me as I look over his shoulder at the expanse of gray stone wall, and I can smell the hope and joy radiating off of him. Despite thinking that he should know that it’s all a ruse put in the place by the Triple Crown committee, I can’t bring myself to destroy his ideas that neither one of us has to die. I think that’d be unfair of me, to ruin his fleeting moment of happiness, so I just stand there and cling onto him as tightly as he’s clinging onto me.
“We don’t have to die Lizzie, we don’t have to die!” he whispers excitedly in my ear, pulling back to give me an ear-to-ear grin and a kiss. “We don’t have to die,” he repeats, less exuberant but still incredibly happy, as he looks into my eyes with a gentleness I’ve never know anyone else to have. “Now Jackson won’t have to see you get cut open or burnt alive or however you would have perished.” His voice falls slightly as he realizes the nature of Jackson’s and my relationship, and I feel my heart break into even more pieces. He then tells me, raising a hand to caress the side of my face, “And now I won’t have to lose it after seeing you die in front of me. Lizzie, I couldn’t bear that; I’d go crazy, haunted by the feeling that I should have done something, that somehow it’s all my fault, because I had promised you that I would be there, always, and then I wasn’t there, or at least I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to, and you died because of it. Lizzie, I don’t know if you wanted to do vows or anything for our wedding, but I can already tell you what mine would be: always.” Luke kisses me again, and I use it as an opportunity to hide the real tears that are trying to make their way down my face. And that’s when I feel it: the overtaking, all-consuming hunger for more, and I kiss him back, my arms locking around the back of his neck as he holds me to him even tighter.
When he pulls back, I wipe the wetness off of my cheeks with the back of my hand and look up at him for a moment. The realness of the situation then overtakes me, and I drop my gaze to shake my head and mutter, “God damn it, this is so confusing.”
Luke presses me to him, his arms locking around my back, and murmurs in my ear, “I know. But sometimes – well, almost all the time – the most important things are the most complicated.” Even though I don’t glance up at him, I can tell he’s smiling down at me, and I just cling to him even harder, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down, when a flood of hate and loathing washes over me.
I hate myself for knowing that I’m going to have to let go of him sometime soon, and, when I do, one of us is going to die. I hate the Triple Crown committee for being so sadistic that it’s not enough for them to tear apart families, they have to brutally tear apart relationships they made while having everyone else watch and revel in the destruction. I hate the people of El Nieve for being so blind to the awful things they witness and even endorse on television. I hate Puck for having his open but not doing anything to open anyone else’s. I hate Max for trying to keep me alive and wanting me to do what I’m supposed to and just win, without any care for any of the kids I’ll kill in the process. I hate Rush for proving to me by nearly killing Jackson that he can break me easily, that he and his carnations can and will stamp out any sparks they see. I hate Abby for being so perfectly cute and loveable and making me want to play the hero, making me feel like I owe it to her to save her, when I don’t owe her anything at all. I hate Jackson for burning with so much rage and hate for the world that it’s impossible for him not to rub off on me and change me and make me like him. And, most of all, I hate myself for ever thinking that I could be happy with Jackson, and I downright despise myself for loving Jackson even some, when Luke is clearly so much more deserving of my love.
I wish I didn’t have to act, that I could just tell Luke about all of my falsifications and beg his forgiveness for each one. I wish that I could forget everything that’s happened here and return home, andsee my family again, and go on living my life with no knowledge of El Nieve as anything but Spanish for the snow. I wish that I could forget Luke Gates as anything but a nice boy in my grade, and that I could date Jackson, and be able to really convince myself that I loved him, and maybe even have a fake happily ever after with him, because I think I’d rather pretend than face the truth. I wish that eveything that’s happened to me and Luke and Abby and Marshall and Max could have never happened, that the Triple Crown never existed, that El Nieve hadn’t been taking the lives of innocent children for the sake of twisted entertainment for ninety-nine years. I wish that the United States of America had never let itself get turned into El Tiempo, this twisted mix of 1984 and Fahrenheit 451. I wish that the people here still had a moral compass, a sense of right and wrong, and could understand that the Triple Crown and everything it’s doing and everything it represents is completely wrong.
But then I remember that these people are the Mildreds and the Mr. Parsons, not the Montags and Fabers and Winstons and Julias that Luke and I are. They will never wake up, they will never see the truth, because the emotions they should feel and the things they should do are so ground into them by their society that they could never defy such a large amount of pressure, even if they were conscious to begin with. But they aren’t conscious; they instinctively bury their true feelings and thoughts and their sense of right and wrong in the thrill of the Triple Crown, in the bloodlust that overtakes them when one champion kills another, in the entertainment that has come to rule their lives. All these people live for is the Triple Crown, so they are not really living at all. And, if they are always kept in the dark and never come to realize that they should be existing for so much more than just a murderous game, then they will never want to live for anything but the Triple Crown, they will never find out how awful it truly is, they will never really care about the thirty or thirty-one families that get their children’s bodies sent home to them in white coffins every year.
If the people in the Sections were like the people in El Nieve, as in unconscious, the Triple Crown would go on forever. But the people in the Sections are not like the proles from 1984, or the kids in the beetle who nearly run over Montag in Fahrenheit 451, because they are not unconscious. The people in the Sections are the ones who see their children die on national television not once, not twice, but three times in the course of three to four months. The people in the Sections know what it’s like to never have enough to eat because they always have to send their crop to El Nieve so the people there can have enough to eat. The people in the Sections know what it’s like to have everything they’ve ever cared about stripped away from them because someone in El Nieve wants it. The people in the Sections know what it’s like to fight in the Triple Crown and either die or be broken. The people in the Sections know what pure hatred feels like, because they feel nothing but that towards El Nieve.
If there is hope for this society, if there is hope for the future of this twisted United States of America, it lies in the people of the Sections. They are the Low, the beaten, the abused, the used, the cast-aside, the worn-out, so they would be determined to prevent another all-powerful High from coming in and taking control. The people in the Sections would know how to connect with and lead each other, and, above all, they would know how to make everyone happy, and prevent a horror like the Triple Crown from happening ever again. In many ways, the people in the Sections are far more intelligent than the people in El Nieve. While they may not have incredibly large vocabularies or have attended the best schools, they have far more common sense than anyone in El Nieve does. They are incredibly self-resourceful, take care of their own, and are concerend with the well-being of nearly everyone around them. The people in the Sections are far more human than the people in El Nieve are, because the people in the Sections have not forgotten how to feel, do not get pleasure out of watching innocent children getting butchered, would never believe any of the propaganda El Nieve spews out, have not lost their moral compasses in the bloodlust of seeing someone bleed out, will never forget that everyone is human and no one is worthless, and, above all, they will never let themselves slip into the state of unconsciousness everyone in El Nieve is currently in.
I am interrupted from my loathing of the world and the people in it – including myself – and my musings by Luke pulling back and looking down at me with a concerned expression in his eye. “Are you alright?” he asks me, like he always does, and I can’t help but smile. His tendencies, especially his gentleness and caring, always manifest themselves in some way or another eventually.
I feel the words, “I’m fine, Luke,” form on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say them. Since I might as well allow myself to be honest for once, I tell him truthfully, “I was just thinking that the Sections and El Nieve are kind of like a mix between the societies in 1984 and Fahrenheit 451.” Even though I know that no one in El Nieve will have any idea what I’m talking about, I still feel like I’m doing something dangerous, that I’ll get punished in the end. But, oh, right, I’ll get punished in the end anyways. “Most of the people in El Nieve – Mitchell and Max, and, I hate to say it, Rush excluded – are the Mildreds and the Mr. Parsons, knowing and doing exactly what they’re supposed to all the time.”
“What does that make Mitchell and Max and Rush then?” Luke questions, staring down at me. I feel him swaying again, and have him walk over to the large flat rock so he can sit down and not fall on his face.
“Max and Mitchell are Julia and Faber, and Rush is Beatty and O’Brien.” Seeing the unspoken question, “And what are we?” blooming in Luke’s mind and about to be uttered by his tongue, I begin, “And we… We are Montag and Winston. But I will not let us end like Winston. When we go out, Luke, we will go out with our heads high, and we will go out in style.” As I smile and give the ceiling a salute, I wonder how much of my monologue they didn’t let the audience, and I wonder what excuse they used to make up for cutting away just when it was getting good.
“Lizzie, you’re treading on dangerous ground,” Luke warns as he looks up at me, and it’s all I can do to not burst out laughing, even though I wouldn’t really be laughing in amusement.
“Luke,” I begin, capturing his gaze with mine and staring almost coldly into his eyes, “all ground around here is dangerous.”

More added.

Luke and I have spent the day eating slowly through our supply of food and huddling together to keep warm. Well, to keep him warm. He’s doing better and gaining strength with every hour we spend lying next to each other. The rainstorm’s still going on, so that means I’m still the reason he’s recovering so quickly, but I don’t worry about him finding out anymore, because I know he won’t be able to.
However, I am slightly worried about Rush and the Triple Crown committee finding out, since they know I’m an immortal, and they could very well connect the dots between Luke’s speedy return to health and me. I don’t think even they would be able to figure out how I’m healing him though, since I don’t even know. I’m not consciously trying to heal Luke; my body is just instinctively transferring the extra energy I’m drawing from the storm into him. At least it’s a lot better to give it to Luke than the alternative of me accidentally causing a lightning storm with all the stored-up energy.
We haven’t really done much talking or anything romantic today besides constantly being in physical contact, so I know that Max and the audience are probably eager to see some romance happen. I can’t bring myself to act though, not quite yet, so I just continue to lay next to Luke and watch the rain drops drip steadily onto my discarded, very absorbant black undershirt shirt that I laid out to suck up the water and prevent the cave from flooding. I’m going to have to get up and go outside soon to squeeze my shirt mostly dry, but I don’t feel like moving right now, so I won’t.
Luke and I both got an incredibly good night’s sleep last night, despite the circumstances and the fact that we really shouldn’t have slept as long as we did. We were both passed out for at least ten hours, which I think is the most I’ve ever slept in about a year and is the most I’ve ever seen Luke sleep since the beginning of the Triple Crown. We both feel a lot better now though, since apparently we needed it immensely, so I’m not going to complain about neither one of us staying up to watch guard.
There haven’t been any gunshots today, or at least that we could hear, which means the audience is most likely blood-hungry as well as romance-hungry at this point. I definitely wouldn’t put it beyond the Triple Crown committee to drive another champion towards us to create some action, so I always have my bow, quiver of arrows, and sword within arm’s reach in case something gets ugly.
So far, in the brief trips I’ve made outside, I haven’t seen any signs of other champions, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. However, it takes a very keen eye to find the cave, and a certain amount of flexibility to get inside, so I feel a little bit better about being immobile down here with Luke.
Even though he doesn’t say it – he barely says anything at all, which I find quite surprising considering his past record of eloquence and talkativeness when it pertains to me – I know Luke likes this alone time we’ve having together. I can tell that he appreciates just having me next to him, and just being able to reach out and touch me and know that I’m there, since I haven’t been there in the past. And I also know he is truly looking forward to our wedding, since he knows that I’m not just acting anymore. Of course, he doesn’t know that I still have to act some, but I’d rather have him be happy in his delusion that I love him as much as he loves me than have him find out the painful truth. I can also tell that Luke has no idea what I really am, and doesn’t even have any suspicions either. I thought that he might by now, after discovering many odd things about Jackson and about me that don’t quite add up when taken all together, but I’m glad that he doesn’t suspect anything. I’d have to wipe his memory clean of everything incriminating about Jackson and me if he did.
I learned a long time ago that the single most important thing, that, as an immortal, you should go to any lengths to preserve, is your human identity. If people find out what you really are, or even uncover some tiny clues that don’t really fit with your story, they’re going to start asking uncomfortable questions, and then you’re forced to erase the memories of the humans you once liked and considered your friends. I haven’t had to do that with anyone I’ve encountered so far, since the humans who know what I am I trust with all of my heart and would never tell another soul, and I don’t spend enough time with any other humans for them to figure it out. Well, up until this whole fiasco with the Triple Crown and Luke.
I know that there is a high possibility that, at some point or another, Luke will discover what I am, and I will have to erase his memory. But, I don’t know if I can bring myself to do that to him. I don’t know if I am capable of making the boy who loves me with all of his heart forget every moment he’s every spent with me; hell, he’d even forget my name. He’d forget everything he felt for me, and all of the incredibly touching things he has said that have made me cry, and he’d even forget the one word he has promised heill never forget: always. If I erase Luke’s memory for the sake of my own safety, I lose him for good. If he’s not blinded by his love for me, he’ll be able to see me for what I really am: a manipulative, controlling and exceedingly selfish person, and I don’t think I could bear to see his reaction upon finding the real me.
My musings are interrupted by Luke suddenly sitting up and placing a gentle hand on my exposed stomach. Sitting up myself and looking over at him in shock, he meets my gaze and murmurs, “Lizzie, you need to put on some weight. Nine percent body fat – actually, it’s probably more like seven now – isn’t healthy.” However, he doesn’t remove his hand, and, though I’m tempted to remove it for him, instead let it slide for now.
“Luke,” I begin with a sigh and a knowing, sad smile, “I don’t think that’s going to happen till we get out of here, if it’s going to happen at all.” I don’t know why he takes such a concerned approach on my weight – considering the circumstances, it’s not the most important thing, after all – but I guess he’s just worried about me. Maybe he even suspects that me not eating is part of my eventual suicide-by-Triple-Crown plan. Though it’s just because I don’t want to eat something prepared by slave labor, that wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“Lizzie, I just want you to take care of yourself,” he tells me quietly, his incredible ice-blue eyes locked on mine. “I promised you I would be there, always, and this is me keeping that promise.” He then kisses me gently on the cheek and takes away his hand. “Just eat, alright?” he almost begs of me, his gaze and voice pleading simultaneously.
Just as I am about to tell him, “Luke, you don’t have to worry about me,” I suddenly find that I can’t deny that deeply worried look on his face, and instead find myself saying, “I will Luke, don’t worry.” After a few moments of careful consideration of the possibility for damage control and steeling myself to fake out Luke, I add, “Besides, I have to fill out the wedding dress, don’t I?”
We both laugh at that, though I can’t help but hear the obvious forced tone to mine. Oh well; hopefully the audience in El Nieve thinks it’s just because I’m actually taking heed of what Luke said and am worried about my weight.
After sitting in silence for a few moments, Luke pipes up and asks me, looking over at me with an incredible intensity, “You know I love you with all of my heart, right?”
Instantly warning bells start chiming in my head, and I answer cautiously, with a slow, careful nod of my head, “You tell me that every day.”
However, instead of relenting, Luke shakes his head and questions me again, “But do you actually know that I love you with all of my heart?” When I stare at him blankly, not knowing what he means, he continues, “Do you actually know, in your heart, how much it kills me to be away from you for even a second? Do you actually know and can understand that I would die for you without a moment’s hesitation? Hell, I would die for a chance to hold you in my arms one last time.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I have to turn away. I can’t deal with the guilt building up in my chest and threatening to crack my heart into pieces.
Luke then grabs my chin and forces me to look at him, though the whole time I try to look away and avoid eye contact, and tells me emphatically, “Lizzie, I don’t think you really understand how much you mean to me. Hearing me tell you that I love you with all of my heart every day and truly knowing it are two completely different things, and I want you to know it, not just hear it.” After a moment of him pausing to clear his throat and swallow, he keeps on, “You know, Lizzie, they say you’re not somebody until you’re loved by somebody else, and, by that definition, I don’t know if I’m really somebody yet, because I don’t know if you really love me.” I begin to shake my head, not in defiance of his statement but in warning him to not go on, since he could possibly spill something that would reveal our whole scheme, but it doesn’t seem to work. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to notice. “I mean, I know you feel something for me, but, despite the fact that you’ve agreed to marry me, I don’t know if you really mean it all.” For a second Luke stops, seeming to realize where this might go, and, just as I am about to sigh in relief at him dropping it, he continues, “I think you might have just been pressured into all of this by the how quickly it all developed, and, while I really would like to marry you in a couple weeks, I understand if you want to back out, whether it’s because you don’t think you’re ready or simply because you just don’t want to.”
“Luke,” I start, staring up at him and shaking my head when my mind goes completely blank. “Luke,” I begin again, this time very aware of the desperation and sadness creeping into my voice and also very aware of the fact that, if I want to stay alive long enough to die in defiance of El Nieve, I have to act and say I want to marry him, “I’m not going to not marry you. I’ve made a commitment to you and to everyone else, and I’m going to keep it.” As I turn away, I realize that what I’ve said will have the same effect as me straight-out telling Luke I don’t love him, and I sigh. Why does everything in and about this place have to be fabricated, including relationships?
“You honoring a commitment by marrying me doesn’t mean you’re doing it out of love. In fact, it most likely means you’re doing it out of necessity, because you said you would, and that’s not a reason to get married, Lizzie. Listen, all I want is for you to be happy, and if you aren’t happy marrying me, and aren’t actually doing it out of love, then I don’t want you to marry me.” Luke stares over at me, his eyes begging for a reaction or an answer. Instantly an idea pops into my mind, and, even though it’s completely crazy and I’ll probably regret it in the long run, I know I’m going to do it anyways.
“Does this show that I mean it?” I ask him just before leaning forward and kissing him passionately to feel that hunger overtake me again, and, before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve pulled Luke down on top of me.
For a few milliseconds, before he truly knows what is happening, Luke is frozen in amazement. However, his shock quickly fades to be replaced by passion, even more than I have, and I feel his arms lock around me as he kisses me back. After a few moments, he pulls back, apparently lightheaded, to stare down at me with a small smile on his face. “You know, Lizzie, I think I’ve finally realized why we’re doing all of this, hell, why they do all of this.” He gestures around him at the cave, and I get that he’s talking about El Nieve and the Triple Crown.
“And why do we, why do they?” I ask him, intensely curious about his answer. My idea is that everyone in El Nieve have lost their moral compasses and have been duped into treating the Triple Crown like it’s something great by the Triple Crown committee. Of course, my thoughts might be biased, considering that I hate the Triple Crown committee and basically everything to do with El Nieve with a burning passion.
“Desperation,” he replies simply, shrugging his shoulders, and all of a sudden I feel goosebumps rise up on my back, because I know he’s right. Luke and I are acting like we are out of desperation for survival, and El Nieve holds the Triple Crown out of desperation for entertainment, out of desperation for something meaningful in their meaningless, empty lives. I guess desperation really is the natural, driving human emotion. Well, it and hope, but sometimes they are the same thing.
Luke speaking again pulls me out of my thoughts, and I come to in time to hear him murmur, his eyes locked on mine, “Lizzie, you are desperate. I am desperate. All of the other champions are desperate. El Nieve is desperate. The Sections are desperate. In this world, in El Tiempo, everyone is desperate, and everyone is determined to quell that desperation.”
He pauses for a moment before continuing, “Unfortunately, not everyone’s desperations can be quelled at the same time, because we all want ends that happen to interfere with others’ ends. If you and I win, we will stop our desperation, but we will kill off thirty other people in the process. By holding the Triple Crown to edge off its desperation, El Nieve hurts the Sections. If the Sections succeed in their rebellion and finally stop being desperate for freedom, El Nieve will be destroyed.”
“Lizzie,” he begins, “this is all one great game that has to have a loser as well as a winner. You told Jackson once that you’re a Lightning, and you don’t lose, so I have no idea why you’re trying to lose this. You will accomplish nothing except breaking my heart by dying Lizzie, so I don’t know how you got it into your head that somehow you would help someone by being dead. Trust me, Miss Lightning, you are worth so much more alive than dead, and I think everyone that knows you would attest to that.”
Turning away, I feel tears come to my eyes, but I force them down. No matter what Luke says, I am a concrete girl. I do not cry, and I will not cry, especially not in front of El Nieve. It’s bad enough that I cried on national television once already. When I’ve regained my composure enough to turn back to him and face him, I tell him, shaking my head slowly, “It’s not that simple Luke.” I am about to say, “I know I will help someone by dying,” but bite my tongue. I can’t let Rush onto my plan to become a martyr for the Sections, otherwise Jackson and I and probably even Luke are dead for sure.
“Oh really Lizzie? Because it’s pretty simple from where I’m standing. Either you win, and you live, and you get married to me, and we have kids and maybe even a happily ever after, or you lose, and you die, and I die with you, because I will not live without you, Lizzie. You are my world, and I literally could not live without you, because you are everything to me, Lizzie, everything. I would undoubtedly kill myself within five minutes of you dying, with my last words being, ‘Bury us together.’”
Luke’s eyes are locked on mine, his desperate, pleading ice-blue gaze plucking my heartstrings and making the tears I just shoved away come back in full force. But I am a concrete girl, not just in emotions but in decisions, and my mind is made up. I will die, and I will die so that the Sections can use my death to their advantage, and there is nothing Luke can say that can change my mind.
“Lizzie,” Luke starts, his tone even more passionate and almost hopeless, as though he knows that he won’t be able to sway me, “If you won’t do it for yourself, and for everyone else that loves you, do it for me.” When I don’t answer right away, he adds, determined now, “You’re always talking about how you owe me for everything, and this is your chance to repay me. It would mean the whole world to me if you would just stay alive, Lizzie. Please.” Staring at him in confusion, I feel a pain in my chest and know that I really should do it. Even if I don’t do it for anyone else – hell, even if I don’t do it for myself – then I really should do it for him, considering all that he’s done for me. “Lizzie, please,” he repeats, looking into my eyes with such emotion that I can’t help but pull away. Why does he always have to make me incredibly uncomfortable by his admitting his feelings and being so genuine all the time?
“Luke,” I murmur, my voice catching in my throat. What can I say to him that will convince him to let me go? “No matter how much you’d like to think that you can, you can’t save me from myself.” I then leap to my feet, grab my bow and quiver of arrows, and get out of the cave as fast as I can, since I can’t bear the realization that my plan might be off, and that, for once, I might be wrong.

“God damn it, how can I go back now? I basically just confessed to treating this all as a way to commit suicide, and I know what Luke’s going to say. He’s going to tell me, like he always does, that I am it for him, that I am everything to him, that if I die, he dies too, and I can’t bear to hear him say that. You know, it’s kind of annoying that he can guilt-trip me into almost anything,” I tell Winston, who’s perched next to me, as I stare out of the tree I’m sitting in. I’m vaguely aware of the raindrops falling on me and soaking me to the bone, but I don’t care. I’d rather be drenching with rain than wet with my tears.
“Winston, no matter what way you look at it, I really am a concrete girl. I don’t show emotion that much, and it doesn’t matter what emotion I show anyways, since half the time I’m empty and just faking it. And, you know, maybe it’s best to be concrete, because if you’re concrete, you can’t be broken.” I place one hand on his head and scratch his ear absentmindedly, looking out at the drops falling down around us and glancing up for a moment to have one hit me on the tip of my nose. I then focus my hearing, which means, in a sense, that I ‘turn on’ my ears and allow myself to use my complete sense of sound, and hear the raindrops hit the ground individually. To the human ear, it often seems to be one large continuous sound, but my ears can distinguish each raindrop hitting the ground alarmingly clearly. The result is a never-ending rhythm of tiny, quick single beats that is so much faster than any rhythm in music.
Glancing over at Winston for a moment, I see him regarding me perplexedly, and I can’t help but smile. Despite his occasionally annoying but always well-meaning attempts to make me do the right thing, I really do like him. I know that he is a part of the arena, and that I will never see him again after One-Person is over, but I wish that it wasn’t like that, that he could leave the arena and come with me and die with me in the end. I could use a friend to die with.
“So what should I do, Winston?” I ask him, then add quickly, anticipating his undesirable response, “If you try to get me to go back there and face Luke right now, you will be a fur coat in a couple of days.”
Winston rolls his amber eyes at me, clearly not amused by my threat, before jerking his head around at the wilderness and looking at the bow in my hand.
“You want me to go hunt?” I question to get a nod of his golden, black-spotted head in return. After fighting off a distinct desire to not move, I sigh and leap down out of the tree to land on the spongy ground ten feet below without a sound. Glancing around me quickly to make sure that there is no imminent danger, I then freeze and strain my ears so that I can hear any sign of potential prey. When I hear an unmistakable rustling in the bushes to my left, I silently draw an arrow and aim into the dark masses of leaves and branches, waiting for any movement that will give away the location of the animal. All of a sudden I see a tail twitch, and my arrow flies to find its mark with a small squeak from the animal I just killed.
Walking over to drag the body of a fat but incredibly tiny squirrel-like creature out of the bushes, my arrow right through its brain, I smile in satisfaction and look up to tell Winston, who is staring down at me with his tail twitching like a housecat watching birds, “Not bad, eh?” I then toss the carcass up to him, knowing that there’s not enough meat on the animal to make it worth my time skinning it, to hear him bite down on the body with a distinctly satisfied crunch.
As I scan the low-lying, almost neon-green vegetation around me for more prey, a noise behind me jerks me to attention, and I whip around to find a completely oblivious paoton pecking at something on the ground. Rolling my eyes at the bird’s stupidity, I put an arrow through its skull before it can even realize what’s happened, then hang the feathery body over a low-lying branch of the tree Winston’s in. Deciding that I might as well use this opportunity to stock up on food, in case I’ve finally made the audience hate me by all the stuff I’ve said and done, I continue to shoot game for nearly fifteen minutes. Looking at my catch, I smile in satisfaction and shake my head slightly at myself as I realize that I have more animals than I can carry home. With five paoton, four squirrel-like creatures much larger than the one I first shot and gave to Winston, six actual rabbits that, for some reason, are in a tropical rainforest, and three larger rodents that appear to be a smaller version of a capybara, I don’t have enough hands to take all of this game back to the cave a mile away, so I’m going to have to give some to Winston.
Setting two of the paoton, one of the squirrel-creatures, three rabbits, and one miniature capybara on the ground for Winston to snack on when he pleases, I sling my bow over my back and head out in the direction of the cave. I’m feeling much better now, since the hunting cleared my mind, and I idly think with a smile that the game I left serves as my thank-you gift to Winston as well as me just not taking the extra.
After five minutes of running – I was slowed down some by the extra load of at least twenty pounds of meat – I arrive at the entrance. I take a deep breath and steel myself for talking to Luke, then slide into the cave, being very careful to not get dirt on any of the game in my hands.
“Oh thank God!” Luke cries as soon as I’m completely in the cave, and I stand up to have him embrace me in his arms tightly. Though he hasn’t returned to full strength yet, Luke still is very strong, and I can’t help but want him to let go so I can at least set the animals down.
When he pulls back, I ask him, confused by his reaction, “Why are you so happy? I was only gone a half an hour.” It’s not like I left him for an extended period of time or anything, but maybe he thought I was actually going to try to commit suicide.
“I heard a gunshot go off,” he replies, and instantly my heart sinks. One more dead, so now there are fifteen of us left. “I thought it might have been you.” He wraps his arms around me again and sighs in relief, but I don’t share his happiness. Even though our chances of survival go up with each death, I don’t want to hear anyone else’s name be read aloud, because I don’t want anyone else to die.
“I wonder who it was,” I murmur as I look over his shoulder at the gray stone wall behind him. I find it kind of surprising that I didn’t hear the gunshot myself, but maybe it went off during a thunderclap or when I was too focused on hunting to hear it. I don’t hug him back, since I don’t see a reason to, so I just stand there until he finally pulls away again.
“Lizzie, you don’t want to think about who it was,” he tells me quietly, meeting my gaze with his own. “In fact, you can’t afford to think about who it was,” he adds, and I sigh when I realize he’s right. In order to stay sane and win, we have to stoop to El Nieve’s level: we have to dehumanize the dead.
“Oh Luke, can I just quit and go crazy now?” I sigh as I drop the animals off to the side of the cave. As I feel the metallic lightning bolt pressing against my skin, I tell myself that I’ll clean the carcasses later. I don’t want to give away my secret weapon to Luke quite yet, since I was planning on saving it for when the moment’s right or when it’s really needed.
I hear the amazingly quiet thump of Winston’s huge paws hitting the stone floor of the cave, and I look over to find him licking himself in satisfaction. Rolling my eyes at his odd habits – and basically the odd habits of cats in general – I collapse to sit against the large flat rock Luke and I have been leaning against for the last day. Luke then sits down next to me and wraps his arm around me comfortingly, and I rest my head on his shoulder wordlessly. I idly think that it’d be nice if I could just stay here forever and become part of the rock I’m leaning against, because then I wouldn’t have to worry about anything: no Triple Crowns, no Luke, no family, no Jackson, no Winston, no survival. I would be completely free in my rock prison, as ironic as that is.
“Lizzie, you can’t give up, because I won’t give up on you,” Luke murmurs in my ear after we’ve sat in silence for a few moments, and I can’t help but smile at his very typical response that I could have predicted down to the last word.
“I know, Luke, but what’s the point? If we have to dehumanize the dead as well as ourselves to survive, what’s the point in surviving?” I look over at him to have him drop his head in admittance of the fact that he doesn’t know. “Because living like this, not knowing who just died, or who we’re going to have to kill next, or who’s going to kill us in the end, is not living at all. Luke, if winning this thing means losing my humanity and my identity, I’d rather lose.”
He almost unwillingly nods his head and tells me, “You know, Lizzie, so would I.” After a moment’s pause, he continues, “I don’t think we’d be the same people we used to be if we were to win, and I don’t want to be changed by this, because I know that something this awful can only cause changes equally as awful. So I think that, if I were given a choice between survival as someone else, as someone I don’t want to be, or death as myself, I would choose death.”
“You’re a boy after my own heart then,” I tease him feebly, giving him a smile and finding his empty hand with one of my own. He grins back at me and gives my hand a comforting squeeze, then gently picks me up and sets me down on his lap.
“No wonder we get along so well,” he murmurs in my ear, and my smile gets bigger as I lean back against him and sigh partially in happiness and partially at the knowledge of all that’s to come.
I sit there in his arms, thinking about our relationship and how it would have turned out if none of this had ever happened, for a few moments before remembering the animals to be cleaned and leaping to my feet. “Luke, I need to clean my kills,” I tell him in explanation to have him nod his understanding, and turn to the carcasses in the corner.
Grabbing them all and going outside – with Winston following me – I look into the rays of the setting sun and idly think, as I pull my lightning bolt and flip the blade open, that Puck should be announcing the dead soon. Most likely the gunshot Luke heard was one of the champions whose fellow Section champions were already dead and got cornered by a team or by the career pack.
Presumably the careers haven’t broken up, even with this new announcement, since they must recognize that they have a better chance of survival if they stick together than if they break off into factions and are forced to work with non-careers from their Sections. Of course, they might have broken off from each other anyways, since there is an all-career Section pair from Four left, and the gunshot might have been a career killed in the skirmish following the fracturing of the pack.
Speaking of careers, I wonder what Marcus is doing. I haven’t given him much thought so far, with my mind being so full of Marshall and Abby and Luke and staying alive to die at the right time, but all of a sudden I realize that the gunshot could have very been him. I know very well that no non-career team could take him down – hell, I doubt two non-career teams could take him down – but I’m pretty sure he’d be a goner if he got cornered by the career pack. As strong and powerful as Marcus is, I think that, while he would definitely put up a good fight, even he in the end would get overwhelmed by four incredibly well-trained warriors.
Murmuring a prayer that it isn’t him, I turn back to the animal carcasses in front of me and begin to skin and gut them with mindless, robotic motions ground into me by so much practice and repetition. In no time at all I have cleaned all of the bodies, and toss the extras in Winston’s direction, since I know Luke and I won’t use them. I then slip back into the cave for a moment to get a match, and start a small but very hot fire so I can smoke the meat to preserve it. The first animal I try to smoke over the fire accidentally gets dropped into the flames when I severely burn my fingers trying to pull it off of the stick I have it speared on. After I’ve muttered curse words in about five different languages and sucked on my roasted fingers, I turn back to the fire and sigh at the loss of meat. However, I know that the other animals won’t smoke themselves, and proceed to cook the rest of them thoroughly with little to no finger-burning in the process, thank God.
Wrapping all of the roasted meat up in a large, waxy green leaf I pulled off of a low-lying, fern-like plant nearby, I carry the bundle back in the direction of the cave, a very hopeful Winston sniffing the air and following behind me. I cautiously slide into the cave, being very careful so as to not spill any of the meat out onto the ground, and rise to my feet to find Luke watching me with an intense look on his face.
“What?” I ask him confusedly and half-warily, wondering what on earth he could be thinking this time. Considering that he has a habit of making very honest statements that make me very uncomfortable, I’m almost worried about what he’s about to say.
“You move like a hunter, like a killer. I saw you take down four careers and even set a fastest kill record during Hand-to-Hand, and I’ve been listening to them announce you as the kill leader for three nights now, and, you know, I’ve never wondered up until now how you got as good as you are. I mean, you don’t just develop the skill to kill as quickly and efficiently as you do overnight, so I’m puzzled. What aren’t you telling me?” Luke stares me directly in the eye, and I feel my heart free-fall out of my body. I knew that he would start asking question sometime – in fact, I was shocked it took him this long to ask questions – but I’m still not prepared for having to lie to Luke’s face.
“Luke, you should put my jacket on so you don’t get cold,” I tell him, completely ignoring his question to stall for time and try to come up with some halfway-believable excuse.
“Lizzie, I have you for keeping me warm,” he murmurs gently before asking again, his determined tone returning, “Now what aren’t you telling me?”
“Luke, I’m not telling you a lot of things,” I begin, sighing inwardly at my failing ability to lie to him, “but I think the most important thing that I’m keeping from you is my past. Now, I know you know that I transferred to EMS from Sagewood in eighth grade and have been going to Elizabeth schools ever since,” I say quickly when I see Luke open his mouth to interrupt, “but I’ve been doing a lot more than just going to school in that time.” Suddenly aware of the meat still in my hands, I set it down off to the side and straighten back up to face Luke again. “Luke,” I start, resigning myself to the whole barrage of questions that are undoubtedly to come, “I worked as an assassin for the government for three years, from the time I was thirteen up until February of last year.”
“What?” he bursts out, his eyes shooting open in shock. Clearly my answer isn’t what he was expecting, which isn’t surprising considering that it would be almost impossible to expect an answer like that. After a few moments of him processing the information in amazement, he finally asks, “How do you know how to use swords and bows so well then?” I give him a confused look, wondering if he actually heard what I said, and he explains, “Well, all modern assassins that I know of – or at least the ones in movies and video games and stuff – use guns and poison and modern weapons instead of outdated weapons like the ones you’ve been using during the Triple Crown, and I think that you must have used modern weapons since they’re more efficient and easier to use, so how do you know how to use bows and swords?”
“And now, Luke, you have presumed wrong.” I give him a smile, idly thinking that it’s funny he pulls his examples of assassins from video games and movies. Of course, he doesn’t know any other real assassins besides me, so I guess he doesn’t have anything else to base his assumptions off of. “On some missions I used guns and modern weapons, yes, but on most of my missions it didn’t matter what weapons I used as long as I killed my target, so, since I prefer using ‘outdated’ weapons and they’re harder to forensically trace anyways, I used them.” Shrugging, I see him nod his head in understanding, and I turn back to the meat, intending to have us eat some of it that I didn’t smoke so it won’t go bad and so we can save the rest of the feast for later, to be interrupted by Luke’s voice.
“Why did you work for the government?” he questions, and instantly I can tell that he’s one of the many people under the delusion that our government won’t break its own laws to achieve something. To the government, the means is completely forgotten as soon as the end is reached. “Well, to be more specific, why did the government hire you? I would think that they would be in the business of catching assassins, not hiring them.”
“The government is in the business of achieving its goals, and it will do whatever it takes to do that. To be honest, hiring assassins is about one of the most benign things the government does,” I add cynically. I lost all faith in the United States government the day Bush 43 was re-elected, and the fact that my parents were blackmailed into giving their consent regarding me working as an assassin didn’t help to repair my belief.
“Oh,” Luke says, obviously amazed that the government that runs his country is not nearly as holy as it claims or appears to be. We then sit in silence for a few moments, Luke clearly still trying to figure everything out and me hoping to dear God that he doesn’t ask any more questions, even though I’ve definitely given him enough puzzling material for thousands of questions. “How did your parents agree to it? I mean, even if the government didn’t ask them for their permission, they must have noticed you going away on missions, so what did you tell them?” Luke questions, breaking the quiet and causing me to look up at him.
“The government blackmailed them into shutting up. The government said it would take away all of my parents’ assets and completely ruin their reputations and basically make it so that they could never have a normal life again if they told anyone about me being an assassin. I didn’t want that to happen since I wasn’t going to have my parents throw everything away over a secret that didn’t really matter as long as I didn’t die, so I told them to what the government says and keep quiet, and it kept my family safe. That was all I could ask for.” In reality, the government blackmailed my parents by threatening to reveal their secret, which would have had the same effect as the government actually hacking into my parents’ documents and bank accounts and ruining their lives that way, but of course Luke doesn’t need to know that. Well, he might need to know it, but it’s better for him if he doesn’t. As I pull myself out of my thoughts, I shrug, idly thinking that it’s amazing how casually I’m speaking about this issue when, a year and four months ago, I was so angry at the government that I was in the process of destroying the agency I worked for.
“Oh,” Luke repeats, and I can’t help but smile. You’d think that, by now, he’d be used to my announcements of the government’s shady nature, but I guess not. After a couple more seconds of silence, he asks, “Who did you kill?” I look at him confusedly, not knowing what he means. He could be talking about the individual people I took out – all three hundred and ninety-one of them – but, since the names wouldn’t mean anything to him, I don’t think that’s what he’s talking about. When he sees my puzzled expression, he clarifies, “What kind of people did you kill? Like, criminals or public enemies?”
I pause, not knowing how to reply. I killed criminals and public enemies, sure, but I also killed a bunch of other people that just appeared to be normal citizens but were in fact immortals. I also took out perfectly normal citizens that the government felt threatened by for one reason or another. Of course, I can’t tell Luke that, so I simply and truthfully answer, “I took out people the government thought were better off dead.”
Luke nods wordlessly in response, and I can tell that he’s still having issues comprehending it all. I can’t say I blame him, considering that he’s been taught his whole life that government is good and right and helps its citizens, not hires assassins to kill them. Suddenly realizing that I’m incredibly thirsty, I grab one of the jugs of water from the packs and am about to drink my fill only to be interrupted by Luke’s voice. “Well, as much as I hate to say it, it’s actually a good thing the government’s morally corrupt enough to hire assassins, because your hunting, gathering, tracking and fighting skills are the only things keeping us alive. I mean, God knows I can’t fight like that.”
“Luke,” I begin, meeting his gaze with my own and willing him to understand, “that’s a good thing.” I see him open his mouth to protest and close it abruptly when he realizes what I’m getting at, and I turn back to the water jug in my hands, satisfied. Taking a few long swallows, I hear a ruffling noise behind me and I can tell that Luke’s actually putting the jacket on. For some reason, even though it hits a hundred with a hundred percent humidity during the day, the rainforest drops down to forty degrees at night. Since that would never happen in a normal rainforest, as all of the plants and animals would die, I guess that it’s just the Triple Crown committee making it tougher on us.

More added.

Suddenly Puck’s booming voice breaks the relative stillness of the air, and I stand straight up to listen intently. I’ll finally get to hear who died earlier.
“Section Seven: Lisa Miller,” he announces solemnly, and my eyebrows shoot up when, after a moment’s pause, it’s obvious no more names are going to be read aloud. I had thought for sure that either Nick or Sarah would be dead by now, considering that neither one of them are fighters or even know how to climb trees.
However, my thoughts are interrupted again by Puck saying, his tone much more excited now, “And your kill winner for today is...” I cross my fingers, hoping to dear God that someone’s finally passed me, “Lizzie Lightning, with seven kills!” I roll my eyes and groan at the fact that the Triple Crown committee seems to be determined to get me killed by having me constantly announced as the kill leader, even though they say they want me to win. However, I force myself to bite my tongue and turn back to the meat, thinking that some food could take my mind off of my hatred of the Triple Crown and everything related to it.
“Lizzie, we have other food. We can save for that for later if you want,” Luke tells me from behind me, but I don’t even bother to look up or turn around to answer.
“I know, but the food in the packs and the leftover feast will last longer than the meat I roasted,” I reply, and, anticipating Luke’s inevitable response to the contrary, that the roasted meat will last longer than the feast, I add, “Luke, the feast is full of preservatives. To be honest, I think it might last longer than the jerky in my packs.”
“Ok,” he finally says, his tone saying that he’s accepted that he won’t be able to beat me in a contest of who’s right or wrong, and I pull a paoton out for us to split.
We then eat in silence, the only sounds the sounds of us eating, and, even though we’re not really interacting, I’m just happy to have Luke around. I’ve realized that, while I don’t love him as much as I should, I do love him some, and it definitely is a relief to not have to act all of the time.
After I’ve finished, I toss my scraps and bones in Winston’s direction, since I don’t want to waste anything when he can eat it, and rise to my feet and cross the small room to wrap up the rest of the meat in the leaf I carried it on. Returning to Luke’s side, I sit down next to him to have him wrap his arm around me. I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh, thinking of all the other secrets I’m keeping from him and all of the other things I should tell him and how much I want to scream right now.
However, instead of doing anything like that, I murmur quietly, “Good night Luke,” and drift off to sleep with thoughts of how I really should be an actor if I ever get home.

Luke and I spend a week in the cave, with only one gunshot – for the last champion from Five who I vaguely remember as a slight, short non-career girl by the name of Grace Thomas – going off the whole time. We don’t talk much and, when we do, our speech is low, quiet and quick, since we know that our survival relies on our ability to stay quiet and undetected. However, we also know that the Triple Crown committee is undoubtedly pushing other champions towards us to create a fight, as the audience hasn’t gotten its fair share of bloodletting in these last seven days.As a result, we are always on our toes and always prepared to run at the slightest indication of other champions. Luke gets much better and returns to full strength. His wound almost completely heals because of me drawing energy from the ever-present storm and leaves a long, wide scar running over the left side of his ribs. My wounds almost completely heal as well, though I still have some very colorful and very large bruises. We don’t get any more food or gifts from Max, as apparently we’re not being romantic enough for him to raise sufficient funds to buy us anything, so we hunt and gather everything we eat. However, with my hunting skills and knowledge of which plants are edible and which aren’t, Luke and I don’t want for anything, and so I can’t bring myself to be falsely romantic with him when he isn’t being truly romantic with me. I know Max must be disappointed in me and waiting for us to do something worth noting, but I won’t do anything worth noting, not as long as I don’t need to. I will do the bare minimum that it takes to survive, and nothing more. In fact, the most romantic thing that Luke and I do is fall asleep in each other’s arms every night, and that isn’t even because of romantic reasons. It’s because I need to keep Luke warm so he doesn’t get sick or frostbite, since nights in the forest are getting down to twenty degrees, and, even though I won’t get cold, he most certainly will.Despite our feelings that the champions must be out there, and that they must be close, we aren’t disturbed the whole week, and I drift off for another night’s sleep with my head on Luke’s shoulder and a nagging feeling of discontent and imminent danger on the edges of my consciousness.

A few distinctly human cries that sound like they’re not too far away break the stillness of the air to be followed by a gunshot going off, and immediately I start awake. After turning to Luke and seeing him staring back at with a surprised, worried and not at all sleepy expression on his face, I immediately jump into action. Poking my head out of the cave and beckoning Winston hurriedly inside, I glance around the outside of the cave to make sure that there is no sign of human habitation. When I find none, I turn back to the inside of the cave and make sure that all supplies are out of view of the cave mouth. I then grab my bow, quiver and sword and press myself flat against the wall farthest away from the entrance as I motion for Luke and Winston to join me.
For a few seconds, we wait in a frightened silence, all three of us listening intently for any sign of approaching humans. A heavy footfall right outside the cave appears to scare Luke and Winston out of their minds, but I just steel myself for a fight by drawing an arrow silently and fitting it into my bow. If someone comes down here, they will be dead before their feet even hit the cave floor.
Glancing over at Luke and giving him a reassuring smile, I see him relax a little at seeing my drawn weapons, and I can’t help but think that it’s ironic how he’s relieved by me having my weapons out. However, all of my thoughts are almost immediately interrupted by a pair of voices coming from the outside, and instantly I focus my ears in an effort to identify the champions who have us trapped in here.
“Do you think there’s anyone in there?” I hear one deep voice ask, and my eyes shoot open when I realize who it is: Marcus. He must have teamed up with a non-career from his Section, since it’s not like he’s going to be with the career pack. Slowly I lower my bow, since I know I wouldn’t be able to shoot Marcus even if he did come into the cave.
“Well, I’m not checking to see if there is,” I hear a female voice reply, and the thought darts through my head abstractedly that its owner must be the other champion alive from Two, since the other two people are dead already. “I mean, if there is someone down there and we go down there, we’ll be dead before our feet even hit the ground!” Even though I know I might end up killing her in the end, I can’t help but like this girl from Two. She and I seem to be kindred spirits.
“But what if it’s Lightning and Gates? I like Lightning; she’s smart and decisive and a survivor, and I think we can trust her Adelaide,” Marcus tells of the girl, and I’m sure she’s the other champion left from Two, since I vaguely remember something about a five-six, slightly-built but very crafty Adelaide from Two during interviews.
“Well I don’t think we can!” Adelaide shoots back, and, even though I can’t help but feeling a little insulted, I mentally applaud her for being so smart, since, if I were another champion, I wouldn’t trust myself either. “You saw the way she killed that career from One-”
“Danica Roberts,” Marcus interrupts. I guess his time spent around them made enough of an impression on him for him to remember their names.
“-in Hand-to-Hand,” Adelaide continues without acknowledging what Marcus said. “Lightning set a fastest kill record, Marshall. She’s dangerous, and, before you say something about her being engaged to Gates, that doesn’t change anything. She doesn’t actually love him; anyone could see that.” I feel Adelaide’s words pierce my heart and sting like needles, and I glance over at Luke in the dark for a moment to make sure that he knows that’s not true. Of course, I’m also doing it for the benefit of the crowd, but he doesn’t need to know that. The only person that needs to know that is Max, and the only people that do know it are Max and Rush.
“I think she does,” Marcus replies quietly, and I can almost see him drop his gaze to the ground in his shy way.
Instantly I feel immediately grateful towards him, and I mouth, smiling slightly, “Thank you Marcus.” The audience – and Luke - probably thinks that I’m grateful for Marcus defending me and my love for Luke, when in reality I’m grateful for him helping enforce the idea that I actually do love Luke. Trust me, I need all of the help and backing I can get, since I need all of the audience support I can get.
“Well you also want to die when you’re one of the favorites to win, so I’m not sure your thoughts and decisions can be trusted,” Adelaide tells him coldly, and I can’t help but feel bad for him. I know that, despite his huge size and outwardly tough manner, he’s actually a big softie, and that her comment hurt him a lot.
Apparently I’m right, because it’s not two seconds later that Adelaide is apologizing. “I’m sorry Marcus,” she murmurs quietly, regret filling her voice. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You shouldn’t have said a lot of things,” Marcus replies mildly, somehow making it all into a joke, and I can picture him in my mind giving her a beaming smile. That’s the thing that I like the most about Marcus; despite the fact that he is truly sensitive and sometimes you can’t tell if something you said offended him or not, he always is lighthearted about it afterwards. He also has a great smile, so that’s just an added bonus to him taking insults so well. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I think Marcus is very attractive, and, if I weren’t engaged to someone else and in love with another person and if Marcus and I weren’t supposed to be killing each other, I would flirt with him.
“Now, if there is a person down there, and that person is Lighting, she has heard everything we’ve said, so I don’t we’d be in any danger if one of us were to go down,” Marcus says, and all of a sudden I see his huge brown face appear in the entrance of the cave. I know he’s seen me, even in the darkness, when he mutters, “What do you know,” and tells me louder, “It’s nice to see you again Lizzie. You too Gates.” Marcus nods his head in recognition in Luke’s direction as Marcus climbs down into the cave to stand next to me, and a smile bursts out across my face.
However, even before I greet him reply, something strikes me as extremely odd, and I ask him, “Why’d you decide to take the risk and stick your head down here to begin with? I mean, you had to have known that the odds were against it being me down here, so you were taking a serious chance with a very high possibility of you ending up dead.”
“Well, I figured I was going to end up dying in the end, and if it was someone else down here waiting to kill me, at least it would have been quick.” He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s no big deal, and, even though – or perhaps because – he’s sharing my desperate feelings, my respect for him immediately grows.
“Spoken like a true Triple Crown champion,” I tell him with a small but sad smile, and I cross the cave to grab the packs. However, I no sooner reach them than Marcus cries out in surprise, and I jump up to see him holding his sword with his eyes fixed warily on Winston.
“Marcus, it’s ok! Winston’s – the cat’s – friendly!” I cry, running to him and breathing a sigh in relief when Marcus lowers his blade, even though he still appears to be suspicious of Winston.
“So you’ve been taming jungle cats as well as blowing up supplies,” Marcus jokes, his incredible dark brown eyes locked on mine. “Man, what haven’t you done?”
Even though I’m flattered by his comment on my accomplishments, I can’t help but wonder how he knows about me blowing up the supplies. “How do you know about that?” When I see his confused expression, I elaborate, “About me blowing up the supplies. I know Puck announced that Terrell died, but I didn’t think that he would announce how or who killed him.”
“I was actually watching you from the bushes around the career camp so that I could finish the job if you blew yourself up.” Marcus gives me a huge grin, and I roll my eyes at him. Just because I nearly did blow myself up is no reason for him to tease me about it. “By the way, you gave me quite a nasty bruise-” – Marcus rolls up his shirt sleeve to reveal a huge patch of purple and black about the size of softball – “-but I can see that you dinged yourself up even worse.” His eyes fall to the marks on my stomach, which I had forgotten about since they don’t hurt any more, and dart right back up again, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. I find it incredibly funny that Marcus is worried about proper conduct and being a gentleman even during a time like this.
Shrugging dismissively, I reply, “They’re not nearly as bad as they look.” Since I’ve been drawing energy steadily from the storm for the last two days, I’ve healed myself as well as Luke, and, even though my stomach still looks horrible, it doesn’t hurt at all now. Turning my head to look at Luke and give him a smile, I tell Marcus, “Luke’s the one with the real battle scar. For a little bit, I thought he was going to die on me!” Even though I try to make it all a joke, I can hear the panic in my voice, and I know Marcus hears it too, because instantly he scans Luke up and down, looking for his injury.
When he finds none, due to Luke having a shirt on, Marcus turns back to me and says, “Well, how about you guys gather your supplies and come up here, since I think we have a better chance of surviving if we work together.” Upon seeing Winston eying him hopefully, Marcus adds with a smile, “Yes, you can come too Winston, considering that Lizzie wouldn’t be very happy with me if I didn’t let you come, and I wouldn’t want that.” He gives me a sidelong look and a small grin, and I can’t help but grin back at him. The more time I spend around Marcus, the more that I like him.
Marcus then climbs back out of the cave to leave Luke, Winston and I standing together. Immediately I jump to action, carefully placing into a pack all of the extra meat and food we had sitting out, pulling on all of the layers of clothes that I didn’t already have on that are mine, and making sure that everything is packed up and ready to go. When I turn to throw Luke’s other clothes at him, I find him staring at me with a confused, defiant and angry look on his face.
“What?” I ask him, tossing him the garments anyways as I wonder what his issue could be. I thought he was all about surviving, and this is a good way to do just that.
“You’re not actually going to team up with them, are you?” Luke questions dangerously, his eyes flashing, and all of a sudden I know what his problem is. He’s jealous of Marcus, and doesn’t want me to be around him. However, unfortunately for him, we are teaming up with him, and there’s nothing he can do about that except not go with me.
“We’re teaming up with them, Luke,” I answer emphatically, in a tone that I hope leaves no room for replies to contrary. Gesturing to the clothes in his hands, I tell him, “Now put those on.”
After a few moments of him considering me carefully with a wary look in his eye, he finally concedes, and slips on the shirts wordlessly, making no sounds of pain like he would have just two days ago. His wound has healed up very well, so there’s no worry about it getting infected or him dying any more.
“I don’t like it,” he finally murmurs as he takes one of the packs out of my arms to sling it on his back, “but he’s right, we do have a better chance of survival if we stick together.”
I nod my head and give him a genuine smile as I sigh inwardly in relief. Luke’s cooperation as far as working with Marcus goes will make everything a lot easier. We then both turn to the cave entrance, and Luke gestures silently for me to exit first. I am about to climb out of the cave when I stop and turn around, realizing that I really need to tell Luke that there’s nothing going on between Marcus and me.
“Luke,” I begin, staring into his eyes and willing him to understand, “there’s nothing happening between Marcus and me. You are my one and only-” – I swallow, painfully aware of the blatant lie for Max’s and the audience’s sakes – “-and nothing can change that, alright?” I reach up a hand to touch the side of his face gently, and give him a short, sweet kiss, thinking that Max better be jumping up and down with joy at my performance.
“Alright,” he echoes, gazing down at me as a small smile curves his lips. He gives me a kiss of his own, and then motions for me to leave again, though he seems relieved and much happier now.
It takes a few moments and a couple muttered curse words for my eyes to adjust to the incredibly bright sun, as apparently the Triple Crown committee has decided to stop the rain for now. I mean, I’m not complaining, since in general it’s a good thing that it’s not raining, but I’m not a big fan of the amazingly intense sunlight. When my eyes have finally adjusted enough for me to see properly, my gaze falls on Marcus and a girl standing next to him that must be Adelaide.
My memory’s right – she’s the fix-six, slightly-built but obvious crafty girl I remembered her to be, but the one thing that strikes me as odd about her is that she’s clearly the dominant one in her partnership with Marcus, despite the fact that Marcus has a foot and probably one hundred and ninety pounds on her. Of course, Marcus, even though he’s bigger than everyone else, is not a leader, and in that aspect he and Terrell are similar, although Marcus isn’t a leader because he’s too timid and Terrell wasn’t a leader because he was too stupid.
“Lightning,” she greets tersely, jerking her head at me in recognition as she watches me with a wary gaze, as though she expects me to lash out and try to kill her and Marcus here and now. I can’t blame her for having such suspicions though, since things like that happened all the time on the Triple Crown footage I watched.
“Reynolds,” I reply in the same manner, eying her cautiously myself. Even though Marcus is on my side, I know very well that she isn’t, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try to kill me here and now herself.
“Let’s get moving,” she commands when Luke and Winston have come out of the cave, and immediately starts walking off in the opposite direction without another word. Turning back to Luke to see him shrug at me, clearly not knowing what to do, I think that, if we’re going to stick together, I guess we have to follow Adelaide’s orders. At first I hang back with Luke, neither one of us talking much, but it then occurs to me that Marcus probably knows more about what’s happened in the Triple Crown than either one of us do, so I catch up with him.
“Oh, hey Lizzie,” he greets when I step into stride with him, giving me a beaming white smile as he looks down at me. “What’s up?”
“What else do you know about what’s happened so far?” I ask him bluntly. There’s no point in trying to be subtle about it, since I might not get the information I wanted if I did, and I’m not in the mood for being subtle anyways.
“Well, what do you want to know?” he questions in reply, meeting my gaze with his own incredible dark brown one.
“Well, for one, do you know who died earlier?” When I realize that I might have falsely assumed and he might not know, I quickly add, to explain my assumption, “I mean, I presume you and Adelaide are the killers, since the kill happened so close to here and you guys were the only ones in the vicinity.”
“Yeah, we were,” Marcus confirms, then clarifies, “Well, I was. Adelaide isn’t strong enough or, to be perfectly honest, skilled enough to kill anyone unless she surprises them or somehow manages to hit them from a distance with a bow.” Upon remembering that he hasn’t actually answered my question yet, he quickly says, “It was Danica Roberts, the career girl from One.”
Despite the fact that I know it’s incredibly mean-spirited, I can’t help but smile at the fact that Danica finally got what she deserves. “Good,” I murmur, dropping my gaze to the ground when I feel Marcus staring at me intently. Feeling obligated to explain my comment, I add, “I never liked Danica much. She always was a bitch to me and the other champions, and I never really tolerated her to begin with.”
I see Marcus nod his head out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my stare locked forward. All of a sudden something seems to have changed in the look in Marcus’s eyes, and I don’t like it, because this newfound intensity of his makes me incredibly uncomfortable.
After a few long seconds have passed in silence between us, Marcus opens his mouth and breaks the quiet. “Lizzie,” he begins, and reaches out a hand to touch my arm gently, forcing me with the pleading tone of his voice to look up at him, “All I want is to help you, and do anything you need me to do, so I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. It’s just...” He pauses, and suddenly his demeanor changes; all of a sudden, he seems embarrassed and almost shy. However, he keeps on talking after a moment’s delay, and continues, “It’s just, I can’t keep my eyes off you.” With the sheer force of his tone, he draws my gaze to his unwillingly, and I look up at him in wonder for a millisecond before what he’s said truly sets in.
“Oh God, not you too,” I groan as I turn away from him, shaking my head. I’ve had enough of lovestruck boys for now, considering I’m surrounded by them. I thought that, by talking to Marcus, I might be able to get away from them for a moment, but apparently I was wrong. Suddenly all of my exasperation to annoyance, and I whip my head around to face him again. “Marcus, what is this about?” I ask him sharply, meeting his bashful, surprised brown gaze with my own cold, steely golden one. When he doesn’t seem to understand what I’m talking about, I elaborate, which I probably would have done out of anger anyways, “What is this ‘Oh, Danica’s dead, and, hey Lizzie, I’m in love with you’ stuff about? What on earth possessed you to suddenly announce this to me right before I’m getting married? Well, whatever it is, I don’t appreciate it Marcus, I don’t appreciate it at all.”
I then storm ahead so I don’t have to walk by him anymore and ignore his pained cries of “Lizzie, please let me explain!” I don’t want to have to talk to anyone right now, much less the boy who just told me he loved me and made everything so much more difficult.
However, I am torn away from my thoughts of Marcus and his stupidity by someone clearing their throat up in front of me, and I look up in alarm to find Adelaide pausing for a moment to fall into stride with me.

More added.

“You know, you’re all he’s been talking about since we met up last night,” Adelaide tells me quietly as she stares over at me and meets my gaze with her own incredibly intelligent piercing steel-gray one. “Even though he’s just made it harder on you – trust me, I know that he has, though I can’t imagine how much harder – he really does care about you, you know. If things don’t work out between you and Gates, Marcus will always be there.” After a moment’s pause, she adds, “Well, unless he gets killed off in Team Survival.” An awkward silence falls between us as I think about her words and how much she must actually believe them for her to say something like that. It doesn’t last long though, because she soon pipes up and speaks again. “By the way, you know about the rule that says your partner for Team Survival can’t be from the same Section as you, right?”
I nod my head in reply and eye her carefully as I vaguely remember Max mentioning something about that once and curse myself for actually thinking that Luke and I could both return home. I know exactly where she’s going with this but don’t really want to hear it, even though I realize now that it would have inevitably come up sometime anyways.
“Well, what are you going to do about you and Gates then?” she questions, and I’m exactly right about where I thought she was going with this. “I mean, I presume that he would be your first choice in a partner, but since he can’t be your partner, who are you going to choose, presuming that you get to pick?”
I know I can’t tell her about my plan to save Abby by choosing her as my partner, since I’m sure the Triple Crown committee would hate that idea, so I just shrug my shoulders and answer as I drop my eyes to the ground, “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just see what happens.” I don’t want to think about that rule and the fact that Luke and I both can’t return home, which means that our only option is dying together in Team Survival. I don’t want to think about my life falling to pieces around me, with its imminent end fast approaching, and I certainly don’t want to think about Luke and Jackson and Marshall and Marcus and all of the rest of the lovestruck boys in my life.
However, Adelaide seems insistent on making me think about all of those things, because, after a few silent seconds, she murmurs, her gaze locked on mine, “Do you love him?” and I feel my heart drop through my body.
I know exactly what she’s talking about, and I have no intention of replying. I have to though, for the sake of the audience and for Max’s sake, so, finding no relief in the fact that I’m not lying, I respond, “Yes, I do.” Pausing and realizing that I need to talk about it truthfully with someone, even if that someone might kill me in the end, I continue, “I don’t know how much though. I know I don’t love him as much as he loves me – to be perfectly honest, I think that might be impossible – but I do love him, and I fully intend to marry him.”
Adelaide nods her head wordlessly in understanding, and drops her gaze to the ground in front of her like I did, and I can tell that she actually understands, that she actually believes and knows now that I do love Luke. Hopefully my reply had the same effect on the audience, especially Rush, since he’s the one I really have to convince.
A much longer silence passes between us now, the only sounds the sounds of us walking, which is finally broken by Adelaide piping up again. “Well, I guess Marcus is out of the picture then,” she mutters, and it surprises me greatly when I hear a sympathetic and disappointed tone to her voice. I didn’t realize she actually thought Marcus had a chance with me, and I’m not happy that she did, because that means I didn’t act like I was in love with Luke well enough.
“Adelaide,” I begin, looking her in the eye, “Marcus never was in the picture. He knows that, and I’m pretty sure you know that too.”
She bows her head slightly in affirmation, and I wonder why she was let down upon finding that I love Luke. “I just...” she starts, and abruptly pauses, not knowing what to say. Clearly it’s a new experience for her, because she seems to get angry at her lack of eloquence and quickly, in an almost annoyed manner, repeats, “I just... I saw the way his face lit up when he talked about you, and I saw the pain in his eyes when he talked about Gates being the luckiest guy on the planet, and, even if his love for you is just an infatuation brought on by desperation, I can tell how powerful it was, and I can’t help but wish that Marcus, an incredibly sweet, kind, handsome, deserving guy, would actually get the girl for once.” She lowers her gaze to the ground again as her words tug at my heartstrings, and, yet again, I’m wishing that I loved a guy as much he deserves. However, even in my wishing and self-loathing, I can’t help but wonder about Adelaide’s praise for Marcus. She definitely isn’t the kind of person to give out that praise, even if someone deserved it, so I think she might feel more for Marcus than she’s letting on.
“Adelaide, no matter how nice and sweet Marcus is, Luke will always be the nicest, sweetest guy I’ve ever met.” When she doesn’t seem convinced, I embellish, “Adelaide, this is the guy who told me that, if we were to have marriage vows, his would be always. I know I’m not going to do better than that, so I’m not even going to try.”
Even as I turn my head away and look ahead, I shoot her a glance underneath my eyelids, reading her face for a reaction. Fitting with my theory that she considers Marcus as more than a friend, I see a small amount of relief flash across her face before she controls her appearance and makes herself look disappointed.
“Well, I think Marcus would do that and more, but you’re engaged to Gates, so I guess that doesn’t matter now.” She shrugs and slumps her shoulders like she really feels bad, but she can’t stop a small amount of excitement from creeping into her voice.
Another silence passes in between us, and I note with a small air of amusement that, considering all of the times our conversation has fallen away, neither one of us really have the best small-talk or even basic communication skills. During those long seconds, I can’t help but wonder if I’m right, if Adelaide does care for Marcus in more than a friendly way, and finally my curiosity gets the best of me.
“Adelaide, why do you care about Marcus so much?” I burst out, and, when I realize that I didn’t phrase my question correctly at all, I immediately backtrack. “Well, what I mean is, in what way do you care about Marcus? I could care less about why you care about him, but what’s been bugging me is that you clearly care for him a lot, but I can’t tell in what way.”
Adelaide regards me cautiously, her sharp gray gaze locked on mine as she tries and undoubtedly fails to read me. “What are you getting at?” she finally questions in reply, and I notice that her hands have balled into fists and her voice has taken on a defensive, angry tone. She knows I’m onto her, but she doesn’t want to admit her feelings or the fact that she allowed herself to be read by me.
“Adelaide, I think you’re infatuated with or in love with or whatever the hell you want to call wanting to be more than friends with Marcus,” I tell her bluntly, not taking any pains to lower my voice or even caring if Marcus hears our conversation. If that actually is how Adelaide feels, Marcus would find out in the end anyways.
Sure enough, Adelaide shoots a look over her shoulder in Marcus’s direction, and, when she sees that he’s not paying any attention to anything around him and is just hanging his head low with a pained look on his face, her gaze immediately darts back to me. “Lizzie,” she begins, and I hear the pleading tone her voice that tells me my suspicions are right without her saying any other words. “Please don’t tell Marcus, or anyone else, alright?” I see the desperation in her eyes, and I feel myself nodding my head in agreement before I can even think.
“Alright.” Even though Adelaide is clearly almost hopeless in her love for Marcus, I can’t help but smile at the fact that my predictions were right, yet again. So far I’ve proven Luke’s statement that I won’t always be able to read people correctly wrong – except for in the case of Luke himself, since, for nearly four years, I was completely oblivious to the fact that he loved me until he told me that he loved me. Knowing that what I’m about to say is probably quite stupid but that I’m going to say it anyways, I turn back to Adelaide and murmur, actually being careful about the volume of my voice this time, “I can talk to him and tell him how you feel and see if he’s interested too.” When I see the horrified look on Adelaide’s face, I quickly elaborate frankly, “Look, Marcus knows he has no chance with me, but he has a lot more than a chance with you, and any guy finds desire attractive, trust me.” I’m probably making myself sound like a slut, but I don’t care and it doesn’t matter. If it does anything at all, it will make the audience more interested in Luke’s and my relationship by making it seem like there’s a possibility I could cheat on him.
“You sure?” Adelaide questions skeptically, clearly doubting my level of expertise in talking to guys. I find that ironic, since earlier she essentially accused me of manipulating and using Luke, and, if that’s what she thinks, then I must be pretty damn good at talking to boys in her eyes.
“Adelaide, I’m sure,” I repeat, trying to reassure her with my tone. Apparently I succeed, since, while she still seems a little cautious about the whole idea, she has visibly become less tense and wary. Even though I know I’m testing my relatively good luck, I dare to add, “Besides, even if I’m screw it up somehow, I have a lot more experience talking to guys than you do, so I think I might be able to do less damage than you would if you screwed up.”
Instead of Adelaide being offended by my comment, like she very well could have, she just nods her head and mutters shyly, “Yeah, I have no clue how to talk to guys. I’ve never really liked one before, and I’ve never had one like me, so I don’t have any experience on the matter.” As I look over at her, all of a sudden I am struck by the fact that, despite her authoratative manner, she’s probably one or two years younger than I am. She’s at least that much younger than Marcus then, because there’s no way he’s younger than I am.
I manage to keep my suspicions quiet for a little bit, but in the end I can’t help myself from blurting out the question, “Adelaide, how old are you?”
“I turn fifteen today,” she replies quietly, and my eyes shoot open in surprise. She’s even younger than I thought she was.
“Well, happy birthday,” I congratulate her as I give her a smile. However, I know this isn’t a happy birthday for her, because it’s most likely her last. Seized by a sudden inspiration, I look over at her, capture her gaze with mine, and tell her, dead serious, “Adelaide, for your fifteenth birthday, I’m going to get you a date with Marcus.”
“Are you serious Lizzie?” She stares at me blankly, clearly in shock and, probably for the first time in her life, not knowing how to react or what to say.
“Adelaide, I’m completely serious,” I confirm as I give her a kind grin. “Besides,” I say, “I think it’s the least I can do to repay you for not killing Luke and I on sight. Trust me, I really appreciate that.”
Adelaide doesn’t say anything in reply, because she’s too busy grinning from ear to ear. I have to stifle back a laugh at her reaction, and, when she looks over at me curiously, I can’t help but giggle a little.
“What?” she asks me, staring over at me as though she worries about my mental health. To be honest, my mental health should be at the bottom of her worries.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply dismissively, waving my hand and instantly freezing my features into an emotionless expression. It’s a very useful skill that I learned to do almost instinctively during my three years as an assassin, and, with all the acting and deceiving I’ve already had to do and will have to do in the future, it has and will come in handy.
After Adelaide gives me one last calculating look and turns away, I allow myself to smile again as I think that it’s interesting how different people handle different situations. Adelaide’s handling the situation of being forced to fight in the Triple Crown by taking control and leading and caring for people, which is most likely what she did at home. However, this same girl – who happens to have more than a three and eighth percent chance of surviving the Triple Crown – has no idea how to talk to boys and is, for once in her life, asking me, of all people, for help on something.
Marcus is handling the situation of the Triple Crown by treating it as a way to die and leave this life that he didn’t choose behind, like I am. Unfortunately, he seems determined to make me feel like an awful person on the way by falling in love with me and telling me about it after I get engaged, so I can’t exactly approve of his plan.
Luke is handling the Triple Crown by simply trying to survive. While he’d like to think that he would rather die than be broken, I know the truth: that he will do whatever it takes to keep us, especially me, alive, and that includes being broken. After all, he’s already lied and manipulated and killed and done things that I couldn’t have ever imagined him doing, so I don’t know what his boundaries are, if he has any.
But how am I handling all of this? How am I dealing with being cherrypicked to win something I’d rather lose and being told to act when I really don’t want to? By rebelling, of course. Even though I’m supposed to be stopping a rebellion and putting out the fire I started and convincing people that I’ve done everything I have out of love for Luke, my actions speak for my motives. I am rebellious to the core, and I am determined to help the people of the Sections rise up and fight back and at least have a chance at living on their feet. I know, after looking out across their faces and seeing the desperate determination in their expressions during the Victory Tour, that they have had enough of living on their knees, and would much rather die on their feet after having just a taste of freedom. Since Mitchell has chosen to make me the spark, and since I won’t deny the people of the Sections their chance at liberation, I will be their martyr, and I will fan the flames that I have started in the hopes that I can help someone by doing so. I will die on my feet rather than live on my knees, like the Triple Crown would have me do, and I die with rebellious thoughts in my mind the whole time. I will not let myself become like Winston Smith: I will not let El Nieve get inside of me and break me. I will not let them change me and twist me and alter my mind to think the thoughts they want me to. When I die, I will die as myself, with my thoughts and feelings and identity, not as the brainwashed, broken excuse for a person that El Nieve would have me be.
All of a sudden a sense of extreme danger overwhelms me, and I pull my mind out of my thoughts to look up and see a huge boy that I vaguely remember as being a career from Four standing in front of me. Hearing a rustling sound behind me to whip around, I see Luke get whacked over the head with a sword hilt by the sociopathic career girl from Four. I watch helplessly, held back by the career boy as Marcus and Adelaide both charge her and get daggers in their hearts. Instantly two gunshots go off, and I stop fighting, willing myself with all of my might to keep it together and not break down. My eyes land on Winston’s shadowy, dappled form crouching in the bushes, and I will him with all of my might to stay put. I don’t want to see another friend murdered.
“Well well Miss Lightning, it’s so nice to finally see you,” the career girl says to me after she’s turned away from Marcus’s and Adelaide’s bodies, a sick smile curling her lips. “Did you know that Hunter and I spent nearly eight days tracking you and Gates down? It took so long because you cover your tracks exceedingly well, but not even you are perfect, Miss Lightning, and eventually we found a mistake: a footprint that had to be yours. Once we found that, well, the rest was easy, and isn’t it nice that we got to take out other competition on the way?”
She gestures to Marcus’s and Adelaide’s corpses, nearly completely eaten by the dirt, and her psychopathic grin gets bigger when she sees the look of pure loathing on my face. Walking towards me, she stops when our faces are a fewe inches apart, and it’s my turn to smile slightly when I realize that she hates having to look up at me. However, despite the height difference, she stares me in the eye and whispers, all enjoyment and amusement gone from her face and replaced by a look of determination and hatred, “Did you know, Miss Lightning, that I have spent my whole life training to win the Triple Crown, and I will not let some unknown girl from Section Eight get in my way. You will not stop me from the having the crown of the Triple Crown, Miss Lightning. I may have lost in Hand-to-Hand Combat, but I will not lose again, because I do not lose, and no Lightning or spark is going to change that.”
I see her draw her fist and steel myself for the blow to receive a punch to side of the face that has me seeing stars for a few moments. After one more punch that satisfies her I am incapacitated for now, she turns to the career boy holding me and commands, “Hunter, stab Gates well enough that he will die eventually, but not so much that it is instantly fatal. Once you do that, Lightning’s yours.”
My eyes shoot open in surprise and fear, and I feel Hunter’s huge hand wrap around the back of my neck and guide me towards where Luke lays facedown in the mud. I think about possible escape plans: Hunter’s grip on the back of my neck is too strong that I can’t try to pull away without having my spinal cord snapped, so there goes that plan, and the psychopathic career girl’s close enough and fast enough that she could probably catch me even if I managed to get away. The only hope I have is to catch him off-guard and when the career girl isn’t close enough to re-capture me, hit him in a sensitive place or a pressure point, and take off to find Luke and hopefully save him before he dies. However, first I have to create a situation when the career boy could get off-guard or wait for a situation to develop that would put him off-guard, and neither one of those sounds particularly desirable.
“Well, Lightning, where should I stab him?” Hunter asks me, and I feel shivers run up my spine at the sheer brutality of his voice. Even if I didn’t know anything else about him, I would be able to know he was a career solely based off of his tone.
Hunter draws his blade and pokes Luke not very gently in various spots, clearly trying to make this as hard on me as he can. “I could stab him in the neck-” – Hunter’s blade pauses over Luke’s exposed neck, and I feel my breath constrict in my throat – “-but that would kill him too quickly, and that’s not what Marissa wants.” He says Marissa’s name with a certain fearful reverence, and I know that it must be the psychopathic career girl and that she also clearly has completely control over him.
I allow myself to take a deep breath of relief when Hunter moves his sword away from Luke’s neck. However, my chest tighten up again almost instantly as Hunter lowers the point of his blade so that it rests right over the backpack covering Luke’s heart, which I know Hunter would be able to penetrate easily. “I could stab him in the heart-” – Hunter pauses for effect, clearly liking the control he has over me – “-but again that would kill him too quickly, and that’s not what Marissa wants.”
Suddenly it hits me: the only way that I’ll be able to escape is if I turn Hunter on Marissa, and the only way to do that is to make him doubt her authority. “Did you know, Hunter,” I begin, hearing the unmistakable panic and stress in my voice and desperately wishing I could be calmer, “that, in the end, Marissa will kill you?” I feel him pause, and I know that I have to keep on talking if I want to give myself – and Luke – a chance at survival. “You heard her back there, when she was talking about no one getting in her way of winning. Well, Hunter, once you get in her way, she’ll take you out too. She doesn’t want to win as a team; she wants to win by herself, and have all of the honor to herself. Is that really what you want, Hunter?” Now it’s my turn to stop for a moment to let my words sink in, and, when I can almost feel the doubt radiating from Hunter, I continue. “Do you really want to work for Marissa and think that she’s going to let you live and that you’re going to win together, only to have her kill you right before you’re announced as the winners? Because that’s what will happen, Hunter; you and I both know that.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as Hunter releases me, and I whip around to find him with an expression of stony rage on his cruel, blunt, fair features. “I will not let her use me. If one of us wins, it will be me.” He then raises his blade, drops mine, which he had confiscated to keep me from retaliating, and takes off in the direction of his and Marissa’s camp, which I noticed wasn’t too far off the path and would relatively easy to infiltrate and possibly blow up.
Once he’s gone, I allow myself to smile, a great beaming grin that spreads from ear to ear. Even though I know I’m just caused mutiny and effectively have murdered someone else, I can’t help but be happy that my plan worked, and that I at least have a chance at saving Luke now. Speaking of Luke…
I turn to him, kneel down next to his lifeless form, and feel his neck frantically for a pulse. Luke can’t have died on me, he can’t have died on me, he can’t have died on me. He’d be breaking his promise of always if he did, and I get the feeling that he’s not one to break promises.
Though I find a steady pulse, I’m still incredibly worried about him, and bend down even further to whisper in his ear, “Come on Luke, come on Luke!” as I shake him violently, desperately trying to wake him.
Finally he groans, and, even though he seems to be in a lot of pain, I’m much more relieved because at least he’s conscious now. “Come on Luke, we have to go,” I murmur, grabbing his hand, slinging his arm over my shoulder, and attempting and succeeding to drag him to his knees.
“Luke, we have to go,” I repeat, hoping that I’m not going to have to carry him, two packs full of supplies, and all of weapons. However, as soon as the words are out of my mouth, Luke seems to wake up even more, and opens his eyes to look down at me in confusion. I note with worry that there’s a golfball-sized bloody lump on the side of his head where Marissa bashed him with her sword hilt, and I know that I’m going to have to disinfect it and drain in quickly to prevent infection or something worse.
“Lizzie,” he begins quietly, disorientedly raising a hand to touch the back of his head and wincing when his fingers find the lump, “what happened?” I see the confused look in his eyes and sigh internally when I realize he most likely has a concussion too.
“You got beaten up by a girl,” I joke feebly, trying and failing miserably to lighten the situation some. “She knocked you pretty good.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he replies, attempting to smile but giving me something that looks like a grimace instead. “I know a lot of girls who could kick my ass, you included.”
After giving him my best fake grin, taking the backpack off of him and slinging it over my free shoulder, and steadying him as he leans on me, I tell him gently but firmly, “Luke, we have to get out of here. I turned Hunter, the career boy from Four, on Marissa, the career girl from Four who beat you up, but there’s no telling which one of them’s going to win the fight, and I don’t want to stick around to see who does.”
Luke nods his head in understanding, and, with a few shaky first steps, we begin to move. I keep my free hand on my blade at all times, knowing that, even if Hunter and Marissa are occupied with each other, there could very well be other teams of champions laying in wait. All of a sudden I remember seeing Winston in the bushes, and my mind goes out to him.
“I hope that he’s safe, and a good couple miles away from Hunter and Marissa,” I think, and, for added protection, send out a prayer for Winston’s safety. I know that, if he’s alive, he’ll track us down and find us in the end, but I also know that waiting for him and not knowing when he’s going to arrive or even if he’s alive or not will be excruciatingly painful.
As though Luke has read my mind, which, while I can actually read his, he can’t do, he asks, “Lizzie, where’s Winston? I know he was with us when the careers got us, but where’s he now?” Luke glances wildly around, and, fearing that he’s going to lose his balance, I grab his arm with my free hand and hold onto him tightly.
“I don’t know where Winston is, but I’m sure he’s fine. He knew the careers were there before any of us did, so I’m sure he’s out of their way and coming to find us now.” I say the last part for my benefit as much as Luke’s, and our conversation falls into silence, the only sounds those of Luke struggling to keep upright and moving.
“Lizzie,” Luke starts, and I immediately know what he’s going to ask, “where are Marcus and Adelaide?” He looks over at me in confusion, and, when he sees the sad look on my face, he realizes what happened to them. “They’re dead, aren’t they? The careers killed them, didn’t they?”
I nod my head and sigh, thinking about how I had promised I would get Adelaide a date with Marcus for her fifteenth birthday. Instead, I got her killed. Boy, I’m not very good at keeping my promises, am I?
“We have to kill the careers then,” Luke says, a determined, cold tone to his, and I look over at him in shock. I’ve never known him to vengeful or want to stoop to someone else’s level to get even, but I don’t really know Luke very well, now do I? Apparently he sees the surprised look on my face, for he adds, “Lizzie, they killed our friends. Taking them out is the least we can do to avenge Adelaide and Marcus.”
“Luke, when did avenge and revenge become words in your vocabulary?” I ask him, still completely stunned by him revealing a darker, not-so-nice side of him that, to be perfectly honest, reminds me of me.
“Lizzie, I’m not nearly as innocent as you think I am,” he answers, a small, sad smile curling his lips. “If I was, I wouldn’t have killed people, now would I? Because I bet you that, before you saw me actually kill someone, you didn’t think I had it in me, did you? Well, Lizzie, I have it in me to do a lot more things than you think,” he ends, and I feel a shiver run up my back. When did he become so much like me? It’s a horrible change for the worse, since I need some stability and innocence around me amid all of this killing and death and loss of innocence. But, now that I look back, I guess Luke never was innocent to begin with.
Completely ignoring his comment – and everything associated with it – for now, I tell him, “Luke, we need to get back to the cave so I can patch you up,” and proceed to walk a little bit quicker. No gunshot has gone off yet, which means that Hunter and Marissa are still busy with one another, but I don’t want to be anywhere in the area when one of them finally dies and the other one is free to track us down.
“You always have to patch me up Lizzie. It’s funny, since, as the guy, I’m supposed to be the one who’s caring for you.” He smiles weakly and falls silent, all of his energy going towards keeping up with me. Though he’s not as shaky as he was a minute ago, I know that he would fall on his face if I wasn’t here, so I don’t dare let go of him or move towards or away from him any. The last thing he needs is to trip and give himself a concussion on top of a concussion.
“Luke, when you hang around me, you have to throw social conventions and gender stereotypes right out the window,” I murmur, keeping my gaze locked forward to scout the ground for anything that might trip Luke up. After a moment’s pause, I add, “I hate to break it to you Luke, but I’m not exactly your typical seventeen-year-old girl. I can kill someone a hundred different ways, no weapons needed – well, as long as I have my hands and feet, I have weapons – I can run a mile in a world-record four minutes and three seconds, and my dad is a hall-of-fame football player who holds every record related to the cornerback position.”
I hear Luke laugh weakly at my comment, and I can’t help but smile myself. He knew that I wasn’t ordinary a long time ago – according to him, he knew I was special from the moment he laid eyes on me – but I don’t think he knew the specific details of my abnormality until now. Of course, he’ll never know all of the details, but that’s best. It’s dangerous for him to know as much as he does already.

More added.

Wordlessly I help Luke over a large mossy branch blocking the path, and, once we are over, he looks over at me and says, “Lizzie, tell me about your family. You’ve told me about yourself, but you haven’t told me about them yet, and I want to know what my new family’s going to be like.” He smiles slightly, and I sigh internally. He really is on a mission to break my heart into a million pieces, isn’t he?
“Well, my dad Tom is six-eight, two-forty, turns fifty-one in about a month, and is in the best shape I have ever seen for a guy his age. I mean, he still benches somewhere around four hundred pounds, so he’s in nearly as good of shape as my brothers.” I shrug and smile sadly; I know that if I think about my family, I’m only going to get homesick, but if Luke wants to know, I can’t exactly deny him. The fact that we’re on national television and everything we say and do is being projected across the country means that I definitely can’t deny Luke.
“What about your mom and Gwillan and Gruffen?” Luke questions, looking over at me with pain clouding his gaze, then, when he remembers something, adds, “Oh, wait, you have another brother, right? He’s a lot younger, like thirteen years younger, right?”
“Timmy’s twelve and half years younger, but yeah, I do have a much-younger little brother.” I nod and force myself to smile at him, hoping to dear God that I at least seem somewhat sincere.
“Ok, cool,” he says in reply, and looks at me expectantly for a moment before I remember that he asked about my mom and Gwillan and Gruffen.
“Well, to be perfectly honest, my mom is a lot more interesting than my dad. Her name’s Amanda, she’s the same height I am – five eleven – and she has a doctorate in neurobiology from Harvard that she completed in four years.” Luke’s eyebrows go up in shock, and I can’t help but smile slightly. “Yeah, my mom’s pretty smart, and so’s my dad. In fact, he got a doctorate in philosophy from ASU during the four years he played ball there. Anyways, after graduating top of her class – with her school paid for by a full-ride basketball scholarship – she went on to play in the WNBA for four years, the whole time doing neurobiology work too. My dad then proposed to her on the field right after winning his third and final Super Bowl, fourth Super Bowl MPV and third league MPV, they got married a week later, and my brothers were born in the following October.”
Luke nods again, a small grin creeping across his face. “It sounds like your parents actually had the happily-ever-after everyone wants.”
“Yeah,” I agree quietly, pursing my lips in thought as I think about how I’m never going to see my parents again. After a moment of silence, I add, “You know, my parents are the only couple I spend regular time around that fall more in love with each other every moment they spend together.”
“You know, I think I’d say the same thing about my parents,” Luke tells me, and it pains me to know that that means they most likely love him as much as my parents love me – as in they would be willing to give up their lives to protect him. “I guess our parents will have to meet sometime.” Even though he leaves off, “if we ever see them again,” the effect is the same as if he had actually said it: I instantly feel even worse and become even more homesick, if that’s possible.
After we walk in few long seconds of incredibly awkward silence, Luke breaks the quiet by clearing his throat and asking, “So, what about your brothers? Gwillan and Gruffen and Timmy?”
“Well, Gwillan and Gruffen are identical twins, play football for ASU, are favorites to win the Heisman together this upcoming season and really should have won it together this last season, are six-eight, two-forty, could kick your ass any day-” – I give Luke a grin to make sure that he knows I’m kidding, though it’s very true that Gwillan and Gruffen could his ass easily – “-are going to be juniors and are turning twenty-one October eleventh.”
“So they’re going to be old enough to drink then, huh?” Luke looks over at me curiously, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at the idea of Gwillan and Gruffen and alcohol.
“Don’t remind me,” I reply, shaking my head and imagining all of the things that are bound to happen when they start drinking. “They’re big enough asses to begin with, and I’m sure a couple beers are not going to help that.”
Luke laughs slightly, and, even through the haze of pain clouding his gaze, I can see his eyes twinkling. “I’m sure they love you a lot though. I mean, based off what you’ve told me, they take time to personally approve, or, as you would probably say-” – he smiles at me – “-intimidate all of your possible boyfriends, and, even though you don’t like it, you have to admit that shows that they care.”
God damn it, I hate it when Luke’s right. “Yeah, I know,” I reply, dropping my gaze to the ground. I then look back up and shrug as I say, “It just gets annoying, you know? Actually,” I begin, my empty hand clenching into a fist at the thought, “the most annoying thing that they do is date down three or four years – as in, my friends. That part seriously makes me want to kick their asses, because it’s like, can’t you guys find someone your own age?” I shake my head and roll my eyes at my brothers, even though they can’t see or hear me. I’ve had an issue with my brothers’ dating habits for a while, and the longevity of those habits hasn’t helped my tolerance at all.
“In fact, did you know,” I start angrily, since the memory still annoys me to no end, “that when I became a freshman my brothers and I signed a contract that said I wouldn’t date up to their age if they didn’t date down to my age?” Luke opens his mouth to say something, but I bulldoze right past him. “They both proceeded to break the contract a week later, at which point I chewed them out – and the girls stupid enough to agree to date them – in about five different languages. My mistake was that I did so when my parents were home and got grounded for a week as a result.”
Luke laughs again, and, even though I give him a reproachful look, I can’t help but smile slightly myself. “Your language was that colorful, huh?” He grins at me, and I think that his smiles truly are contagious.
“Yeah,” I respond, nodding my head. “To be honest, I actually cussed a lot more freshman and sophomore years than I do now.” When I see Luke giving me a slightly skeptical look, I concede, “I mean, I still cuss a lot now, but back then I cussed almost all the time.”
Now it’s Luke’s turn to nod, and we walk along in silence for a few moments. I pause for a moment to give Luke time to get over a fallen mossy log blocking the path, then continue on. The sky has been getting steadily darker for the last few minutes we’ve been walking, and I want to get to the cave before nightfall. It’s hard enough walking with Luke when there’s light.
“Why did you stop?” Luke’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up at him curiously, since I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Why did you stop cussing?” he elaborates upon seeing my confused expression. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I idly wonder why I didn’t predict him asking this question.
“I don’t know,” I answer after taking a few moments to think. Looking up at him, I shrug my shoulder, since I honestly don’t know. “I guess I just... matured, and found that cussing casts a negative light on everything and makes you look bad and even uneducated. Obviously, I didn’t want to seem that way, so I stopped.”
Luke nods his head in understanding again, and we keep on walking. The only sounds around us are the sounds of the forest: the chirps, hums and whistles of animals and the occasional rustling of leaves moved by wind, and I allow myself to wonder about Winston. Undoubtedly he got away from the careers and is following us right now, so he’ll catch up to us in no time. I push aside the nagging suspicion that maybe he didn’t get away from the careers in time, because we’ve been moving so slow that he’s had ample time to catch up, because it will do me no good to get worrying about Winston when it’s Luke I really should be worried about. If Winston got away from the careers, then he’s following us right now. If he didn’t, then he most likely died a quick, pain-free death, and that’s the most I could ask for.
Sighing, I tell myself that, either way, all I can do is just wait and see if Winston shows up sometime soon. Winston wouldn’t get a gunshot, since he’s not a champion, so that’s the only way I can tell what happened to him.
“Well, I’ve gotten to know the rest of your family pretty, but I still don’t know that much about you. Tell me about yourself.” Luke’s voice breaks the silence that’s fallen over us, and I look up at him in confusion. “Tell me about what you like – your favorite color, favorite food, favorite number – and the things you don’t like – maybe a bitchy first-grade teacher?”
I smile slightly and, as it strikes me that I don’t know that much either, I say to him in reply, “As long as you tell me about yourself too, alright?”
“Deal,” he agrees, a grin on his face, and shakes my hand to seal it. “So what’s your favorite color?” he questions, staring over at me and expectantly waiting for my response.
After a moment’s pause, during which time I realize that I don’t really know what my favorite color is, I answer quietly, “Blue. Not dark blue, or medium blue, but light blue. Ice blue, I suppose you could say. Like your eyes.” I shoot him a cautious look to find him so absorbed in my reply that he’s tripping on branches and stones in the path. I find his intense focus on me very disconcerting, and I avert my gaze to the ground in front of me.
It then occurs to me that it’s my turn to ask a question. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask Luke quietly, looking up for a moment and looking back down immediately when I see that he’s still completely absorbed with me.
“Gold,” he replies after a moment. “Not like the metal – the metallic sheen ruins the color in my eyes – but clear like amber, and lighter. Like your eyes.” The sheer power in his voice makes me glance up at him again, and this time, even though I desperately want to look away, my eyes are captured by his. I don’t dare avert my gaze, for fear of breaking the connection we have that I fear and love at the same time.
After a few intense moments go by in silence, Luke seems to come to his senses and asks, “What’s your favorite number?”
Smiling slightly, I tell him, “That one’s easy. Thirteen, because it’s my birthday and because everyone else hates it.”
“I don’t hate the number thirteen,” Luke says, quietly, and I look up at him to find the trace of a smile curving his lips.
“What, are you saying it’s your favorite number too?” I question, trying to make everything lighthearted. The thought of another few silent, passionate moments passing in between us scares the hell out of me, and I’m determined to make sure that doesn’t happen.
“Well, it is my birthday too,” he begins, “but it’s my favorite number because it’s your favorite number.” Instantly I drop my eyes to the ground, though it doesn’t help at all. I can still feel Luke’s gaze eating away at the side of my face and willing me to look up at him.
Why does he always have to say things like that, things that show how devoted and caring he is, when I least expect them and am not prepared to respond to them? It’s incredibly frustrating and makes me feel like an incredibly terribly person, because the fact that Luke makes little, offhand remarks like that all the time shows how much he cares and how much he loves me. It also reminds me – very painfully, I might add – how much I don’t feel the same way and how much I wish I did. Sighing, I shake my head and wish that I could run away from it all: Luke, the Triple Crown, this fucked-up relationship of ours.
All of a sudden, like clockwork, Luke asks me, “Lizzie, are you ok?” and I look over at him to find him gazing down at me in concern.
Even though I’m not really amused, I smile slightly at his predictability, since it’s the polar opposite of my unpredictability. Luke is always there for me to lean on and always steady and stable, while I’m all over the place; one second I can be slapping him and next second I can be kissing him. I guess it’s a damn good thing he’s one of the very few people who can actually keep up with me. So far, I’ve met only a handful of them: Luke, Max, Kodiak Johnson, my parents, my brothers to an extent... and Jackson.
As if I’ve been burned, I instantly jerk my thoughts away from him. Jackson – and my relationship with him – is another one of the things I can’t afford to think about right now. I force myself to think about the present, and, even though I’m uncomfortably aware that I’m blatantly lying to Luke, I give him my best fake smile and reply, “Luke, I’m fine.” When I see him looking somewhat skeptical, I swallow with difficulty and add, “Trust me, I’m fine,” and turn away from him abruptly so he doesn’t have a chance to ask any more uncomfortable questions.
After a few moments of him regarding me carefully, Luke finally concedes, “Ok. I’m just kind of worried about you, since all of this is enough to unhinge even the sanest person.”
Even though I know I should just nod my head in agreement to his comment, I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “It hasn’t unhinged you.” I then meet his gaze almost fiercely, as though I’m daring him to reply, because it’s not like I can take what I said back.
“No, it hasn’t,” he answers quietly, and all of a sudden I know exactly what he’s going to say, “because the only thing that can unhinge me is you.” I drop my eyes to the ground, made intensely uncomfortable by Luke’s statement. He always has to reply with something that either makes me feel like a horrible person or makes me incredibly unsettled, doesn’t he? And, like he also always does, Luke proceeds to elaborate, and I sigh internally. Well, now I’m going to feel like a horrible person as well as feeling very uncomfortable.
“Lizzie, you are my whole world, so, as long as I have you, nothing can faze me, but, if something happens to you and you get hurt or killed, I will lose it, I know I will. You mean so much to me that I couldn’t bear to know that I let you get injured or murdered on my watch, especially since I told you that I was going to be there always. I wouldn’t be able to deal with breaking my promise – and everything else it represents to me – to you, Lizzie.” He pauses for a moment, and, though I know it definitely won’t help and will most likely hurt the audience’s opinion of me, I can’t help but sigh out loud. Like I had predicted, Luke has gone off and made me feel like a horrible person again, and, you know, his tendency to do so became old the first time I noticed it.
However, Luke isn’t done yet, and he continues, stopping, forcing me to stop with him and staring down at me, “Lizzie, I don’t break my promises, especially the ones I make to people I really care about.”
Surprised by his words and the implication they carry, I ask him as I meet his determined ice-blue gaze, “Luke, are you promising to keep me safe?”
“Well, I thought that was implied, but yes, I am.” He looks me in the eye almost fiercely, as though he’s daring me to refute his promise, and it’s all I can do to not laugh out loud at the irony of it all.
“Luke,” I begin, reaching a hand up to gently touch the side of his face as I give him a small smile, “I think you need to worry about your own safety more than you need to worry about mine.” After a second’s hesitation, I add, “I mean, since you’re the one with all of the injuries, I think you need to focus on keeping yourself safe instead on keeping me safe. Besides, I can cover my own ass well enough, so you don’t need to worry about me.” I give him one last reassuring smile and turn away, intending to keep on walking, to be held back by a stubbornly immobile Luke clinging to me.
“Lizzie, you’re good enough to cover both of our asses,” Luke says, and I can hear the ‘but’ in his voice, “but that’s not my point.” I let myself smile slightly at his predictability as I brace myself to be made to feel like a horrible person again, since that’s what always happens when a ‘but’ is involved. “My point is that, if you ever need anything, or you ever find that you can’t cover your ass, I will always be there, always.” I feel my heart sink at the reminder that, while it’s an always for Luke, it’s only a sometimes for me, and, after I force myself to swallow, I grit my teeth. Saying something that would reveal the falsification of our love would definitely set Luke and I back some in our plan to stay alive. Well, Max’s plan to keep us alive against my will that I’m going along with for the moment because it can keep me alive long enough to let me die at the right time.
“Luke,” I begin, giving him a smile and gently caressing the side of his face as I can almost hear Max whispering in my ear, “Say it, say it.” “You don’t even have to tell me that anymore.” I then kiss him gently, and, before he can recover well enough to kiss me back and therefore delay us even more, I turn away from him and begin to march ahead, leaving Luke no choice but to follow.

“How’s your head feeling?” I ask Luke as I roll over to look at him. A few rays of sunlight creep their way leisurely across my face, and I smile slightly as I realize that means it’s not raining right now.
“Much better, thanks to you,” he replies, giving me a grin and then a gentle kiss. “Good morning, Miss Lightning,” he murmurs in my ear as he pulls back and wraps his arms around me. Our faces our now a few inches apart, and I rest my head on his shoulder and smile into his shirt, truly enjoying this quiet, honest moment that has no acting or faking involved. “Or should I say Missus Gates.”
All of a sudden I feel my stomach turn to ice, and I curse my stupidity. For a second, I allowed myself to forget about us getting married, and, like it always does when I forget something, it’s coming back to bite me in the butt. Removing my head from his shoulder to look up at him again, I give him my best fake grin and say, “Good morning, Mister Gates.”
However, I can tell that Luke sees the sadness in my eyes, because he leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Lizzie, I’m sorry for basically forcing you into marrying me.”
I know that the microphones – which they manufacture to be incredibly sensitive so they can pick up every last word and sound – undoubtedly recorded everything that Luke said. However, Luke and I already covered this topic and put such a spin on it that no one would think I’m acting, so this can be turned into a good higher-audience-approval opportunity if I make the most of it. After forcing myself to swallow and take a deep breath to I brace myself for lying to Luke and having him believe every word, I tell him, “Luke, I love you. You didn’t force me into marrying you.” I can see Max taking a deep sigh of relief in the background, and, as Luke leans in to kiss me, I hope to dear God that Max truly appreciates how much this hurts me and how much I just wish he and Luke had never come up with this stupid plan.
“You are so amazing,” he murmurs when he pulls back, his eyes locked on mine as he raises a hand to gently brush a strand of hair away from my face. I see the love and devotion in his gaze, the love and devotion that I don’t share, and I avert my eyes. I’m not worthy to look upon this pure, innocent boy and know all of the lies I’ve fed him and all of pain I’ve caused him and all of the pain I will undoubtedly cause him in the future.
With a small, incredibly sad smile on my face, I tell him, truthfully for once, “Luke, you’re the amazing one,” and give him a kiss on the cheek. I can’t force myself to kiss him on the lips, not with the thoughts of my deception of him so fresh in my mind. After a moment more of laying next to him in silence, his quiet satisfied and joyous and mine full of sorrow and self-loathing, I rise to my feet to walk across the small room of the cave and grab my bow and quiver of arrows.
I turn around for a moment to say to Luke, “I’m going hunting,” and, without waiting for a reaction or for him to say something, I climb out of the cave. I need to clear my head, I need to think, and there’s no better way to do that than go hunting.
All of a sudden it occurs to me that something horrible must have happened to Winston because he didn’t show up in the night, but I push the thought out of my head. I can’t afford to worry about Winston when I have enough to worry about with Luke. However, as I walk away from the cave, I can’t keep Winston out of my head, and I know that, to keep myself sane, I at least have to try to find him.
Sighing deeply at the stupidity of my actions and knowing that I’m probably going to worry Luke sick by taking so much longer than I would if I were just hunting, I nevertheless sniff the air inconspicuously. I need to pick up Winston’s scent if I’m going to have any hope of finding him. My heart races when the unmistakable, slightly musty but not bad smell reaches my nostrils, and, even though it’s probably a good five miles towards where the careers were last night, I take off running. Now that I’ve roughly located Winston, it’s not like I can leave him; I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted to.
After about a half an hour of running, I slow down and test the air again. His scent is much closer and much more concentrated here, but it’s intertwined with the sour smell of fear, which I know, whether the fear’s human or animal, isn’t a good thing. I pull my bow off of my back and draw an arrow, scanning around me for any signs of danger or a fight, and curse my stupidity when I glance down at my waist and realize that I forgot my sword at the cave. At least my lightning bolt’s in my pocket, so if worst comes to worst, I have a supersuit I can use that no one will be able to stop, much less destroy.
Even though I know that it’s an incredibly effective way to draw any hostile champions in the area towards me, I whistle and call, “Winston, Winston!” If Winston’s alive – and, though I hate to admit it, he might not be – and isn’t hurt enough to prevent him from moving, he’ll come to me.
A rustling in the dense bushes to my left alarms me, and I raise my bow to aim it directly into the leaves. As soon as whatever’s in there comes out, it’s dead. However, I don’t have to shoot anything, because it turns out that it’s an injured, bloody and limping Winston.
“Winston!” I cry, running towards him and dropping onto my knees to wrap my arms around him and hold him against me. I then give him a little bit of my energy, since the Triple Crown committee won’t be able to connect me to the healing unless I give him enough energy to completely heal all of his wounds, and just hug him. I didn’t know how much Winston meant to me and how much I missed him until this moment, but, judging by the tears streaming down my cheeks, I’d say I missed him a lot.
In his typical Winston fashion, he nuzzles me gently and gives me a lick on the cheek, clearly trying to comfort me even as he’s the one who really needs to be comforted and helped.
I smile at him through my tears and murmur in his ear, “Good boy,” as I gently stroke his blood-matted golden-and-black fur. “Don’t ever do that to me again, ok?” I ask him when I pull my face away, and he nods slightly, all of a sudden obviously in pain. He was probably in the pain the whole time, but only let it show now.
“Come on Winston, let’s go back to Luke,” I tell him as I sling my bow onto my back, put my arrow away, and pick him up as gently as I can, though a yelp of pain still escapes him.
I then proceed to carry him the five miles back to the cave, very aware of his labored breathing and the blood slowly oozing from the wounds all over his body. He will die if I can’t get him back to the cave and treat him soon; in fact, he would probably already be dead if I hadn’t given the little bit of energy I did, since just crawling to me most likely used up the rest of his life and would have killed him if I hadn’t been there to give him energy.
When I slide very carefully into the cave, I hear Luke exclaim, “Oh my God, what happened?” and I peer around Winston’s head to see Luke staring at us both in shock. “Lizzie, I thought something had happened to you, since you were gone so long,” Luke tells, and I can see where his hair is fluffed up from his running his hand through it in agitation. “Now I see that I should have been worried about Winston.” His voice fades into oblivion as he takes in the full extent of Winston’s injuries, and I can tell we’re thinking the same thing: that we have to act fast if we want even a chance at saving Winston.
“Luke, I’m going to need water and some food for him,” I tell Luke quickly, ignoring his comments because I don’t have the time to answer them. Every second counts when it comes to saving someone’s life.
“You got it,” Luke replies, then begins to scramble around the cave for the supplies I asked for. Gently I set Winston down on the stone floor, wishing that I had something to lay him on because the floor has to be incredibly cold, sit down next to him, and assess his injuries fully for the first time.
Winston’s whole body is covered in cuts and lacerations that could only be caused by a sharp object – like Hunter’s sword or Marissa’s daggers – and he has numerous broken bones and huge bruises from being kicked and punched. He most likely has a concussion too, though I don’t know how to check for one on a jungle cat, and very well could have internal bleeding too. If he does, there’s nothing I can do for him except let him die in peace, but I can’t think about that right now.
I have to focus on saving him, on the fact that I have a chance to keep him alive and that I’m going to take it, because I’m not letting Winston die on me. I will save him, I will. Of course, the last time I made that promise to myself, the person I was supposed to be saving – Abby – died twice under my watch, so maybe I just shouldn’t swear to do save someone again, since I don’t seem to be very good at it.
My thoughts are interrupted by Luke setting a jug of water and the completely ruined shirt of mine that I used to clean his wounds with when he nearly died on me, and I look up momentarily to give him a smile. “Thank you,” I murmur sincerely, grateful that there’s no stress or panic in my voice at the moment.
I then turn my attention back to Winston and, even though I’ve already seen how badly he’s hurt, I can’t help but feel a burst of panic shoot through me as I see his injuries again. However, I can’t succumb to panic right now, since I know Winston is as good as dead if I do, so I grit my teeth, rip a few strips of cloth off the shirt to dampen them with water, and begin to dab gently at Winston’s wounds.
After a few minutes, I realize no amount of dabbing is going to completely clean his wounds, so I pick up the almost-full water jug and pour it over him. I’m careful to not use any more water than is necessary, but also double-check to make sure that I rinsed off everywhere that he has wounds. Once Winston is completely rinsed off – and the second water jug is almost completely empty – I take the shirt I had originally tried to use to dab at his wounds and instead use it to soak up all of the water covering the floor. I then toss the dripping-wet shirt in Luke’s direction wordlessly, and he leaves the cave for a moment to squeeze the cloth out.
“Winston, it’s going to be ok,” I whisper in his ear as I bend over him and wrap my arms around his neck. “It’s going to be ok,” I repeat, more for his benefit than for mine, and, after a few moments of just clinging to him desperately and praying to dear God that I’m not going to break another promise, I come to my senses and begin to feed him little bits of jerky. When he’s finished with two strips of the stuff, I pour some water out into my hand and have him drink, since undoubtedly he’s at least partially dehydrated by now.
“You’re going to be ok, Winston,” I tell him after he drinks a few handfuls of water and rests his head back down on the floor. All of a sudden I realize that he might be cold from having water dumped on him, so I take the golden, water-repellant over shirt of the arena uniform off and drape it over him. “I’m not going to let you die, I’m not going to let you die,” I murmur in his ear as tears that I refuse to let fall well up in my eyes. With every eye in the nation trained on me right now, I can’t afford to do anything stupid, like cry.
I feel a hand rest on my shoulder, and I look up to see Luke staring down at me with a worried expression on his face. “We’re not going to let you die, Winston,” Luke says quietly, he eyes locked on Winston’s motionless form.
“No, we aren’t,” I echo as I rise to my feet. I look down at Winston’s immobile body and hope to dear God that it won’t remain immobile, that he will survive and get up and walk again, that I won’t let Winston down like I let Abby down.
“Lizzie, let me take care of him for a little bit. You need to take a break,” Luke tells me as he gazes down at me with an equally concerned expression. Clearly he’s worried that I’m going to psych myself out; well, his worries definitely are valid, since I think I might be on the edge of doing just that.
“Ok,” I concede after a few moments’ hesitation, and turn away from Luke and Winston to find myself facing the cave entrance. All of a sudden rage floods my system, and I know exactly what I have to do: I have to kill Marissa and Hunter. They haven’t killed themselves yet, because not gunshots have gone off, so that means they’re still out there and still can be made to pay for what they did to Winston. Luke won’t think anything of my leaving; he’ll just think I’m going outside for a little bit to clear my head. Besides, even if he did know where I’m going, I don’t think he follow me, because I think he would recognize that saving Winston is more important than stopping me. I am just about to leave when I realize that I’ve made a huge mistake again: I’ve forgotten my sword. After stopping and turning around, I cast Luke a cautious look over my shoulder, deaden the air around me so that no sounds I make will reach him for good measure, snatch my sword and finally leave, fully intent on butchering Marissa and Hunter as sadistically as they butchered Winston.

More added.

It takes me only twenty-five minutes to travel the five miles to where I first found Winston, now that I know where to go and am filled with a determination to make Marissa and Hunter pay. Scanning my surroundings in search of a sign of a struggle, I follow the iron tang of blood to find a few flattened plant leaves, and, a few feet away, a couple bootprints and a whole hell of a lot of blood.
I am filled with even more determination and a twisted sense of excitement as I realize that Marissa or Hunter or both of them are nearby, because the person who lost that much blood must be close by. It’s not like that person’s going anywhere with half of their life-blood drained out into the mud, which means that, because I haven’t heard a gunshot yet, the other one is still around to finish the nearly-dead person off.
Silently I draw an arrow and fit it into my bow, glancing quickly around me to make sure that I’m not going to get ambushed. I then follow the trail of blood when I find no one waiting to jump me, and, after about a hundred yards of weaving through trees in a a dizzying pattern of in and out, I find Hunter laying, covered in gashes and bruises and his own blood, facefirst in a puddle of mud. Almost immediately, a gunshot goes off, and I turn away from Hunter, not wanting to see his body being eaten by the ground and also even warier now. If Hunter just died, Marissa must be around here, and she’s undoubtedly dinged up herself from fighting Hunter. After all, it’s not like he’s going to go down without a struggle.
“Lightning, looking for me?” a teasing, bitter voice behinds me asks mockingly, and I whip around to find Marissa staring at me in amusement from about twenty yards away, a bloody sword in one hand but surprisingly no visible injuries. When I raise my bow to aim my arrow directly at my heart as I give her a look of complete loathing, she just laughs. “You think I won’t be able to dodge that, Lightning? I mean, God knows I’ve got better reflexes than you do.”
I see her hand creep down to her belt and, realizing with a start what she’s about to do, throw myself to the ground just in time to avoid receiving a dagger to the heart. As I get back up, Marissa tells me, her expression still completely amused, “Not bad, but still not as good as me.”
I’m fed up with her teasing me, so I slip the arrow I drew back into the quiver on my back – but don’t sling the bow by my side onto my back – to ball my hands into fists and give her the most evil glare I can muster. I shoot back, “And why in the hell would I want to be like you?” When she doesn’t answer due to being taken aback to the point of speechlessness, I continue, “You, Marissa, are a sociopath incapable of feeling remorse and a psychopath who abuses and kills for the fun of it, so I’m going to ask you again: why in the hell would I want to be like you?”
“Well,” she begins, affixing me with a malicious, still amused stare of her own, “I can win this Triple Crown, and you can’t. You, Lightning, are a softie. You feel and you care and you’d rather be all high and mighty and clean than actually kill someone and cover your ass, which, to be perfectly honest, I don’t get. Either you die or they die, so why in the hell would you even think about it being you? Your life should be worth more in your eyes than their lives, so I’m going to ask you again: why in the hell would you want to die if you can live?” Her cold amber eyes lock on mine and ask me for answers. Unfortunately, I don’t know if I can give her those answers.
However, I don’t even have to think about my reply, because, before I can even take a moment to organize my thoughts, I find myself saying, “Because there are some things worth dying for.”
Instead of being rendered speechless again, like I thought she might be, Marissa begins to laugh, and I see what Luke means about hating my fake laugh, because hers is completely atrocious. “Aww, is Lightning getting all philosophical now?” she teases, her eyes glinting with pleasure at teasing me so spitefully. However, before I can shoot back another heated response, she says, “Oh, wait, I think I finally realized what this is about. You’re angry that I beat up that cat of yours, aren’t you?”
My hands ball into fists and I narrow my eyes at her as I hiss at her dangerously, “Don’t bring Winston into this.”
“Winston? You’ve named him now?” Marissa questions incredulously to laugh again when I give no reply. “You see, Lightning, this is what I mean about being a softie. You know, if you’re actually going around naming jungle cats and caring about little girls, you don’t deserve to be the Triple Crown champion.” My eyes shoot wide open as I realize that she’s talking about Abby, and the thought that Marissa killed Abby instantly shoots into my mind.
“Don’t bring Abby into this either,” I tell her viciously, then curse myself mentally for saying Abby’s name aloud, as Marissa will undoubtedly tease me about the fact that I have a nickname for her too.
“Abby; that’s what you called the little girl Williams, huh?” For once, Marissa doesn’t seem amused, and I’m instantly wary of her change in expression. My suspicions are proved correct when a truly sick and twisted smile breaks out across her face and she murmurs, her amused, pernicious gaze locked on mine, “Did you know that Abby begged for mercy when I found her and her camp fire a week ago? She honestly got down on her knees and begged me to not kill her, begged me to let her live. Of course, I don’t believe in mercy, so I put a dagger in her heart then and there.” I feel my lips curl up in a snarl, and, before I know what I’m doing, I draw an arrow out of the quiver on back, raise my bow, and fire directly at Marissa to have it pierce her heart.
Even though I’m completely stunned at what I’ve done, I still turn around, expecting to hear a gunshot and have Marissa’s body get eaten by the dirt, something I definitely don’t want to see. However, no gunshot goes off, and I turn back around to find Marissa lying flat on her back, breathing heavily and feebly trying to pull the arrow out of her chest. All of a sudden a wave of rage washes over me at the fact that she not only killed Abby but lied about her death to enrage me, and I walk towards her to stand over her and look down at her in distaste. I meet her amber gaze that contains as much loathing as it did when she wasn’t dying and small, bitter creeps across my face. Marissa will hate me to the grave; I guess that’s only fair, because I’ll hate her to the grave too.
“Marissa,” I begin, anger flooding me again, “when you die, and God with his wrath comes for you for all of the horrible things you’ve done to innocent children and innocent animals and not-so-innocent children, you do me a favor: you keep quiet.” I turn away from her to hear her gunshot go off, and, seized by a sudden inspiration, I begin to walk in the opposite direction, away from Luke and Winston and the cave but towards where Hunter died.
When I reach the spot on the ground still tinged red with his blood, I get down on my knees, close my eyes, and begin to pray. “God, please have mercy on this poor boy for getting mixed up with someone like her. Actually, God,” I backtrack as I realize that I shouldn’t just be praying for Hunter, “have mercy on us all for taking it upon ourselves to play god. It’s not our place to do what only you should do and decide who lives and who dies, so please forgive us all for doing so. And God…” I hesitate for a moment, not sure how to end my prayer. “…please make Abby comfortable, because you and I both know that she deserves it.” I then rise to my feet, wipe away the tears that have crept slowly down my cheeks, and begin to walk back towards the cave, saluting the spot where Marissa died as I walk past.

“Lizzie!” Luke exclaims as soon as I slide into the cave, and something must be terribly wrong because his tone is very worried and very stressed. When I take a few steps towards him and ask him with my eyes what’s the matter, he murmurs, his voice falling, “It’s Winston,” and steps aside to reveal the cat.
“Oh God,” I cry as I run towards Winston’s lifeless form to sit down next to him. The numerous gashes all over his body have puffed up and are oozing pus, which means they’re all infected, and his breathing has become slow and labored. Though I’d rather do anything else in the world than admit it, Winston is dying, and there’s nothing I can do to save him; I’ve broken another one of my promises.
I tear my eyes away from the Winston to turn and look up at Luke. “Luke…” I murmur, and I can see the pain on Luke’s face as he stares down at Winston and knows that we might as well put Winston out of his misery.
“How should we do it?” he asks quietly in reply, and I can hear the wavering quality to his voice that means it – along with him – is about to crack. “I think that you shooting him would be the quickest, easiest and least painful way, but you decide.”
All of a sudden I remember something about a poisonous plant that can be ground up and fed to someone to kill them quickly and painlessly, and I realize that’s what I have to get for Winston. Wordlessly I stand up and head for the cave entrance, completely oblivious to anything that doesn’t have to do with getting that plant, to be stopped by Luke grabbing me by the arm and pulling me around to face him. Before he can ask the inevitable question of, “What are you doing?” I tell him, “Luke, I just remembered something about a plant that can put someone to sleep quickly and painlessly. Let me go find it.”
Luke nods and lets me go, and I leave in silence, not trusting myself to say anything without revealing how truly heartbroken I am. For a few moments after I climb out of the cave, I merely stand there with my head in my hands, trying to organize my thoughts and prevent myself from doing something senseless, like breaking down and bawling. I take a few deep breaths and force myself to swallow as I tell myself that Winston wouldn’t want to see me cry and that I am a concrete girl, that nothing, not even death, can break me.
“Lizzie, pull yourself together,” I murmur to myself as I shake my head in a feeble attempt to clear my mind and get rid of all thoughts of weakness. “You do not cry, you do not cry, you are a concrete girl, you do not get broken, you do not get fazed, you do not cry.” I clench my hands into fists and grit my teeth at the tears threatening to well up in my eyes, as though, by defying them, I can prevent them from falling.
“Are you really a concrete girl Lizzie? Because it doesn’t look that way to me,” a voice behind me says, and I whip around to find Marshall Moore standing about ten feet away from me with a small, sad smile on his face. “Denying that you feel won’t get you anywhere, Lizzie. The only way you’ll truly be able to block out your emotions is if you don’t feel at all.”
“And how can I learn to not feel?” I question him in return, cursing myself mentally when my voice is slightly shaky but brushing it off. Since Marshall’s already seen me get emotional, there’s not use in hiding it anymore.
“Well, you can die,” he begins, his eyes locked on mine, and I tell myself that I can’t let any of my plan to do just that show, “or you can find something to drown your feelings in. Alcohol and drugs are two popular ones, but I’d say that the biggest one of all is pain.”
I feel his words pierce my heart, and all of a sudden it hits me that that’s exactly what I’m trying to do: I’m trying to bury my emotions in my pain, I just haven’t been very successful so far. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing though.
“Look at all the past Triple Crown winners: either they’re completely drunk, high or stoned out of their minds all of the time or they’ve completely surrounded themselves with what they’ve seen and what they’ve done and all of the hurt they’ve felt. Either way, they’re all dependent on something to keep them going and keep them unfeeling – which I guess is the same thing for them. I mean, can you name one Triple Crown victor who isn’t like that?” Marshall asks me, his blue-green gaze demanding and yet sympathetic at the same time.
I open my mouth to answer and say, “Yeah, my mentor Maximus Knight,” when I realize that that’s not true, that he is dependent on something – his pain – but he’s just an excellent actor, far better than I could ever be. I think of the moments that I can count on the palm of my hand at which I’ve caught him off-guard and could see the unbearable hurt in the back of his eyes for a millisecond before he covered it up again. So, filled with my new revelation, instead I just murmur, “Oh Max, how could I be so stupid to think that you survived this without scars?”
Marshall nods his head and smiles slightly, pleased that I’ve realized it’s not possible to survive the Triple Crown without forever being changed. After a few moments of awkward silence, he pipes up and says quietly, his stare glued on mine, “You know, Lizzie, in my eighteen years, I hadn’t met anyone who would resist the lure of life being made easier or of getting to live at the price of their morals or beliefs being compromised or completely destroyed – in other words, I hadn’t met anyone willing to die on their feet instead of live on their knees – until I met you. You don’t need to or have to die; in fact, I’m sure that, if you wanted to, you could have already killed off all of the other champions and be the One-Person Survival victor right now. But, from what I’ve seen, you are willing and ready to give your life for what you believe in, for the thought that you could maybe help someone else by dying, and, you know, I really respect that, because I know that I don’t have that much courage or devotion to anyone or anything.”
Truly touched by Marshall’s words, I give him a genuine smile and tell him, “Thank you, Marshall, for all that. But, you know,” I begin, thinking about why I’d be willing to die for an idea or an ideal, “it’s really not that complicated, and it’s not an act of valor or bravery or anything like that either. It’s just getting your priorities straight and realizing that there are some things – thoughts, ideals, morals – that are far more important than you are, because those thoughts, ideals and morals affect all of humanity and therefore don’t deserve to be ended by your selfishness.” I then shrug, since it really isn’t that confusing or difficult or amazing in my mind, to have Marshall stare at me in complete amazement.
“Why do you say that something intangible, something that doesn’t really even exist, is more important than you are?” Marshall questions to immediately add, “I mean, you’re a living, breathing human being who has the possiblity to change the world in a million different ways, so how is something that you can’t even touch, something that doesn’t exist in this world, more important or worth more than you are?”
“Marshall,” I start, a small smile creeping its way onto my face and curling my lips, “these ideas that I’m willing to die for represent everything I believe in, everything I want to have happen, eveything that I am as a person, so they basically are me, in a sense. And, since they can reach a lot more people and spread their message a lot quicker than I could, their possibility to make a change and affect the world is a lot greater than my own. I mean, all I have to do for my message to get out and make a change in maybe millions of people’s lives is die, and that’s a pretty small price to pay for the chance to affect and help so many other people. In other words, Marshall, society and humanity are worth more than I am, so it’d be selfish and unfair of me to not try to help them by spreading ideas and ideals by dying.”
“So not only do you want to die for your beliefs, you actually feel obligated to die for them?” Marshall asks me incredulously, to which I nod my head, a smile creeping across my face, in reply. “Man, Lizzie, you’re taking devotion and public service to a whole new level!” At this comment, I burst out laughing, and, out of the corner of my eye, I see a small but incredibly sincere grin take over Marshall’s expression. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve figured out that he only gets that look when he’s truly happy, so he must like me laughing.
All of a sudden it strikes me as odd that he would happen to be right there as soon as I popped out of the cave, so I ask him, having vague suspicions that he might have been spying on me, “Marshall, what are doing here? I mean, you don’t just happen to be waiting fifteen feet away from a cave entrance, so I have a feeling you knew I was down there and were waiting for me.”
“Guilty as charged,” Marshall replies with a boyish, flirtatious grin, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at him. While I really do like the mature, grown-up, intelligent side of him, I absolutely hate the promiscuous playboy he can often be.
“But… why?” Why would Marshall wait outside a cave for God knows how long to talk to a girl he feels attracted to but most likely can’t have and is supposed to be killing? I would think that that would just hurt Marshall even more.
“Because I had to say goodbye to you, Lizzie,” he tells me, more than a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. “I mean, I know we said goodbye when I let you go about a week ago, but I didn’t feel that all of that talk of mortal peril and Luke dying made for a very good goodbye, so I followed you so I could give you a proper goodbye.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, my heart sinks, because I know he’s not going to have any better luck with timing today, with Winston dying and me out finding a plant to put him out of his misery.
“Well, Marshall,” I begin, smiling a fake smile that contains a lot of real sadness, “you’re not having any better luck today.” When I see the inquisitive, concerned look on his face, I elaborate, “You know that jungle cat that was with me when I blew up the supplies? The one I called Winston?” to have Marshall nod his head in confirmation. After taking a moment to breathe deeply and brace myself for the words that are about to come out of my mouth, I say, “Well, he’s kind of dying, and I’m kind of out finding a plant that will make him go quicker and less painfully.”
“Oh my God Lizzie, I’m so sorry,” Marshall instantly tells me, and, even though it’s just a scripted response, more of a social formality than anything else, I can tell that, for some unknown reason, he’s actually sincere.
“Thank you,” I reply and nod my head at him to see him visibly jump back from the step he was taking towards me. Clearly he had plans to take me in his arms and comfort me; unfortunately for him, that’s not on my mind at all.
My musings about him wanting to hold me are proven correct when, after a moment of silence, he murmurs almost shyly, “Well, if you want someone to lean on and talk to about it, you have me right here.” He then opens his arms so that I could walk into them if I wanted, and a smile breaks out across my face despite the situation.
“Marshall, if you want to hug me, just say it, because you’re failing miserably at persuading me to hug you of my accord,” I say to him flatly to have him blush and grin at himself in response.
“Lizzie, I want to hug you,” he tells me quietly, acting exactly like a bashful little schoolboy admitting he has a crush on a teacher. However, all of a sudden his mannerism changes, and all lightheartedness that the moment held disappears.
“Lizzie, I want to hold you in my arms so bad that it hurts,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. “You know, I haven’t stopped thinking about you stripping down to your Spandex this whole time. Is that bad?” A small, sad and confused smile creeps onto Marshall’s face, and all of a sudden – like I do all the time when I’m around Luke – I feel bad that I don’t return Marshall’s feelings for me, even though we could never be together anyways.
“Well, I think Luke would say so,” I begin, and Marshall’s face immediately falls, “but I don’t.” Marshall looks back up at me in surprise and more a little bit of skepticism; I guess he might think that I don’t mean what I said.
“And why don’t you?” he questions me quietly, his gaze glued on mine with an intense, apprehensive yet hopeful look in his eye.
“Because you can’t help it, so it’s not like I should judge or punish you for something you can’t control. Trust me, Marshall,” I start when he continues to look doubtful, “I know what it’s like to be attracted to someone, even though you know that it’s useless because all you being attracted to that person will do is put both of you in pain. No one knows how that feels better than I do, Marshall. Hell, I don’t think even you know that feeling better than I do.”
Marshall’s lingering skepticism completely vanishes when he sees how sincere I’m being, but I’m not happy at all myself. Even though I’m relieved that Marshall’s finally decided to believe me, I can’t help but curse myself for my stupidity at mentioning Jackson, because the constant dull pain in my chest has grown to a sharp, stabbing feeling that feels like my heart is being pulled out.
“Lizzie, how do you know what that feels like?” Marshall asks me, and I sigh internally at myself. I should have never brought this whole issue up, because now I’m going to have questions to answer and will be reminded of Jackson and what me might have had every time I opem my mouth. “I mean, you have Luke, and I can tell that you love him, but I can gather from the way you talk that you still feel that way, so who else is there in your life that would make you feel that way?”
I hope Max is sitting down, I idly think as I take a deep breath to prepare for revealing part of the lie surrounding my relationship with Luke and Jackson. “Marshall, you know the guy Puck asked me about during interviews that I said was my brother Jackson?” When Marshall nods his head in response, the light of understanding instantly blooming in his eyes, I continue, “Well, Jackson’s not my brother.”
Marshall contemplates me curiously for a few moments before questioning the inevitable, “What is he then?”
“Marshall, to be honest,” I start, a small, sad smile curling my lips momentarily, “I don’t know what he is. As of now, he’s somewhere between my best friend and something more, because, while I am attracted to him and he is attracted to me, Jackson’s heart is with another girl and I’m engaged to Luke, so we can’t be anything more than best friends.”
“But if you were back home?” Marshall’s eyes are glued on my face, and, though I do the exact same thing to other people all of the time, I can’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable because of the close attention Marshall’s paying to me.
“If we were back home, we wouldn’t be in between best friends and something more; we’d be something more. Unless, of course, Jackson managed to win over the girl he really loves, who – did I mention this? – happens to be my ex-best friend.”
“Wow,” Marshall exclaims, his eyebrows going up in surprise. “It sounds like you have one very complicated life in terms of relationships. All of your problems make my issue with you seem downright trivial.”
We both smile falsely at that, and a few moments go by in silence, during which I think about the complete mess I’ve made by admitting that Jackson isn’t actually my brother, before Marshall breaks the quiet by speaking again. “Well, now that I’ve gotten to say goodbye, I might as well go and leave you to helping Winston.” He drops his gaze to the ground and nudges aside a fallen twig with his toe, clearly waiting for me to say something.
“Um, well, goodbye Marshall,” I tell him finally, hearing the sadness radiating from my voice and wishing that I could control my tone better; after announcing that I lied on national television and that Jackson is a romantic interest, not my brother, I’m going to need to lay it on thick so I can win back the audience and ensure that Luke and I don’t die anytime soon.
He looks at me, his eyes locking on mine, and he whispers, “Goodbye Lizzie,” and the sadness in his voice threatens to break my heart.
Sighing deeply and knowing that this isn’t going to help damage control at all but also knowing that I can’t just let him go, I tell him, “Come here Marshall,” and I open my arms for him to walk into.
His first few steps towards me are uncertain, as though he thinks I might lower my arms and not let him hug me at any moment, but, when he realizes I’m not going to do that, he closes the gap between us quickly.
Wrapping his arms around me, he lifts up up into the air for a moment, then kisses my neck gently and whispers in my ear, “You know, you really are intoxicating, addictive even, because now that I’ve gotten to hold you, I’m just going to want more.”
After a couple seconds of him just holding me, with a blanket of sad quiet draping the air around us, he clears his throat and murmurs in my ear again, “I don’t want to ever let go of you, Lizzie, because I know that when I let go, you’ll go back to Luke and then you’ll get married and then you’ll either die or I’ll die or we’ll both die and then I’ll lose you forever, and I don’t want to lose you. It would kill me to lose you, Lizzie, it would absolutely kill me.”
I hear the pain in his voice and feel a tear drip onto my shoulder, and I lock my arms around him desperately, wishing that I could do something to comfort him. “Lizzie, I know that if I let you go, I won’t ever get you back.” He then pulls back to look down at me, and, after just staring at me for a few moments, he says quietly, his tone dripping with hurt, “But I guess I have to let you go, because – even if I can’t – you have to move on and live your life.”
He sighs deeply and takes a few more seconds to gaze down at me and commit my features to memory before telling me, “Well, I guess this is it. Goodbye, Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning.” He wraps his arms around me one last time, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and turns and leaves without another word.
“Goodbye, Marshall Xavier Moore,” I whisper as I watch him go and wish that there was some way I could stop making all these broken people everywhere I go.

It takes me only five minutes to find the plant, which I briefly think about ingesting myself before I remember – and curse the fact – that it won’t kill me and will only reveal what I really am to all of the other champions.
“Was the plant hard to find?” Luke asks me shortly upon me entering the cave, clearly not wanting the air around us to fall into silence and make each other’s company completely unbearable.
“Yeah,” I lie just as shortly, tired of faking but too weary to tell the truth. “I had to go about two miles away to find it, and even then I nearly missed it.”
“You know, Lizzie,” Luke begins, an almost amused tone to his voice that puzzles me greatly, “you really aren’t that good of a liar.” After pausing for a moment to look down at the shocked expression on my face, he adds, “Sound travels a lot better through the rainforest than you might think.”
“I’m sorry for not telling you,” I mutter, dropping my gaze to look at the floor. “I just didn’t think that you needed to hear it, or that it was really any of your business.”
“So someone hitting on my fiancee isn’t my business?” he questions, clearly trying to come off angry, but only sounding sad and tired and not at all intimidating. I don’t even bother to answer, since it would just be a waste of breath, and, after a few moments pass in silence, he asks me, “So, how do we give the plant to Winston?” and the strain in his voice becomes even more obvious. Luke really did become attached to the cat over the short eight days he spent with him.
“To be honest, I don’t know.” I shrug my shoulders and open my hand to reveal the leafy green stuff that looks remarkably like basil. However, if any hungry animal or champion found this and decided to try it, they’d be dead before the leaves even reached their stomach. “I guess we just… feed it to him.”
Wordlessly Luke nods his head and steps aside to let me get to Winston. I inhale sharply when I see how much his condition has deteriorated – he could be dead within an hour even if we didn’t give him the plant – but force myself to squat down next to him and say a few words of encouragement. “It’s alright Winston, it’s going to be alright,” I murmur as I look down at him and stroke the side of his face, and, as though he knows what the plant does, his eyes drop down to the plant and then dart back up to meet my gaze, and I can tell that he’s asking me to end it, that he doesn’t want to be in pain anymore.
“I’m sorry Winston; I should have been there,” I say as I feed him little bits of the herb and feel his heart beat slow underneath my palm resting on his side.
When all of the plant in my hand is gone and Winston is barely breathing, I bend down over him and give him a kiss on his cheek to have one tear trickle down the side of my face and drip onto his fur.
“Goodbye, Winston,” I whisper as I wrap my arms around him and will him to stay with me, to not leave me alone here with Luke in this lie we’ve created for ourselves. All of a sudden, I feel him move underneath me, and I pull back to have him lift his head and look pointedly between Luke and I. A word then pops in and out of my mind in a flash, and, after taking a second to figure out what happened, I look back down at Winston to find him dead.
I sigh, force myself to swallow, and bend back over Winston’s lifeless body to give him another kiss on the cheek. Sitting up again, I caress the side of his face one last time and give him a respectful salute, far different from the one I gave the crowd in Hand-to-Hand.
I then sit in silence, most of my mind completely blank, but a small part of it trying to figure out what word flickered into my mind and how it got there. However, I don’t get much time to think, because, after a few moments have passed, Luke pipes up and asks aloud the inevitable question, “Well, what do we do now?”
“Well,” I begin slowly, with my mind seeming like it’s stuck in concrete because it’s working so slowly, “we have to give Winston a proper funeral, but I don’t want to put him in the ground.” When I see Luke’s confused expression, I elaborate, “I don’t want to have all of the insects and little animals make a meal out of his body, because that would just be wrong in my mind.” Luke nods his head wordlessly in understanding, but I can tell from the way he’s looking at the ground and the fact that there’s a lingering hint of a cloud of confusion covering his eyes that he’s still perplexed.
My suspicions are proved when, a few moments later, he asks, “Well, what do we do with him then, if we don’t bury him?”
I think about his question for a moment, because I honestly don’t know. However, an idea soon pops into my head that seems to occur to Luke at the exact same moment. “We cremate him,” I say, and look over at Luke to find him about to say what I just said. Unlike I normally might, I don’t find anything funny about that coincidence, and instead just bulldoze past it to add, “Besides, that way we can scatter his ashes, and he can go places he didn’t go when he was alive. Hell, maybe his ashes and his mind can both go to paradise, since God knows he deserves it.”
I force myself to swallow and remind myself that I am a concrete girl, that I do not do stupid things like cry, and that the one tear I shed already was one tear too many. I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry. I will not break I will not break I will not break.
“I guess we need to start a fire then,” Luke murmurs, and I cling to his words like a life raft, since I know they can save me from my thoughts.
I spur myself into action, jumping to my feet and walking over to the packs to grab the matches and lighter out of them, and turn back around to find Luke waiting with Winston’s body in his arms. “Let’s go,” I whisper, and we exit the cave, Luke going first and being very careful so as to not drag any part of Winston in the dirt.
When I reach the outside, I think idly that it’s amazing it hasn’t rained yet today, and give a short prayer that it won’t start raining while we’re burning Winston’s body. I follow Luke wordlessly to a small clearing about a hundred yards away, and, as he sets down Winston’s body gently, I see a tear silde down the end of Luke’s nose and drip onto Winston’s fur. It pulls slightly at my heartstrings, but not nearly as much as it usually would, because I’m too numb to feel like I usually do right now.
Taking a deep breath to prepare myself for what I’m about to do and sighing, I pull a match out of my pocket, strike it on the bark of a nearby tree, and toss it onto Winston’s body to watch the fire run rampant across his lifeless form. When I realize that I can’t bear to see Winston burn so slowly, I take a few more matches out, strike them and toss them onto different parts of his body to have the fire grow expontentially larger, so much so that Luke and I have to take a step back so we don’t get singed.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye and turn my head to find Luke twisting his head away from the blaze. In my state of numbness, I think that I should have seen this coming, that I should have known that Luke isn’t tough enough to watch an animal he cared about somewhat get burning in front of him, but I brush it aside after a second. At a time like this, it’s a useless thought, and I don’t have time or space in my mind for anything useless.
It takes at least fifteen minutes for Winston to be completely reduced to ashes, at which point I elbow Luke gently and murmur, “It’s done. He’s gone.” Luke then turns back around to look at the dwindling blaze with the small mounds of ashes, and, as soon as the fire has completely died out, he steps forward, clearly intending to collect the ashes with his bare hands.
“Luke, that won’t work,” I tell him quietly, my gaze locked on the little piles of gray. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him looking at me curiously, and I add, “The ashes will just slip out of your hands. We need something to collect them in.”
Wordlessly Luke leaves the clearing and heads back towards the cave, but it doesn’t even occur to me to be curious about where he’s going. I’m too preoccupied with Winston and the word that slipped into my mind and my vague suspicions that Winston had something to do with the word slipping into my mind to care about anything else.
Winston clearly was trying to tell me something by lifting his head and so pointedly looking between Luke and I right before he died, and I have a feeling that the word that slipped into my mind the moment before he passed also has something to do with what Winston was trying to tell me. I also have a feeling that the meaning of Winston’s actions is locked up in that word, and that I won’t be able to figure out what he was trying to tell me until I discover what the word was.

More added.

Suddenly it occurs to me that Winston probably used up the last of his energy – and therefore quickened his death – by lifting up his head and giving me that look, and I know, with even more certainty, that I have to figure out what he meant. If it was so important for him to convey his message that he purposefully sped up his demise, it must be something he wanted me to know and therefore something I really need to know.
My thoughts are interrupted by a crackling sound to my right, and I look up to find Luke with both of the empty water jugs in his hand. I stare at him in confusion for a few seconds until it occurs to me that Luke must mean to gather the ashes in the jugs, at which point I step forward to accept the jug he’s silently holding out to me.
It takes us about five minutes to gather up the majority of the ashes, at which point I summon up a small breeze to whisk the remaining ones away, since I don’t want any part of him to be left here. Besides, the Triple Crown committee won’t be able to connect me and the wind, because there are enough small gusts in the forest for to it to have just been a coincidence.
After we have collected most of the ashes in the water jugs, Luke turns to me and asks, his eyes wetter than they usually are, “What do we do now?”
I am about to reply that I don’t know when, all of a sudden, I remember something my dad said to me once: “If and when I die, I want to be cremated, so that way my ashes can be tossed into the wind or dumped into moving water and I can go places I didn’t get to go when I was alive.”
“The stream,” I murmur quietly, then turn back to Luke to see him looking at me in befuddlement. “There’s a little stream not too far from here. Let’s dump his ashes into the water so he can go places now that he didn’t get to go when he was alive.”
“Alright,” Luke agrees quietly, and, when he says nothing else, I start to walk in the direction of the stream to have him follow me silently.
We don’t say anything to each other nearly the whole walk there, since both of us are too preoccupied with the pain of losing Winston to speak, and it’s only when it occurs to me, as we’re only a few hundred yards away from the water, that there could very well other champions at the stream that I open my mouth to talk.
“There might be other champions at the stream, so be on guard. You know as well as I do that they won’t care that we just lost a friend; in fact, they might go after us specifically if they think that we’re weakened.” I drop my left hand to close it around the hilt of my sword and shrug my shoulders ever so slightly to make sure that I still have my bow and quiver strapped to my back. I could probably fight off any champion coming for us with just my sword, but I’d still rather have extra weapons and not need them than not have extra weapons and end up needing them after all.
When we reach the stream, I glance quickly around us to check for any immediate danger, and, upon finding none, approach the water and wade in to stop when the water covers about half of my shins. The water – like everything else in a rainforest – isn’t cold at all, so wading in it is easy and not uncomfortable at all.
“Well? You coming in?” I ask Luke when I see that he hasn’t made any movements towards the water and is instead eying it with a certain degree of suspicion.
“Yeah,” he answers after a few more moments of staring at the water warily, and suddenly it strikes that he must be afraid of something in or about the river.
“Luke, what are you afraid of?” I question bluntly when he still hasn’t stepped any closer to the stream. Upon seeing him get a slightly embarrassed look on his face, I add, “I won’t laugh at you, I promise.”
“Well,” he begins, and all of a sudden a wave of terror emanates out from him to wash over me and nearly intoxicate me, “I’m afraid of being pulled under and hitting my head on a rock and drowning, because that nearly happened when I was a little kid.”
“How old were you when it happened?” Things that happen when you’re so little that you can’t really remember them can have a bigger effect on you than the things you can remember, and I have a vague suspicion that Luke may have been too little to really remember it.
“Three and a half, so I don’t remember all of the details,” he replies, and instantly my suspicions are proved correct. “I just remember slipping on a stone and falling and everything going black and then not being able to breathe.” After a moment’s pause, he adds, “I’ve had a fear of streams and rivers ever since.”
“Well, you’re going to have to overcome it,” I tell him, then, when he gives me an almost appalled look, I reassure him, “Luke, I’m right here, so I’ll catch you if you fall.” Upon seeing that his expression didn’t change at all, I finally break down and say, “Luke, do it for Winston.”
I give a small sigh of relief when Luke finally wades into the water, but, when he looks down for a moment to see moss-covered rocks beneath his feet and hesitates, I grab him by the arm and pull him towards me. “Luke, in the words of FDR, there is nothing to fear but fear itself. You’ll be fine, trust me.”
He nods his head wordlessly and doesn’t attempt to back out of the water, though he’s clearly still scared out of his wits, prompting me to take the jug containing Winston’s ashes from him and unscrew the lid. I nearly drop the jug I’m holding when I feel Luke let go of me, and look up to see him, pale but determined, holding his hand out to me.
I give him the jug, which is clearly what he wants, and watch him in amazement for a few moments before I drop my gaze to my hands and unscrew the lid of my jug.
“Well, what do we do now?” Luke asks after I’ve opened my jug. I look up momentarily to see him regarding me carefully, all fear gone from his expression.
“Now’s the hardest part of all,” I murmur. “Now we let Winston go.” I then dunk my jug underneath the water to watch Winston’s ashes get washed away by the fast-moving stream, and know Luke has done the same when I hear the definite splash of something entering the water.
When both of our jugs are empty and the last of the ashes are being carried away from us by the stream, I give Winston one final salute. After a moment’s hesitation, I blow him a kiss too and make him an unspoken promise that I will figure out what he meant by the look he gave me just before he died, then tell myself that this is one promise I will not be breaking. If it’s the last thing I do, I will figure out what Winston meant, and I will make his memory proud by doing so.
“Goodbye, Winston,” I hear Luke whisper to my right, and I don’t have to turn and look to know that there are tears sliding down his face.
After waiting a few moments to give Luke time to collect himself and give myself time to truly say goodbye to him, I break the silence that has blanketed us by clearing my throat and saying, “Well, let’s go back. We’ve done all that we can now.”
The walk back to the cave is as silent as the one to the stream was, but I don’t mind the quiet. It gives me time to think about the meaning of Winston’s look and what he has to do with the mystery word that popped into my mind right before he died.
It’s entirely plausible that I imagined the word, or that my mind created it and it wasn’t planted there, but I don’t think that’s the case. Because I am an animal, I can communicate with other animals telepathically, which means that I can send them mental messages and they can send me mental messages. My suspicion is that the word was a mental message from Winston that explains the pointed stare he gave me. This means that, if I dig far enough into my own mind, I will eventually be able to unearth the word. The only problem is, I don’t know how far I’m going to have to dig or how to even start digging.
My parents told me once that, with minds like ours, we never forget anything, and that any memory from any point in time can eventually be revealed if you dig deep enough into your own mind. I know this to be true, since I’ve done it during school with homework I didn’t bother to write down, but I don’t know how to do it now, because the word was in my mind for such a short period of time. I mean, I know that I will in the end find it, but I have no idea how long that will take or even where to start searching in my mind. I guess my best strategy is to go back to the exact moment when the word popped into my mind-
My thoughts are interrupted by Luke stopping abruptly in front of me, and instinctively I reach for my sword, thinking that there must be some sort of danger ahead. However, it turns out we’ve just reached the cave, so I remove my hand from the hilt of my blade and proceed to slide into the cave after Luke just as the first raindrops begin to fall.
Wordlessly I take the jug he’s holding loosely and, alongside the one I carried, set it out into the rain so that it can refill and we can have clean drinking water soon.
“Do you think we did the right thing?” Luke asks me quietly as I turn back around, and, for the first time, I find it almost unnerving the way he’s staring at me so intently.
“Luke, I know we did the right thing,” I tell him, then reach out a hand to touch him lightly on the arm in what I hope is a reassuring way. When he doesn’t seem to be convinced, I add, “Winston’s in a better place, a place where there is no Triple Crown. That in itself justifies our actions completely.”
Now Luke nods almost regretfully, as though he knows what I’m saying is true but doesn’t want to admit it, and I turn away from him. If I can’t convince him right now, then I might as well stop trying, because it would just be a waste of breath for me to keep talking.
Luke and I eat a silent dinner of roasted paoton meat that we found in one of the packs, fruit I gathered on the way back from the stream and water from the newly-refilled and purified jugs. We then just as silently put all of our supplies away and lay down against the tall flat rock to watch the sun set through the cave entrance. Even though I ‘ve probably only been awake for twelve hours, it feels like I’ve been awake for twenty, and I soon find myself fighting to keep my eyes open.
Luke apparently notices this, for he murmurs gently in my ear as he strokes the side of my face, “Lizzie, it’s been a long day. You can go to sleep if you want to.”
“That’s the thing Luke: I don’t want to go to sleep,” I reply softly, and he falls silent again.
Now that I finally have peace and quiet, I finally get to go back to the moment in which the mystery word popped into my mind so I can figure out what it is. Closing my eyes, I mentally take myself back to that second.
I’m covering Winston with my body and my hand is on Winston’s abdomen. I can feel his heart beat slow under my palm, and I get off of him when I feel him move. He raises his head, looks at Luke and then at me very pointedly, the word flashes through my mind, and, when I look back down at Winston, he’s gone. The word, the word, the word…
I put myself in the exact second the word flashed through my mind, and all of a sudden, with an audible gasp of surprise, I realize what the word is.
Always.

It seems like I’m being haunted by that word ‘always’ and how it pertains to my relationship with Luke. No matter where I go, it follows me persistently: painted on my wall by an eleven-year-old girl, inserted into my mind by a dying jungle cat. However, what does that always mean anyways? I mean, it’s not even real for me; it’s just me doing what I’m told and acting to cover my ass. The fact that it’s real for Luke doesn’t really matter since I don’t return his feelings as wholeheartedly as I should. Me feeling a little something for him is rendered obsolete by the fact that we’re both going to die soon and that I don’t love him as much as he loves and that, while I want desperately an always with him, one in which no acting is required from me, I know it won’t happen. If the Triple Crown didn’t exist, and somehow I fell in love with him at home, then maybe we could have an always, but God knows we can’t have an always here. Nothing is permanent here, except for the Triple Crown.
My eyes shoot open even wider in surprise when I realize that Winston knew that I didn’t love Luke as much as he loved me, that most of it was just acting for me, and I begin to wonder why Winston would even suggest such a thing as an always for us, when he knew the truth about our relationship. Did Winston honestly think that, in the end, I would fall completely in love with Luke and everything would work out okay and we would make it out of the Triple Crown alive and together? I know Winston isn’t naïve enough to think that, so what on earth did he mean by always? Did he mean that Luke will love me always, or that we will always have the relationship we have now? Did he mean…?
I sigh in befuddlement and shake my head, trying to make sense of the thoughts running circles around each other in my mind. In the distance I hear Luke ask me if I’m alright, and I nod my head wordlessly and dismissively. And that’s when it hits me…
What Winston meant is that Luke and I will always, in some way or form, be connected if we’re not together because of the Triple Crown. We have both witnessed and done horrors that no other human will ever be able to understand or truly know what those things feel like, and that will bind us together for as long as we are both alive. We need each other to keep each other sane and whole, because right now, I am the only person who truly understands Luke and he is the only person who truly understands me. No matter what happens to us, no matter who dies first, hell, it doesn’t even matter if one of us kills the other, we will always be tied together by our experiences in the Hand-to-Hand Combat arena, and in this rainforest, and by the things that will happen to us in Team Survival. The other champions may know what it is like to have to either murder or be murdered, but I know for a fact that they do not know what it is like to have to deceive a nation – and the person supposed to be acting along with you – to save yourself.
That is the one thing that separates Luke and I from the other champions. While we all have to fight in the Triple Crown and we all have to kill or be killed and we all have to accept the fact that we’re probably not going to make it out of this alive, Luke and I are the only ones who know what it’s like to not only have to kill or die, but also to deceived and be deceived. Luke and I are the only ones who know what it’s like to have to be actors as well as assassins, and I am also the only one who knows what it’s like to hate yourself for not loving someone you really should love.
I really should love Luke more than I do, because I shouldn’t love Jackson at all, but, of course, it doesn’t really matter what should happen. It only matters what actually does happen, and all of the shoulds are completely forgotten in the result. I guess that essentially makes this another example of the means versus the ends.
It really doesn’t matter that I should love Luke as much as he loves me because I don’t, and that, the actual result, is all that will have an effect, is all that will ever be remembered, in the end. However, I would probably be acting a lot differently and might not even have any feelings for Luke at all if I didn’t feel that I should love him. Maybe the should, the motivation and driving force behind my actions, is the only thing that really matters, though it will undoubtedly be left out and eventually forgotten in time.
Shaking my head slightly, I think cynically that I really wish Luke hadn’t confused me so with all of his philosophical talk of the means being more important than the end, and that I could just continue believing wholeheartedly and stubbornly in the fact that the end is far more important than the means. Everything would be a lot easier now if he had just kept his mouth shut two weeks ago.
My thoughts are interrupted by Puck’s incredibly loud voice booming out across the forest and startling everything into an unnatural silence, and I feel a distinct vindication when I realize that I’m about to hear Marissa’s and Hunter’s names get read aloud. “Section Four: Marissa Evans and Hunter Knightley.”
“Twenty-three down, seven or eight to go,” Luke murmurs next to me, and my eyes shoot open in shock as I realize that he’s right.
However, I don’t have much time to be surprised, because Puck is immediately speaking again. “And your kill leader for One-Person Survival so far is...” He pauses for effect, and I roll my eyes and sigh, because I know that the name he’s about to announce is my own.
“Lizzie Lightning, with ten kills!” he shouts, loud enough for the people in the Sections to hear him even if his voice wasn’t being broadcasted from all of their television sets. Even though I know it’s his job, I can’t help but wonder why he sounds so happy about singling me out as a target and therefore increasing the likelyhood that I die.
Suddenly a burst of rage shoots through me, and I shout out at the sky, “God damn it, would you stop announcing that?” For a millisecond I briefly debate adding, “You wouldn’t want to kill off your cherrypicked winner, would you?” but I don’t when I realize that it would do nothing except make the Triple Crown committee and Rush even more angry with me. No one except for Luke and I would hear it anyways, so it’s useless to say it if it’s going to be heard by anyone who doesn’t already know it.
“Lizzie...” Luke begins, and reaches a hand out to gently touch me on the arm, and, before he can finish his sentence with the inevitable question of, “Are you alright?”, I quickly and dismissively tell him, annoyed that he thinks every time I make an outburst or get angry that I’m alright, “Luke, I’m fine.”
In my anger I add coldly and sarcastically, “Hate to break it to you, but I get pissed off sometimes.” However, I instantly feel bad when I see the taken-aback, shocked and hurt look on Luke’s face, and, as I sigh at my own inability to resist Luke’s almost-pathetic nature, I tell him, “Luke, I’m sorry. It’s not right of me to take my anger at the situation out on you.”
“Lizzie, it’s ok,” he replies gently, a small smile spreading across his face as he raises a hand to gently caress the side of my face. He then leans forward and kisses me on the forehead, and, when he pulls back, I snuggle up against him and rest my head on his shoulder. I look over at Luke, up at the stars, and back over at Luke again, and the last thing I think before I drift off to sleep is that the stars must think our lives are completely insane.

Luke and I stay in the cave for two more days, during which time my bruises completely fade away and the lump that used to dominate most of Luke’s forehead vanishes. While staying in the cave, we don’t do anything romantic except sleep next to each other, since Luke’s too caught up with losing Winston to care about anything else and I’m too caught up with losing Winston to bring myself to act in love with Luke like I’ve been told to do.
Max and his orders of manufactured romance can wait for a little bit, I told myself once, and I know that I was completely justified in thinking that. I just lost an animal that I considered to be a very close friend, and no one has any right to tell me to act and dance and sing like I’m supposed to when I’m grieving.
Winston’s dying gesture of the pointed look he gave me and the word he inserted into my mind haunt me the whole two days, so much so that I often find myself muttering the word always subconsciously as I go about my daily tasks, something that I find completely disturbing. I try to shake it from my mind, and tell myself that I imagined it all, that Winston never put always in my mind and that Luke and I don’t have any kind of always, but I can’t convince myself of such an obvious fallacy. As a result, I am never able to get rid of the feeling that maybe Winston’s right, that maybe Luke and I will always be connected by experiences, no matter what else happens to us or who dies first or even if we turn on each other.
The thought that I might actually have an always with Luke Gates scares the hell out of me. To be perfectly honest, I don’t want to be connected to anyone, or be with anyone, because it will just make it harder to die, and I don’t need to make it harder on myself to leave this world. It’s already going to hurt a lot to begin with, and I don’t want or need to put myself in any more pain. Besides, I can’t have always, not in this place; all relationships, loyalties and bonds are dissolved and crumbled and broken, and even people’s humanity is destroyed in the end, so, in the end, Luke’s and my always would eventually follow that same path. The only thing that is permanent, that actually has an always here, is El Nieve, all of the emotions it inspires in people: fear, pain, hatred in the people of the Sections and reverence, numbness and raw bloodlust in the people of El Nieve.
The fact that I actually do love Luke to an extent scares the hell out of me too. Loving him, while it makes the acting part of the Triple Crown a lot easier because I don’t always have to act anymore, makes everything else a whole lot more complicated and difficult. Because Luke knows that I love him some but because he doesn’t know how much I love him, he can’t distinguish when I’m acting and when I’m not anymore, and it kills me to have Luke believe that the lies I’m telling him are true. And then, of course, there’s Jackson.
Jackson could think that everything I say to Luke is a lie, that I’m acting all the time, and he’d be happy now and furious later when he learns that not all of it was me acting. Jackson could also think that everything I’m saying is real, that I’m not acting at all, and then he’d be furious now and happy later upon learning that I was acting some, that I don’t completely love Luke and that I still do love Jackson some. The third possibility is that Jackson would actually be able to tell when I’m acting and when I’m not, and, if that’s the case – which I highly doubt, Jackson will most likely find it amusing and pathetic that Luke can’t see through my act, and then Jackson himself will realize even more exactly how dangerous and manipulative I am. The fact that Jackson might see how lethal I am doesn’t really bother me though, because he already knows what I am and he already knows a good deal about what I can do, so this would just be him discovering another weapon in my huge arsenal.
I know that there are most likely only two people on the whole planet who can actually tell when I’m acting with Luke and when I’m not. Those people are Max and, unfortunately, Rush. It would be a lot easier if Rush couldn’t tell when I was acting or not, because then I could actually fool him and maybe not incur his wrath upon my family. In fact, if it weren’t for Rush’s threat to harm my family, I wouldn’t be acting at all. If I didn’t think that I might cause my family’s deaths by not doing what I’m told, I would be singing Re-Education Through Labor at the top of my lungs and not having anything to do with Luke Gates. To be perfectly honest, my life would be a lot easier that way, because then all I would have to do is worry about stirring up enough feelings to cause a rebellion and then committing suicide by Triple Crown.
Unfortunately, my life isn’t that easy, because Rush can tell when I’m acting and when I’m not and he has threatened – and I know that he’ll carry out his threat – to kill my family, making me completely at his mercy and forcing me to do everything he commands, even though all of the things he commands me to do are against everything I believe in. I hate Rush, simply because he represents everything I’ve grown to oppose: oligarchy, inequality, loss of humanity and feeling, and, above all, repression. Of course, even if he didn’t represent all of those things, I would still detest him, because I’m not one to be fond of people who threaten my family. Rush also doesn’t seem like a particularly nice guy to begin with, so I’m positive I wouldn’t get along with him, even if he were President of Utopia.
Which brings me to the question that’s been haunting me for quite a while now: is there really such a thing as Utopia? Is there really a perfect society where everyone’s equal and healthy and happy? To be honest, I don’t think that such a place could ever be create or ever exist, because a perfect society would require perfect people, and there are no such things as perfect people. The only person that I truly believe was perfect died over two thousand years ago – well, it’s probably more like three thousand from this point in time – and I think he’s the only perfect person who will ever walk this planet.
Some people might say that I am perfect, being tall, beautiful, incredibly intelligent and with enough skills and resources to do absolutely whatever I want in life. Some people would also say that I have the perfect life: my parents have enough money that I wouldn’t have to work a day in my life if I didn’t want to, and I can get almost anything I want with my fame, influence and connections. Of course, all of those people have no idea that I’m not even actually human, that everything that they think they know about me is false. I’m sure that if they knew all of my secrets, if they knew everything I’ve seen and done and how my hands are completely stained with the blood of all of the people I’ve killed, they wouldn’t think that I had a perfect life anymore. In fact, they’d probably wonder how on earth I’ve survived my life and all of the horrors in it for so long.
My life has finally caught up with me though, and there’s no way for me to run or get out of this problem now. I’m going to be a victim of my own reputation; my death will be a direct result will be a direct result of my ability to kill mercilessly, which I find incredibly ironic. Maybe that’s God’s way of telling me I’ve killed too many people, and that it’s time for what I dealt out to come back to me. After all, what goes around comes around, and I guess, after seventeen years of killing and destroying, all of my killing and destroying is going to come back and get me.
But maybe it’s best that I’m only going to get away with seventeen years of destruction, because I know that, if I kept on killing for much longer, I would either lose the ability to feel by drowning my feelings in my pain or I would just lose it completely and become suicidal, and neither one of those options is very attractive in my eyes. I’d much rather just have God take his vengeance out on me now so that I don’t have to live to become a monster.

More added.

After hearing some screams relatively close to us and then a gunshot, Luke and I quickly pack up and leave the cave. We don’t want to take a chance on being detected again, since the only true ally we have among the remaining champions is Marshall, and Luke probably wouldn’t want to work with Marshall anyways. I haven’t told Luke about my encounter with Marshall three days ago, since I know that would just be stupid on my part. I also know that I’m generating a lot of attention from the audience by keeping my relationship with Marshall secret from Luke, and Max would probably get really pissed at me if I stopped milking the crowd for all I’m worth by actually telling Luke about the thing with Marshall.
We stop after running about five miles away from the cave, mostly because Luke is getting tired, and, after a quick glance around, I climb up the tallest nearby tree and wordlessly motion for Luke to follow me.
After a few moments, he hasn’t climbed up next to me, so I glance down to see him shaking his head slightly and staring up at me in amazement. “How did you get up there like that?” he asks me, panting slightly, and I can’t help but smile. Even though Luke is in very good shape, he’s definitely not the runner I am.
“I’ve had lots of practice,” I tell him, shrugging. “Being able to climb almost anything very quickly is an essential skill for assassin. Now come on up next to me.” I scoot over a little bit, pat the tree branch next to me and give him a grin, knowing that I can charm him into almost anything and taking advantage of that fact.
“Lizzie, I can’t climb trees,” he says, and I look down at him in surprise. “I just... I never can figure out where to put my hands and feet, and I always end up falling.” When he sees the skeptical look I’m giving him, he concedes, “I mean, I guess I can get up there, it would just take me forever. It would probably take me ten minutes to just get ten feet off the ground, while it takes you about thirty seconds to get twenty feet off the ground.”
“It honestly takes you ten minutes to get ten feet off the ground?” I question him incredulously, thinking idly that a snail could probably move faster up a tree than that.
“Yeah, about that long.” Luke picks up on the shocked tone in my voice and answers very solemnly, causing my eyebrows to shoot up slightly when I realize that he’s completely serious. “Would you like to see me fail miserably at climbing a tree?”
“Well,” I begin, my tone becoming completely teasing, “I’d like to laugh at you failing miserably at climbing a tree, so give it a shot.” I give him a beaming smile and lean again the tree trunk. I’m going to be in for a lot of amusement if he really is as bad as he says he is.
“Thank you, Lizzie,” Luke replies patronizingly, and I burst out laughing. “I’ll do it if it makes you laugh though,” he adds quietly, his tone completely changed, and I look down to see him staring up at me with a small smile on his face and an intense look in his eye.
Instantly I feel uncomfortable, since those little comments Luke makes are just more reminders of our twisted relationship that I desperately wish we didn’t have, and I avert my gaze. After regarding me intently for a moment longer, he takes off the supplies on his back, tosses them up so that they are caught by a branch about ten feet off the ground, and grips a sturdy tree branch extending from the trunk at about his eye level. He then looks up at me expectantly, and I gesture for him to continue, a smile slowly spreading across my face.
This should be fun, I think as I smirk down at him and wait for him to begin his ascent up the tree.
Luke manages to get his whole body off of the ground before falling for the first time. Even though I know that I really should climb down the tree to see if he’s ok, I can’t help but laugh at him before I ask him, “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” he calls up, and I look down at him to find him lying flat on his back with leaves in his hair and an exasperated look on his face that makes me burst out laughing again. “Oh, you think this is funny?” he questions, giving me a flat look.
“Yeah, I do,” I answer, smirking at him. “In fact, I think this is very funny.” I fold my arms across my chest and watch him expectantly, waiting for him to try to climb the tree again. I know that, even though Luke knows continuing to climb the tree will accomplish nothing except give him a few more bruises, he’s going to keep on trying to climb the tree, because he would do anything to make me laugh.
“I’ll be the one laughing when I actually get up there,” Luke tells me, and I roll my eyes. From what I’ve seen so far, I think that it might take quite a while for Luke to get up here.
“Luke, when isn’t quite the right word. If is a much better descriptor of your possibilites of climbing this tree.” I give him my biggest grin and begin to giggle again when he rolls his eyes at me, which causes him to smile, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be annoyed with me.
However, instead of coming back with some witty and funny response, he just calmly says, “We’ll just see, now won’t we?” and my eyebrows shoot up briefly in surprise. My smirk doesn’t go away though.
After a few moments of silence, in which neither one of us do anything, I tell him, “I’m waiting,” and, after giving me an unamused look that contains hints of a smile, he begins to climb the tree again.
This time he is able to get up to where his packs are, stand up, lean against the tree trunk, cling onto branches tightly so that he doesn’t fall and give me his best smile. “I proved you wrong, Lizzie. I got up the tree,” he calls up to me, and I shake my head as my smirk gets even bigger.
“No, you didn’t. I said you had to get up here next to me, while you are seven feet off the ground. You have thirteen more feet of climbing to do.” When his face falls, I burst out laughing again, and, after I’ve stopped giggling enough to look down at him again, I see him giving me the flattest, most unamused look I’ve seen out of him so far.
However, his unamusement soon turns to determination, and, as he tosses his bags farther up into the tree, he calls, “Well, you’ll be seeing me soon either way.”
I fold my arms over my chest and give him a skeptical look, which prompts him to start climbing again. He gets to about ten feet off the ground before slipping, and I am about to tease him about the fact that he’s not going to be seeing me soon when he catches himself with one arm and pulls himself up to rest only eight feet below me.
For a second he seems to not fully comprehend what just happened, since he doesn’t tease me at all, but soon the realization of what he did sets in and he asks me as he looks up at me, a smirk spreading across my face, “Hey Lizzie, you still think it’s if instead of when?”
However, Luke still has eight feet to go and plenty of opportunites to fall until he reaches me, so, until he completely proves me wrong, I’m not going to back down and accept defeat. “Yeah, I do,” I call down to him and smirk as I see, by the look on his face, that he’s accepted my challenge.
“I’m coming up there!” he yells, and begins to try to climb again to lose grip of the first branch he grabs. He falls two feet to land ten feet below me again, and my smirk gets even bigger as it becomes apparent that I was completely right about all of the opportunities for Luke to fall.
“You know, Luke, you really should shut and climb, because you’re going to jinx yourself by saying things like that,” I call down at him, and he rolls his eyes at me. He then climbs up the two feet he lost to sit eight feet below me and gives me his biggest, most beaming smile that oozes cockiness and says for itself, “I told you so.”
“Lizzie, you’re going to be having company very soon, so I’d scoot over if I were you,” he tells me, his eyes lit up with humor, excitement and determination, and all of a sudden I find myself thinking about how attractive he is. When I come to my senses after a moment, I shake my head wildly, trying to clear my mind of those thoughts. To be honest, I’m amazed with myself, as, while Luke is rather attractive, I’m not the one to think about it constantly. I’m almost scared too, because I have no idea what that means in terms of my feelings towards him.
However, I don’t let my astonishment and fear show, and respond, “I’m not scooting over until you prove that you can actually climb this tree and not get your ass kicked by it.”
To my surprise, he shrugs and says in reply, “Fair enough,” then begins to climb again. This time, I note with amusement, he is much more careful about where he places his hands and his feet, and, after taking about five minutes, he stops at about five feet below me.
“You scooting over yet?” he calls up, smirking, as he throws his bags higher up into the tree so that they land right next to me, and a smile spreads across my face. Even though I might want to deny it, I really do like this friendly, peaceful, playful time Luke and I are having together. It’s a refreshing break from murdering and wondering when we’re going to be murdered.
“Hell no!” I shoot back. “You still have about five feet straight up to go, which means that you still have ample opportunity to fall out of this tree. Like I said before, I’m not scooting over until you prove that you’re not going to get your ass kicked by this tree, and that means I’m not scooting over until you actually get up here.” I give him my biggest smile, which makes him shake his head at me in exasperation and amusement. I then burst out laughing, and, all of a sudden, I just feel a wave of incredibly powerful emotion that came from Luke sweep over me.
I stop giggling to stare down at him in amazement and find him gazing up at me with such care and love and compassion in his eyes that I have to avert my stare to avoid being overcome by guilt. The emotion still lingers in the air around me, and, even though I know that I’ve just felt the breath of a miracle, it still makes me incredibly uncomfortable.
A heavy silence drapes us for a moment before Luke breaks it by bringing back the happy, frivolous mood and saying, “Well, I’m coming up there right now,” to begin climbing again.
I give him my best fake grin but can’t bring myself to say anything teasing in response, as I’m still too stunned and overcome by what just happened between us to speak. Unlike anything that I’ve ever been able to do before, I could palpably feel the emotion in the air the moment before, and the huge amount of love and emotion that Luke directed at me scares the hell out of me. From a completely selfish, logistical standpoint, he shouldn’t feel that much or that powerfully for me. Now that I know how much he actually loves me, going off and being the spark and dying is just going to be harder.
I am so consumed in my thoughts that I don’t even laugh when Luke falls five feet to land ten feet below me again, which causes him to look up at me in surprise. “Lizzie, are you ok?” he asks me, his tone incredibly concerned, and I grudgingly admit to myself that he actually does have a reason to be worried right now. After all, if I don’t laugh at him falling and therefore proving me right, something must be wrong.
Shaking my head and snapping out of the half-stupor I was in, I blink a couple times and stare down at him to nod, smile and say, “Yeah. Sorry; I was just... thinking.” My voice trails off and it’s obvious Luke knows what I’m thinking about, because he nods his head in understanding and gives me a solemn smile.
“Well, what you should be thinking about is how I’m going to prove you wrong and actually climb this tree,” he tells me, a playful grin spreading across his face, and I’m incredibly grateful of the fact that he immediately recognized I don’t want to talk about it and changed the subject. I really do appreciate Luke’s intuition, tact and ability to read people, especially in times like this.
“Actually,” I begin, smirking down at him, “I’m wondering how many more times you’re going to fall. My guess is at least five, considering you’ve fallen four times already and still have the most difficult part of the tree to climb.” Luke rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head, but I don’t burst out laughing like I have before. I’m almost afraid that, if I do laugh, Luke will send another wave of emotions in my direction, a wave that I don’t want to feel again.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he mutters, and now I do start giggling as I look down at his exasperated and amused expression.
“No,” I counter, shaking my head as he stares up at me in confusion. “I believe the term you’re looking for is ye of reality, because the reality, Luke, is that you most likely aren’t going to get up this tree in the next hour, and, even if you do, you’ll do it with lots of falls and be covered in bruises.”
“Well I really appreciate your confidence in me, it’s very encouraging,” Luke tells me with a straight face, and a smile overtakes my expression as I see his incredibly beautiful twinkling eyes.
“You’re quite welcome Luke. I’m here all week,” I answer, and now it’s Luke’s turn to laugh. “Actually, at the rate you’re going, we’re both going to be here all week,” I add after a few moments of thought, and Luke shakes his head as a grin creeps across his face.
“I don’t know why, but, no matter how annoying you get, I never can get mad at you,” Luke murmurs as he stares up at me, and I instantly avert my gaze when I see the incredibly passionate look in his eye. “Maybe it’s because you’re just so charming and perfect that it doesn’t matter what you do,” he tells me quietly, and I feel my eyes being drawn to his face by the sheer power of his voice.
“Luke, don’t start,” I finally say when I’ve overcome my shock at his words enough to speak. When I see him staring up at me with confusion and hurt in his expression, I shake my head and add, “Just don’t, alright?” I sigh at myself slightly as the realization of what I just did sets in: I just lost all patience with Luke’s proclamations of his love for me and therefore just partially revealed the true nature of our relationship to the audience.
Luke clearly knows what just happened too, because, even though his eyes are overflowing with pain and hurt and anger at himself, he quickly covers for me by asking, “Lizzie, what’s the matter?” and twisting his features so that he now appears concerned.
“I just...” I begin, and I know that I’m supposed to lie and say something like, “You don’t have to tell me that you love me all the time when I already know it,” which I guess wouldn’t be a lie at all. However, I can’t bring myself to even say that, so I mutter, completely truthful, “You really shouldn’t tell me that I’m perfect all the time when I’m never perfect at all.” After a moment’s pause, I continue, “I mean, that’s a really nice lie you’ve been telling me, but I don’t want to hear it anymore.”
“Lizzie, I’m sorry,” Luke tells me sincerely, his eyes wide with surprise, “but I’m not lying.” I drop my gaze for a moment as I realize that I walked right into that one and I sigh. Luke confessing his love for me and making me feel like a horrible person is always incredibly fun for me.
“You are the most perfect person I’ve ever met; hell, I don’t have to meet all of the other people to know that you’re the most perfect person on the planet, so I don’t know you insist on deluding yourself that you are anything less. You are beautiful – no, you’re stunning, you’re as radiant as the sun – and you’re brilliant – you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met-” – I smile briefly and insincerely at that last comment, since I probably am the smartest person he’s ever met; I have a measured intelligence quotient of two-forty-three and am usually about ten steps ahead of everyone else I’m having a conversation with – “-and you’re caring and you’re athletic and you’re witty and you’re just...” His voice trails off for a moment, and I move my gaze away when I see the passion that causes me great pain blazing in his eyes. “Perfect,” he finishes in a whisper, and all of a sudden begins to climb at an amazing speed up the tree.
Within a minute, he’s next to me, and, as I give him my best fake smile, I make a great fuss of scooting over to make room for him.
“You know, this is probably the only opportunity I’m going to get to tell you I told you so,” he murmurs as he looks over at me with the hint of a smile on his face and the intensity still consuming his gaze.
“You might as well make the most of your opportunity then,” I tell him in reply, trying to sound exasperated but only sounding sad.
“That’s the thing, Lizzie: I don’t want to tell you that.” I look up at him in surprise, honestly stunned. Even though our playful moment vanished long ago, I thought Luke would at least want to rub his victory in my face, considering that I was the major naysayer who constantly told him that he wouldn’t be able to climb the tree.
I voice my surprise by asking, “Why not?” then stare over at him in confusion, hoping to dear God that Luke isn’t going to come back with some long speech about it not being nice and about how he has to be noble, otherwise I’ll find someone better. Him telling me he loves me all the time never was pleasant, and it’s been made even more uncomfortable by the knowledge that he believes I love him back when I really don’t.
“Because I know that you’ll have plenty of opportunities to tell me that later on – I mean, you already have – and I’m hoping that, if I’m nice to you know, you won’t use them.” He gives me a playful smile, though I can tell that he’s not completely kidding, and it’s all I can do to stop from sighing out loud in relief. I just dodged another bullet in terms of Luke causing me pain.
“Trust me, Luke, your act of kindness will not be forgotten,” I tell him, giving him a half-genuine smile and forcing myself to swallow when he wraps his arm around me and draws me to him.
I feel the emotion building up in the air and I realize that I need to reclaim the comic feel of the moment before it becomes too charged, so I quickly add, “It may be forgotten during the moments you fall out of trees, but it won’t be completely forgotten.” I give him a smirk and allow myself to relax a little when some of the emotion of the moment vanishes. However, I know I’m not completely out of the woods yet, so I keep on being comedic to prevent the lost emotion from coming back. “Actually, it will definitely be forgotten during the moments you’re getting your ass kicked by a tree.”
“I figured that,” Luke replies, shrugging as a smile creeps across his face, but the fact that there’s still some of the passion blazing in his eyes worries me. I don’t want to say anything else that might reveal something about the true nature of our relationship, but I know that I will if Luke starts pouring his heart out to me again. “But it’s still nice to know that you won’t completely forget it,” he adds quietly, and the intensity in his eyes instantly multiplies.
I jerk my gaze away, made incredibly uncomfortable by the incredibly powerful emotions Luke feels for me and not wanting to be reminded of the fact that I don’t feel the same way. However, I know that I really should take this opportunity to cover my ass and do some damage control, so I swallow with difficulty and force myself to say, “Luke, I will never forget anything you do.”
Luke gives me a wordless smile and leans in to kiss me, and, as I feel his arms wrap around my back and pull me closer to him, I think that, even though what I said is true, it doesn’t make much difference in how I feel about saying it. If I could – and, even though I can’t, I’m seriously considering doing it anyways – I would stop the acting right now, and immediately begin to confess to Luke all of the things that I’ve said to him that haven’t been true, or that I haven’t really meant, or that I haven’t really wanted to say. If I could, I would tell Luke about everything that I’ve said and done that I only said or did to forward the lie of our relationship, and then I would beg for forgiveness and hope to dear God that Luke understands that I didn’t want to say or do any of those things, and that it kills me to know that he wholeheartedly believes all of my lies.
If I could, I would tell him about all of the moments when I actually meant what I said, when I actually felt something for him, when I actually wasn’t acting, and maybe Luke would forgive me easier if he knew that I wasn’t acting all of the time, that I actually did mean some of the things that I told him and that I actually did feel something for him. Maybe Luke would be happy to know that I’m capable of feeling, that I’m not just a concrete girl, no matter how much I’d like to delude myself that I am, and maybe Luke would be happy to know that I can do something more than kill and destroy, that love is actually a word in my vocabulary.
My thoughts are interrupted by Luke pulling back, and I stare up at him in pain and confusion. I desperately want to reveal the lies that I’ve been feeding him, and I want to stop him from taking everything that I say as real, and I want him to see what I really am: a cynical, homicidal, incredibly dangerous ex-assassin who refuses to admit to herself that she can feel and that she can be broken. I also desperately want to tell him that not everything I said was a lie, that I actually meant some of the things that I told him, and I want him to understand how sorry I am for tricking him, and I want him to know how much it kills me to have him believe that the lies I tell him are real.
I want to be honest with him for once, but, as I have learned, honesty cannot exist in the Triple Crown. The Triple Crown itself is seated in the dishonesty of the people that run it and make everyone else believe that it is necessary and fair when it is really neither one, so why should anything about the Triple Crown, or that the Triple Crown has created, actually be honest too? After all, it has thrived for ninety-nine years on the policy of dishonesty and forgery of relationships and reasons and even champions – look at Max – so why it should change? It has a perfectly good, working business model in deceiving everyone and faking everything, so I guess I shouldn’t expect it change for me.
However, if I succeed in my mission of being the spark, it might all get burned to the ground, and then it would change for me and the fire I started. Changing the system or at least severely rattling the Triple Crown committee and El Nieve and reminding them that they’re not permanent, that this oligarchy that they have in place can be destroyed, is what I want to do by being the spark. I want to give the people of the Sections at least a chance to live on their feet and experience freedom, even if that freedom comes a few seconds before their deaths.
These people are done groveling and doing what El Nieve wants them to do and living on their knees. They want a chance to live on their feet, even if that chance comes at the price of their lives, so who am I to stop them from doing so? They have made me their spark, and they have created an environment that I can start a fire in, so, for their sakes, I need to take advantage of it and be their spark. I’m dead anyways, since both Luke and I can’t go home and I’m not going home without him, so what do I have to lose? The support of the crowd that will scream for my blood when it’s my time to die? The crown of the Triple Crown? None of that matters to me, because it is all useless. In the end, the crowd that loves me now will betray me and scream for my killer as I lay on the ground, helpless and waiting for death. If I were to win the Triple Crown, I would be forsaking everything I believe in as a person and losing everything that makes me me, and I would be violating the key principle that I want to die by of that it’s better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.
To me, living is not worth losing everything I care about, like my individuality, humanity and core beliefs, so I would much rather die as myself than live as the broken, beaten, worn-down creature I would be if I were to come out of all of this alive. Besides, if I come out of this alive, that means I havne’t done my job as the spark, and that I’ve failed the people of the Sections, which is something I definitely don’t want to do. They’ve been let down enough by El Nieve and their leaders who promised bright futures for all, so they don’t need to be let down by me too.
I am jerked out of my thoughts by the sound of Luke’s voice. “Lizzie,” he begins, staring down at me with worry on his face, and I know, before he even opens his mouth again, that he’s going to ask if I’m alright, “are you ok?”
I smile slightly at Luke’s predictability and answer, “Yeah, I’m fine,” then back against him and have him hold me tightly. After a few moments of silence, I realize that I need to talk to him about some of the things bothering me, so I murmur, “Actually, Luke, there is something that’s been bothering me.” However, as soon as I’m done talking, it occurs me that I actually can’t talk to Luke about any of the things bothering me, because they all have to do with the nature of our relationship. With an internal sigh, I find that I’m going to have to fake it and come up with something completely different from what I had originally planned on talking about.
I look up to find Luke gazing down at me expectantly, and I continue, painfully aware of the fact that everything I’m about to say is bullshit in terms of sincerity, “There was something Marissa said, before I put an arrow in her heart. She said that she killed Abby, and that Abby begged for mercy before she died. I mean, I don’t think that Abby actually begged for mercy, but I think that Marissa very well could have killed her.”
“Well,” Luke starts, staring at me with concern in his eyes as he holds me to him, “you can’t let it bother you either way, even though I know that sounds completely cold and callous, because then Marissa will be succeeding in her goal of psyching you out. You can’t let her get inside your mind and mess with you. I mean, I know it’s a lot harder than it sounds, but you have to just forget about what she said and not think about it. That’s the only way you can stop her from getting to you and having the last laugh.” Luke gives me a small smile and gently scoops me up to set me down in his lap, and I sigh as I lean back against him.
“I know Luke,” I mutter as I look out through the leaves and branches in front of me for answers. “I just... I just...” I shake my head, not knowing what to say or even why I’m talking about the lie I’ve made when I don’t have to. “I just... You know, Luke,” I begin, looking up at him and capturing his gaze with my own, “I feel bad for Marissa, that she has to be so twisted and bent and broken and sociopathic that she has to make up lies like that. I mean, I don’t like her – I never liked her, and she never liked me clearly – but I feel bad for her. I mean, if all she can do is hurt people, then that’s awful. I can’t even imagine how bad that would be, to know that your only purpose in life and your only major skill is killing and destroying. I really hope that that never happens to me, that I never lose everything except the ability to hurt and kill and destroy. If that happens, put an arrow or a blade in my heart, Luke, because I don’t want to live to see myself become Marissa. I don’t want to live to see myself become a monster.”
“Lizzie, you will never become a monster, never,” Luke tells me, and it’s all I can do to not laugh my fake laugh at how mistaken he is. “You are too good and right and just to ever become anything like Marissa. You will never be her, Lizzie, you never be her.” I smile slightly and shake my head, finding it bitterly amusing that Luke is so blinded by his love for me that he can’t see how truly dangerous I am.
“Luke,” I start, staring up at him, “I don’t think you realize that I’m not that far from Marissa right now. A few more years as an assassin – hell, a month more of this even – would turn me into her, no questions asked.” I pause for a moment, not knowing how to continue. “Luke, I’m not nearly as good and just and perfect as you think I am. You’re blinded by your love for me, and, you know, I really wish that you weren’t, because I can’t stand you not being able to see me for what I really am, even if what I really am drives you away.”
“Well, Lizzie, what really are you then?” Luke asks me quietly, his gaze locked on mine, and I smile slightly and bitterly.
“I’ve already answered this question, Luke: I am inherently dangerous.”

More added.

Luke and I stay up in the tree for a few hours, waiting for whoever – or whatever – killed off the other champion to either pass by or go in the opposite direction. When we hear no footsteps and find no signs of other champions passing through after about four hours of waiting, we decide that there’s most likely no one nearby and that we should get moving again to throw off anyone who is nearby.
We then continue to walk east, towards the clearing with the Giving Hands where One-Person started, and also towards the long grasses. I shiver involuntarily as I think of the grasses. I can handle forests and deserts and oceans and almost any other type of terrain or environment, but something about the grasses just sets me on edge. Every time I look at them or think of them, all that pops into my head is all of the dangers that could be hiding in them, even though I know that, from a statistical standpoint, there are probably more dangers in the rainforest and trees. I don’t find the rainforest and trees nearly as intimidating though, so I fully intend to stay in the rainforest, which is a terrain that I know and can thrive in. The grasses are unknown, and any number of things could be in them, so, since I don’t know much about them, I intend to avoid them. Luke, however, might have different ideas
“Lizzie?” he asks me as we walk through the forest, and I turn to look at him.
“Yeah?” I question him in reply, kicking a loose branch out of my way as I feel the moss underneath my feet squish as I walk.
“Do you remember what was on the other side of the arena, to the right of where we were in the clearing with the Giving Hands?” Instanty my heart drops, because I know that this has to be about going into the grasses, but I nod my head in reply and hope to dear God that it isn’t about going into the grasses.
“Yeah, a plain of tall grasses that drops off to the west.” That’s another reason I don’t want to go into the grasses: I have no idea what is beyond the drop-off. I also have no intention of finding out, despite the fact that it sounds like Luke might want to.
“Well, don’t you think that we should go in there, and see what we can find?” he suggests, and I force myself to keep quiet and let him talk. I can persuade him to not go into the grasses after he finishes telling me why we should. “I mean, pure statistics say that, since the rainforest covers so much more of the arena than the grass plain and whatever is beyond the drop-off, there are more champions in the rainforest, so I think that we’d be safer in the grasses. I know that we might not know them as well, and that there might not be any trees for you to climb and hide in, but I think we’d be able to make it. After all, you have every edible plant under the sun memorized, and undoubtedly there are animals down there that we can hunt and eat, so I think we’d be able to survive.”
He pauses for a moment, and I am about to open my mouth and argue that we should stay in the rainforest when he adds, “And, if it turns out that the grasses are worse than the forest, we can come back here.” He looks up at me now and asks, “So what do you think? Should we try our luck in the grasses?”
I really want to tell Luke that no, we shouldn’t try our luck in the grasse, because they are undoubtedly far more dangerous and far harder to hunt and gather and live in than the forest, when it occurs to me that doing so would reveal to Luke that I’m afraid of the grasses and the things in them. I can’t let Luke think I’m afraid, since I’m supposed to be the tough one out of us, so I swallow my fear and tell myself that I am a concrete girl, that I do not feel fear, that there is nothing for me to fear. The thought that I have survived so much worse than the worst that could be in the grasses calms me some, and I say to myself that I can’t let myself get killed by something in the grasses, because no one would benefit from me dying against my will at the hands of the arena.
Filled with a blazing determination to go into the grasses and prove that I don’t feel fear and that I can’t be beaten by the arena, I nod my head and say in reply, “That sounds great. And you’re right: from the number-of-champions standpoint, is probably is a lot safer.”
However, it’s not the champions I’m worried about. I still can’t get rid of the nagging fear at the back of my mind that there’s something in the grasses I need to stay away from, that there’s something in the grasses that could kill me, but I force myself to ignore it and keep walking. For all I know, Luke could be right: the grasses could be a lot safer and lot easier to survive in than the forest, even though there probably aren’t nearly as many places to hide in.
“Well, we’re already headed there now, so let’s just keep on walking,” Luke says, and I nod my head wordlessly in reply. Luke stares over at me curiously for a few moments, clearly knowing that something’s on my mind and that I don’t want to talk about it, before dropping his gaze to the ground in front of him.
After a second more of looking over at Luke and smiling slightly at his ability to read people’s emotions and act accordingly, I do the same, and my eyes falls on a basil-shaped leaf a few feet in front of me. All of a sudden I realize what it is, and I stop abrupty to bend down and pluck a few leaves from the plant.
Luke looks down at me questioningly, and I hold the plant up for him to see. The realization of what it is floods him after a moment, and I murmur quietly as I rise to my feet and tuck the leaves inside a pocket of my waterproof jacket, “In case we need to put any more friends to sleep.”
Now it’s Luke’s turn to nod wordlessly, and I look over at him to see pain welling up in his eyes as he scans the ground in front of him. Even though he didn’t know Winston as well as I did, Luke took Winston’s death a lot harder than I did. Of course, that probably has something to do with the fact that he actually is a lot more emotional than I am, because he feels so much more than I do.
Three years of being an assassin greatly lowered my capacity for emotion, and me telling myself that I am a concrete girl and that I do not feel helps block out most of the rest of what I actually do feel. The Triple Crown effectively preventing us from feeling by making empathy such an expensive commodity also gets rid of emotion rather quickly, since no one of us champions can afford to pay the price of feeling. Well, except for Luke, because he’s probably the only champion still alive that hasn’t killed anybody yet.
I have no doubts that, if it came down to it, Luke would kill to save himself or to save me, but for now he’s been loyal to his unspoken promise to himself of not becoming a murderer. Unforunately, that’s a promise that he can’t afford to make in the Triple Crown, and it’s a promise that he will break in the end. In fact, all promises made earlier in the One-Person will eventually be broken, because desperation always wins out over loyalty and commitment and every other emotion in the end.
Desperation is the emotion that is left if you strip away everything else. It is the emotion of the dying, the broken, the beaten, the downtrodden. Desperation is the emotion of the Low, the underpriviledged and beaten down. It is also the core feeling of rebels, and last-minute actions, and one-night stands, and basically everything necessary and spontaeous. Desperation, I have learned, is the one true human emotion, because it is the only emotion that can be ever-present, no matter what you’re feeling at the time. Well, it and pain. I suppose an argument could be made for pain being the one true human emotion, but desperation, in my mind, is so much more human.
Desperation personifies the injustice and degradation that all humans either practice or experience or fight against. Desperation is present in everyone, perhaps even if everyone all the time. Desperation is what drives people to do those crazy things that everyone else reveres and hates and loves them for. Desperation – and the things it causes – incites such strong emotions in other people that it really is the core emotion, from which all other feelings stem.
Working as an assassin taught me that, where there is unbridled rage, or fanatical love, or pure loathing, there is also desperation. I worked as an assassin because I was desperate to keep my family and my life, and I hated myself every day for the three years I worked as an assassin because of it.
I hated myself because I was too cowardly to stand up against the government, even though standing up would only get me hurt or killed. I hated myself because I bowed down and let the government walk all over my family and I, and I hated myself even more for not truly embracing and believing in and being willing to die for the principle that it’s better to die on your feet than to live on your knees, because my family and I really were living on our knees. All of our personal, constitutional freedoms had been stripped away, because if we said or did anything against the government, we would be killed or revealed as immortals, and everything we believed people have a right to have had been stripped away, so I don’t know why I didn’t stand up for my family and put an end to all of it – by having the government end me – right then and there.
I know now that I didn’t step forward and embrace death because I was afraid, and because I was desperate to survive. Back then, my beliefs didn’t seem nearly as important as my life, even though I know now that they are much more important than any one person’s life, so I was willing to have them be violated if it would keep me alive. I was a coward because I didn’t possess the bravery and guts – which I really should have possessed – to stand up against the government’s tyranny and stand for everything I cared about and be severely punished or killed for my efforts.
Of course, any other person – includng Luke – would argue that what I did was right, that my life was and is more important than my beliefs, that I was justified in being a coward. But I know the truth now: my life is far, far, far less important than my beliefs, because my beliefs can have a far greater effect on the word than my life, and that I was not justified in being a coward because there is no viable reason for cowardice and no case in which it can be justified. To be perfectly honest, I’m surprised that my parents don’t hate me now for not doing what was right and standing up, like I know they would have done in the same situation.
Even now, when they read my mind occasionally and find that I’m thinking about those years, the worst three years of my life up until now, they tell me that it’s ok, that I did what I had to to survive and that it’s all over now, because I’ve proven to the government that they can’t mess with the Lightnings. I can’t help but imagine how bitter those blatant lies must taste coming out of their mouths, because honor is one of the things that we immortals value incredibly highly – nearly as highly as our beliefs and our family – and is one of the things that I gave up by laying down and being a coward. I guess maybe the only reasons that they put up with now are that I’ve sworn to never be a coward again, and that I truly know how much more important beliefs and principles are than individual lives.
To be perfectly honest, I think my brothers are the ones that drive my parents crazy the most now. While I might attract a lot of attention from the media for being such a good athlete and therefore attract a lot of attention from young, single actors and musicians and other famous types, my brothers are the ones who date down, as in down to my age, which drives me as well as my parents crazy. I can’t stand it when they start flirting with some of my friends, so much so that I’ve come to call them pedophile pair straight to their faces. True, they’re generally good guys who are very intelligent and handsome and kind and know how to treat a girl right, but it still drives me crazy to see them flirt with girls my age – girls that I go to high school with – right in front of me. It’s probably a good thing for them that I’m not going to graduate early and go to ASU a year early, because then they would have to tolerate my revenge against them dating down for two years.
Once I graduate and go to ASU, the first thing I plan to do is find my brothers, meet other guys their age, and then flirt with those other guys. It’s an eye for an eye the way I see it, since that way I can make my brothers suffer the same way they’ve made me suffer. Of course, it will also teach them to not mess with me, because it will exhibit my incredibly-fine-tuned skills of revenge and will show them exactly how dangerous I am in the art of mental and emotion warfare. It will also serve as good blackmail material, as in I can hold the threat of flirting with guys their age in front of them when I want something out of them. I suppose they could do the same thing to me, but I know that they know that it wouldn’t be nearly as effective as me doing it to them, because I would simply chew them out or kick their asses in punishment, whereas they cannot do either one of those things effectively to me.
Unfortunately, my whole plan to blackmail my brothers is being seriously jeopardized – well, completely destroyed – by the fact that I’m not going to make it out of the Triple Crown alive. That reminds me: I wonder what my family is doing right now with my disappearance, or if they even know that I’m gone. There is the possibility that, with this whole switching dimensions deal, no time has passed in Luke’s and my universe and that, if we were to go home, we would arrive back in the exact same second we left. There is also the possibility that the same amount of time has passed in our dimension as in this one, and that our parents – especially Luke’s parents, since they’re probably not used to having their child disappear on them like I used to do when I was an assassin all the time – are freaking out and looking for us frantically. There is also the potential for more or less time to have passed in our dimension than in this one, which is the scariest possibility in my mind. A day or a year could have passed in our dimension in the time that we’ve been here, and, while missing a day would’t be so bad, I’d hate to miss a whole year or two or three or however many have passed in our dimension because of being here.
I mean, I’d hate to miss out on the opportunity to run in the Olympics, and maybe win a gold medal or two, and I’d hate to miss seeing Mitt Romney get his ass kicked by Barack Obama in the presidential race, because no sane person is going to elect a Mormon corporate raider to be President of the United States, and I’d hate to miss Gwillan and Gruffen win Heismans, and I’d hate to miss any of Timmy’s birthday parties. I’d hate to not be a part of the family anymore, I’d hate to fade out of view and disappear and cease to be a part of their lives anymore. I think that leaving my family and not getting to be there for them and see them succeed is the thing that scares me the most and gives me the most reservations about dying.
The idea that I won’t be able to grow up and have the great life I’ve been promised also gives me a lot of reservations about dying, because I want to go into the world and make a name for myself and win those gold medals and break those world records and maybe even help people while I’m doing so. I want to make a whole bunch of money playing professional sports and getting testimonial deals from winning the Olympics and give it all away to charity. I want to make a change in the world, and if not in the world as a whole, then at least in a few people’s lives. I want to help people, and give them the same great life I have, since God knows they deserve it more than I do. Hell, even though living forever would break my heart, maybe I want to live forever so I can help people and change the world forever. I just want to make a difference in my world, in my home, in the people around me.
However, fate or God or whatever decides what happens in the universe has conspired against my dreams of causing change in my world, and has instead slated me to die in a completely different world. But perhaps this is God’s way of helping me create the change I aspire to, because I’ve been placed in a world where hundreds of thousands of people are desperately seeking change and have given me the opportunity to be their element of change, to be their catalyst, their firestarter, their spark. Perhaps this is God’s way of giving me my dying wish of change by allowing me to bring in and represent and start the people’s of the Sections dying wish of change.
So I guess I can’t really complain about not getting to fulfill my life’s dream, because I have been given the opportunity to cause so much more change than I ever could in my world. Unforunately, getting to fulfill my life’s dream comes at the cost of that dream becoming my dying wish, but, as I have learned over and over and over again, there are many intangible things worth dying for, and change happens to be one of them.

“Well, here we are,” Luke announces quietly as we walk out into the clearing with the Giving Hands and the remaining twenty-eight ankle cuffs. Luke glances around for a few moments, and a small smile flits across his expression as his eyes fall on the upturned ground where I dug up the cuffs and land mines.
“I can see where you got your grenades from now,” he tells me as he looks over at me, and I grin slightly and nod my head in reply.
Walking over to one of the holes in the ground, I squat down and run my fingers through the dirt, all trace of a smile falling off of my face as I think about how many people died because of me blowing up the careers’ supplies.
Terrell died in the explosion, so that’s one. The career pack fracturing as a direct result of me destroying the supplies probably caused the non-careers to be hunted more extensively, because none of the careers were the slightest bit immobile anymore and they didn’t have to go back to their camp at a specific time. That means I can add any non-careers that died at the hands of the broken-up careers to my kill list, and I can also effectively add Marissa, Hunter, Adelaide and Marcus to my list too. Marcus and Adelaide would have probably never teamed up with us if I hadn’t blown up the supplies, and they would have been able to evade the career pack if it was hunting them easier than a completely-mobile group of two careers. If the career pack hadn’t fractured, Marissa and Hunter might have fought and killed each other in the end anyways, once all of the non-careers had been eliminated and the career pack started to break apart on its own, but it’s directly because of me and my inflammatory remarks towards Hunter about Marissa’s true intentions that they turned on each other and Hunter died. Of course, I was the one who actually put an arrow through Marissa’s heart, so she’s definitely on my kill list.
So that makes six people dead as a direct result of my actions in blowing up the careers’ supplies. I don’t regret what I did in the slightest, because I know that I leveled the playing field and made it easier on everyone besides the careers, but I do wish that not as many people had to die because of my actions. I don’t mind that Terrell, Marissa or Hunter died, since they might have died at my hand in the end anyways, but I do mind greatly that Marcus and Adelaide and that non-career Grace Thomas died, because I didn’t want them to die. I mean, I don’t even know anything about the Thomas girl except for her name and the fact that she died, but that doesn’t meant that I don’t feel bad about causing her death. She was probably just a small, terrified little eleven or twelve-year-old who tried to outrun the careers but found that there was no outrunning them, that her death was imminent.
The sound of Luke’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m grateful for it, even though I don’t hear what exactly he says. Slowly I rise to my feet, and, when I see him looking at me expectantly and quizzically, I realize that me must have asked me a question, and I nod my head wordlessly in reply.
“You sure you’re ok?” Luke asks me as he stares down at me in concern, and I nod my head again as a small smile creeps across my face. If I ever don’t hear what Luke says, there’s at least a fifty percent chance that it was him asking if I’m ok or not, which I find nice partly because it shows how much he cares for me. However, what I find the best about it is that I can answer wordlessly, mindlessly and easily; after all, the things that I like the best are the most predictable, easy and easily manipulated. I suppose it’s rather unfortunate that a question my fiance asks me happens to be one of those things.
When Luke doesn’t seem convinced at all, I assure him, “I’m fine, Luke,” then turn to the grasses in front of us and say, “Well, we’re at the grasses. Now are we going in or what?” Even though I’ve told myself numerous times that there’s nothing to be afraid of in them, that statistically they’re safer than the rainforest, that if I’ve survived this far, I’m not going to get killed by the arena, I can’t help but get a shiver run up my spine as I stare into the tall, waving sea of green and wonder which one of us is going to die in there first.
Luke seems almost taken aback by my question about the grasses, but he nods, then gestures for me to go first and says, “After you.”
I was really hoping Luke would volunteer to go first, since it’s not like I can be a guide for the grasses anyways, but I guess that, if anything does come at us, I’m going to be the first one to die. As I steel myself for entering the grasses and take my first step into them, I think that maybe dying first is a good thing, because that way I won’t have to see Luke die.
After not being bitten by anything or having anything jump out at me, I take another hesitant step into the grasses. I hope Luke doesn’t pick up on my odd behavior and interpret what it means. Though he undoubtedly will, at least I know he’ll have the tact to not say anything about it.
Luke and I have reached the middle of the grasses when I feel a vibration that means we’re not alone in them. Turning to Luke, I ask him quietly, “Did you feel that?” and curse my stupidity when he shakes his head no and looks at me in confusion. Of course Luke wouldn’t feel anything; since he’s just a human, his senses aren’t nearly as strong as mine, so he won’t pick up on things like a vibration running through the grasses.
“What did you feel?” he questions me in reply, and I shake my head wordlessly. I can’t tell him what I felt, otherwise he’ll think I’m crazy and the Triple Crown committee might get a better idea of what I really am, if they haven’t gotten one already.
“Just keep your weapons ready,” I tell him tersely in response, and reach up to pull my bow off of my back when I realize that a sword would be a lot more effective for fighting in here. Since the grasses are too tall and too think to see anything farther than five feet away from you, a bow would absolutely useless. I would be overwhelmed and probably dead before I even got a chance to shoot.
“Alright,” Luke murmurs in reply, and I hear him draw the dagger I gave him. I originally found it discarded by the side of a path in the rainforest during one of my hunting expeditions. It was completely covered in dried blood, but, since it was a perfectly good blade, I picked it up, washed it in the stream and gave it to Luke. Of course, when I gave it to him, I left off the part about it being bloody when I found it.
The vibrations are moving the grass more and are coming closer, and, as we take a few wary steps forward, I hear Luke cry out in surprise and I realize that he must have just felt the grass move. My suspicions are confirmed when he asks me quietly, “What does that vibration mean?”
Not bothering to turn around or look at him to answer, I reply just as quietly, “It means we’re not alone in here.”
Luke doesn’t say anything for a little while, causing a tense, nervous silence to drape over us, and we keep on edging slowly forward. While I don’t want whatever or whoever is in here to come up on and surprise us, I’m not so fond of the idea of coming towards our company either.
Luke finally breaks the silence he created by questioning shortly, “Animal or human?”
I answer just as shortly, “Could be either. Hell, knowing the Triple Crown committee, it could even be the grasses.” I’d like to think that it isn’t the grasses, that I haven’t freaked us both out for no real reason, but the Triple Crown committee does have a sick sense of humor. I definitely wouldn’t put it past them to scare us just for the cameras.
I see Luke nod wordlessly in reply out of the corner of my eye, and I note with a small smile that his incredibly tight grip on his dagger doesn’t relinquish at all. I guess my theories about the Triple Crown committee doing all of this just to scare us didn’t set him at ease at all. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, since they didn’t set me at ease at all either.
One thing is certain: whatever is in the grass with us is coming towards us, which disconcerts me greatly. If it was just the Triple Crown committee trying to frighten us, the source of the vibrations mostly likely wouldn’t be moving towards us. This makes me suspect that we actually do have company, and, whether it’s an animal or another champion, it’s most likely dangerous. Suddenly a thought strikes me that scares me even more than the possibility of the thing coming towards us being some kind of huge beast: the vibrations could be coming from the grasses themselves, and we might be walking right into a trap where we get swallowed by the ground or eaten by the grasses.
Immediately I stop, forcing Luke to halt behind me. “What it is?” he questions quietly as I peer into the grasses in front of us. The source of the vibrations is definitely coming towards us, and, best I can tell, it seems to be below us too, which makes me even more worried. I could very well be right about the ground – or something in the ground – trying to eat us.
All of a sudden I feel the ground shake, like something is bursting out of it, fifteen feet in front of us, and I tell Luke quickly and non-negotiably, “Go.” I know that I have a better chance of killing whatever just came out of the ground; I also know that Luke is more likely to get killed by whatever just came out of the ground, and I don’t intend to test that.
However, instead of obeying me, Luke replies tersely, “No,” and tightens his grip on the dagger in his hand.
Turning to him with anger blazing in my eyes, I snarl at him murderously, “Lucas William Gates, you will get your ass out of here right now.”
Even though Luke seems taken aback by my words, he stays stubbornly put, and repeats like an insolent five-year old, “No.”
Whatever came out of the ground in front of us is absolutely huge and is approaching us now, based off of the way the ground is shaking as the creature moves. Urgently I turn back to Luke and tell him desperately, “Luke, there is a very high possibility one of us is going to die at the hand of whatever the hell that is.” I gesture to the grass in front that conceals whatever creature just came out of the ground. “Let’s not have both of us die here, alright?”
After pausing a moment to make sure he understands, I command him sharply, “Now get the hell out of here!” and give him a sharp shove in the other direction.
Luke, seeing that he has no choice but to obey me, walks slowly away from me and the creature, his desperate, pleading eyes on me the whole time. Quickly I tear my gaze away from him and force myself to take a few deep breaths and think about anything but him. Feeling bad about what I said to him and becoming preoccupied with his expression as he disappeared into the grasses will do nothing except increase the possibility that I get killed. Trust me, that probability doesn’t need increasing.
Staring at the grass in front of me and tightening the grip on my sword, I wait for the creature to break through the wall of vegetation separating us as I idly think that I might literally meet my maker in a few seconds or minutes. I just hope God lets me go quickly and easily and, presuming the creature has teeth and claws, that I don’t get mauled too much in the process.
Suddenly the grasses in front of me begin to shake violently, and I lift my sword and raise a hand to finger the pendant hanging around my neck. This is it; this is my chance to stare death in the eye and be defiant till the end.
The grasses are pulled aside, and I nearly drop my sword upon seeing the creature in front of me. It’s huge, twenty feet tall at least, with humongous feet – tipped with foot-long, razor sharp nails - that are like a stunted cross between a lizard’s toes and dog’s paw. Its body is large, heavy, ungainly and covered in and maybe even made out of dirt, and its front legs are far longer than its back ones. Its skull is relatively small and rounded, which suggests a smaller brain and therefore a smaller intellect, but it has huge jaws filled with huge, sharp teeth that could rip me to shreds in an instant. Besides its small, mean, beady black eyes and slits of nostrils, it has very few distinguishable features; for example, I don’t even see where the thing has ears. However, it’s not the creature’s alarming appearance that surprises me, but the person sitting on the creature’s back.

More added.

“Marshall?” I exclaim in shock, and instantly the creature’s eyes lock onto me. I don’t even think it knew I was there up until now.
“Lizzie?” Marshall calls down, equally surprised, and quickly leaps off of the creature’s back to slide fifteen feet down its side to hit the ground. After dusting himself off quickly, he takes a few steps towards me, a smile breaking out across his face.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks me, his eyes twinkling. “I thought you were a forest girl, a tree-hugger.”
“Well, what are you doing riding that?” I gesture in the direction of the creature – which is still staring at me like I’m something to eat – then look back at him for an explanation.
“In Section Three, we get these creatures all the time in the field, and every Section Three kid I’ve ever met knows how to tame and ride one. They’re called colossuses, and, while they’re huge and incredibly strong, they’re very stupid and actually pretty peacful most of the time.” I nod my head in understanding as I think idly that I must have caught this colossus during the time it isn’t peaceful. “I found this one burrowing in the ground underneath the meadows beyond the drop-off-” – He gestures to the west – “-so I caught him and told him who’s boss. Now I can do whatever I want to him.” Marshall smiles slightly as he looks over at the creature, who has lowered itself into a laying-down position made incredibly awkward by its long front legs.
I regard the colossus for a few moments before asking suddenly, “What gender is it?” Marshall looks over at me in surprise, but answers nonetheless.
“It’s a male. You can tell because he’s not nearly as big as the females,” Marshall tells me, and my eyes shoot open wide in shock.
“The females are even bigger than this?” I exclaim as I scan the creature up and down. He’s twenty feet tall at least, and he probably weighs upwards of fifteen tons.
“Yeah,” Marshall replies, seeming surpised by my amazement. “Some of the bigger females I’ve seen can be one and a half times this size.”
“Oh,” I reply lamely, and a smile creeps its way across Marshall’s face.
“Yeah, those females can be humongous. Even I wouldn’t want to mess with one of them.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, and now it’s my turn to smile.
“What, is Marshall Moore actually afraid of something?” I tease him, and he looks over at me abruptly, all trace of a grin fading from him face.
“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Lizzie,” he tells me quietly, his eyes locked on mine. “For example, I’m afraid of losing you.”
I tear my eyes away to stare at the ground. Marshall’s habit of expressing his feelings and thoughts so openly and honestly discomforts me greatly.
A few moments pass in silence before Marshall breaks the quiet. “Speaking of which, where is Gates?” he asks me, and I look up at him momentarily.
“I told him to run,” I answer quietly. “I thought there was a high possibility that I was going to die anyways, and I didn’t want to have Luke stick around and die too.”
“He actually listened to you and ran?” Marshall questions incredulously, an appalled and derisive edge creeping into his voice. “That dishonorable son of a bitch! Everyone knows that you always stay with and try to defend a woman, no matter what she says or how hopeless it might be!”
Shocked and angered by Marshall’s accusations, I quickly jump to Luke’s defense. “After he wouldn’t leave from me just telling him, I actually pushed him away from me and made him run! It’s not Luke’s fault! Besides,” I add, my outrage fading slightly, “there’s a point when honor becomes suicide, and I didn’t want Luke to find that point.”
“I still think he should have stayed with you,” Marshall mutters, but, upon seeing the murderous look on my face, he quickly backtracks, “but I guess it’s good that he knows how to follow orders, your orders in particular.”
I smile slightly, and Marshall smiles too. He really is an enjoyable, nice person once you get past the outside layers of jerk and douchebag.
After a few more moments pass in silence, during which time we both observe the colossus root around in the ground with its huge claws, Marshall breaks the quiet by speaking. “I actually named this guy, just for you,” Marshall tells me, and a grin breaks out across my face.
“Well, what did you name him?” I ask him in reply, tearing my gaze away from the creature to look Marshall in the eye for a moment. The passion and longing that I see in his eyes disconcerts me greatly, so I look away just as quickly.
“Titus,” he murmurs, and I can feel his stare on my cheek. “It seemed a grand enough name for a grand enough creature.”
“I think you should rename him Caesar,” I say quietly, my gaze locked on the colossus. Cassius’ speech to Brutus, in which he mentions Caesar being like the colossus of Rhodes, had just flashed through my mind, so, considering that the creatures are called colossuses, I think Caesar is a very appropriate name.
“Alright,” Marshall agrees, and I see him nod his head as a small smile creeps across his face. “Caesar it is then.” He takes a few steps towards the colossus to lay a hand on the huge creature’s forehead. It looks up momentarily, then returns to its digging when it finds only Marshall.
Marshall turns back around and takes a few steps towards me, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. He stops when he is about two feet away from me, and he tells me quietly, “You know, Lizzie, I can’t help but be happy that Gates isn’t here.”
Immediately I tear my gaze away, not wanting to hear him or see him or be around, because I already know exactly what he’s going to do and say.
“I get you all to myself now,” Marshall murmurs, and he takes a step towards me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him raise a hand, then feel his fingers run gently across my cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, taking half a step towards me so that the distance between is about six inches. “So beautiful.”
After a moment, he withdraws his hand, and it’s all I can do to not sigh out loud in relief. However, Marshall apparently isn’t done yet, because he continues to speak.
“Lizzie, is it wrong to feel attracted to you, when I know that there is no chance for us to be together?” he asks me, and I am compelled by the pleading tone in his voice to look up at him. “Is that wrong, Lizzie?” he repeats, staring into my eyes, and I am struck by the desperation in his gaze.
Like it always does, my eloquence vanishes when I need it the most, so I am forced to scrounge around my mind for an answer. After a few moments of drawing a blank, I murmur quietly, “‘The heart is something you can’t control/ We either choose to follow or be left on our own.’”
“What’s that a quote from?” Marshall asks me, his passionate air lost in his confusion. I sigh slightly in relief, because my eloquence might actually come back to me, now that Marshall’s done being intense for the moment.
“Rise Against says that in their song Voices Off Camera,” I tell him in reply. By interrupting his passion with befuddlement, I really did dodge a bullet; after all, I don’t really want this meeting to be anything like the last one, because Marshall cried at the last one.
“Huh,” he exclaims quietly. “I listen to a lot of music – I mean, a lot of music-” – I can’t help but smile as his emphasis on a lot – “-but I’ve never heard of Rise Against before.”
No, Marshall, you wouldn’t have, would you? I think to myself, a hint of a bitter smile flitting across my face. It’s not like he would have heard a band from a different dimension.
However, I know I have to come up with a plausible-sounding excuse that covers my ass as well as the Triple Crown committee’s, so I just shrug and tell him, “Well, they’re kind of underground, and not very big, so I don’t even know if their music has made it out of Section Eight yet.”
Marshall nods his head wordlessly in understanding and stares over at me. I can feel his gaze beating down on my cheek and willing me to look over at him, but I resist the urge. I don’t want to see the passion blazing like a fire in eyes, or the overwhelming emotion in his expression, because that will just make everything harder.
“I guess you kind of answered my question with that quote of yours,” Marshall begins, and, as I hear the ‘but’ in his voice, my heart falls, since I don’t really want to talk about this anymore, “but I still can’t help but feel like it’s wrong for me to feel this way about you, that I should be able to go five minutes without thinking about you and wanting to touch you and hold you and have you be mine. Is it wrong that I wish Luke would just disappear, and I could truly have you all to myself? Is it wrong for me to want, at this exact moment, to step forward and take you in my arms and kiss you? Is it wrong for me to be completely and utterly infatuated with you?”
I feel his words pierce my heart and rip millions of tiny holes in it. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to break Marshall’s nose, I want to break Luke’s nose. However, instead of doing any of those things, or even saying anything in reply, I merely sit down and sigh. Marshall then lowers himself down next to me, his eyes on me the whole time.
After a few moments of staring at the ground and sitting in an awkward but very emotional silence, I finally murmur, “You really are on a mission to make everything that much harder for me, aren’t you?” I look up at Marshall to find him staring down at me with a wan half-smile curving his lips and his blue-green eyes full of passion and pain.
“I’m not on a mission, Lizzie. I guess I’m just hurting you without even trying,” he answers quietly, and my heart sinks as I hear the hurt and self-loathing in his voice.
“Marshall,” I begin, raising a hand to gently touch the side of his face and drawing his eyes onto mine with the power of my voice, “don’t blame yourself for making everything harder on me; trust me, Luke’s got you beat in that department a million to one.” A small smile flits across my face, and I’m slightly relieved when Marshall returns it. “Besides, if I wasn’t so fucked up, you wouldn’t make anything harder on me at all.” Now all trace of a grin falls off my face as I realize that what I just said is irrefutably true.
However, Marshall seems determined to argue against the facts. “Lizzie, you’re not fucked up,” he tells me, and, when he sees the incredibly skeptical and disbelieving look I’m giving him, he backtracks, “Well, you’re not any more fucked up than the rest of us are. This place, it does crazy things to your mind.” He gestures at the arena around us, and I nod my head and purse my lips together in what is supposed to be a grin. “But trust me Lizzie, you’re not crazy, or at least you’re not abnormally insane for the situation.” I smile slightly, somehow feeling a little bit better and infinitely grateful to Marshall for making me feel better.
“You’re a great guy, Marshall,” I tell him as I give him a smile. “Thank you.” I gently touch the side of his face again, then rise to my feet and wordlessly offer him a hand to help him up. Of course, since he’s a strong-willed, eighteen-year-old gentleman, he refuses my hand politely, and instead pulls himself onto his feet in one fluid movement.
We stand in silence for a few moments, our conversation being dead and neither one of experts at reviving it, until Marshall finally breaks the quiet. “So what do we do now?” he asks me as he gazes down at me, his blue-green eyes locked on mine. Though my favorite color is undeniably the ice-blue of Luke’s eyes, the incredible mix of azure and emerald that is Marshall’s eyes has to be my second-favorite.
“Well,” I start, “I have to go find Luke, since he’s probably worried sick since I haven’t come back and he hasn’t heard a gunshot. I don’t want him to give himself an ulcer worrying over me.” I smile slightly at my weak joke that isn’t really a joke at all. I know that Luke would undoubtedly actually give himself an ulcer worrying over me.
“Yeah, you probably should go back,” Marshall agrees, the hesitation and jealousy loud and clear in his voice.
Feeling like I can’t just leave Marshall here, that I at least owe it to him to come back, I tell him as I gaze up at him, “I’ll come back for you though.” After a moment, I add, “I promise,” and offer my pinky to him.
“A pinky promise? Really?” he asks incredulously, a teasing grin lighting up his eyes and taking over his expression
“Hey, you don’t break the pinky promise,” I tell him with a mockingly serious tone, somehow able to keep a straight face while saying it. Upon seeing the very skeptical and amused look Marshall has, I lose my straight face, and we both dissolve into laughter for a few moments.
When we’ve both stopped giggling enough to talk, Marshall reaches out and curls his large, tan, calloused pinky around mine, then looks up at me, all frivolity gone from his expression. “You promise?” he murmurs, his gaze locked on mine.
“I promise,” I tell him just as quietly, then stand on tiptoe and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I promise I will come back,” I repeat, and turn away from him to leave, filled with a determination that I will not break that promise.

“Luke! Luke!” I yell at the top of my voice, using my broadsword like a machete and slashing through the grasses in front of me. He has to be around here somewhere, I think to myself for the twentieth time. Even though I know that Luke wouldn’t leave me in the grasses – in fact, he could very well be in a different part of the grasses looking for me right now – he could have been taken by other champions or even by a nearby colossus, since there could very well be other colossuses besides the one Marshall found. The grasses almost make very good sound and scent blockers, since they’re so thick, so I can’t find Luke that way, and he’s not heavy enough to vibrate the grasses like Marshall and the colossus did. That means the only way I’m going to find him is by yelling and hoping he’s near enough to hear my call and then yell back.
“Lizzie!” I hear someone call, and my heart leaps as I recognize the voice as Luke’s. For a second I pause, my brow furrowing into a question mark as I wonder why on earth I would have a reaction like that to just hearing Luke. It then occurs to me that it just must be because I was worried about him and thought he might be hurt, and I force myself to believe that and not even think about the other possibility.
“Luke! Luke, I’m over here!” I shout, jumping up and down in the grass in an attempt to lead him to me. When I realize that the grass around me isn’t even moving and that my efforts are all in vain, I stop jumping and continue to yell. I shouldn’t start moving again, since I could be walking away from Luke without realizing it and lose him again if I do.
“Lizzie?” His voice is definitely closer now and definitely coming from the left, and a smile breaks out across my face as I run through the grasses towards him.
“Luke!” I cry when I finally see him, and, dropping my sword, I run to him and throw myself at him.
“Lizzie,” he murmurs in my ear, his arms wrapping around me tightly. He takes a few deep breaths and kisses my neck softly, and, as a palpable wave of relief rolls off of him, I realize how worried he was too. “Don’t do that to me again, alright?” He pulls back and stares into my eyes, his expression completely serious. “Don’t make me leave you, because I don’t think I can again, alright?”
“Alright,” I agree quietly, and kiss him lightly on the lips. I then just let him hold me for a few more moments, content with the fact that he isn’t asking any questions, until I remember that I have a promise to keep.
Pulling back and out of Luke’s arms, I turn away from him, pick my sword up off the ground, and allow myself an inconspicuous sniff at the air in an attempt to pick up Marshall’s scent. When I don’t smell anything except the grass and Luke, I shake my head and turn back to him. The grass really does make a good scent barrier.
“What’s the matter Lizzie?’ Luke asks me, his ice-blue eyes concerned as they focus on my face. I meet his gaze for an instant and am reminded that his eye color really is my favorite color on the planet.
“The thing that came out of the ground wasn’t really a monster,” I begin, to immediately concede, “Well, it was a monster, but it was a monster that Marshall Moore had tamed and was riding.”
I see Luke’s face darken at the mention of Marshall, but I brush past it for now. Luke’s going to have to get over the fact that he’s our one ally left eventually.
“Anyways, Marshall and I talked for a little bit, and, before I left to come find you, I promised him I would come back for him.” Luke’s expression gets even stormier, but I keep on talking. There’s no point in snapping at Luke now when there’s something so much more important to do.
However, just as I am about to continue, Luke interrupts me. “What did you talk about?” he asks me quietly, a dangerous undertone to his voice.
I meet Luke’s ice-cold gaze for a long second, wondering why on earth he’s so jealous when it’s over, when he’s the one marrying me, before replying truthfully, “Fear and honor.”
“Sounds like it must have been an interesting conversation,” Luke says lightly, but he’s not fooling me at all. The lethal tone to his voice is still there.
“It’s always interesting talking to Marshall, because he has lots of interesting things to say,” I murmur, staring Luke down. I give him my ice-cold golden glare for a few tense, silent moments until he drops his hostile gaze. I then turn away from him again and begin to march off into the grasses, trying to follow the path of flattened vegetation that I created walking towards Luke.
It’s a few moments before Luke calls from behind me, “Well, wait for me!” and I hear the swoosh of his footsteps on the grass.
“You actually want to come?” I ask him incredulously, looking over at him, when he catches up to me. “I thought you didn’t like Marshall.” Actually, that’s a lie: I know Luke doesn’t like Marshall.
“I don’t,” he begins, his expression hard, “but you are my fiancee, and I want to keep an eye on him around you.” Luke stares over at me for a moment, clearly trying to read me for a reaction, before looking away again.
A small smile briefly flits across my face, and I ask him, making my voice teasing even though I’m really not, “Jealous?”
“Very,” he replies, his tone honest and not at all taken aback by my question. “After all, there’s a lot for me to jealous of,” he adds quietly, and I glance over at him for a moment.
I can hear Max screaming at the top of his lungs, “Say it, say it! Damage control!” and I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the lies and deception about to come out of my mouth. “Luke, there’s nothing for you to be jealous of,” I tell him quietly as I meet him gaze, forcing my best fake smile onto my face and stiffening when Luke leans in to kiss me.
Luke immediately pulls back to ask me, a concerned look on his face, “Lizzie, what’s the matter?”
I want to tell him everything that’s the matter. I want to tell him about all of the lies I’ve been feeding him, and all of the things I’ve said that I haven’t meant, and about how I feel terrible for using him in such a way. I also want to tell him that not everything is a lie, that I’m not acting all the time anymore, that I do actually feel something for him… but I know that I can’t, and that’s what hurts the most.
After taking another deep breath, I force the fake grin back onto my face and tell him, as sincerely as I can muster, “I’m fine,” and kiss him, my hands knotting themselves in his hair.
However, Luke immediately pulls away from me again, reaches up to untangle my hands from his hair, and says, more insitently this time, “No you’re not. Now what’s the matter?”
I sigh, partly at myself for not acting well enough to convince him anymore and partly at Luke for being more perceptive than usual, and turn away from him. I will lose everything if I lose the ability to deceive Luke, so now I have to do damage control in our relationship too.
“Luke,” I begin, thinking that I can maybe tell him part of the truth, “I just feel bad that I don’t feel the same way about you that you do about me. I mean,” I backtrack, “I love you, to an extent, but not nearly to the extent that you love, and it hurts me to know that I’m not as loyal to you and don’t care as much about you as you do about me, because you are perfect for me, Luke. I guess there’s just something inside of me that hasn’t realized that yet.” My voice trails off and I turn away from him again and take a deep breath. Breaking down and crying will do nothing except make me look weak, and I think I’ve already made myself look weak enough.
“Lizzie,” he starts, and my eyes are drawn to his face by the sheer power and emotion of his voice, “it doesn’t matter that you don’t feel the same way about me that I do about you, it really doesn’t, because I will always feel this way about you.”
He pauses for a moment, then continues, “When I said I would be there always, I meant it, in every aspect that I can be there, which includes how I feel about you. I will never stop loving you, Lizzie, and I will wait till I die for you.”
He reaches a hand up to gently caress the side of his face, a small smile curving his lips that does not reach his incredibly serious eyes. “Besides, you have nothing to feel bad about. You’ve said that you love me, and that’s all I ever wanted to hear.”
His grin gets bigger now and finally warms the ice crystals in his eye sockets, and, when he bends over me again, I kiss him back this time.
“You really don’t have any competition, Luke,” I murmur as he pulls back, allowing my thoughts to wander onto the forbidden subject of Jackson for a moment. Instantly I jerk my mind away, because I don’t want to put myself in any more pain. I think I’ve had enough of masochistic for now.
“For the moment I laid eyes on you, Lizzie,” Luke breathes, his eyes locked on mine, “you never had any competition.” He raises a hand to my face again and gives me one last smile before turning away to gaze out into the grasses before us.
My heart is honestly going to crack if Luke keeps this up, I think to myself as I follow the path of downed grass blindly, not noticing or caring where we’re going.
My thoughts are interrupted by Luke’s voice. “You went this way, right?” he asks me, and I jerk my head up to see a continution of the trail of flattened grass.
“Yeah,” I reply quietly, then drop my eyes back to the ground and continue to follow the path when Luke starts walking again.
We’ve been walking for about a minute in silence when the iron tang of blood – most definitely human blood – fills my nostrils. I can’t ignore it, since it means that Marshall or another champion nearby has run into trouble with a different champion or with a colossus, so I freeze and ask Luke, “Do you smell that?”
Like I predicted, he sniffs the air and replies, “No,” to look over at me in confusion.
I think idly that I have no idea how he doesn’t smell, even with him being a human, because the scent is so strong, but I don’t voice these thoughts. Instead I just say quietly, “I smell blood, human blood, and it’s coming from somewhere nearby.” I refuse to let the concern and panic I’m feeling creep into my voice, and somehow manage to keep my tone completely calm and level.
I glance over to find Luke looking at me in shock and amazement, and I realize what must have happened: my hyperactive senses must finally be creeping him out. “You can distinguish between different types of blood?” he asks me, his tone dripping astonishment.
“Yeah,” I reply simply, shrugging my shoulders. There’s no point in lying now, since it won’t achieve anything; besides, I don’t know if I’d be able to make myself lie to Luke again, even if I had to. “There are different levels of iron in different types of animal blood, so the scent is sharper or milder accordingly.”
“Oh,” is all he says in response, absolute amazement still written all over his face. The air around us then lapses into silence, as neither one of us is very good at keeping a conversation alive, and it stays that way for a while as we walk.
Even though I probably shouldn’t be, I’m really worried about Marshall and the possibility that the blood I smelled is his. Despite the fact that he said the colossus he was riding is completely under control and won’t hurt him, I still have my doubts. After all, a creature that size could hurt Marshall without even trying.
Of course, there’s also the potential that Marshall came across other champions and got into a fight with them. I’d rather think that’s the case, because Marshall has a very good chance at winning any fight he gets into. In fact, the only fight he’s lost so far was the one against me, and you can’t really pin that loss on him, as no one has had a chance against me.
All of a sudden, an undeniably human cry of pain rings through the air. Fearing the worst, I immediately pick up my pace and note with concern that the stench of blood in the air has gotten more powerful.
“Be very quiet,” I whisper, loud enough for Luke to hear but not so loud as for my voice to carry through the grasses. “If there’s a colossus up there, we need to make sure we aren’t detected, because we’re toast if the colossus does find us.” Even though the colossuses are incredibly stupid and don’t have the best of senses, I have no doubt that one of them could rip Luke and I to shreds in an instant if it were to detect us.
“I thought you said Marshall had tamed the colossus!” Luke whispers back, doubt and distrust clouding his voice.
“I said he tamed a colossus,” I reply, my tone icy. I don’t like that Luke is prejudiced against Marshall; I mean, I trust Marshall and he hasn’t done anything to break that trust, so isn’t that enough for Luke? “For all I know, there could be tens or hundreds or even thousands of colossuses under the grasses.”
“Oh,” Luke mutters in reply, hanging his head low in defeat, and I can’t help but smile. Even though Luke is my fiancé and we are supposed to be supporting each other, I still am happy when it turns out I’m right on an issue we disagree on.
Another human cry of pain bursts out, and I tighten the grip on my sword. The source of the blood and the cries is right in front of us now, only separated from us by a wall of grass. I’m very nervous about what we’re going to find, since right in front of us is exactly where I left Marshall, and I have a sinking suspicion that the cries of pain I’m hearing and the blood I’m smelling are his.
“Get ready,” I tell Luke quietly, and he draws his knife in answer. Even though he was only doing what Max told him to do by getting away from the Giving Hands, I still wish that Luke had managed to grab a weapon before he cleared out. Our current situation – and every fight we might get into with other champions or animals of the arena – would be a lot easier if he had.
I turn to look at Luke, and meet his determined gaze for a moment before pulling the grasses in front of us aside and bursting through to see Nick Hill, standing in front of a dead colossus, put a sword through a kneeling Marshall’s neck.

“Marshall!” I cry, and immediately a gunshot goes off. Nick raises the sword in his hand – which I recognize as Marshall’s blade – and points it at me with surprising confidence. I look into Nick’s amber eyes and see a wild desperation that scares me greatly. I grip my sword tighter and stare Nick down, forcing him to back away with the sheer power of my gaze. I hear a whimper from behind Nick, and I peer around him momentarily to find Sarah Mills standing there with tears welling up in her dark brown eyes.
“Why’d you do that Nick, why’d you do that?” she cries, dropping her gaze to watch the ground eat Marshall’s body. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“I had to do it, Sarah. He would have killed us if I didn’t!” Nick retorts, but I can hear doubt and guilt creeping their way into his voice. I look him over to find a bloody gash underneath his left eye and a long scratch on his right arm running all the way down from his elbow to his wrist, and I’m slightly pleased to know that Marshall didn’t go down without a fight.
“You didn’t have to put the sword through his neck though,” I murmur, my eyes locked on Nick’s and my hands balled into fists as I feel a wave of rage wash over me. “There are other ways to kill someone, you know. Other ways that are less painful.” I hear Luke step up to stand next to me, and I’m grateful for his silence. I think he knows that it’s best if I do the talking; after all, I am the one with the weapons and the real threat power.
“It was the quickest way,” Nick replies, trying to sound confident, to have his wavering eyes and trembling lip give him away.
“There are other ways, Nick. There are always other ways.” I take a step forward, hefting my sword in my hand. I know that Nick doesn’t stand a chance against me, that if it came down to it and he challenged me, he’d be dead within five seconds. However, I don’t want to traumatize Sarah anymore, since she reminds a lot of Abby, so slip my sword back into the sheath on my hip and settle for asking the many questions my tongue is dying to verbalize.
“How did you take out Marshall and his colossus?” I question Nick, forcing my voice into some semblance of calm. “I mean, even with the two of you, he and the beast could have taken you out easily, so you must have done something to weaken or incapacitate them.”
Nick is about to open his mouth to reply when Sarah bursts out, “I found a plant in the plain beyond the drop-off, a plant that’s so poisonous it can kill you if you just touch it.” She looks over at Nick warily before continuing. “We spied on Marshall for a little bit, and I knew a creature that big would need a lot of the plant to die, so I gathered up a whole bunch of it and boiled it down into a juice of sorts. When Nick and I attacked, I snuck up behind the monster and threw a bunch of the juice in its face. It died instantly,” she adds quietly, and her voice trails off for a moment as she seems to drop into a haze of sorts.
Nick, who has seemed eager to talk for a while, immediately takes over the storytelling. “When the career – Marshall, you called him-” – Nick’s mouth twists into a grimace, as though he doesn’t think careers deserve names – “-saw how dangerous the plant juice was, he dropped his sword and said he would negotiate with us.”
I can picture Marshall setting his blade on the ground and putting on a perfect mask of civilized calm while being threatened with instant death, but I force myself to think about something else. Breaking down or losing my temper would neither one be productive at the moment.
“Sarah wanted to, because she didn’t want to kill him-” – Nick shoots a sidelong glance at the trembling girl next to him – “-but I knew that we had to kill him, that he would kill us if we ‘negotiated.’” There is more anger and cynicism in Nick’s voice than I thought was possible for a thirteen-year-old to possess, and it almost scares me to see how much the Triple Crown has changed him. “So I took his sword and put in through the back of his neck. ‘Course, you two saw that part,” Nick adds quietly, lowering his gaze, as I stare him down with contempt and pity. While I wish that Nick hadn’t felt pressured into taking such drastic measures, I know that I will have to take equally drastic measures, because I can’t let Marshall’s death go unavenged.
A sudden movement I see out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I look up to see Sarah fiddling with something in her jacket. Nick follows my gaze and turns to look at her too, at which point she murmurs, “You know, Nick, that plant juice didn’t taste bad at all.”
Immediately my eyes shoot open in shock, as I realize that the sudden movement I saw was her downing whatever was left of the poisonous plant extract, and I run towards her to catch her as she falls backwards. I know that it is too late, I know that she will be dead within a few moments, but I can’t stop myself from holding her to my chest and cradling her as her heartbeat slows and slows... and stops.
A gunshot, Sarah’s gunshot, goes off, and I lower her gently to the ground to let the dirt have her. As I stare down at her, what strikes me the most about her suicide is the incredibly peaceful, free expression on her face. In fact, she looks almost happy to be gone.
“Sarah!” Nick cries, squatting over her and reaching out a hand to touch the side of her face just before she completely disappears into the ground. He then stares at the spot where her body laid for a few moments before rising to his feet, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“I never... I never...” he repeats quietly, his eyes on the ground and his hands limp at him sides. “I never... I never got to tell her...”
I look up at him curiosity. What could he have wanted to tell her that’s eating him up so much?
“I never got to tell her... I love her,” he whispers, and I sigh internally at the fact that those had to be the words to come out of his mouth. He must know that saying – and truly believing – things like that is only going to make it harder.
“What did... what did I do?” he murmurs, shaking his head as his hands ball into fists. “I did this, I did this!” he screams in agony, and, for his sake and for mine, I avert my eyes, rise to my feet, and gesture for Luke to follow me into the grasses away from Nick. He deserves the chance to mourn in private, since I know there’s nothing I can do for or say to him that will help him right now. For now, it’s just best to let him cool off and become rational before we even attempt to talk to him.
“Why? Oh God, why?” No sound barrier could stop his tortured voice from following us through the grasses. At one point, his pain gets so unbearable to hear that Luke and I both clap our hands over our ears and keep on walking away from him. After all, if I stay with Nick and let the realization that I lost a decent friend in Marshall today fully wash over me, I would probably end up sounding like that too.
Luke seems to notice my distress, as I catch him staring over at me for a reaction three times out of the four I look in his direction, but thankfully he has the tact to say nothing. I think even just talking about what happened could make me break down.
After we walk in silence for at least a half an hour, far enough away from Nick to not be able to hear him anymore, Luke stops and murmurs, gazing over at me with concern in his eyes, “You know, it wasn’t his fault.”
“I know,” I reply, just as quietly. I know it isn’t Nick’s fault for killing Marshall, since I know that anyone, given the situation, background information and prior prejudices, probably would have done the same thing, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. After all, admitting that Nick really didn’t have a choice doesn’t bring Marshall back, now does it?
“I just...” I begin, knowing what I want to say but not knowing how to phrase it. “I just...” I repeat, “I just think that... I should have been there, you know? I mean, I told Marshall I would come back for him, and I didn’t come back in time.” My voice trembles, and I force myself to take a deep breath and swallow. I can’t break down, not now.
“Lizzie, it’s not your fault either,” Luke tells me quietly, his eyes locked on mine, and reaches out to find my hand with one of his. “You can’t take responsibility for something you couldn’t help. If you try, you’re just playing God and are going to make it a lot harder on yourself.”
“I know, Luke,” I begin with a sigh, “but I can’t help but feel like I should have been there, because I told him, Luke, I told him that I was going to come right back, and I just feel like I broke my promise by not coming back in time.”
“Lizzie, you kept your promise,” Luke tells me emphatically, reaching out to grab me by the shoulder and stop me from walking ahead, like I am about to do. “You did come back for him. It’s not your fault that Nick and Sarah got to him first; I mean, we didn’t even know they were around and we certainly didn’t know they were prepared to kill.”
I snort slightly in agreement, since I thought that Nick and Sarah would be dead within the first day and definitely thought that they wouldn’t be doing any killing.
“Lizzie, just let it go,” Luke murmurs, his eyes locking on mine. “You get so hung up on things and try to make them all your fault when really you couldn’t have done anything about them and all you end up doing is hurting yourself in the process.”
I retort, suddenly angry at Luke, “You’re one to talk. I know that, even if I was on the opposite side of the arena and fifteen miles away from you and it wasn’t your fault that we got separated, you would blame yourself for me dying anyways, and what would you accomplish there? Suicide?” I meet Luke’s gaze coldly, not feeling any remorse about what I said, as I’ve never had much tolerance for hypocrites. That’s why I hate organized religion with a burning passion.
However, instead of apologizing for what he said or being hurt, Luke replies, a while smile breaking out across his face, “What, have you never seen a hypocrite before?”
I don’t find that funny at all, so I respond, with a flat, unamused glare, “I’ve seen too many to find anything about them funny before. I mean, if you’re going to lead, if you’re going to have people follow you, it should be do what I say and do, not do what I say and not what I do.”
Here Luke nods in agreement, pursing his lips in thought as he stares down at me. “Yeah, I have an issue with leaders who are hypocrites too. I don’t have an issue with myself being a hypocrite-” – here the grin returns to his face – “-because I’m not the leader in this relationship. I mean, I’m perfectly content to follow you around all day long.” His eyes twinkle as he looks down at me and I can’t help but smile. His eyes and his beaming grin still take my breath away every time I see them.
“Did you know, Luke,” I begin, reaching a hand up to touch next to his eye gently, “that you have the most beautiful eyes?” I gaze up at his irises and marvel at the millions of shades of blue contained in them; they are truly a mosaic of blue.
“Did that colossus Marshall supposedly tamed hit you in the head somehow?” Luke asks me in reply, looking away quickly. I stare up at him in confusion, realizing that he’s uncomfortable with me complimenting him and wondering why on earth that would be.
“Luke, why are you just brushing my compliments aside?” I ask him directly. I’m not one for sugarcoating; besides, I’ve learned that you get your answer a much higher percentage of the time if you just ask your question outright.
“Because of you,” he replies, and now it’s my turn to wonder if he didn’t get hit in the head with something. When he sees my puzzled expression, he elaborates, “You are so beautiful and perfect and stunning that I don’t deserve to be complimented by you when I’m so ordinary. You’re an angel, a goddess even, and I’m a human. You are so far beyond me that you have no business telling me that anything about me is attractive.” He shakes his head and looks away, his voice bitter and his eyes clouding over with sadness.
“You honestly think that I’m that much better than you?” I ask him incredulously. I’m not better than Luke in any aspect, even physical appearance, so I have no idea how he just such a hairbrained opinion set in his mind. Unfortunately, because he’s so innately stubborn, it’s going to be hard to get that hairbrained opinion unset from his mind.
“Well here’s a newflash for you Luke: I’m not better than you in any way. Despite the facts that you are occasionally obnoxious, annoying and right-” – Luke and I both smile slightly at that – “-you are so innately good and just that I could never be better than you in any way.”
“Lizzie, I don’t know why you insist on painting yourself as the bad guy, like you’re less good than I am, because we both know – or at least I know – that’s BS.” Luke stares over at me, determination smoldering in his eyes and a smile on his face.
“Luke, what if I actually am the demon that I paint myself as?” I know I’m taking a big risk, that I’m only a few steps away from revealing that Lightning isn’t just a last name and that I’m not even human, but I know it won’t come to that. I just need to get it into Luke’s thick skull that I’m not as perfect or great as he seems to think I am.
“What if I actually am the monster under your bed, the killer on the street corner? What would you do then?” I meet his gaze coolly, smiling slightly at the puzzled expression on his face.
“It’s a moot point, since you aren’t,” he begins after a moment of regarding me carefully, “but I would love you all the same, because it doesn’t matter what you are or what you’ve done or where you’ve been. The only thing that matters is that I can go with you, wherever you’re going.” He gives me a genuine smile and I sigh. This is exactly the response I was hoping to avoid but knew he was going to say anyways.
“There are monsters everywhere Luke. How do you know that I’m not one?” I stare him down, daring him to come up with some logic that proves that I’m normal, that I’m not the monster I actually am.
“Because a monster doesn’t feel like you do.” He reaches a hand out and gently touches the spot on my chest where my heart is. “A monster can’t love like you do. A monster can’t smile like you do, or laugh like you do, or shoot me dirty looks when you think I’m not looking like you do.” My mouth twitches slightly at the last comment, and I make a mental note to myself that Luke is far more observant than I thought he was.
“A monster doesn’t have a conscience like you do, and doesn’t have a sense of right or wrong like you do. Lizzie, a monster doesn’t have a sense of humanity like you do.” He stares down at me unblinkingly, his eyes locked on mine.
“As long as you retain your ability to feel, and don’t give up what you believe in, you will never be a monster, even if you are actually what consider to be a monster. As long as you live by the principles you are willing to die for, Lizzie, you will never be a monster,” he murmurs, and, taken aback by the sheer power of his words, I force myself to swallow.
“So if I’m a vampire, but I retain the ability to feel, I won’t be a monster, huh?” I ask him, not fazed at all by his words. “Ask me one question then: what do vampires eat? Blood. So, if I go around sucking people dry, but I still can feel emotions like a human, I’m not a monster, right?” I get a sort of brutal satisfaction out of seeing Luke’s face crumple and his brows draw together in a concerned question mark.
“I don’t think that, if you retained the ability to feel like a human, you would go around killing people for food,” Luke finally answers. “I mean, murders and moral compasses don’t mix very well.”
“Does that mean we don’t have moral compasses, Luke? Well, I guess it’s just me,” I quickly amend. After all, Luke hasn’t killed anyone since Hand-to-Hand, and I’m the current kill leader. “But, since I killed people to survive, does that mean I don’t have a moral compass?” I turn my icy golden gaze on him, hoping to prove him wrong or at least unsettle him some, since I hate the idea that he might be right.
“Lizzie, that’s different. The vampires have other options; they can always kill animals for food. However, we don’t have that luxury of another option, because it’s either us or them, and I sure as hell hope that you aren’t actually thinking about it being them.” Even though Luke is completely serious, I can’t help but smile at his perfect paraphrasing of my opinions. Me or them has been the excuse to kill I’ve been using for a long time.
“I guess you have a point,” I finally concede, rather ticked at being beaten by Luke in an argument, especially an argument that questions who and what I am and what I believe in. Being right some of the time really is one of Luke’s incredibly few bad qualities.
Luke has opened his mouth and is about to reply when, all of a sudden, I feel a subtle but definite vibration of the grass on my left calf. Not taking time to think about the possibilites – or think at all – I immediately lunge at Luke to tackle him and have us roll away from whatever is causing the vibrations. As I clamber off of him quickly, I hear a muffled sound of protest that quickly quietly when he sees the serious, worried look on my face.
Carefully I peel back the grass blocking me from the source of the vibrations and am not surprised but very concerned that I find two other champions who appear to be the two non-career boys from Six. I suddenly realize that, with Marshall dying, there are no careers left, and my eyes shoot open wide in shock for a moment.
“Are you sure you know how to track, John?” the shorter, obviously younger boy asks, his voice high and his expression frightening, concerned and wild.
“I’ve been tracking since before you were born, Peter,” the older, taller boy replies sharply, with a hint of boredom to his tone. I smile slightly at the fact that me, his quarry, is hiding in the grass mere feet from him and he doesn’t see me, yet he has the nerve to sound confident and almost cocky in his tracking skills.
“Who’s the most dangerous one left, John?” the little boy – Peter – questions, and I resist the urge to clap my hands over my ears at his high, squeaky voice, made even higher and squeakier by fear.
“That’s easy,” John begins, flashing Peter a look before continuing. “That Lightning girl from Eight. I mean, even though she’s from Eight, anyone could see that she’s a career all the way, and she’s definitely the most dangerous career too.”
“She didn’t team up with the careers though,” Peter says, his light brown eyes clouding over with doubt. “I saw her shoot down two careers in thirty seconds at the Giving Hands, and she wouldn’t be trying to kill them if she were actually a career, right?” I can tell from his tone that Peter isn’t trying to question John, he’s just pointing out facts. Because I know Peter isn’t doing it for my benefit, I’m happy that an eleven-year-old boy that I’ve never met who’s supposed to be killing me is basically defending me by doubting that I’m a career.
“So she’s a rogue career,” John responds dismissively, shrugging his shoulders. “They’re not unheard of, you know. I mean, look at that Clay boy from Two. He’s a rogue career all the way, except he doesn’t seem to be interested in winning like Lightning does.”
“Why would they go rogue? Why would they break off from the pack, when it’s probably safer in the pack?” Peter stares up at John, and I can see the adoration in his expression. It’s not that different from the way people in El Nieve revere Rush, to be perfectly honest.
“Because they don’t like the pack, because they don’t want to have to cooperate with the other careers, even if only for a little bit? There are lots of possibilites.” Even though I don’t really like this John kid for presuming I’m a career, I do have to admit that he isn’t stupid. After all, if I actually were a career, I would break off from the pack for those exact reasons.
A few moments go by in silence, during which time John’s jaw muscles tighten even more and his face is taken over by a frustrated scowl, until John opens his mouth and adds, “And you’re wrong; I don’t think it is safer in the career pack. I mean, in the end, they all turn on each other and start trying to kill each other, so I don’t think that makes it safe at all. If I were a career, I get the hell out of there before that bloodbath started, because I wouldn’t want to be any part of that.”
Peter nods his head wordlessly in agreement, still staring up at John with exaltation in his eyes. A little more time passes in quiet, with Peter fidgeting under the weight of a question he really wants to ask that whole time. Finally Peter’s self-restraint breaks down and he asks John, “Who are you tracking?”
Immediately I perk up and listen to the conversation very carefully, as I’m rather curious about who John’s tracking too.
“Well, I don’t know who it is,” John admits, running a hand through his cropped brown hair, “but there’s definitely someone around here. I mean, look at these shoe treads. Those didn’t get there by themselves.” John gestures to where Luke and I stood, the outline of our feet still imprinted in the grass.
“In fact, I don’t think those were there when we came through here earlier,” John murmurs, his eyes shooting open wide in shock as he looks around wildly. Immediately I pull my head back, not wanting to risk him seeing me, to hear him say quietly, “I think that whoever I’m tracking isn’t too far away from us right now.” Peter gasps, only to be stifled by someone – presumably John – shoving a hand over his mouth.
“We have to be quiet, stealthy even,” John whispers in Peter’s ear, and I roll my eyes. Stealth isn’t really going to help them now; with my super-senses, I’ll be able to hear, smell and feel them all the time as long as Luke and I stay relatively close to them. “We don’t want the other champion around here to hear us, otherwise we could start a fight.”
“Why don’t we want to start a fight?” Peter asks John quietly in reply. “If we start a fight, we can take out the other champion. I mean, there’s two of us and one of them, so it should be easy, right?”
“What if that champion’s a career, or Lightning even?” John replies. “If it was Lightning, we’d both have arrows in our chests before we even saw her.”
I smile slightly at the truth of John’s statement and turn to look at Luke momentarily, who is nodding his head in agreement with John.
“True,” Peter concedes with an air of capitulation, and I can picture him dropping his gaze to the ground in defeat.
Apparently John actually feels bad about making Peter give up on his idea, because John quickly adds, “But that was good plan, and it would definitely work if we knew for sure that the other champion in here is a non-career.”
Suddenly a gunshot breaks the silence that has draped the rest of the grasslands, and I turn to Luke again and sigh, because I know what the gunshot is most likely firing for. Nick has probably taken his own life, just like Sarah did.
“Ok, we definitely need to move,” John murmurs, his tone incredibly worried and almost frantic as I listen to him hurriedly pack all supplies and zip up all packs. “Even though I know that gunshot could have been for someone in the rainforest or beyond the drop-off, I don’t want to take any chances.”
Since Peter and John will most likely be completely occupied with packing up and leaving, I decide that it’s safe enough for me to pull aside the grasses and watch them again. However, I have only been watching their frantic movements for a few moments when Peter looks right at me and goes completely white with fear and surprise.
“J-j-j-john!” he finally exclaims, yanking on John’s sleeve and pulling him around so that he’s looking right at me too. By this time, I’ve realized that my cover is completely blown, so I’ve drawn an arrow from my quiver, fit it into my bow, and rose to my feet calmly.
“Hey boys, how are you doing today?” I ask them, a mocking smile creeping across my face. “Now, if you let Luke and I get the hell out of here, I won’t put an arrow through either one of your hearts. Is that clear?” I look between the two boys, John as white as Peter now, and turn away for a moment to check on Luke, satisfied.
However, it isn’t even a second before I feel a slight change in the air behind me and whip around to see John coming at me with his dagger drawn and a desperate, wild expression on his face. Sighing, I put an arrow in his heart.
“You really should have listened to me John,” I murmur as a gunshot goes off and he falls to the ground to be eaten by the dirt.
Turning my attention back to Peter, I ask him, gesturing to the spot on the ground where John’s body lay a few seconds earlier, “You’re not going to be as stupid as him, right?”
Peter shakes his head violently and wordlessly in reply, and I smile slightly. “Good. When I was listening to you two, I always thought you were smarter than him anyways.”
Even though I probably should, I don’t really feel bad about killing John. After all, he was going to try to kill me in the most dishonorable way: when my back was turned. I mean, even I don’t kill people when their backs are turned, since I think that they should at least get a chance to fight back.
“W-w-w-why were you listening to us?” Peter asks me, and I turn back around from watching Luke secure all of our supplies – some of which were knocked loose when I tackled him – and brush himself off.
I realize immediately what he’s talking about, and reply, “Well, I didn’t really want to kill you without giving you a chance to fight back. I mean, you’ve lasted this long, so I think that you deserve a chance to fight back and live another day. I guess John had different ideas though.” My eyes drop to the spot on the ground where his body was eaten by the dirt, and I quickly look up again. I’m going to traumatize Peter – who happens to remind me a lot of Abby – if I keep on mentioning John’s death so casually.
“So you really weren’t going to kill us?” Peter questions, staring up at me in astonishment.
“I really wasn’t going to kill you. Anyways, I don’t really want to be the kill leader anymore, since it basically just singles me out as a target.” A bitter smile flits across my face, and I turn away from Peter again, feeling completely confident that he won’t attack me. After all, I just admitted that I wasn’t going to kill them unless they made me – like John did – and Peter probably doesn’t have a weapon on him anyways. I don’t intend to kill Peter, even now; I meant what I said about not wanting to be the kill leader anymore, and he reminds me so much of Abby that I don’t think I’d be able to anyways.
However, a millisecond later, I hear a fumbling sound and feel the air behind me change again, and I whip around to find Peter about to stab me in the back with a look on his eye that sends shivers down my spine: he’s burning with bloodlust. Quickly I grab his wrist and feel it crunch underneath my grip as he immediately drops the dagger and screams in pain; I must have broken his wrist, but it doesn’t matter because Peter’s going to be dead soon anyways.
I’m still very confused as to why Peter would want to kill me, so I question, staring down at him in shock and anger, “Why were you going to kill me?”
Suddenly Peter stops screaming and replies calmly, though the hate and bloodlust still covers his eyes, “It had to be done, because you would kill me in the end anyways.”
“Did you not hear what I said earlier?” I exclaim, grabbing his other wrist and shaking him like a ragdoll. “Did you not hear me say that I wasn’t going to kill you or John?”
“You would have killed us in the end,” Peter says quietly, his amber gaze so full of loathing and want for my blood that it sickens me. “Careers like you don’t keep promises. Actually, no one keeps promises in the Triple Crown.”
I sigh and shake my head, not in disagreement with Peter’s words but at the fact that he’s smart enough to realize and truly believe them. I mean, he’s only eleven, for God’s sake! He shouldn’t have to live in a world where no one keeps promises! However, I can’t let any of that emotion spill over into my voice, so, with a humongous effort to keep my voice steady, I reply, “I would have kept my side of the deal if you had kept yours.”
I then release him to take a step back and put an arrow through his heart before he can even take another breath. Turning away, I see Luke standing behind me with a sad, knowing look on his face and I sigh.
“He was eleven, Luke. Eleven,” I murmur, feeling the sadness well up inside of me and threaten to burst my heart. “Eleven and he already wanted to kill me, because he thought I would kill him.”

More added.

“No one gets out of the Triple Crown unscathed, Lizzie. No one leaves this place as innocent as they were going in,” he tells me in reply, then wordlessly takes a step forward to embrace me and hold me against him. “This place is forever: in you, in me, in that little boy. This place is forever,” he repeats, and I sigh.
Luke shouldn’t have to face life-or-death decisions on an almost-daily basis or think about a concept that big; Luke should be a normal seventeen-year-old boy focused on high school and sports and girls, not life and death and love and raw human desperation. But, no matter how much I want to deny it, I know he’s right: neither one of us will ever be anything approaching normal if we make it out of this alive.
“This place is forever,” I agree after a long few seconds, and he takes a step back to look down at me with a sad smile on his face.
“Lizzie, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his incredible blue eyes locked on mine, and instantly confusion overtakes me. After all, he has nothing to be sorry for.
“What on earth are you sorry for?” I mutter in reply, tearing my gaze away from his. His eyes are too distracting for me to form a rational, decent argument when looking into them. “I’m the one who just killed two people, including an eleven-year-old boy.”
“I’m sorry for bringing to your attention that this place is forever prematurely. I should have waited for you to say something about it on your own, since it’s a... touchy subject, I guess you could say.” The smile that flits across his face is bitter, sad, flat, a grimace more than a smile really, and it makes me wish that he hadn’t smiled at all.
“It’s fine Luke,” I tell him reassuringly and sincerely. “And I already knew this place is forever because I fall asleep to Abby dying every night.”
“I thought so, but I still think I should have let you bring it up,” Luke replies quietly, and, after a moment of silence passes between us, I start walking away from where I killed John and Peter and towards the rainforest
Luke follows me, of course, as I have a feeling he doesn’t want me out of his sight in case I try to do something stupid that breaks his promise of always. The air around us is completely for about a minute, the only sounds the ones of our feet trampling grass and our lungs taking in and pushing out air, until Luke opens his mouth to speak.
“Do you know what I fall asleep to, Lizzie?” he questions me quietly, and I turn around to look him up and down warily before shaking my head in response. I don’t like where he’s going with this.
“I fall asleep to you in my arms and thoughts – nightmares is a better word, I guess – of all of the things that could take you away from me, all of the ways you could die. I fall asleep to you dying, Lizzie, and it kills me to think about it and know that you could very well die, and that there might not be anything I can do about it. All I want to do is keep you safe and happy, but that’s proving to be very hard, considering our location and your refusal to cooperate with my efforts.” By this point, I’ve stopped – and so has Luke – and turned around, and a weak smile flits across my face at Luke’s last comment. All of a sudden Luke’s eyes light up like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.
Surprised by his reaction to my halfhearted grin, I ask him, “What?”
“You have such a beautiful smile,” he says in reply, and raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face. “But I guess that’s to be expected, when the rest of you is so beautiful, so perfect, so stunning.” He stares down at me, his expression awestruck, and leans in to gently kiss me on the forehead.
“Luke,” I begin, made intensely uncomfortable by the look in Luke’s eyes and the raw emotion in the air, as I place one hand on his chest and push him away from me, “not now, alright?”
I see the hurt expression on his face and quickly amend, “When we get out of these grasses, and we’re not in any immediate danger of death like we are right now, then you can kiss me all you want, but not right now, alright?”
“Alright,” Luke agrees quietly, nodding his head and lowering his hand from my face. I see his boyish grin and twinkling eyes on the edge of my vision and know that I’ve done the right thing when he asks, “Wait, I can kiss you all I want, huh?”
I turn back around momentarily to find him standing there with a mischievous smile on his face and dancing eyes, and he exclaims, “Well, let’s get the hell out of these grasses then! What are we waiting for?”
I can’t help but smile at Luke’s enthusiam and, with renewed determination and my perfect inner compass, continue to lead us east and out of the grasses.
We’ve been walking for about twenty minutes when I smell the change in water content in the air and know with a smile that we’re getting close, because the air’s that humid only in the rainforest.
“You feel that?” I ask over my shoulder to Luke, gesturing to the air around us. “It’s getting humid, which means we’re getting close to the rainforest.”
“And the best part of the day for me,” Luke adds, a beaming grin on his face, and I can’t help but smile as I roll my eyes at him.
“You are such a seventeen-year-old boy,” I mutter, shaking my head and smiling. “Such a seventeen-year-old boy.” It then occurs to me that, in many ways, he really isn’t a seventeen-year-old boy. He’s far too intelligent, far too mature – most of the time – knows far too much, has far too much common sense, and is incredibly overdeveloped in terms of emotions. A normal seventenn-year-old boy can’t feel the incredible amount of love and caring that he does for me. The oddest part is that most of his overdevelopment and differences from other seventeen-year-olds are not caused by the Triple Crown; he had them before he came here. I guess that just means he’s one exceptional seventeen-year-old boy.
“It’s not bad that I’m seventeen, is it?” Luke questions me, his smile fading a little bit, and I shake my head no.
“It’s better than you being fifty or twenty-five even,” I reply, and his grin comes back in full-force to reach his eyes and make them sparkle again.
“Yeah, I know I don’t want to be fifty. Twenty-five might not be so bad, but fifty would be terrible,” he says in agreement, and I burst out laughing.
When I’ve regained control of myself enough to speak, I murmur, meeting his gaze and losing all frivolity in mine, “I really don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?” he asks, his eyes wary even as a small smile creeps across his face. But I guess he has reason to be wary, considering the responses I come up with to that question in the past.
“Make me laugh all the time when we’re surrounded by this.” I gesture at the arena around us, trying to encompass the whole Triple Crown in the sweep of my hand. “I mean, I think this is the most I’ve laughed ever, even though this is definitely the worst two months of my life so far.”
Luke is about to reply when huge vibrations spread through the grass, and the ground about fifteen feet behind us begins to shake. Luke looks over at me, fear in his eyes, as I realize that it must be a colossus, maybe even two based off the magnitude of the quakes behind us. My mind then immediately jumps to the conclusion that it must be the Triple Crown committee goading us, and, even though I don’t want to be herded into a grand finale, I don’t see anyway around it.
“Run!” I scream, and take off, sprinting through the grass mindlessly. Even though I wouldn’t actually die from getting eaten by a colossus, I really don’t want to have the experience in the first place.
I look over my shoulder momentarily to find Luke a few steps behind me and idly think that it’s good he’s a three-sport athlete; he wouldn’t be able to keep up with me or outrun the colossuses behind us if he wasn’t.
“I don’t want to get eaten Lizzie!” Luke yells to me, and I glance back at him again to find his eyes wide with fear as he feels the ground behind him shake. It’s probably a good thing he isn’t looking behind him, because the snapping colossuses, both female by their huge size, are only twenty feet from him at best.
“Run faster then!” I call back, and pick up the pace myself. If Luke gets eaten – and there’s unfortunately a very high possibility of that happening – I don’t really want to get eaten too; I’d much rather prefer to have another champion kill me.
All of a sudden, I don’t feel any grass hitting me as I’m sprinting, and I look up to find that I’m out into the clearing where the Giving Hands are. I see two other forms, coming from the other side of the clearing, also running towards the Giving Hands, and my eyes widen as I see the horde of jungle cats like Winston following close behind. Looking carefully at the cats with my sharp eyes, I realize that, while they are the same species as Winston, they are really nothing like him.
There is no intelligence in their amber eyes, only raw anger and hate and bloodlust, and it is clear that they want one thing and one thing only: our blood.
“Fucking great!” I mutter, and whip around to find Luke sprinting behind me with not two, but five colossuses on his tail.
“Oh, even better!” I snarl under my breath, then turn my gaze forward to find that I’m only yards from the Giving Hands and launch myself onto their textured golden metal.
The fingertips at the top of the hands are wide enough for Luke and I to be up there and high enough in the air for the colossuses not to be able to get us unless they can jump, which I have a feeling they can’t, so I know that’s where I have to go. Unfortunately, the other champions – two non-careers from Three, if I’m remembering right, who happen to be the only other champions alive at this point – also seem to have their minds set on getting to those fingertips too, and the fingertips are only big enough for two of us.
Even though the non-careers from Three are in relatively good physical shape if they outran a huge pack of rabid jungle cats for God knows how long, I know that I’m the best climber out of all of us, so getting to the fingertips first will be no problem for me. However, it could very well be a problem for Luke, considering his ineptness at climbing trees, which are much easier to scale than the Giving Hands.
I’ve climbed about halfway up the fingers that stretch forty feet into the air when I look down to find Luke struggling ten feet below me. Seized by a burst of panic upon seeing the colossuses only thrity yards from him and moving quickly, I yell, “Luke!”
He hears my name and looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine for a moment, then continues climbing, his expression filled with determination and resolve. Though he isn’t as fast a climber as I am, he’s gotten to thirty-five feet up in the air in the time it takes the colossuses to reach the hands, and I, now standing on the fingertips of the hands, forty feet in the air, sigh in relief when I see that he’s out of the range of the colossuses.
However, my relief is short-lived, because I turn around to find the boy champion from Three coming at me with a dagger in his hand and a desperate, wild and distinctly murderous look on his face. For a fraction of a second, I debate throwing him off of the hands to be eaten by the colossuses or the jungle cats, but then decide that would be too awful a way to die and put an arrow in his heart before he takes another five steps. A gunshot goes off upon my arrow’s impact, and he falls off of the hands anyways. I force myself to not listen to his body hit the ground and the shrieks of bloodlust that run through the cats as they set to ripping him to shreds.
“I guess that’s one body the dirt won’t get,” I mutter, and am nearly thrown off the hands myself when something huge collides with the hands.
Immediately I realize that it must be the colossuses trying to get at Luke, and, dropping to my hands and knees to give myself more balance, I crawl over to the edge of the fingertip to look down and see Luke hanging on about four feet below me by one hand.
“Luke!” I scream in horror, staring down at him in complete shock and helplessness. I know I need to get him up, otherwise the colossuses will knock him off and he’ll die, and the only way to get him up is to hang myself over the edge too.
I’ve never had a problem with heights, even forty-foot straight drops, but, as I dig my feet into the grooves on the fingertips and hang my whole torso over the edge, I begin to appreciate how far forty feet really is.
“Luke!” I cry again, catching his attention as I lower myself down so that I can reach him. “Give me your free hand!” I yell down at him, and he nods wordlessly in reply, his eyes full of terror tempered by the determination to live.
He reaches his hand up to me at the exact same moment the largest colossus, the one close to thirty feet than twenty in height, slams itself against the hands again, and I grab his hand just before his hold on the Giving Hands slips. Even though I’m incredibly relieved that I caught Luke and he didn’t fall off of the Giving Hands into the waiting mouths of the colossuses below, there’s still the minor issue that we’re both dangling off the side of the Giving Hands.
Taking a deep breath, I tighten my grip on Luke and begin to raise him slowly to the top by very carefully working my feet back in the grooves I’ve dug them into. After about a minute of agonizingly slow progress, Luke is finally lying on his stomach next to me on top of the fingertip, and I allow myself to sigh in relief.
“We did it,” I murmur. “We did it.” Rolling to look over at him, I find him sitting up already and beaming down at me with the most joyous, amazing smile I’ve ever seen.
“I don’t know how you save my life all the time like that, Miss Lightning, but I really do appreciate it,” he tells me, his eyes twinkling, and I pull myself up to have him kiss me passionately.
After almost three weeks in this death trap, we’re alive. We didn’t get eaten by colossuses or rabid jungle cats, we didn’t eat the wrong plant and poison ourselves, we didn’t die of thirst or starvation or infection, and we didn’t get killed by other champions…
All of a sudden, I feel the fingertips vibrate, not from a colossus strike, but from a human’s footsteps, and I look up to find the non-career girl from Three, the last champion alive besides ourselves, standing there with a knife in her hand and determined, murderous look on her face. I go to reach for my sword to find an empty sheath, and I realize that it must have fallen over the edge when I dragged Luke up. I raise a hand to confirm that my quiver – and all of my arrows – are gone too, and glance around wildly for my bow to see the non-career girl kick it over the edge.
“Oops,” she murmurs quietly, her jade-green eyes, burning with loathing and rage and bloodlust, locked on mine. “I guess you’re all out of weapons now, Lightning. I guess that means it’s your time to die.” A small, murderous smile curls her lips as she takes slow steps towards us, and, even though there isn’t really any hope left, I instantly rise to my feet and step in front of Luke. Even though I’m definitely a better hand-to-hand combat fighter than she is, she’s the one with the knife, and if she can get her blade into me and rip me up, it’s game over. My only hope is to get the blade away from her or somehow produce a weapon out of midair. My heart begins to pound as adrenaline rushes through me and my eyes narrow in determination, and all of a sudden, I feel something cool and distinctly metallic pressed against the skin of my chest.
My eyes shoot open in realization as I remember the palm-sized lightning bolt in my sports bra, but I refuse to let the smugness I’m feeling work its way onto my face in the form of a smile. I can’t give away the fact that I’m not out of weapons, because I have to give myself time to get my weapon out. Casually I raise a hand to the neckline of my shirt and tug at the fabric, pretending that I’m nervous. Then, when the girl’s smile has returned and her eyes are as smug and sure as ever, I quickly reach down, pull the lightning bolt out, and flip it open to reveal the blade. Even though the supersuit would be a much easier way to get rid of the girl in front of me, I don’t have the time it takes to let the lightning bolt transform, making the switchblade my best bet.
“So you’re not out of weapons, huh? I guess I should have seen that coming,” the girl mutters, shaking her head and making her fire-red curls bounce up and down as she narrows her eyes at me. However, the murderous grin doesn’t fade from her face the whole time. “Oh well. It’s still your time to die,” she says, her voice low and menacing.
Despite the deranged, psychotic look on her face, I can’t help but roll my eyes at her. “I have survived nearly three weeks in this hell on earth. I have faced starvation, dehydration, deadly infections, wild jungle cats, poisonous plants, many other murderous champions and even those things!” I gesture to the colossuses below us. “So if you think that I’m going to let you kill me now, when I’ve lasted this long, then you’re mistaken.” I meet her gaze with an ice-cold, very unsettling golden glare of my own. “In fact,” I begin, a smirk starting to curl my lips, “it’s your time to die.”
I then charge her. Before she even knows what’s happening, I’ve slammed her to the ground, dug my knee into her chest, pinned her arms and legs down, and pulled the knife out of her flailing hand. Her head is now hanging over the edge, and the jungle cats, sensing the possibility of another feast, are looking up and licking their bloody muzzles.
The girl looks down for a moment, sees the cats, and looks back up at me, her expression now filled with panic and desperation. “I don’t want to be eaten alive, Lightning. If you’re going to kill me, just put a knife in my heart now.”
I raise the blade in my right hand, which happens to be the one I confiscated from her, and am about to do just that when it hits me that I don’t even know the names of the other two champions who survived nearly three weeks in this place too. Lowering the knife and staring down at her, I ask her, “What’s your name?”
After a moment of regarding me carefully and suspiciously, she replies, “McKenzie, McKenzie Lewis.”
“And the boy you were working with?” I jerk my head in the general direction of the jungle cats, and a sad scowl crosses her face.
However, despite her obvious turn in mood, she answers, “Sam Smith. Why do you care what our names are? We’re dead all the same.”
“You and Sam are survivors. Survivors deserve to be remembered,” I respond quietly, and a bitter smile curls her lips for a moment.
“Yeah, we survived everything but you.” She stares up at me, her green eyes locked on mine, and I see a small but existent amount of begrudgingly given respect in her expression.
“Oh, don’t feel bad,” I tell her. “No one survives me.” I then raise the blade and plunge it into her heart to see a peaceful look overtake her face as the gunshot signifying her death goes off.
I step away from her and turn my head to hear a grinding metal sound that means her body’s being eaten by the fingertip. When the grinding sound stops, I turn back around, no trace of McKenzie Lewis left on the metal.
Sighing, I shake my head and am about to bury my head in my hands, only to be interrupted by Luke’s joyous voice. “Now we can say we did it, Lizzie. Now we can say we survived the second round of the Triple Crown, One-Person Survival!” he cries in excitement, relief painted on his face, but the weight of the knowledge I have about the Triple Crown committee’s true intentions makes it so that I can’t bring myself to smile at him.
I know that the Triple Crown committee fully intends for it to be One-Person Survival, despite what they had Puck announce earlier, and there are two of us left. I stand still and rigid, forcing my face to be an unreadable stone mask of calm, and stare at the sky, waiting for the announcement that there’s been a mistake, that the rule change is revoked, that Luke and I have to kill each other anyways. I stand waiting for the announcement that will cause my suicide.
Luke’s face begins to fall when nothing has happened after thirty seconds, and he too realizes what the Triple Crown committee is up to. Quietly he walks to my side, finds my hand with one of his, and squeezes it gently, a gesture that I interpret as saying, “I’m not leaving you. I will be there always.”
I look over at him momentarily and give him a small smile, then whip back around when Puck’s voice breaks the stillness in the air again. “Miss Lightning, Mister Gates, I am terribly sorry to tell you that there has been a mistake. The rule change allowing two people to win One-Person Survival has been found, upon further review, to not abide with the policies of the Triple Crown. This means that only one of you can win.” He pauses for a moment, and I can hear him clear his throat – with difficulty – over the microphone. “I wish you the best of luck, and may the best champion win.”
I turn back to Luke and sigh. “We knew this was going to happen,” I murmur, and he nods his head wordlessly in agreement.
“So what do we do now? I can’t kill you, and you can’t kill me, so I guess we’re at a stalemate here again.” He stares down at me, his eyes locked on mine, and I notice how peaceful he seems, despite the fact that we’re about to die. I guess he’s happy that he’s dying with me.
“Well, we are forty feet above the ground,” I suggest, and let go of his hand to take a few steps forward and peer down over the edge at the now-scattering jungle cats and now-burrowing colossuses. We only have one knife left, since I left the one I killed McKenzie with in her chest, so, if we tried to commit a double-suicide that way, one of us would die before the other and the Triple Crown committee would get their one champion. That means jumping is the only way to effectively commit a double-suicide
Luke is by my side in an instant, and he says quietly, looking down over the edge with me, “I’m in. I sure as hell am not living without you, at least, and this seems to be the only way out.” He raises a hand to gently caress the side of my face, and I smile up at him. I sure as hell am not living without him either.
Not content with him just touching me, I throw my arms around the back of his neck and kiss him, pulling away after a few moments of feeling that overwhelming hunger for more. I then link hands with him again, and stare over the edge again with the feeling that this is just a challenge I have to face, and that I won’t be defeated by it.
“You know, Lizzie, it’s amazing that I’m actually able to keep my promise,” Luke murmurs, and I tear my gaze away from the ground forty feet below to look over at him. “I thought for sure that you and your fondness for nearly getting yourself killed would have made it impossible for me to keep my promise of always.”
I open my mouth to retort, but Luke, predicting my counter, quickly says, “It’s a very good thing your almost-suicidal nature didn’t actually turn suicidal until now though, because that way I get to die with you, and truly be with you always.”
After a moment of him staring down at me with love overflowing from his eyes, he tells me quietly, “Always, Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning. Always.” He then bends over me and we kiss again, this one much more gentle and reminiscent but still equally as passionate. The whole time I’m marveling at how much I actually want him, at how overpowering that hunger for more has become, and I find myself wanting to not jump and keep kissing him forever when he pulls back.
However, I soon recover, and stare over at him to ask, “You ready?”
He tightens his grip on my hand and replies with a smile, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“One,” I count evenly, my eyes locked on his as we take a step forward that leaves our toes dangling in the free air.
“Two.” He joins me in counting now, and we both tense our legs, preparing for the jump. Raising my right hand, I press two fingers to my forehead and give the air in front of me a salute, the exact same one I gave to the crowd when I was about to die in Hand-to-Hand Combat. Again, if I’m going to die, I might as well die in style.

More added.

We are just about to say three when Puck’s frantic voice booms over the arena, “Stop!” After we both have stopped and taken a step away from the ledge, he continues, “The rule change has actually just been looked at further and deemed in accordance with the Triple Crown policies, so I give you your One-Person Survival Champions, Luke Gates with zero kills and Lizzie Lightning, your every day, overall kill leader and winner of the Assassin’s Trophy, with fourteen kills!”
“Lovely. Isn’t it great that they’re rewarding me for being the most prolific murderer out of us all?” I mutter under my breath as I glower at the sky. I don’t want to be rewarded for killing fourteen kids; if anything, I want someone to scream at me and tell me how sick and twisted I am for doing that, not have someone give me a trophy. Murderers – well, serial killers, in my case – don’t deserve trophies.
“Lizzie, you’re alive, and they’re all alive too,” Luke tells me gently as he cups his hand underneath my chin and tilts my head up so I’m forced to look at him. “That’s all that matters right now. You can get to beating yourself up for doing what it took to survive later.” He then wraps his arm around my waist and guides me away from the spot a huge helicopter that appeared out of midair (thanks to a cloaking device) – presumably the one that will take us away from the arena – is attempting to land on.
When the helicopter is completely stopped, taking up nearly all of the available space on the fingertips, and its rotors have slowed enough that I can remove my hands from my ears and not be in utter agony, Luke and I step towards the helicopter to have two men in white coats, doctors presumably, climb out and walk towards us.
“Congratulations,” the taller one tells us warmly, his shaved head glinting in the fierce sun. “Winning One-Person Survival – well, winning any round of the Triple Crown – is certainly very hard to do.”
“You sound like you speak from experience,” I say to the doctor, puzzled by his comment. He doesn’t seem to be like the vast majority of people from El Nieve; most people from El Nieve would probably be congratulating me on all of the people I killed, not on staying alive in a hellhole for nearly three weeks.
“I do,” he replies as a toothy smile spreads across his face. “I won – well, survived – the seventy-fourth Triple Crown. Lars Kiplinger, Section Five.” He holds a hand out for me to shake, which I do, and regards me curiously, as my want to ask him questions must be showing on my face, when I pull back.
“Why are you a doctor for the Triple Crown now?” I ask him as Luke and I follow him back to the helicopter. “I mean, with all the prize money you won, you didn’t have to work another day in your life, so why did you?”
“Helping people has always been a passion of mine,” he responds, his hands folded behind his back as he walks next to me. Glancing over at him, I guesstimate that he’s five-eight, five-nine at best, with a lean figure that couldn’t hold very much muscle at all. It makes me wonder how he won his Triple Crown. “I paid for medical school in El Nieve with part of my prize money, then, when an opening appeared for a Triple Crown doctor, I immediately applied and somehow was found qualified enough for the job. Although,” he says, dropping his voice to a stage whisper, “I think I really got the job because the Triple Crown committee just couldn’t resist the idea of a past Triple Crown winner caring for the current contestants.” He gives me a knowing smile, and I idly think that I’m liking Lars Kiplinger better with every second that I’m talking to him.
He looks over at me, sees my mouth open and me about to ask another question, and says before I speak, “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why on earth would I voluntarily come back here, to work for the committee that seemed determined to kill me twenty-five years ago?”
A small smile curves my lips as I nod my head wordlessly in response, and Lars’ grin gets even bigger too.
“Well, I know how bad it is out there, I know how physically, mentally and emotionally taxing and altering the Triple Crown can be, and I want today’s contestants to know that someone knows what they are going through, and that not everyone wants to see them die.” I stare over at him in amazement, stunned by his incredibly noble and honest and therefore not El Nieve-motivated response to have him keep on talking, oblivious to my shock.
“I also want to make sure that the winner or winners aren’t so scarred that they can’t lead normal lives after leaving here. I guess you could say that I make it my goal to prevent the Triple Crown from taking the winners’ futures as well as their pasts and presents.” Now all trace of a smile falls off of his face, and I can see the loathing in his clear, medium-blue eyes.
Immediately, as though he is snapping out of a trance, Lars seems to realize what he’s saying and quickly amends, “But that is besides the point. Tell me, Miss Lightning, what did you find to be the most challenging aspect of the Triple Crown?”
Without even thinking I answer, “Killing other children.” After a moment’s pause, during which time Lars stares over at me expectantly, obviously waiting for elaboration, I continue, “Telling myself that it was either me or them, that one of us had to die, didn’t help all that much. I’ll still never forget the fourteen people I killed.”
I look up and gaze over at Lars for a long moment, wondering how on earth he could bear to work a job that made him remember the people he killed.
“Hmm,” Lars murmurs, and nods his head. When he notices me staring at him, a smile darts onto his face and he tells me, “Did you know that I am the only Triple Crown champion to win without ever recording a kill?”
“No way,” I say, but I can’t help but smile myself as I look over at him.
“Yes way,” he responds. “I got killed in the first round of Hand-to-Hand Combat – at least the career that killed me made it quick and easy – and I didn’t kill anyone at all in One-Person or Team Survival. I guess I was just so accustomed to running away and so squeamish that it was all I could do to kill an animal for food, much less another human being.” He laughs quietly, but it’s obvious that neither one of us are really amused.
I’m still confused as to how Lars won, if he wasn’t at all a fighter, so I ask him, “Well, how did you win then?”
“I was so much better at running and hiding and avoiding danger than everyone else,” he answers, chuckling again. “I was an excellent coward, I suppose you could say.”
“Well, you’re a live coward, and I guess that’s better than being a dead hero,” I say without thinking, and immediately wish that I hadn’t said anything at all, because I don’t believe those words for an instant.
“You really shouldn’t lie like that, Miss Lightning,” Lars tells me, his voice suddenly sharp, to lose all roughness in his tone when he gestures me into a back compartment of the helicopter with an apologetic smile.
“I’m afraid you two will have to ride back here, as a precaution. We don’t want any diseases you might have picked in the arena to spread.” He gives Luke and me one last warm smile before turning away, obviously about to leave.
However, I find what he said about the precaution very odd, so I ask him, stopping him with my voice, “Well, if you’re taking precautions, why aren’t you wearing head-to-toe protection?”
Turning back around, a small but sad smile on his face, he replies, “Because I have already been immunized against every disease you might have gotten in the arena.” He then leaves in the wake of those ominous words, shutting the air-tight door on the way out, and I collapse into a padded bench against the metal wall of the compartment we’re going to be riding in.
“What did he mean, he’d already been immunized against anything we could have picked up? How would he know what we might have picked up?” Luke questions, breaking the heavy silence that had been draping us like a blanket.
“He means that the Triple Crown committee picks what diseases they’re going to set loose in the arena,” I reply quietly, and Luke’s face immediately falls as he realizes the sick and twisted nature of that. Essentially, the Triple Crown committee is dedicing what other ways we can die, if we don’t get killed by animals or poisonous plants or the elements or starvation or dehydration or other champions. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised though, not with everything else the Triple Crown committee has done.
Leaning my head back and closing my eyes, I find myself falling asleep against the metal wall before I can even register what’s happening, and the last thing I think before everything fades out is that Luke and I have two down, one to go. Unfortunately, the one left is the only one that really matters.

I open my eyes to be invaded by a flood of white, bright light that makes me instantly close them again. I’m vaguely aware of a presence to my right, and, when my eyes have finally adjusted enough, I pull myself into a sitting position to look over and find Jackson watching me with a small smile on his face.
“Good morning, Miss Lightning,” he tells me, his golden gaze locking on mine. “How are you feeling today?”
I am about to reply, a smile on my face, when I move my arm slightly and feel something stuck in it. Glancing down, I find an IV in my left forearm and see that I’m in a hospital bed. It then strikes me, as I look down at my body, covered in one of those awful white hospital gowns, that I don’t seem to be as thin as I used to be. I raise a hand to my stomach to discover that my ribs have almost completely disappeared, like they were when I came here, and I realize that I’ve been out for a lot longer than just a day.
Jackson, reading my thoughts, murmurs, “You’ve been out for almost a week.”
“A week?!” I exclaim, suddenly angry at myself. I try to disconnect the IV from my arm to find that my fingers are too clumsy for such a task and mutter a few curse words in Spanish under my breath.
“You needed the rest and healing time, Lizzie. After all, you were in a hellhole for almost three weeks.” I turn to look at Jackson and find him regarding me carefully, almost worriedly, as if he thinks that I haven’t had enough rest and healing time.
“I guess I was, wasn’t I?” I mutter quietly, and a hint of a smile twitches Jackson’s lips. All of a sudden I remember what happened to Jackson two nights before One-Person, and I ask him, seized by a sudden wave of concern, “Are you ok? Are you completely healed from the Protector incident?”
“My God, you just spent three weeks in hell on earth and you’re worried about me?” Jackson says incredulously, his grin getting bigger as he looks over at me in amazement. “You really need to get a sense of self-preservation, Miss Lightning. I’m afraid your empathy’s going to be the end of you.” Even though there’s a light, joking appearance to his words, I can hear the underlying current of desperation and persuasion and warning, and immediately I realize that Jackson’s talking about my willingness to the be the spark.
“Jackson, these people have chosen me as their martyr, and I can’t deny them their chance at freedom now, when I know in my heart that it’s the right thing to do,” I tell him, hearing the pleading tone in my voice and detesting it. I shouldn’t have to beg to keep my opinions the same.
“Lizzie, you don’t have to die for them. You don’t owe them anything. I’m sure that, if you refused to be the spark, they would find another martyr in the next Triple Crown, and then their rebellion would get started again.” Jackson’s eyes lock onto mine powerfully, and I can tell that he’s trying – and failing miserably, because I have great mental defenses – to get inside of my mind and force me to agree with him.
I’m angry that Jackson would do such a thing, so I tell him quietly, making my tone menacing, “You know, Jackson, you really shouldn’t try to wage mental warfare when I’m so much better at it than you are.” I then send a shock through his mind and smile slightly when he curses violently and raises his hands to his head.
When he’s recovered from the pain enough to hear me out, I continue, “These people are owed at least a chance at freedom, so why shouldn’t I be the one to repay it? If I’m not a good enough martyr, and the rebellion doesn’t succeed, I’m sure you’re right, they will find another martyr after a couple decades have gone by and do this all over again. But right now, Jackson, these people want their freedom, and they’ve chosen me as their agent to get them freedom, so who am I to deny them that?”
“A person with a sense of self-preservation who’s logical enough to know that any rebellion against El Nieve will fail,” Jackson retorts, his gaze locking on mine again. However, he doesn’t try any mental tricks this time; I guess he’s realized trying to get inside of my head and sway me is a lost cause.
“Jackson, we’ve already been over this; I don’t have a sense of self-preservation,” I reply, a smile breaking out across my face as I see the annoyance flicker across Jackson’s expression. “I do have a sense of right and wrong though, and I know, with all of my heart, that this is the right thing for me to do, that it would be wrong if I didn’t be the martyr for the Sections. Jackson, I know that I have to be the spark,” I tell him, staring into his eyes and willing him to understand. “I also know that, as the spark, I will be consumed by my own flame, but that’s an inevitability that I can’t avoid, so I might as well embrace it. After all,” I begin, a smirk coming onto my face, “If I’m going to go out, I might as well go out in style.”
“You and your glorified visions of suicide,” Jackson mutters bitterly and almost venomously, shaking his head. “Do you know what it’s like to truly want to die?” Jackson asks me, his golden eyes hard as he stares me down. “Do you know what it’s like to know that killing yourself is the only way out? Do you know how desperate you have to be to want to commit suicide? Until you do, Lizzie, until death is the only way out, I don’t think you should even be talking about suicide. If you have other options, you should most definitely take them.” I feel the emotion of his words charging the air and I quickly look away. I had forgotten about his suicide stories and the time that he spent begging for death.
Even though I know that he’s probably right, that I shouldn’t kill myself unless that’s the only option left, his words haven’t shaken me. However, I feel that I should give him the illusion that they have, so I tell him quietly, “I’m sorry, Jackson. I won’t bring it up again.”
For some reason, Jackson seems to feel guilty now, because he immediately replies, all of the hardness and raw emotion vanishing from his face, “Oh, don’t feel bad, Lizzie. I really shouldn’t have brought it up like that.”
“You’re right though Jackson, I really shouldn’t be considering suicide when I have other options,” I murmur. “I just… I just feel like I’d be more use to these people and their cause of freedom alive than dead.”
“Lizzie,” Jackson begins, rising to his feet and walking over to me to sit down on the ege of the bed and cup my chin in his hand, “you will never be worth more dead than alive, because you are such an amzing, wonderful person that losing you would be a great loss for the whole world. You are worth too much to be lost to death, Lizzie.” His eyes lock on mine, and I can feel the emotion building up and crackling in the air again.
He gently removes his grip on my chin to stroke the side of my face, tracing the outline of my cheek with his thumb, and whispers, his gaze glued to mine in what appears to be amazement, “You are so perfect, Lizzie, that I don’t know how you could ever think that you would be worth dead than alive.”
He then bends in over me and kisses me gently and sweetly – very different from the other kisses we’ve shared – and, when he pulls back after a moment, I scoot over to give him room to sit down next me, which he does.
Settling himself down, he wraps one long, muscular arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him, so that my head is resting on his shoulder. After a second, he seems to decide that I’m not close enough to him, and gently picks me to deposit me in his lap.
We sit in silence for a few long, contented moments, during which time I curl up against him and listen to his heart beat loudly and reassuringly. It’s amazing to think that, only a year ago, Jackson wished it would stop beating and end his pain every day.
Suddenly I remember that Jackson turned eighteen when I was in the arena, and I tell him as I look up at him, a smile breaking out across my face, “Happy birthday Jackson. You’re officially an adult now.”
“Oh, yeah, I had forgotten about that,” he replies, a grin creeping across his face as he beams down at me. “Now what should I do with my newfound freedom?” he asks me, his hand finding mine. However, as soon as he touches my fingers, he instantly recoils, and looks down at my hand in shock, anger and horror.
I glance down too, wondering what on earth he could have encountered that would make him react the way he did, to find that awful engagement ring shining on my right ring finger. “I had forgotten about that,” I mutter, my heart sinking as I stare down at the ring with a combination of loathing and hate. It makes everything so much more complicated by existing. I roll off of him, intending to set the ring down on the side table next to my bed, to have Jackson rise to his feet and turn towards the door.
“Where are you going?” I exclaim in surprise, my gaze glued to his back as I will him to stop walking away.
Turning back to me, the angry, hurt look on his face shocking me, he tells me coldly, “I’m afraid I can’t be doing this with an engaged woman, Missus Gates.” He spits the last two words, and storms out the door, leaving a hurt, stunned and self-loathing me behind.

I rip the ring off of my finger and throw it against the wall as hard as I can, grinning fiercely when I hear the metallic sound of the gold against the white tile of the wall.
“I hope it broke,” I mutter under my breath, then lean back against the pillows behind me and sigh. This was not what was supposed to happen.
Jackson was not supposed to get mad at me; he was supposed to be happy that I’m alive and didn’t get killed. Jackson was supposed to stay with me, and maybe kiss me some, but just be there for me and laugh with and at me. That stupid ring wasn’t supposed to get in they way; that stupid ring wouldn’t even be on my finger – and the engagement it symbolizes wouldn’t even exist – if it weren’t for Max’s determination to keep me alive and make me hate myself in the process.
All of a sudden, there is a clanging sound outside of my door, and I look up to see Luke, wearing the exact same awful hospital gown that I am, come into my room. There is a small bleeding hole in his arm where he detached the IV, and the iron tang of blood filling the air makes me want to crinkle my nose. I don’t like the smell of human blood, because it means that someone’s been hurt recently. Animal blood I don’t mind so much; after living only as a wolf for a month and therefore hunting and killing and eating animals raw, I became completely desensitized to animal blood. I guess it’s kind of ironic, with all the people that I’ve killed and all the blood I’ve spilled, that human blood still bothers me some.
“Luke, what are you doing?” I exclaim in surprise, quickly sliding out of bed and walking over to him, oblivious of the tubes in my arms that pop out when I get up, to look him over and make sure he appears to be fine.
In answer, Luke grabs me by the waist, pulls me to him, and kisses me urgently, his desperation and need overtaking the blood in the air and filling my nose. After a few moments, he pulls away to stare down at me, his expression relieved.
“As soon as I woke up, I couldn’t stand to be away from you, not even for a second, when I didn’t know if you were even alive or not, so I disconnected myself from all of the machines they had hooked me up to and came down here to make sure you were ok.” He gives me a smile and kisses me again, this one not nearly as long but equally as passionate as the first.
“Well I’m fine Luke; thank you very much for your concern though,” I tell him, giving him a grin of my own, then hear a dripping sound and glance down to find the disconnected IV tube hanging from my arm leaking drops of fluid slowly onto the floor.
“I probably should do something about that,” I mutter, and, in one swift motion, pull the needle out of arm and cast it aside. All of a sudden it strikes me that neither one of us actually has clothes on, and I am seized by an overwhelming to grab the sheet off my bed and wrap it around me so I’m not so exposed.
The same exact thought apparently occurs to Luke too, because he immediately drops his gaze to the ground and murmurs, a red blush rushing into his cheeks, “I’ll go find us some clothes.”
I can’t help but laugh after him as he departs, then walk over to where the engagement ring is lying on the floor and pick it up. Of course, it’s not broken; like the person who gave it to me, it seems to be determined to be a part of my life always.
Even though I sigh in exasperation and weariness, I still slide the ring on, and walk back to my bed to sit down and wait for Luke to return.
After about five minutes, Luke comes back with identical outfits of black shirts and black shorts hanging from his hands and a worried, discontented look upon his face. “Dress quickly,” he tells me, tossing the clothes at me. “Max wants to talk.”
Luke turns and leaves without another word, and I sigh. It’s obvious from the tone in Luke’s voic that, when Max says talk, he means yell at us for being so stupid as to try a double suicide again, and I don’t really want to hear that from Max. After all, he should be used to Luke and I being stupid and defying his orders by now.
However, I still do what I’m supposed to, and slip the clothes on quickly. Walking over to my door, I open it to find Luke with his hand raised, about to knock, and I can’t help but laughed at the surprised look on his face.
For some reason, Luke doesn’t share my sense of humor and instead mutters worriedly as we walk down the hallways side-by-side, “How can you laugh at a time like this?”
“What’s the big deal?” I ask him, confused. “I mean, I knew Max was going to yell at us for trying the double-suicide again, but I don’t really care and I don’t see how that’s such a big issue. I mean, it’s just Max.” I shrug and look over at Luke to find him staring down at his feet with a concerned, frightened look on his.
After a moment of silence, he looks up at me, captures my gaze with his own, and replies quietly, “It’s not Max we have to worry about.”
Immediately I realize what Luke’s talking about and my heart plummets to hit the floor with a thud that shoot pain through my body. Rush or another official from the Triple Crown committee is back to talk to us, and he or she is incredibly angry.
“Rush?” I ask quietly, glancing over at Luke and taking in his hung head and beaten posture. Clearly he thinks that we’re going to get news of our friends and family members dying, which I suppose is a definite concern for him. However, I have complete faith that my family and friends are smart and tough enough to get away from anyone sent to kill them, so I’m not worried about them. Well, I’m not worried about everyone except for Jackson, because it’s already been proven that he can be taken by soldiers.
“Yeah,” Luke responds tersely, his eyes on his feet and his jaw set as he walks. After a moment of silence, he looks up at me and says, “We are so screwed.”
“I guess we are, aren’t we?” I mutter quietly, shaking my head and dropping my gaze to the white tile floor. “But I don’t think that’s anything new, since we’ve been fully and completely screwed since the first time we set foot in El Nieve.”
“Good point,” Luke murmurs. “It doesn’t make knowing that we – along with everyone we care about – are going to die any easier though.”
“I don’t think there’s anything that could make that easier,” I say in agreement, then backtrack, “Well, nothing short of a loaded pistol.”
Luke gives feeble attempt at the laugh that lasts less than a second and does nothing but show how truly torn up he is, and our conversation falls into silence again. We walk down the hallway, which is very long and lined with thirty other doors most likely leading to thirty other rooms exactly like ours, for about another minute until we come across a closed door blocking our path.
Luke quickly steps in front of me and pulls the door open wordlessly, and I murmur a quiet word of thanks as I walk through to find myself in a room with four chairs and desk between them. Two of the chairs are already occupied, the one on the left threatening to break under Max’s huge form, and the one on the right threatening to run away from Rush and his incredibly sinister demeanor. My palms immediately begin to sweat when I smell the all-too-familiar aroma of carnations and death reeking from Rush, and it’s all I can do to not run back out the door and away from that horrible stench.
“Take a seat, Mister Gates, Miss Lighting,” Rush commands lightly, his tone pleasant and an amicable smile on his face, but I can see right through the act he’s putting on. He’s incredibly angry, and very ready to kill us right now, if we weren’t needed for the Triple Crown. The good news is that he doesn’t seem to be gloating at all, which most likely means that all of our family and friends are still alive, or at least haven’t been found by Rush’s men yet.
Even though I know that I really shouldn’t be taunting him, that it’s a stupid move on my part that can do nothing but hurt, I can’t help but reply with a smile, as I slide into my chair, “You know, Rush, I think I will.”
However, instead of getting visibly angry or yelling at me, like I thought he might, Rush merely tells me, with the tone of a schoolteacher admonishing a favorite or promising student, “You know, Miss Lighting, you really should watch your mouth. After all, if you have nothing nice to say, you should say nothing at all.” Rush gives me a beaming smile of his own as I size him up and glare at him, trying to determine what he’s specifically here to talk about.
Though it would be a quick way to get what I want, I don’t even dare to try to get inside of his mind and read his thoughts, because he undoubtedly has great mental defenses and I would only hurt myself if I tried to read his mind. Besides, I’m not sure that I want to know all of the things floating around inside Rush’s head.
After a moment of silence, during which time Max adjusts himself nervously and makes his chair groan in protest, Luke sits completely still and quiet, and I stare Rush down, trying to make him uncomfortable even though he has all of the power in this gathering, Rush says, with a hint of a smile on his face, “You know, Miss Lighting, you really have a knack for stirring up people and making them angry. If that is your goal, you are doing an excellent job with the Sections; you should give yourself a pat on the back.” Though his voice is still light-hearted, there is an underlying current of tension and anger running through it that I didn’t hear earlier, and I continue to stare him down for a few moments, still trying to read him before I reply.
“Yeah, I’m pretty good at causing rebellions, considering I’m so rebellious myself.” I flash Rush my best fake grin, and, even though I can tell that he doesn’t take the bait, he still smiles in reply.
“Indeed you are, Miss Lighting, indeed you are. You are quite a spark,” he murmurs, his pitch-black eyes, as unfeeling, calculating and venomous as ever, locked on mine. “And do you know what happens to a spark, Miss Lightning?” he asks me lightly, and immediately I know what he’s getting at. He’s going to try, like Jackson did, to discourage me from being the spark by trying to pull at my sense of self-preservation. I guess it’s too bad for him that I don’t have one.
Though I already know too well what happens to a spark, I am compelled by the tone of Rush’s voice to humor him and shake my head. Next to me, I can hear that Luke has almost stopped breathing, and I can tell that Max is very nervous and perplexed by Rush’s and my conversation.
“In the end, it gets consumed by the fire it started,” Rush finishes, like I knew he would, and stares deeper and more meaningfully into my eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he continues, “Miss Lightning, you will die one way or another if you continue on this doomed path of martyrdom. However, if you stop this foolish quest to help the Sections, you can and will live. All it takes to preserve the lives of your loved ones, as well as your own life, is your conscious decision to stop this spark nonsense.”
He pauses, clearly waiting for a response, and, when I don’t give one, he keeps talking, “However, if you do not decide to stop this spark nonsense, you will go up in flames, along with failed cause you’re representing.”
Instead of being intimidated by Rush’s threats, I actually laugh, and, after I’ve taken a few moments to become coherent enough to speak, I tell him flatly, “Rush, I’ve already made the conscious decision to go up in flames, like a true spark, and nothing you say can change my mind. My family’s-” – I glance around at Luke and curse internally when I remember that I have to watch my tongue around him, because he doesn’t know that I’m an immortal – “-fast and strong, and I have no doubt that they could get away from you and your men if they needed to. In fact, I’d go as far to say that they could eliminate any men you sent after them.” I continue to stare Rush down, finding his pitch-black gaze more than creepy but refusing to let that show. I can’t give Rush any edges on me, and I definitely can’t let him inside my head.
“Are you so sure about that, Miss Lighting?” Rush asks me calmly. He then opens his right hand, palm up, to reveal a small remote with one red button in the middle of it, which I eye suspiciously. The remote must be to something large and destructive, if Rush is so confident it in.
As though he’s reading my thoughts – which is an incredibly scary possibility – Rush elaborates, “At the push of this button, I will release five-” – his eyes dart onto Luke for a moment, and I can tell that Rush knows he has to watch what he says around Luke, just like I do – “-specially trained soldiers into your universe who have one goal and one goal only: to track down and kill anyone connected to you and your family. If you don’t want me to push this button,” Rush says, his smile turning into a gloating smirk as he sees the horror taking over my face as I realize that Rush has immortals at his command, “then I would suggest that you cooperate fully and don’t try any more of this spark business. That means no more suicide attempts, no more even slightly suggestive song quotes, no more martyrdom and no more sparks in terms of your attire; in other words, no more rebellion period. You are also going to marry Mister Gates quietly, with no controversy or scandal relating to your relationship with Jackson Lucas Carter; in fact, you are to behave as if you don’t even know who Jackson Lucas Carter is. From now on out, if you want to save your family and everyone you care about, you have to be a good girl and do exactly what you’re told. I know that behaving and obedience may be very hard tasks for you-” – he smirks at me as I glare at him – “-but, for the sake of your family and friends, please do try, Miss Lightning.”
I am about to open my mouth and protest when Luke speaks for me. “But, Prime Minister Rush, I can’t and won’t live without Lizzie, and she’s told me that she can’t live without me, so what exactly are we supposed to do in Team Survival? I mean,” he says, and I just hear the fact that he’s about to backtrack or further explain himself, “Lizzie and I can’t be on the same team for Team Survival-” – I wouldn’t be on Luke’s team, even if we were allowed to, because I’ve already sworn to keep Abby safe – “-because of the rule set in place banning champions from the same Section to be on the same team, so what are we going to do?” Rush regards Luke with a slightly amused expression, his eyes boring holes into Luke’s face, and I find it amazing that Luke didn’t lose his composure or stop talking because of the intensity Rush’s gaze holds.
“Well, I don’t know. I guess you two will just have to be on different teams. Isn’t that sad?” he says maliciously, his lips curling into an evil smile, and it’s all I can do to not leap over the table and strangle Rush here and now. It’s not like it’d be any less than the son of a bitch deserves.
Luke, like I knew he would, has far more self-control than I do and doesn’t even flinch at Rush’s words. Instead he replies quietly and respectfully, “Yes, sir,” and sits there staring down at his hands. However, Luke really isn’t that good of an actor, and I can tell that he is really shaken up about the Team Survival situation. I guess it’s almost a good thing that that rule is in place, because I would hate to have to tell Luke that I can’t be on his team because I’ve promised to save Abby. That would shake him up even more than being stopped from teaming up with me by the rules.
“You two may leave now,” Rush tells us curtly, and I rise to my feet, turn away from him and am about to walk through the door, my hands still balled into fists, when Rush’s voice stops me.
“Miss Lighting, please do rethink your goal of going up in flames,” he says, and I can feel his eyes boring holes into the back of my head as the scent of death and flowers in the room becomes almost overpowering again. “It would be a pity to lose such a... talented family like yours to your pride and stubborness.”
Gritting my teeth, I act like he hadn’t even spoken and continue walking away from him and his carnations and his stench of death, the whole time telling myself that everything is lost if I let him inside my head. Unfortunately, I think he might already have a permanent residence there.

More added.

“Lizzie!” a relieved voice exclaims as soon as Luke opens the door into my hospital room for me, and I look up to find Jackson rising to his feet from his seat on the edge of my bed.
“I was so worried about you,” he tells me as he closes the gap between us with three huge steps and crushes me to him, his arms locking powerfully around my back. He kisses my neck gently, then whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry. I really was an ass earlier.”
It takes me a second to respond, my mind bogged down by all of the thoughts floating around about what just happened and Rush and my family and my future. “Jackson, you don’t have to tell me that you were an ass; I figured that out on my own,” I reply numbly, not returning his embrace but merely standing there, rigid.
Jackson laughs, but his laugh is short-lived when he feels that I’m not responding and pulls back to peer down at me concernedly. “Lizzie, are you alright?” he asks me quietly, and raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face.
“I would prefer that you not touch my fiance like that,” an angry voice says curtly behind me, and my mind dimly registers that it’s Luke talking. Oh, Luke. Right. I had almost forgotten he’s with me.
“Can it, Gates. Fighting right now isn’t going to do anything. Can’t you see how shaken up she is?” Jackson pulls away from me to gesture at my almost pathetic stance. My head’s hung low and my eyes search the floor as I idly think that it would be great if they could both just disappear and make everything easier on me. That would even better – in fact, that would be exponentially better – than both of them shutting up and trying to console me. After all, I don’t want to be consoled; I just want to be left alone and given time to think, or at least clear my mind and maybe get rid of this disconcerting numbness that’s taken over my body.
“You still don’t have a right to touch her like that,” Luke shoots back, his tone considerably less confrontational but still hard and jealous. Obviously he doesn’t like the fact that Jackson thinks that he can disregard the fact that Luke and I are getting married because it’s not a real marriage, in the sense that it wouldn’t be happening if Luke and I hadn’t become a camera couple and weren’t so desperate for survival. Well, weren’t so bullied into compulsive survival by Max. Speaking of Max, I wonder what he’s going to have us do for Team Survival, with that rule in place...
As my mind jumps around randomly, I suddenly remember what Jackson said to me earlier and a brief shot of anger shoots through me. “No,” I murmur quietly, and both of them stop bickering to look over at me in surprise and relief. I then look up at meet Jackson’s gaze, and feel the anger welling up inside of me as the events of fifteen minutes ago become even clearer in my memory. “Luke’s right, Jackson; you really shouldn’t touch me like that, since Luke and I are getting married soon.”
I then turn away from Jackson, whose expression is now stunned and hurt, and walk over to Luke to throw my arms around the back of his neck and kiss him passionately. I hope I’m driving the same amount of blades into Jackson’s heart that he has into mine; after all, he’s hurt me so many times that I think it’s time I finally start evening that gap out.
“Lizzie,” Jackson whispers, his voice full of pain, and I can hear his throat constrict. He doesn’t continue, and I act like he hadn’t spoken, as I’m completely focused on using Luke as a weapon of revenge in the twisted back-and-forth relationship Jackson and I have.
However, Luke isn’t as blind as I’d like him to be, and he pulls back to murmur in my ear, “What is this about, Lizzie? I know that you and Jackson have history, some of it not so good, but you really shouldn’t purposely hurt him like this. It’s not good for you, and, while I normally wouldn’t care what you do to Jackson as long as you’re not kissing him, this affects you as well as him and I don’t want it to negatively affect you.”
I pull back to stare up at him for a fraction of a second as I drudge a memory of something related to this out of my mind, and burst out laughing when I finally uncover the whole memory.
“What’s so funny?” Luke and Jackson ask the same time, and it’s a few moments before I’m coherent enough to reply.
“I just remember this one episode of The Big Bang Theory where Leonard lied to Penny’s date to sabotage their relationship and Sheldon tells him, ‘My mother says that every time we deceive for self gain, we make Jesus cry.’ It was so funny,” I finish quietly when I see that neither one of them are laughing.
Instead, Luke is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind and Jackson is staring at me with hurt completely clouding his eyes and covering his expression. Jackson undoubtedly heard Luke’s and my conversation, Jackson being a wolf and having the ears of one. However, he probably didn’t even need to listen to our conversation, because he probably figured out that, as soon as I turned my back on him and kissed Luke, I was getting back at him for all of the times he had hurt me. Apparently that knowledge doesn’t do much to ease the pain he’s feeling though, because I can almost see tears welling up in Jackson’s – Jackson, the wolf who got his name for being unfallible – eyes, and I can tell that he would probably be crying if Luke and I weren’t here. Of course, I can’t really blame him, since that really was nasty of me to get back at him like that.
Immediately my heart is filled with guilt, and I turn away from Luke to walk towards Jackson and embrace him. “Jackson, I’m sorry,” I murmur into his chest, and I’m slightly reassured when Jackson’s arms wrap around me after a few moments.
With a sigh, Jackson tells me quietly, “Oh, it’s ok Lizzie. I guess it’s no more than I deserve.” He then proceeds to kiss my neck softly, and every other thought I formulated and add-on to my apology that I was going to say vanish from my mind under his touch.
I can hear Luke grind his teeth together and shift from foot to foot agitatedly, but I ignore him for now. The only way that I’m going to be able to effectively deal with Luke and Jackson is to work with one of them at a time, and just forget the other during that time. I’m only going to drive myself crazy if I try to focus on both of them at the same time.
“Lizzie,” Jackson begins when he pulls back, and I stare up at him to meet his haunted yellow gaze and be reminded of all of the horrors he’s seen and experienced. The scars on his back are an incredibly compelling testament of that. “I’m sorry for all the things that I’ve said that I shouldn’t have said, and all of the times I’ve been tactless and an asshole and hurt you, and I’m sorry for not treating you and loving you like I should. I am the luckiest guy in the world, because I have you, and I’m sorry that I haven’t made that clear at times. Lizzie, I meant it when I said that you are it for me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes still locked on mine, then continues, “Everything I felt for Alexa just... vanished in the moment I saw you standing there and realized how much you truly cared about me, and how much I truly cared about you. It was you all along, Lizzie; I was just too stupid to see it.” His mouth twists into a bitter, angry smile that makes me wish he hadn’t smiled at all. Fortunately I don’t have to see too much of it, because he keeps on talking, “Lizzie, I need you so bad that it kills me to watch you out there, fighting for your life for the entertainment of all the sick bastards in El Nieve, and I don’t know what I’d do if you died, I really don’t. I think that I might kill myself if you got killed, especially now that I know that, if you die in Team Survival, you’re dead permanently. I couldn’t live without you, Lizzie, and I know I’ve got pretty stiff competition-” – his eyes flicker in Luke’s direction for a moment before returning back to me – “-but please, don’t rush off into this marriage, and just give me a chance. While I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again, I can promise you that I will do all I can to be the best for you that I can, and I promise that I will always be there for you, Lizzie, no matter what you need.”
“Jackson,” I begin, clearing my throat and staring up at him as I fight back the urge to sigh. I don’t need another boy espouting always for me; I already had one too many of those to deal with before Jackson decided to join the club. “Would you be willing to be my friend, and nothing more, and support me, if I chose Luke over you?” I turn my head to look at Luke and find him watching us with a startled, concerned look on his face.
When Jackson, lost deep in thought with his brows drawn into a question mark, doesn’t answer after a few moments, I step out of his arms and ask him again, “Well, would you? Will you truly be there for me, always, no matter who I choose?”
“I...” he starts, holding my gaze for a moment longer before dropping his eyes. “I don’t know,” he ends quietly, staring at the floor with a worried, perplexed look on his face. He then looks back up to say, “I don’t know if I could bear to see you with him and know that I gave you up, that I could have had you but didn’t, that that could be me beside you and married to you and that you could be Missus Lizzie Carter, not Missus Lizzie Gates. I don’t know if I could bear that, Lizzie,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading, as though he’s begging me to not test it and put him through that.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he adds, “I do know one thing though: I will always love you. I don’t know if I could ever stop loving you romantically if you chose Gates over me, but I do know that I will always love you, always.”
“Oh, Jackson,” I groan, walking over to the bed, collapsing onto it and burying my head in my hands. “You’re making this so hard.” I see Luke get a slightly pleased look on his face out of the corner of my eye and add sharply, “And you’re not helping either.”
“Well, what are we doing?” Jackson asks, looking over at Luke for a moment before staring at me quizically and concernedly.
“You are both so... good and right and determined to make me happy that you’re instead just making me feel like a horrible person. It would be so much easier right now if I had never known you as anything more than the quiet, nice guy in my grade, Luke-” – I meet his gaze for a moment before turning to look at Jackson – “-or if Alexa had actually realized how lucky she is to have a great person like you willing to do anything for her, because then we wouldn’t have this mess, where you’re still stuck on Alexa-” – Jackson opens his mouth to deny, but I quickly interject – “-Jackson, I know you haven’t gotten over her that quickly, so don’t even think about saying that you have.”
Jackson drops his head in capitulation, and I continue, gesturing to Luke, “And you love me with all of your heart when I haven’t done anything to make you love me and don’t return your feelings as strongly as I should, and then you,” I look back at Jackson again, “don’t feel as strongly for me as I do about you-” – I see Jackson open his mouth to protest again and I hold up my hand and say, “Jackson, I don’t think you really love me any more than you did two months ago; I think that you’re just fooling yourself that you love me because you’re afraid of losing me and somehow think that saying that you love me will keep me alive.”
Again, Jackson lowers his head slightly in defeat, and I keep on talking, “So I guess what it all comes down to is that you are two lovestruck boys who, from a rational, logistical standpoint, love the wrong people and I am the one cynical, suicidal, concrete girl stuck in the middle of it.”
“Lizzie, you’re not concrete,” Luke tells me immediately, like I knew he would, and I smile slightly and am about to retort when Luke adds, “If you were concrete, you couldn’t be the spark, because you couldn’t catch on fire in the end, and you yourself know you’re going up in flames.”
“Just because I’m the spark doesn’t mean I’m not concrete,” I reply, meeting his gaze. “I can still catch on fire if I don’t feel.”
“I doubt that,” Jackson suddenly pipes up, and I turn my head to glare at him. Why on earth would he take Luke’s side on anything? Oh, right, because he doesn’t want me to be the spark and kill myself. “There has to be something there, you have to have feeling, for you to want to catch on fire.”
“I don’t cry or feel pain though. I’m concrete in that sense,” I shoot back, idly thinking that this is the worst possible time for Jackson and Luke to team up.
“Just because you don’t cry doesn’t mean you don’t feel pain,” Luke responds. “You feel pain just as acutely as the rest of us, you just don’t admit that you do.”
“Luke’s right,” Jackson adds, and I give him the evilest stare that I can manage. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to do anything, because he keeps on talking, “Denying that you can feel and not feeling at all are two completely different things. Trust me, I know,” he finishes with a small, bitter smile, and I think of all the horrors that Jackson’s gone through. With all the things that he’s survived, if anyone has a right to call themselves concrete, it’s him. “You never can actually stop feeling, Lizzie; you will always have emotions, no matter how vehemently you try to deny them or what you try to drown them in. It’s like what Marshall said: you’ll never not have emotions, but you can deny your emotions or drown them in something, like alcohol or drugs or pain.”
I am about to ask Jackson how he knows what Marshall said to me in One-Person when I realize that he must have watched the footage, either live or during the week I was out. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I finally admit, dropping my eyes to the ground, then look up when I hear the footsteps of someone leaving the room to see Luke walk out the door.
“Where’s he going?” I ask Jackson, staring after Luke’s form as it retreats down the hallway. There’s some sadness, bitterness and anger to his posture, but that’s not anything new; that’s how Luke always feels when he’s forced to deal with Jackson and I.
“He said he wants to give us some privacy,” Jackson murmurs, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes me incredibly uncomfortable.
“And what do we need privacy for?” I stare Jackson down, not daring to try to read his mind because I know that he undoubtedly will be expecting that and will stop me from doing so. I’m not making much progress in reading him from his facial expression though, as Jackson has learned to be completely impassive so as to not give anything away.
“This.” He crosses the gap between us in three strides, pulls me off the bed, and crushes me to him as his lips find mine. At first I try to push him off of me, since I’m still angry about what he said to me and don’t want to kiss him right now, but find that resistance is useless and stand there rigidly, waiting for him to stop on his own. During that time, I think idly that Luke is as good of a people-reader as any mind-reading immortal I’ve ever met, because he read Jackson’s expression and knew that he had to clear out.
After a milisecond, he realizes that I’m not kissing him back, and pulls away to stare down at me, his expression perplexed and concerned. “What’s the matter Lizzie?” he asks me, raising a hand to gently touch the side of my face.
Grabbing his hand harshly and pulling it away from my face, I ignore his question and ask flatly, “Are you done?”
When Jackson replies, “Yes,” with more than a little bit of concern and suspicion, I step away from him, pull back my arm, and punch him as hard as I can in the jaw.

A horrible cracking sound rings out through the air, and a wave of excruciating pain runs up through my fingers into my arm. “Holy shit!” I exclaim, turning away from him and nursing my hand, which feels like it’s on fire. I probably broke two or three fingers punching Jackson, but it will all be worth it if I at least hurt him some too.
Looking over my shoulder for a moment, I see Jackson cradling his jaw with his face contorted in pain, and I smile slightly. Good. I achieved what I was aiming for. However, to my dismay and horror, it’s only a moment before Jackson loses the painful expression and drops his hands from his jaw to reveal it looking the same as it did before I punched, no marks or bruises or anything.
I then remember that Jackson heals incredibly quickly as a result of the experiments done on him, and I murmur, “God damn it! I didn’t even hurt him!” Snarling and balling my hands into fists, I turn away from him again and try to fight off the pain almost blinding me.
However, I can’t stop myself from dimly hearing Jackson say, “Lizzie, let me see your hand,” and fight back feebly when he wraps one arm around my waist and makes me sit down next to him on the bed.
“Let go of me!” I mutter and try to pull away, but Jackson ignores my protests and instead takes my injured hand in both of his. Immediately I feel the bones beginning to heal, and I begrudingly allow myself to sit still while he heals my hand for me.
“You know, you actually did hurt me,” Jackson says, his eyes on my hand. “I’m pretty sure you stress fractured my jaw on your punch; you have quite on arm on you, Lizzie.” He looks up momentarily to give me a smile, and it shocks me to see that he’s not angry at all. Instead, he seems to be almost amused, maybe even sad and apologetic. “You should have punched higher up though; that way you could have broken my nose and made me bleed so you could prove you actually hurt me.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I reply acidically. “I’ll remember that the next time I punch you in the face.” I refuse to let his calmness and niceties get to me; I am determined to stay angry at him for what he originally said and about immediately healing when I punched him.
“Is there going to be a next time, Lizzie?” he asks me quietly, looking up to meet my gaze firmly, and, even though I can feel that my hand is completely healed, he doesn’t release it.
“If you keep on being an asshole like this, there will be!” I shoot back, staring him down and trying to show him that I’m serious. However, my plan to stay angry at him when he’s being nice about me punching him in the face is failing miserably, so I might not be succeeding in intimidating him when he can tell that I’m not really mad at him anymore.
“I’m sorry about that Lizzie; that last comment before I left really was completely tactless,” Jackson tells me, and I sigh when I hear the sincerity in his voice. He really isn’t helping me in my quest to keep being angry at him. “And I’m sorry about all of the times I’ve lost it and kissed you against your will. I know there’s nothing I can do to really make up for that, and I also know that, while I’ll try to be on my best behavior and not do that again, I can’t guarantee that I won’t, but would you possibly consider forgiving me?”
“Oh, Jackson,” I sigh, pulling my hand out of his grip and dropping my head to my lap. After a moment, I look back up and begin, “You’re just... so unpredictable that I don’t know if I can be with you. I mean, I know that you never mean to hurt me, and that you never mean to kiss me against my will, and you never mean to say hurtful things to me, but you can’t stop yourself sometimes, and I don’t like the person you become when you get overwhelmed by emotion. I like the person you are right now, when you’re calm, because that person is incredibly caring and kind and gentle and sweet and an all-around great guy, but I don’t like who you become when you lose control of yourself. I mean, I know that I do things that might provoke you and make you lose control, and I really appreciate you not losing it when I punched you in the face, because I know that was definitely provocative, but I don’t know if I can deal with who you are when you get angry. I didn’t fall in love with who you are when you lose control, and those moments when you become that person can ruin times like this, when you’re perfectly calm and sweet and gentle and the person I did fall in love with. I’m not afraid of you, Jackson, even though it might almost be smart for me to be, but I don’t want to be around you when you lose it, because I don’t like – hell, I might even downright hate – who you are when you lose it. I’m sorry Jackson,” I end lamely, and we then sit in an incredibly uncomfortable silence for a few moments.
Abruptly, Jackson rises to his feet and turns away from me, but I stop him with a dismayed cry of, “What are you doing?”
“Well, if you don’t want to be around me, then I might as well leave,” he says quietly, and his eyes lock on mine for a moment, long enough for me to see the overwhelming hurt in them.
“Jackson, I didn’t say I don’t want to be around you, I said I don’t want to be around the person you are when you lose control,” I tell him desperately as I rise to my feet and close the gap between us with a step. “Jackson, I love you,” I murmur, right before I throw my arms around the back of his neck and kiss him.
It takes a half-second for him to reply by wrapping his arms around me and kissing me back, and, after a few long, blissful seconds in which I was filled by the overwhelming hunger for more, I pull back because I’m running out of breath.
“I love you so much Lizzie,” Jackson whispers, his eyes locked on mine and a small smile on his face, then leans in to kiss me gently on the neck.
All of the residual anger I was still feeling for him melts away under his touch, and I close my eyes to enjoy the moment. My peace is short-lived, however, because immediately the thought occurs to me that I won’t get to have another moment like this ever again, and I lock my arms tighter around Jackson. I don’t want to let him and everything I feel for him go, even though I know that I have to. After all, I’m getting married, and I don’t think the Triple Crown committee is very happy with me right now anyways because I revealed the true nature and Jackson’s and my relationship.
Jackson must have felt me grip him tighter and sensed the change in my emotions, because he pulls back to stare down at me with a concerned golden gaze and ask me, “Lizzie, are you alright?” After a moment’s pause, he adds, “Well, compared to normal for this place.”
“Jackson,” I begin, meeting his eyes, “I don’t want to lose you, and I know I will when I marry Luke. I don’t want to let you go, and pretend that I don’t know who you are, like Rush has told me to do. I want you to be there, by my side, and I want people to know how much you mean to me, and it makes me sad to know that that’s not going to happen. I mean, I don’t even think you’re allowed to come to the wedding.”
“Well, you’re the one who chooses who to invite, aren’t you?” Jackson asks me, interrupting my profession. “I mean, you’re the one getting married, after all. It’s not Rush is marrying Gates, although I think I’d like to see that.”
I brush past Jackson’s partially snide comment to answer with a small, sad smile, “No, I’m not actually. The wedding’s being thrown by Rush – and unofficially the Triple Crown committee – in Rush’s mansion, and they’re taking care of all of the details, including the guest list, and I can guarantee you’re not on it.”
“Oh,” Jackson replies lamely, at a loss for words. After a long moment of silence, he says, “Well, I want to be there for you, so do you know of any way I can sneak past security and crash your wedding?” He grins down at me, and I can’t help but have the corners of my mouth twitchly slightly.
“Well, I guess you could always shift into one of the guests – Rush himself, even – and get in that way.” I shrug, trying to hide my revulsion at the idea of Jackson even looking like Rush, even though he’d still be Jackson on the inside. Jackson and Rush are so far apart in my mind that I don’t even want to think about them crossing paths at any time or being remotely similar in any aspect.
“Well, if I do that, I can guarantee you I’m not going to be Rush. I hate that bastard almost as much as you do, since he was the one who ordered the soldiers’ attack on me.” Jackson’s tone is bitter and angry; he has every right to be. I nod slightly in understanding, though my understanding is due to my suspicions about Rush being the instigator of the attack against Jackson being confirmed.
“You could be Max or Mitchell,” I suggest. “I’m sure they would have no problem with helping smuggle you in to the wedding.”
“But what would we tell them?” Jackson questions, bringing my train of thought to a grinding halt. “I mean, they don’t know that we’re shapeshifters, so what would we tell them as an excuse? That I had an incredibly realistic mask made?”
“That actually would work. I mean, have you seen some of the masks being made for the Triple Crown? I’ve seen people dressed up like Luke and I in El Nieve and, if I didn’t know that they were people wearing masks, I would think I was looking in the mirror,” I reply, a smile breaking out across my face as I realize that Jackson will be able to come to my wedding after all.
“But what would we say for the height and weight change? I mean, isn’t Mitchell a little shorter and thinner than I am and Max a little taller and a lot heavier than I am?” Jackson stares down at me, and I can tell that he isn’t completely sold on the idea as masquerading as Max or Mitchell. I can’t say I blame him; after all, even though I’ve acted as many people when I was on assassin missions before, I never really liked becoming someone else, as I always found it incredibly disconcerting.
“Actually, Max is your height exactly, and we could just say that we used pillows or something to make up for the extra bulk.” The details about what we’ll tell them for the excuse as to why Jackson looks so exactly like Max don’t really matter; all that matters is getting Max to play along with it.
“Alright, that works. That means we have all the details sorted out, so all that’s left is to tell Max our idea and hope that he’s willing to play along.” I hear the apprehension in Jackson’s voice and know that he thinks Max won’t like it and won’t be willing to go along with it. Of course, Jackson might have had contact with Max once, so Jackson has no idea what Max is really like. I, on the other hand, think Max would be happy to help smuggle Jackson in and crash my own wedding, because I know Max has sympathy for me and my situation.
“I’m sure Max will, Jackson. After all, the Triple Crown ruined his life too, and I have a feeling he’s never quite forgiven them for that.” I find it sad that Max has been a slave of the Triple Crown since he was eighteen, or from the time he won, and I find my chosen option of dying a lot more appealing than what Max did. Of course, Max didn’t choose to stay around with the Triple Crown to save his own neck; no, he stayed around to save his family and friends, though they’re all long dead from old age now.
That’s another thing that’s good about me dying at seventeen: I won’t have lose all of my mortal friends to diseases and accidents and old age, because I have some really good mortal friends that I definitely don’t want to see die. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know how my parents keep on making mortal friends, even after more than two thousand years of having all of their mortal friends grow old and die around them. I mean, I would think that, in the end, it would just get too painful to keep on losing people while you never age to keep on getting close to mortals.
But I guess my parents have decided that they might as well get close to mortals, because there aren’t that many immortals to be friends with. The only immortals that my parents were friendly, up until we met Nymeria, Kodiak and Jackson, with were a pair of dragon brothers, Gwillan and Gruffen – yes, they named my brothers after them – who my parents met in about 1000 AD and lost contact with in the early fifteen hundreds. I guess if your immortal friendship options are that limited, you might as well be friends with someone who will eventually die than not be friends with anyone at all. One of the major things that I’ve learned from my parents’ experiences is that being an immortal can be very lonely.
“Lizzie,” Jackson begins quietly, and I snap out of my reverie of thought to look up at him, “should we go ask Max if he’s willing to go along with our plan?”
“Yeah, after I tell Luke,” I reply, and, when Jackson scowls in response to the last part, I tell him, “He has a right to know. After all, it is his wedding too.” Stepping away from Jackson and out of his arms, I walk towards the door, hoping that Luke didn’t go too far when he left earlier.
“Yeah, but he’s one of the people who actually wants to happen,” Jackson mutters, his expression still dark and stormy, and I whirl back around, stunned and angry.
“Jackson, do you honestly think that Luke wants this to happen?” I ask him, staring him down and forcing him to answer with the sheer power of my gaze.
Jackson, however, seems undaunted by my intensity and questions in reply, looking rather shocked himself now, “Well, why wouldn’t he? He’s getting you, and you’re all he’s ever wanted.”
“Jackson, he doesn’t want this wedding any more than I do, because he doesn’t want this fake relationship that we have. He wants it to real, Jackson, and, in his eyes, this fake relationship, in which he knows that I don’t love him and wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t being forced by Max as a way of keeping me alive, is worse than not having me at all. In other words, Jackson, he would rather have never kissed me than live this lie we’ve created.” I hear the bitterness in my voice and wish that I could keep it out; after all, I have no reason to be bitter with Luke, he’s the one who should be bitter with me.
I notice Jackson staring at something behind me and turn around at the same exact moment that a familiar voice says, “And there, Lizzie, you have it all wrong.”
I find Luke leaning against the doorframe, his hands folded over his chest and a small smile on his face. “While I wish that we wouldn’t be getting married right now, I wouldn’t rather have never kissed you than have the relationship we do today, because there is some truth to our relationship. You’ve told me yourself that you love me some, even if it isn’t as much as you love Jackson-” – Luke meets Jackson’s gaze over my shoulder for a moment – “-and that makes it all worth it, to know that I have captured just a fraction of your heart. Even though I would like to have you completely in love with me, with no feelings for Jackson or anyone else whatsoever, I know that’s not going to happen, so I’m perfectly content to settle with taking up a part of your love, because God knows that’s better than the nothing I had a few weeks ago.”
He gives me another smile, his eyes twinkling, then asks, “So, what is it you and Jackson have planned that you want to run by me?”
“Um,” I start, my brain feeling like it’s stuck in drying concrete, “we were going to sneak Jackson into the wedding dressed as Max, and we were wondering-” – I shoot Jackson, who is currently looking incredibly hostile and not happy at all, a glance over my shoulder and quickly amend, “well, I was wondering if that was alright with you, with it being your wedding too.”
“Of course that’s fine with me, Lizzie. Jackson’s important to you, so if you want him there, then I’m all for him being there.” Luke gives Jackson a completely sincere, warm smile, which Jackson doesn’t return, of course.
However, I don’t even get time to roll my eyes at him, because Luke walks to me, grabs me by the arm and tells me, “We have interviews and a victory to get ready for,” then marches me out of the room before I have time to respond.

More added.

The interviews go well – or at least I don’t say or do anything remotely rebellious. I reply to every question Puck asks me with a bland, scripted response that I halfheartedly try to put emotion into, and, at the end, manage to do some damage control by telling Luke how much I love him and kissing him passionately. The crowd, of course, goes crazy for that, and, as I walk off the stage, Max gives me a small nod of approval.
The victory tour also goes well; well, Rush and Max seem to approve of my performance. Though I never get a chance to tell Luke that not everything I said to him in the arena I meant, that some of it was just me understanding and saying what Max wanted me to say, maybe that’s best. After all, he’s a lot happier thinking that I love as much as I said I did than knowing that I don’t love him that much, that my heart still lies almost completely with Jackson. Of course, I never get a chance before we leave to talk to Jackson about what happened and what I said in the arena either, but that’s probably best too; I have time to think about what I’m going to say to him and what excuses I’m going to come up with now.
The Sections are noticeably more rowdy now, and there are even hints of rebellion in One through Four, the Sections most loyal to El Nieve, now too. That concerns me greatly, since I know that I will take all of the blame if the Sections revolt, so I try my best to act in love with Luke and control the damage. I don’t seem to be very successful though, as Luke and I are given the salute I gave the crowd at the end of Hand-to-Hand and One-Person in every Section we go to. The people of the Sections see right through me, and know that I’m not really as in love with Luke as I’m acting, that I’m really a rebellious seventeen-year-old who is – or was – all too happy to be the spark and the martyr the Sections need. Even Mitchell’s tempering of my outfits to lose all resemblance to the spark theme they once held doesn’t seem to make a difference either.
I’m fighting a losing battle with the people of the Sections that I can’t win, even though it’s crucial for my family and friends that I do. The worst part is that I don’t want to fight against the people of the Sections and try to put out the fire I’ve started. No, I want to fan the flames, and laugh as Rush and El Nieve and this society’s whole structure burn with me. It seems only fair, after all, that I help give El Nieve what it deserves: destruction by the people it has repressed for so long. The people of the Sections have had a hundred years to stew and become enraged with El Nieve, so who am I to deny them the opportunity to earn their freedom? Oh, right, someone who wants her family and friends to be alive at the end of it, even if she isn’t.
I guess you could say that I have a clash of interests. While my own personal agenda would be to help the Sections and fully embrace my firestarting abilities as the spark, I can’t ignore Rush’s threats of death for my family if I do not cooperate with his agenda. After all, while my father cannot die ever, as he is a god, my mother and brothers have a conditional immortality like I do, and Rush undoubtedly knows this if he’s studied me for as long as I think he has. Rush, however, does not know how powerful my family is, though he doesn’t have to know to exterminate them.
If he has other immortals working for him, other immortals which may be completely immortal like my dad, then my family is dead, because how do you defeat someone you can’t kill? And, even if Rush’s immortals do have conditional immortalities, my family doesn’t know how Rush’s immortals can be killed, and therefore they would have to expend energy they can’t afford to waste trying to find out. Even if my family did eventually discover the other immortals’ weak spots, my family would be drained, weaker and easier to kill, while the other immortals might not be harmed at all. Either way my family would lose and be killed, and that’s something I can’t afford to have happen; I don’t want any more blood on my hands, especially not the blood of my family.
That means I have to play along and do what Rush wants me to do and be the good little girl I’m supposed to be, otherwise my family will pay the price. I guess, if I wanted to, I could kill Rush with little to no difficulty, but someone else – his second-in-command, probably – would undoubtedly release the immortals on my family anyways, and then it wouldn’t matter that Rush is dead, because my family would be dead too. Of course, I suppose I could always wipe out everyone in a position of power in El Nieve, and then track down and wipe out the immortals who are supposed to kill my family, which would solve my problem completely. However, I don’t want that much blood on my hands, as I would be killing hundreds, if not thousands, of people if I were to execute that plan. Besides, I don’t want to sink to Rush’s level to fight him, because that plan is brutal and violent enough that it’s something Rush would do if he were in my place. Therefore, it’s not something I would do, because I’m not nearly as firm a believer in the achieve-the-end-at-all-costs motto.
When I was an assassin, I was not opposed to taking out a few guards or people preventing me from getting to my target, but I would never kill a civilian who got in my way; I would always go around them, or bypass them in some way. I also would never kill an innocent bystander who saw the wrong thing; I would always erase the memories of any mortals who happened to see me killing my target, so that those mortals would forget every moment that they had seen me and wouldn’t even be able to remember that they had seen me before if they saw walking down the street at a later date.
Of course, Rush would undoubtedly just have killed the humans who happened to see the wrong thing, because he wouldn’t want to waste the time on erasing their memories when terminating them was so much quicker and easier. That’s what separates me from Rush: my sense of morality hasn’t been completely destroyed yet, while Rush’s has been dead from the day he became Prime Minister of El Nieve. I am also determined to not let him – and the Triple Crown committee – destroy my morality, because, when I burn in the fire I started, I want to know that I am dying a human, not the cold, empty creature Rush would make me.

“Hello, Miss Lightning,” a taunting, malicious voice calls out of the mist around me, and immediately I know who’s talking: Kuro, evil incarnate in a living body, who has been soley responsible for almost all disaster and strife in human history for the last eight and a half millenia. In fact, the word Kuro even means evil or darkness in Japanese; he’s very appropriately named. My suspicions are confirmed when Kuro walks out of the mist next to me, an evil smile on his face as he regards me with amusement. Though he is about eight and half thousand years old, he looks like he’s twenty-five at best, with an incredibly handsome face, light brown skin and dark features that mirror his personality. Kuro also happens to be Kodiak and Nymeria’s father, and they hate him as much as I do. Of course, he gives everyone reason to hate him; he’s been feared and loathed by people and civilizations for the entirety of his existence.
“What are you doing here, Kuro?” I snarl at him, my hands balling into fists. He shouldn’t be able to get into this dimension, if I can’t get out of it without the help of El Nieve technology. Generally I can open up gateways in the air to anywhere, even to different dimensions, but El Nieve has created a machine that prevents my gateways from forming if I try to open them. And trust me, I most certainly have tried.
“Evil exists in every dimension,” he answers with a shrug, his midnight-brown eyes locked on mine as he continues to smile demonically. “Therefore I exist in every dimension.”
“Well, get out. I don’t want you here,” I shoot back, gesturing to the mists behind him and away from me.
“But Lizzie, I am only here to help, and provide you with other options and solutions to the... predicament you have gotten yourself in.” He flashes me his most winning smile, showing all of his perfectly straight, white teeth, but I don’t fall for it. Kuro never helps anyone; he only ever makes an appearance in the mortal world when he senses an opportunity to amuse himself by creating chaos. He is a huge fan of pointless destruction and bloodshed, and likes to start wars just for the purpose of watching humans destroy each other.
“You never want to help anyone, Kuro, so why are you actually here?” I ask him sharply, keeping my voice as cold and dangerous as I possibly can.
“Alright, you caught me,” he says, holding up his hands with a dashing, malicious grin. “I’m not here to help you; I’m here to persuade you.”
“Kuro, you know that you’ll never persuade me of anything, so why on earth are you even trying?” I fold my hands across my chest and stare at him flatly, wishing he would just leave me alone.
“Because I can persuade you, Miss Lighting; I would not have come here if I didn’t think I could.” He gives me another smile, this one pleased, and I feel my heart sink. Kuro can read your heart, mind and soul like an open book with one glance – unfortunately, though I have tried many methods, there is no way to keep him out – so, if he saw something in me, that thing undoubtedly exists. After a moment of silence, he continues, his grin fading, “You know, Miss Lighting, I don’t understand why you live like you do. You could run four laps around a track in less than a second, and could run a point-zero-five hundred meter dash if you wanted to, and yet you choose to limit yourself to only a little above average. You have the power to make everyone on the planet completely obedient to you without even lifting a finger, and yet you choose to amuse those mortals by running fast and singing. You could be and do anything you wanted, and yet you choose to live in the form of a human and act like a human too. You are one of the most powerful beings to have ever lived, yet you choose to remain at the mortals’ level, and that fascinates me, Lizzie. Why do you limit yourself to being human, when you are so much more, so much better? Why do you force yourself to live around and put up with the imbecile humans, when you could – very easily, in fact – be ruling them all? Why do you insist on pretending you are normal, when in fact you are the most extraordinary thing this universe has ever seen?” His dark eyes, burning with passion and true curiosity, stare into mine, and I force myself to resist the urge of backing away under his incredibly intense gaze.
“Because I will not be the monster you are, Kuro,” I reply, staring him down and resisting the urge to lunge out at him when a small smile appears on his face.
“Lizzie, it’s not about being a monster; it’s about embracing what you are. Everything it takes to become me is already inside of you; you just need to realize that and let it take you.” I look at him warily in silence for a few moments, not knowing how to reply to his statement, which I know is true. However, I don’t get a chance to reply, because Kuro continues, “I don’t understand why you insist on acting like you’re normal and making yourself blend in with those idiot humans. You have the power to rule them, and create the perfect world I know you long for, so why do you not take it? Why do you not accept that you are extraordinary and conquer the weaklings, and take your natural place as rule of the humans? If it is about being detected, why do you fear being discovered, when you have the power to conquer or destroy anyone who finds out? It would be far easier for you to just take over the world than continue to put on this huge human charade.”
“Because I don’t want power or control or rule over anybody, Kuro, and I certainly don’t want to kill anyone else. I didn’t want to be born an immortal, and seventeen years of danger sure as hell hasn’t changed that opinion. All I want is to be normal, Kuro, so I will do my best to pretend and convince myself that I am.” After a moments’ hesitation, I add, my tone venomous, “Besides, why do you care so much about what I do?”
“Because I hate to see talents like yours go to waste,” he replies, his gaze locked on mine, and I feel the wave of his persuasion wash over me and forcibly try to change my mind. Steeling myself, I close my eyes and force him out of my head with all of my might to hear him cry out in surprise when I’m finally successful.
“Serves you right,” I mutter quietly, glaring at Kuro as he rubs his forehead. Suddenly another question occurs to me, and I ask him, “If you want an immortal to rule the world so much, why don’t you take over and do it yourself?”
“Too much work,” he replies. “Besides, there wouldn’t be nearly enough chaos in the world to suit my liking if I ruled all of it, because there wouldn’t be any leaders scrabbling for control and causing civil wars. All I’m after is chaos and panic, so I why would I destroy the perfect environment the humans have created for me?” His smile returns, and his dark eyes shine with malice once again. “And before you ask why I like chaos and panic so much, Lizzie-” – he gives me a smirk that makes me want to strangle him with my bare hands – “-let me remind you that it is in fact my job as evil incarnate to balance out the good in the world and create chaos and panic. The fact that I like my job is nothing but a bonus.” He grins again, flashing all of his white teeth, and I shake my head at him. He’s so sick and twisted that I wonder how he could have ever found anyone willing to have children with him. I think he must have brainwashed Kodiak’s and Nymeria’s mother.
“You’re a psychopath,” I mutter, still shaking my head at him as I watch him intently. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to take over my mind again, and I have no intention of letting him in this time either.
“Technically I am a sociopath and a narcissist, not a psychopath,” he corrects. “I am not suffering from any delusions or false realities, which means I am not a psychopath. I merely have become completely self-absorbed and have lost the ability to feel remorse.”
He shrugs, and I can’t help but say under my breath, “I think you’ve lost a lot more than that.”
Kuro bursts out laughing, and, when he’s finally calm enough to be coherent, “Yes, I think I have Lizzie.” After a few seconds of silence, his face loses its amused expression and he tells me, “You know, denying what you are does not change anything. It only wastes your skills.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I will come back for you when you are brave enough to admit to yourself your true power.” He turns and walks away to be swallowed by the mist, and I stand there staring after him, wondering how on earth Kodiak and Nymeria are as normal – by immortal standards – as they are with him as a father.

I wake up shivering and drenched in a cold sweat, and it’s a few moments before I realize that someone is lying next to me.
“Lizzie, are you alright?” I hear Luke’s concerned voice ask me, and I lie motionless with eyes closed for a few moments before sitting up and answering.
“I just had a horrible nightmare,” I murmur, shaking my head. Kuro being able to access my dreams isn’t good; it was bad enough that he could get inside of my head when I was awake.
“About what?” Luke asks, and I sigh slightly. I’m going to have to lie to him, since it’s not like I can tell him the truth: that an eight and a half thousand year old immortal who happens to be evil incarnate visited me in my sleep and tried to persuade me to take over the world. In fact, it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud as I think about what happened, because it all just sounds so ridiculous.
“About Abby dying,” I reply quietly. It’s a harmless lie, since generally that’s what I do have nightmares about. In fact, on any given night, I might wake him up three or four times by screaming, “Abby, no!” in my sleep.
“It’s alright, she’s not dead,” Luke murmurs, and wraps his arms around me to pull me closer to himand back into a laying-down position. He then gently kisses the back of my wet neck, and mutters, “Wow, it must have been pretty bad.”
“You have no idea,” I respond, resting my head on his shoulder and thinking that any dream Kuro’s in is bound to be a nightmare. Suddenly a question occurs to me, and I turn to look Luke in the eye and ask him, “Why don’t you have nightmares?”
“Well, I do have nightmares, but mine just aren’t as violent as yours.” He pauses for a moment, then, unprompted, continues, “Most of my nightmares are about watching you die and knowing I’ve broken my promise, so I’m fine when I wake up and realize you’re right next to me.” He gives me a smile and I can see the intensity and sincerity in his eyes.
Wanting to divert his attention away from me and lower the emotion in the air, since I’m not really in the mood for Luke to pour his heart out and make me feel like an awful person, I quickly say, “So those nights in One-Person when I wasn’t with you must have been hell on earth, huh?”
“You have no idea,” he replies, and a small smile flits across my face. “You not being there was even worse than lying there and slowly dying.” I see the passion return to his eyes, even more powerful than it was before, and I curse my stupidity. I should have known that Luke would reply like that and therefore shouldn’t have said anything at all.
However, Luke thankfully doesn’t act on the passion in his eyes, and we lie there in silence for a few moments until an errant idea skitters across my mind. “Luke, is it possible for me to send a wedding invitation tomorrow and maybe have it reach the person before the wedding?”
“Well sure,” he replies. “The mail in this place is almost instantaneous, so it could reach whoever you’re inviting probably within seconds of you sending it.” Luke pauses for a moment, and I can just tell that he’s going to ask who I’m inviting. Like clockwork, he questions, right after I’ve finished thinking it, “Who else are you inviting? Abby, Jackson, Marcus, Adelaide, Nick, Sarah and that McKenzie Lewis girl you insisted on inviting are already coming, so who else is left?”
“Marshall Moore,” I murmur, and immediately feel Luke stiffen next to me. “Luke, he’s truly a decent guy who I’ve grown to consider an ally, maybe even a friend, so I think that he deserves an invitation, even if he’s not going to show up.”
“I still don’t like him, not after what he did to you in Hand-to-Hand,” Luke mutters. “It’s a wonder that you like him as much as you do, considering that you’re the one he actually did that to.”
“Luke, that was Hand-to-Hand, and I butchered him immediately after,” I say impatiently. “He’s paid his debt to me, and things have changed for the better since then anyways. I’ve realized that he really is a nice guy who doesn’t really want to be a career and win it all, and I can definitely identify with that.” After a moment’s pause, I add, “Luke, he at least deserves an invitation; I think he’s earned one.”
“I still don’t like him,” Luke grumbles, but I can hear the capitulation in his voice and know that I’m going to get my way.
“I’ll send an invitation to him in the morning then,” I tell Luke, and smile slightly when his scowl darkens some. “You know, you really are the best Luke,” I murmur, fully realizing how much he’s going against what he thinks is right to let me invite Marshall to the wedding, and lean up to kiss him lightly on the lips.
When I pull back, he stares down at me, a happy grin on his face, and murmurs, “Now what on earth would possess you to say something like that, when you yourself are so much better than I am?”
“Oh, don’t even start Luke,” I mutter quietly as I roll off and away from him, all my happiness thrown out the window by that comment of his. I don’t know why he insists on lying like that, since anyone can see that he is clearly better than I am in personality, mindset and natural disposition. “I could argue with you for hours and hours about that, but I don’t really want to get into a debate right now.”
“I am merely stating fact, Lizzie,” he replies, and I roll my eyes. Why on earth is so blind and so determined to flatter me with blatant lies?
“Like I said, I could argue with you for hours and hours about that, but I don’t want to right now,” I repeat, and Luke finally takes the hint and falls silent.
I then roll back over to rest my head on his shoulder again, and, just before I drift off, I feel Luke wrap his arms around me and hear him whisper in my ear, “Goodnight, Miss Lightning. May your nightmares be ones that cannot come true.”

“Is all of this dress-fitting really necessary?” I grumble to Mitchell as he helps me into the fifth wedding dress I’ve tried on so far. All of them are completely beautiful, as they have all been designed by him, and I would be happy with any one of them, but, for some reason, the populus of El Nieve wants to see me in ten different dresses, so I have been forced to oblidge and act like a model for a few hours.
“Just play along with it, Lizzie,” he murmurs in reply as he zips up the back of my dress and walks to the front of me to give me one brief looking-over before pushing me towards the entrance of the room. “Besides,” he adds just before I walk out of the room and pose for the cameras, “the less you whine, the faster it will go.”
I have just enough time to give him a dirty look before I have to put on my biggest smile and act like I’m actually happy to be parading around in dresses more expensive than most people in the Sections’ homes. Every time I walk back out in a different dress, I am greeted by a round of cheers and gasps and comments about how this is definitely the best dress so far from the news crews filming it all. Personally I find all the public interest in the wedding pathetic; I mean, don’t they have their own lives to live? Then I remember that all of El Nieve lives for the Triple Crown, and that a Triple Crown wedding is the event of the century to them. It makes me almost feel bad for all those shallow white people. Almost.
Suddenly there is a commotion near the entrance of the building, and camera people are being jostled around as someone very familiar-looking fights his way through the crowd.
“Lizzie,” Marshall greets after he’s moved through all of the news crews to stand in front of me. Even though I know that all cameras are on us, and that there will be a huge amount of gossip about this, I step forward with a cry of, “Marshall!” and give him a warm hug, which he returns.
“You came!” I exclaim when I pull back, smiling up at him. It really is nice to see a familiar face in all of the chaos of the news crews around.
“Well it’s not like I was going to miss your wedding,” he replies, grinning down at me, but I can see the poorly-masked sadness and longing in his eyes. Clearly he wishes that it was his wedding too. He steps back and looks me over, and the want in his eyes becomes even more obvious.
“You look absolutely radiant,” he tells me quietly, his gaze still on my dress. Finally he tears his stare away to look me in the eye again, a small smile creeping onto his face as he adds, “It’s not very fitting of a spark though. I was expecting some flames or something like that.”
I laugh at his comment, and it kills me to see the joy that crosses his face upon making me laugh. Why does he have to make everything so hard by not being the douchebag I originally thought he was and being great instead?
“Yeah, I’ll have to talk to Mitchell about that,” I agree, nodding my head. Marshall and I then stand in silence for a moment before I realize that we have nothing else to talk about and that I have another dress to put on. Gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the empty chairs to the side of the room, I excuse myself with, “I have to go put on another dress, but I’ll be right back.” I give Marshall one last smile and pose for the cameras once more before walking back into the dressing room to wonder how much damage I just did.
Mitchell seems to notice my change in mood, because he asks me quietly and concernedly as he helps me out of this dress and into another one, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I reply tiredly, shaking my head and telling myself to snap out of it. I have to be the Lizzie Lighting everyone in El Nieve loves, not the homicidal, suicidal, partially cynical rebellious ex-assassin that I actually am. When I see Mitchell continuing to look at me curiously, I add, “A friend that I invited to the wedding just showed up, and that friend happens to be about my age, handsome, intelligent, interested in me and male.”
“Marshall Moore?” Mitchell questions without even looking up from smoothing out the hem, and I can’t help but smile slightly at his intuition.
“Yeah. You can just imagine what the news crews are saying,” I mutter, shaking my head out of exasperation and annoyance. There really is no such thing as privacy when you’re a Triple Crown champion, especially the winner of Hand-to-Hand and One-Person. Luke is probably being swarmed by adoring, wherever he is. The only reason he’s not at the dress fitting – and trust me, he wants to be here – is because, in accordance with marriage traditions, he’s not allowed to see the dress until the day of the wedding.
“Lizzie, they’ll talk and talk and talk even if you were perfectly good and didn’t give them anything to talk about,” Mitchell says as he gives me a brief inspection and pulls at the dress around my rib areas slightly. “You need to be eating more,” he murmurs disapprovingly. “You’re almost too skinny for this dress.”
Ignoring Mitchell’s comment about my weight, I mutter, “I know. It just gets really annoying, you know? It feels like I’m always under a microscope.”
“Well you and your personality and this wedding are the three biggest things to happen to the Triple Crown, which happens to be the biggest thing in most of these peoples’ lives. Of course you’re going to be under a microscope all the time, because everyone wants to get the latest news about the newest superstar.” Mitchell waves his hands and rolls his eyes. “I share your opinion that it’s completely mindless and idiotic, but, unfortunately, you and I both have no choice but to go along with it.” When he sees my puzzled expression, as I don’t know why he lumped himself in the same category as me, he says, “I wouldn’t have made all of these dresses if it hadn’t been for this dress fitting, because nine of them aren’t ever going to be worn again!”
I can’t help but roll my eyes and laugh at him, although I guess he does have a point. He did put a lot of effort into designing all of those dresses, so it is a shame that I’m going to wear nine of them only once.
“Tell you what Mitchell: keep those dresses around, and, if I survive Team Survival, I promise I’ll wear them after the Triple Crown’s over.” I give him a smile as I think that I won’t have to keep that promise, because I’m not going to survive Team Survival, but that it’s a surefire way to shut him up for now.
“You promise?” he asks me, staring me down seriously, and I force myself – with incredible difficulty – to keep a straight face as I nod my head in confirmation.
“I promise,” I repeat, choking back the laughter that’s bubbling up inside of me. Glancing down at myself, I ask him, “Now am I set to go back out?”
“Well, you could do with about five more pounds on your ribs-” – he begins, and pulls at the dress again – “-but I suppose it will do for now. After all, if you do end up wearing this dress for your wedding, we can pad it to improve the appearance.”
I don’t have any time to give him the stunned, indignant and angry look I want to, because he pushes me out the door before I even have a chance to look over my shoulder at him. Resisting the urge to shake my head and scowl, I force my best fake smile onto my face and walk slowly towards the news crews and Marshall, posing every couple steps, and back away.
“You know,” Marshall starts, and I stop to look at him, “I don’t think it matters what dress you wear, because you’re absolutely stunning in all of them.” He gives me a small smile as he looks me up and down, his eyes pausing for a moment on the small pockets of extra fabric around my ribs. Great, now I’m going to have to hear that I need to eat more from him too. If that happens, I might just have to to stop being harrassed by everyone around me.
“But you haven’t even seen them all yet,” I reply, knowing exactly what his response is going to be but not even caring that it’s borderline suggestive.
“I don’t have to,” he replies, just like I knew he would. “You do any dress you wear a favor.” He gives me another smile, and I smile back at him before turning around and walking back into the dressing room, the cameras rolling and flashing the whole time. I can just imagine the rumors that are already popping up about Marshall and I, and think idly that it’s a good thing Luke doesn’t watch any of the El Nieve news; Marshall would be dead and I would be under incredible scrutiny if he did.
The rest of the dress fitting is tolerable, with Mitchell making comments that I need to eat more every time I change into a new dress and Marshall giving me brazen compliments every time I come out in a new dress. Finally, a half an hour later, I’ve tried on all of the dresses, and it’s all I can do not to jump up and down with joy.
Brushing aside Mitchell’s not-so-subtle suggestions that I should go out and eat something, I step out the dressing room in my normal clothes to find Marshall leaning against the doorframe of the exit, apparently waiting for me.
When he sees me approaching, he straightens up, gives me a smile and tells me, “I want to take you out to lunch, my treat.”
“That sounds great,” I reply as my stomach growls loudly, and I give him a smile of my own. “I’m starving.”
“Dress fitting is that strenuous, huh?” he teases lightly as he holds the door open for me. I know that the cameras are still rolling and picking up everything we do and say, but I don’t care. I’m going to go to lunch with my attractive male friend who happens to be interested in me whether the camera crews like it or not.
“Yeah,” I confirm, going along with the joke. “It’s about as bad as being in the arena!”
Marshall laughs, then pauses for a moment to give me time to catch up to him. “So where do you want to go for lunch?” he asks me as he looks down at me, his eyes twinkling.
“Well, you seem to know the city better than I do, so I’m going to let you decide.” I look up at him and give him a smile to find him staring down at me with passion burning in his eyes, and I immediately look away. I don’t want to have Marshall pour his heart out for me, because that would just ruin the friendly mood I’m striving for.
When he doesn’t answer after a moment, I glance over at him under my eyelids to find him still staring at me with the intense look in his gaze. However, all of the emotion in his eyes soon disappears, and he says with a smile, “Alright then, I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant.” He then holds his hand out to me, palm-up, and asks, “May I?”
Giving him a smile, I lay my hand on top of his and reply, “Of course.”

So now that I've posted about half of the book, I'd like to know what you guys think of it. Who's your favorite character so far? Who do you think should be killed off first in Team Survival? Should Lizzie end up with Luke or Jackson? I'd love it if you could post these answers, as well as any comments or critique you have, for me to read. :)
Thanks!

More added.

“You know, after all that dress fitting, I really want to do something completely non-feminine,” I tell Marshall as we sip at our glasses of water and look out through the storefront window at the street. So far, three camera crews have passed the restaurant looking for us, and each time we have ducked underneath the table, laughing. Of course, I laughed the hardest when Marshall clocked his head coming up the second time. For some reason, he didn’t find it very funny though. However, both of us are surprised by the fact that no one in the restaurant has approached us or tried to ask us questions, even though I thought at least one person would. After all, we are two of the most intriguing Triple Crown champions with an equally intriguing relationship, so it’s almost astonishing that no one else in the restaurant has tried to come talk to us. Neither one of us are complaining though; we both like the privacy to uphold the notion that we’re just two friends going out to lunch together.
“Like what?” he asks in reply, tearing his gaze away from the activity outside to look at me.
“Well, do you know of any shooting ranges nearby? I’d love to put a bullet or an arrow in something.” I swirl my glass in front of me and watch as the ice cubes dance around each other before taking another sip and setting the glass down again.
“Sorry, I don’t, but I do know of a hand-to-hand combat training facility not too far from here.” I am about to open my mouth and ask what kind of hand-to-hand combat – as in, weapons or literally just hand-to-hand – when Marshall, seeing my unspoken question, quickly adds, “It’s just hand-to-hand, no weapons involved, so we won’t have to make a sword run.”
“Alright, cool. Let’s go,” I say, rising to my feet. I see Marshall’s hand move to his pocket, and, realizing that we need to pay for our lunch, I immediately reach into my pocket and pull out a twenty-dollar bill – which happens to be plastered with Rush’s face – that should be more than enough to cover our lunch.
“Lizzie, I said this was my treat. You shouldn’t have to pay for anything a day before your wedding!” he exclaims, and makes a move to snatch the bill off the table. However, I immediately cover the money with one hand and stop his move with the other, and give him a smirk when I see the exasperated, annoyed and slightly amused expression on his face.
“Tell you what,” I finally concede, after the determined, stubborn look on his face hasn’t faded any, “I’ll let you pay for our admission into the hand-to-hand combat place.”
“It’s a rec center. It’s free,” he replies flatly, then immediately begins to plead with me, “Lizzie, please let me pay for lunch. I told you I would, and I really want to, so please let me.”
“No,” I immediately respond. If he’s going to make this a battle of stubborness, he’s most certainly going to lose. “Keep your money. It’s not like I need you to pay for my lunch anyways.” Max has basically given me an unlimited spending limit, and I fully intend to use at least some of it.
“Lizzie, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll only back down now as long as you promise to let me spend the money on you later, alright?” He offers me his hand to shake, and, after a moment of silent deliberation, I accept it.
“Deal,” I confirm, at last removing my hand from the bill on the table. I know I’m not going to get him to budge any more, so, since I don’t want to spend the day the whole day here, I have to accept his offer.
“Well, after you then.” Marshall quickly closes the gap between us and the door and holds it open for me respectfully, giving me a smile as I walk past him.
“Thank you,” I tell him, grinning at him and then pausing for a moment to let him catch up to me. “Well, where’s this hand-to-hand combat place you were telling me about?” I ask him when he appears at my right side, and we begin walking down the street together.
“It’s about four blocks this way.” He gestures in the direction we’re walking, and sticks his hands in his pockets. Feeling his gaze on me, I shoot him a furtive glance to see that he is in fact looking over at me with an almost amazed look on his face.
Finally my curiosity at what he’s stunned at becomes unbearable, and I turn to him and question, a small smile on my lips, “What are you looking at?” However, when I see the passion and intensity in his eyes, I immediately wish that I hadn’t spoken at all. I don’t want to hear an outpouring of emotion that reveals the truth about our relationship; I want to continue the ruse that we’re just two friends spending an afternoon together. Unfortunately, it looks like that’s not going to happen.
“You,” he replies simply, and I clench my jaw slightly in anger and annoyance at myself. I really shouldn’t have said anything. “You’re honestly perfect.” He reaches a hand up to gently trace my jawline, but I instantly react by slapping it away and turning to him.
“Don’t start, Marshall. Please, not now,” I murmur, meeting his gaze for a moment before turning away from him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him wordlessly nod his head and slip his hands back into his pockets. Even though he definitely looks slightly depressed now, I can’t help but breathe a tiny sigh of relief at him understanding what I’m getting at. To be perfectly honest, I’d think that he would want to keep up the ruse that we’re just normal friends for as long as we can, but I guess I was wrong. I guess his priorities and thought processes about our relationship must be different that mine, considering that he’s attracted to me and I’m not attracted to him.
However, it isn’t long before I catch him staring at him again, and, turning to him in exasperation and annoyance, I threaten, “You know, if you keep that up, I can always walk in front of you.”
“I’m sorry Lizzie. I just-” he begins, and I can’t help but get even angrier when I realize where he’s going with this.
Quickly interrupting him, I growl in a dangerous tone, “Don’t you say that you can’t help yourself, or, so help me God, I will break your jaw!” I don’t care that Marshall probably can’t help himself; I just don’t want to hear it, as it reminds me too much of Jackson, and I don’t want to think about Jackson right now either.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry Lizzie.” He throws his hands up in the air, his expression surprised and slightly hurt. However, it isn’t five seconds after he falls silent that he stops and says quietly, “We’re here,” then steps up to open the door for me.
“This place is pretty nice,” I murmur appreciatively as I look around at the facility surrouding me. Flyers for hand-to-hand competitions and lessons cover a floor-to-ceiling billboard on the west wall, and a row of mounted swords, spears and shields blankets the east wall.
Turning to Marshall, I say, “I thought you said this place was hand-to-hand only.”
“I lied,” he replies, a smirk crossing his face at the disgruntled look on mine. “Hey, you can’t blame me for not wanting to get anywhere near you with a sword.”
I smile slightly and agree ruefully, “Yeah, I guess I can’t blame you for that.” Taking a step towards the weapons on the wall, I reach a hand out to touch the shining steel of the sword closest to me and say, “These are beautiful weapons.”
“I actually,” Marshall begins from behind me, sounding almost abashed, and I turn around to find him looking almost abashed, “made that sword.”
A smile breaks out across my face as I look between Marshall and the blade and ask, “Are you serious?”
“I’m a blacksmith by profession. Actually,” he backtracks, and, by the way his voice falls, I can tell he’s going to say something about the Triple Crown, “I’m a Triple Crown champion by profession, and a blacksmith on the side. I guess I’m an ok blacksmith if I have you complimenting my weapons.” He gives me a smile, his blue-green eyes twinkling as he looks at me. It really is too bad that I didn’t know him before this, because being slated to kill each other isn’t exactly the best way to start a friendship.
“This is amazing, Marshall.” I run my finger over the entricate designs on the sword’s golden hilt. My thumb comes across two letters in the metal – MM – and I can’t help but grin; I guess that proves he made it. Turning back to him, I add with a smile, “You’re amazing.”
I immediately wish that I hadn’t spoken when I see the passion and longing come into his eyes again, and hope to dead God that Marshall isn’t about to pour his heart out for me. However, Marshall shakes his head slightly, as though to shake the intensity out of his gaze, and seems to gain control of himself, because the passion in his eyes does go down some.
I’m incredibly grateful when he returns my smile and gestures to the white mats on the other side of the room. “Well, I guess now is as good a time as any for me to get my ass kicked by you, so shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” I give him a smile and follow him, my eyes on him the whole time. He walks with the grace and style of a leopard, and I know him to share some personality traits with a leopard too: intelligent, meticulous, careful, and, most of all, dangerous.
I stop walking when I’m on one side of the mat, and wait for him to stop walking and turn around too. “You ready?” I ask him when he finally does, giving him a cocky smile.
“Well, this looks like it’s going to be fun for one of us,” he replies, his eyes on my grin, and I can’t help but reply, “Yeah, me.”

“You have a very twisted sense of what’s fun,” Marshall mutters as I climb off of him for the tenth time. Even though he’s an excellent fighter, he still doesn’t come anywhere close to being the fighter that I am. Of course, I don’t know of anyone who could rival my fighting skills that isn’t an immortal.
“Well, I’m not the one eating the mats,” I reply, smirking as he rises to his feet, looking exasperated and annoyed.
“Good point,” he concedes, smiling despite himself too. “I suppose it would be more fun for me if I didn’t spend most of my time with my face in the mat.”
“Yeah, this hand-to-hand thing is pretty nice when you’re winning,” I tell him, my smirk getting bigger as he rolls his eyes at me.
“Not that I would know what that feels like, considering I’m fighting you,” he retorts, and I can’t help but laugh. Marshall really is a good sport, considering that he’s losing pitifully and I’m teasing him all the time.
However, my laughing is cut short, because Marshall then charges me and pins me onto to the mats before I can even react. “Well, now I think I think I know what it’s like to win,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine and a smile on his face. He has my lower body rendered useless by having his hips locked on top of mine, and my arms are pinned behind my back too, leaving me completely defenseless. It’s the same exact pose Marshall had me in during our Hand-to-Hand Combat fight.
I am immediately worried when I see the passion return to Marshall’s eyes, and even more concerned when he raises a hand to gently stroke the side of my face. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers. “No; you’re honestly perfect.”
He leans closer to me, so that our noses are almost touching. “Did you know,” he begins, his voice full of emotion and his gaze, so full of intensity, glued to mine, “that every time I see you, I get butterflies in my stomach, and I worry about what I’m going to say to you so I don’t sound like an idiot, and I wonder if I should change, because maybe I’m wearing something you don’t like. And, you know, you’re on my mind four seconds out of five of every waking day, and I don’t know why. I’ve never felt this attracted to anyone before, and I guess I picked one hell of a time to fall in love with someone.” A bitter smile crosses his face, and I can’t help but agree with him there.
“Lizzie, I know you’ll never see me as anything more than a friend now, but I can’t help but wonder if we could have been more, if the circumstances around us were different. I can’t help but wonder if you actually could have been mine, not Luke’s or Jackson’s, if all of this never happened and we weren’t supposed to be killing each other in the Triple Crown. So, I’m asking your permission to kiss you, and see if there’s just something there, so I can find out if all my wondering and hoping hasn’t just been in vain.”
His blue-green eyes, locked powerfully on mine, do as much pleading as his voice does, and, even though I know it’s incredibly stupid on my part, I find myself answering, “Yes,” before I even have time to think about it. I guess, when it comes to these kinds of things, I really shouldn’t think about it, because my answer will never be yes if I do think about it.
Gently, and with a nervous hesitation that I find slightly amusing, considering this is Marshall Moore we’re talking about, he leans in and presses his lips to mine, and I close my eyes, inhaling his scent. However, even as his arms work their way around me and the kiss becomes more urgent, I don’t feel anything, just the emptiness I first felt with Luke. Actually, I never felt truly empty with Luke, like I feel now, because I was slightly attracted to Luke from the beginning and always knew that there was the possibility we could be together. Marshall, however, I’m honestly not attracted to, and I also know that he and I could never be together, because I’m getting married and one or both of us are going to be dead soon anyways. I guess that just makes the emptiness more acute.
After a long few seconds, Marshall finally pulls back, his expression nervous and hopeful, and asks me, “Well? Anything?”
Wordlessly I shake my head and purse my lips together as I look up at his hurt and falling face. He climbs off of me silently, and I add quietly as I rise to my feet, “I’m sorry.”
I then walk towards the door and leave the center, not wanting to be around another boy whose relationship with me I probably just irreprably damaged.

“Lizzie, where have you been?” are the first words out of Max’s mouth when I walk through the door of the rather large house Luke and I are staying in until the wedding. Well, I guess Max is staying with us too, since he sleeps in one of the guest bedrooms and never leaves the house or lets us out of his sight. In fact, Max was even incredibly wary about letting me go to the dress fitting, which I was all for staying away from too. However, Mitchell finally persuaded him that it was necessary, and I ended up being shoved out the door.
“Lizzie, what happened?” Luke asks me concernedly, and I blindly walk towards him and into his open arms. Burying my head in his shoulder, I close my eyes and say nothing for a few moments; I don’t trust myself to speak without breaking down and crying.
“I think I broke Marshall Moore’s heart,” I mutter finally, lifting my head off of his shoulder for a second to look up at him.
“Oh,” he murmurs in reply, and I can see the almost vindication in his expression that he refuses to let show. Luke doesn’t like me hanging out with Marshall, and I guess he’s happy that I finally did something to stop that. After a few moments, he adds quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I won’t get anything out of talking to Luke, because he’ll be too caught up in his dislike of Marshall to really understand me and respect where I’m coming from, so I initially shake my head. However, I quickly realize that there is someone I can talk to, someone who’s less opinionated on the topic of Marshall Moore, knows me incredibly well, and is willing to listen for hours, and backtrack, “Well, I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Jackson.”
Like clockwork – he probably heard me say his name or sensed my distress – Jackson comes out of the hallway to the left, where his room is located – at my insistence, he’s staying with us too, even though he can’t leave the house – to ask me, “Lizzie, what happened?”
“I want to talk to you,” I tell him, ignoring Luke’s hurt expression as I step out of Luke’s arms and turn to Jackson.
Jackson has the common sense and past knowledge to not ask what I want to talk about and instead says, with a small nod of his head, “Of course.”
I then step forward, find his hand with one of my own, and let him lead me back to his room. Once inside, he motions for me to sit on the bed, and sits down next to me.
“What happened?” he asks again, his golden eyes concerned as he watches me. Before I answer, I scoot closer to him and lean my head on his shoulder to have him wrap his arm around my waist comfortingly.
“I broke Marshall Moore’s heart,” I begin, “and I think I ruined my relationship with him in the process.” I let out a great sigh, feeling like the weight of everything that’s happened in the last two and a half months is finally going to get to me and crush me.
“Well, what happened?” I look up to find Jackson staring down at me, completely attentive with no judgment in his gaze, and I make myself a mental reminder to thank God for Jackson Lucas Carter later.
“He took me out to lunch after the dress fitting and, upon my insistence, we went to a hand-to-hand combat place afterwards. We just screwed around for a little bit-”
“Oh, you showing your fighting superiority?” Jackson interjects, smirking slightly, and I can’t help but feel the corners of my mouth twitch slightly.
“Yeah something like that,” I agree, then continue with the story. “Anyways, at one point, he actually pinned me, and he took the opportunity to pour his heart out to me and tell me that he’s never been this attracted to anyone before and that he wonders if we could have been something more than just friends, if the Triple Crown and Luke and I had never happened. He then asked me for my permission to kiss me and find out, I gave it, he kissed me, and I didn’t feel anything. I then told him that and left the center without another word.”
“Lizzie, you did the right thing,” Jackson tells me quietly as he holds me against him comfortingly. “If you don’t have honesty in a relationship, what do you have left?”
Even though I can’t help but feel that Jackson is trying to tell me to tell Luke about how some of the things I said to him in the arena weren’t true, I brush past my suspicions to agree, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He just seemed so hurt though.”
“Lizzie, the truth hurts. You know that as well as anybody, and I guess Marshall knows that now too. Facts don’t change to fit someone’s opinion or fantasy, so it’s a good thing you told Marshall the facts before he got too caught up in his fantasy.” I nod my head wordlessly, wondering idly how Jackson can be this full of wisdom and peace one moment and then full of hatred and homicidal rage the next. I guess all of those hormones they injected him with didn’t do much to help his stability.
“I know, Jackson. It’s just... he was happier, thinking that we might have had a chance, you know?” I lift my head off of his shoulder to turn and meet his gaze, and he nods in understanding.
“Lizzie, you don’t have to and honestly just can’t take responsibility for everything around you or try to bleed for the world, because you’re just going to make yourself crazy if you try. You also shouldn’t have to lie or go against something you believe in to make people happy, because the truth is always the best option, no matter how bad the truth hurts.” His eyes, full of intelligence and knowledge far beyond their years, are locked on mine, and I think absentmindedly that he has some of the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen too.
After a moment of him staing at me and me staring back at him, a small smile breaks out across Jackson’s face and he leans forward to kiss me gently on the forehead. “It’s going to be fine, Lizzie,” he murmurs when he pulls back. “You’re strong enough that you can take out anything in your path, so I wouldn’t worry about a thing. You’ll be just fine.” He gives me a smile and gently raises a hand to touch the side of my face, and, as I see the worry in his eyes, I can tell that he said all that more for his benefit than for mine.
Though I had never really thought about it until now, I guess Jackson would be very worried about having me die in the Triple Crown, and that he’d also being doing everything in his power to make sure I survive. That means Jackson have a common goal for once: keep me alive. It’s almost a shame that I’m going to have to deny them their wish.
“Jackson?” I begin, staring up at him and meeting his gaze again.
“Hmm?” he murmurs, gazing back down at me with overpowering concern still clouding his eyes, and I can’t help but wonder how much the thought of losing me has tormented him over the last few days.
“Thank you,” I tell him quietly and sincerely, then give him a kiss on the cheek before rising to my feet and leaving the room, Jackson’s gaze boring holes into my back the whole time.

I tiptoe silently down the hallway, muffling my curses when I stub my toe on a protruding table leg. Gritting my teeth and my clumsiness – with being a wolf, I’m generally not clumsy at all – I force myself to not swear out loud and continue walking down the hallway to stop when I reach Jackson’s door. Incredibly quietly, so quietly that no one who doesn’t have wolf’s ears wouldn’t be able to hear it, I rap my finger on the door, and hear Jackson move inside of his room.
“Come in,” he murmurs, and I open the door silently. When he sees that it’s me, a big smile breaks out across his face, and he wordlessly scoots over and gestures for me to sit on the bed next to him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me after I’ve settled down next to him and rested my head on his chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be spending the night before your wedding with the man you’re actually marrying?”
“Well, maybe I’m supposed to,” I begin, “but I’m not exactly one for the orthodox, and I want to spend the night before my wedding with the man that knows me best – you.” I give him a small smile and rest my head on him again, feeling comforted when Jackson’s arm wraps around me and holds me to him.
“Well, you’re welcome to spend as long as you want here with me,” he replies, returning my smile before resting his chin on top of my head.
“You’re the greatest Jackson,” I murmur quietly, wiggling up even closer to him and marveling at the sheer amount of heat produced by both of our bodies. Either one of us probably makes enough thermal energy to power a small generator, and having both of us in close proximity exponentially magnifies the warming effect of our body heat.
“That means a lot, coming from you.” I can feel him smile again, and, even though the heat’s threatening to cook me, I scoot even closer to him so that it seems like every part of my body is touching him.
We then lie in a contented silence for a few minutes, none of the concern or sadness our conversation help earlier present, and I find myself falling asleep on his chest.
“Goodnight, Lizzie,” he murmurs, his voice drifing in and out of my consciousness. “I hope I help you enjoy your last night as Miss Lightning.” The last thing I register before completely blacking out is the feeling of Jackson’s lips brushing my forehead.

I open my eyes to an almost blinding whiteness, and it takes a few seconds for my new-opened eyes to adjust and my newly-conscious mind to wake up. When I do, however, I immediately groan and roll over, not wanting to get out of bed and face the day and the horrors it holds.
“Good morning, Lizzie,” an amused voice next to me says, and I bury my head deeper in the pillow as I realize that it’s Jackson. He’s just another reminder of what I’m going to lose today.
“I can’t believe it,” I mutter into the pillow. I then decide that I might as well stop trying to suffocate myself, since it’s not going to work, and roll back over onto my back. “Seventeen and married!” I exclaim, shaking my head as I stare at the white ceiling. “I never thought this would happen to me. I thought it would be more like twenty-five and married, or even a thousand and married!”
“Lizzie, it will be fine,” Jackson tells me comfortingly as sits up next to me and stares down at me with a small smile on his face, and I shoot him a look. He really isn’t very good at hiding the worry in his eyes. “It’s not a real marriage, remember?”
“Really? Because everyone else I’ve talked to thinks it is,” I murmur, my hands balling into fists. Even though it’s technically not real, just a staged attempt to get the rich El Nieve audience to like Luke and me – well, mostly me – I know it’s real for Luke, and I can’t help but feel like it should be real for me too. “Luke thinks it’s real, Marshall thinks it’s real, hell-” – I turn my head to meet Jackson’s golden gaze, “-I think you even think it’s real, to some extent. I mean, it’s going to stop us from having the relationship we do now, so that makes it partially real, doesn’t it?” After a moment’s pause, I add quietly, “It’s going to affect all of our lives, whatever it is.”
“Lizzie, it will be fine,” Jackson tells me reassuringly, laying a hand on top of one of mine. In that moment, however, he lets his mental defenses down, and I am able to hear his thoughts. As soon as I hear what he’s thinking about, I sit straight up in surprise.
“Jackson, what are we going to do about tonight?” I ask him, vocalizing the worries dominating his mind. “I mean, Luke and I will be expected to sleep together, and I won’t do that with him. I... I can’t.”
“Tell Luke then,” Jackson replies, his facial expression considerably more relaxed, now that he thinks he’s found a solution to the problem. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“You’re right, I’m sure he will understand, even if he doesn’t like it,” I agree, feeling relieved myself that the issue of tonight has been resolved. Of course Luke won’t make me do anything that I don’t want to; I’ve got too much influence over him for that to happen. Besides, even if he does try anything, I’m almost as strong as he is and a faster runner, so I have no doubt that I could evade him if it came down to that.
After a second of silence, Jackson asks me, staring over at me, “Why can’t you do that with him? I mean,” he begins, and quickly backtracks, “don’t take this the wrong way; I’m not advocating for you to actually sleep with him, but you’re set and determined on dying anyways, so why would you leave out that part of the human experience?”
“I don’t want to get that physically intimate with him, since I’m afraid it would ruin our already screwed-up relationship,” I reply. I add, after hesitating for a spilt-second, “Besides, I never really planned on sleeping with anyone before college, and I feel like I still shouldn’t, even though I’m never going to go to college.”
“Oh, ok,” Jackson responds, nodding his head in understanding. I can tell that he’s resigned himself to the fact that I’m going to try to die but not to the fact that I’m actually going to die; I guess he’s going to be in for a very unpleasant surprise in a few weeks then. “And I think you’re right, about the relationship part; when you sleep with someone, your relationship with them changes a lot, many times for the worse.”
“Yeah, and I don’t want to mess up my relationship with Luke any more than I already have. I mean, one more wrong thing said or done, and I could lose him and it altogether.” I deliberate with myself for a moment before adding, “Anyways, I could never see myself sleeping with him. There’s only one guy in the whole world I’ve ever even considered sleeping with, and he’s sitting next to me right now.”
Jackson meets my gaze warily, his expression one of guarded surprise, like he thinks this all might be just some sick joke, for a few seconds before realizing that I’m not joking at all. “Oh,” he says quietly, tearing his eyes away from mine to stare at his lap. He then looks back up and asks, “Are you serious? I’m the only one? Not even Troy?”
“Not even Troy,” I confirm, smiling slightly at the astonishment on Jackson’s face. “I guess you were the only one I ever felt enough for to consider doing that.”
“Well I’m honored to hear that,” Jackson replies, giving me a grin of his own. “You know, you’re actually the only girl I’ve ever considered doing that with too.”
“No way.” Jackson must have felt that way for Alexa, considering that he loved – well, I know he still loves her, even if he doesn’t want to admit it – her in every other aspect of the word.
“Truly,” Jackson confirms, nodding his head. “I mean, I was physically attracted to Alexa, but I never felt the burning passion for her that I feel for you.”
Now it’s my turn to lamely say, “Oh,” in reply. After a few moments of sitting in an incredibly awkward silence, someone begins to shuffle down the hallway towards us, and I leap to my feet. I can tell that it’s Max, undoubtedly coming to round me up and deliver me to Mitchell to get dressed, and I’m happy for any excuse to leave. All the emotion building up in the air is making me incredibly uncomfortable.
“You have to go already?” Jackson asks, his tone startled and resigned at the same time. I guess he knew he wasn’t going to have very much time with me before the wedding.
“Yeah, sorry,” I reply. When my words do nothing to help the tone of our environment, I attempt to lighten the situation by joking, “Knowing Mitchell, it will take him three hours to just get my hair done.”
“Yeah, he’s good like that,” Jackson says in agreement, a fake smile crossing his face as he looks up at me with anger and longing and unbearable sadness in his eyes.
“You’re definitely coming to the wedding, right?” I ask him, fearing that he might have decided not to come since I last talked to him about it. I mean, I know it’s going to hurt him to be there and see me with another man, but I need him there as a friendly face in the crowd of strangers.
“Lizzie, I’m not going to miss your wedding,” he tells me reassuringly, sounded almost surprised that I would think he would.
“Alright, good,” I reply, and reach out to find his hand with one of my own and give it a squeeze. “Goodbye, Jackson. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
When Jackson doesn’t reply after a moment, I realize that he must just not be able to talk right now, and walk towards the door to leave.
However, just before I exit his room, I hear him murmur quietly, “Goodbye, Lizzie. I hope you like being Missus Gates.”

“I can’t believe that this is really happening, that this is it,” I murmur as I stand completely still to let Mitchell play with my hair to his liking.
“Lizzie, it will be fine,” he replies reassuringly as he gently slides a bobby pin into my hair, and I can’t help but be reminded of Jackson’s and my conversation earlier. Hopefully this one doesn’t end with sadness and pain like that one did.
Suddenly it occurs to me that I don’t want my hair up, and, breaking Mitchell’s rule of not moving, I reach back and pull the complicated mess of seven bobby pins out of my hair.
“Why did you do that?” Mitchell exclaims in surprise and anger. “You just ruined an hour of work!”
“I don’t want my hair up for the wedding, since I might as well be me, right?” I see Mitchell nod his head grudgingly behind me, and can’t help but add, “Besides, if that’s all you got done in an hour, you really need to work on your efficiency.”
Mitchell smiles at my joke, then helps me silently into my wedding dress. After ten minutes of zipping up zippers and tying up laces and fluffing out certain parts of the gown, I’m finally looking to his satisfaction, and he takes a step back to admire his work.
“It’s perfect,” he replies, not seeming to notice that he actually forgot to design and make a veil to match the dress.
I am about to ask about the veil when I remember that veils aren’t used at weddings in El Nieve. I guess that’s just another of the traditions that have been lost to time and war.
A low and conspicous cough outside the door – obviously Max is getting impatient – stirs both Mitchell and me to action again.
“Lizzie,” he begins, “you look as radiant as the sun, so please show your dress – which happens to be helping greatly with your appearance – some love and respect and don’t trip on purpose, light it on fire on purpose, or do anything other purposeful act of destruction, since you’re not going to fool me with the excuse of an accident, alright?” He captures my gaze with his own chocolate brown one, then continues in a milder tone, “I know you don’t want to be here, and I know you don’t want to be doing this, but please don’t take it out on your dress, alright? I spent too much time designing and making it for you to ruin after wearing it for five minutes, so I expect that you won’t.”
“Ah Mitchell, you’re taking all of the fun out of my wedding,” I reply, forcing a smile onto my face while internally cursing the fact that one of my ideas of crashing my own wedding just got flushed down the drain. ‘Accidentally’ destroying the dress on national television would be the perfect way to tell Rush that I’m going to play along with his plans of a happy ending for Luke and I.
“Lizzie, I’m sure there are many other ways for you to ruin this for everyone else,” Mitchell tells me as he tugs at my dress to get it fit right, “so please don’t choose to do so by destroying your dress. After all, you promised you’d wear all ten of the dresses I made after Team Survival, so I need this dress to still be around in a month.”
“Mitchell, I think the biggest variable in that equation is whether I’m going to be alive in a month,” I reply. I don’t know why everyone is so confident that I’m going to come out alive, especially when they know that I don’t want to come out alive.
“From the way I’ve seen you treat clothes, I beg to differ,” Mitchell responds, tugging at the area around my ribs and frowning. “Damn it Lizzie, I might have to put a little bit of padding around your ribs for the dress to fit right, because you’re too skinny for it!”
“Mitchell, you know I’m not going to start eating more anytime soon,” I tell him, and he bows his head slightly in capitulation.
“I know, but Lizzie, you’re ruining the whole look!” He gestures to the small amount of extra fabric gathered around my ribs and shakes his head. “If only you were five or ten pounds heavier…”
Sighing in exasperation, I place my hands on my hips and shift all of my weight onto my back foot to have Mitchell stop fooling with the dress and look up at me in surprise. “You in a hurry to go somewhere?”
“Yeah, I’m in a hurry to get this wedding over with,” I answer, and a small, sad smile comes onto his face.
“Lizzie, you could do a lot worse than Luke,” he tells me quietly, his eyes locked on mine. “That boy would do anything for you, anything in the world, and, from what I’ve seen, you do care for him some.”
“I know, Mitchell,” I begin, “but I don’t know if he’s what I want. I certainly know, no matter how much I care about him, that I don’t want to be marrying him today.”
“Lizzie, nothing about this situation has been defined by what you want,” Mitchell responds with a bitter chuckle, “So I think you should get used to not having a say in your life anymore. After all, the people that are controlling your life now have no intention of letting you have even the slightest bit of choice or freedom.”
“That’s the thing, Mitchell,” I start, “they can control every aspect of my life, including what I eat, what I wear and what I do ever second of every day, but they can’t control my thoughts, and that’s where my real power lies. They can’t tell me what think – even if they could, I sure as hell wouldn’t listen to them – and, as long as I have that five inches of freedom from one ear to the other, I am just as dangerous, if not more, than if they didn’t control my life at all.”
“I guess you’re right,” Mitchell agrees with a tiny smile. “When you have nothing else left, and all control of outside events is stripped away from you, your real power lies in your mind, and in your inability to be broken.” After a moment’s pause, during which time Mitchell captures my gaze with his own, “I think that, in your heart, you will never stop being a spark, no matter what happens to you or how hard they try to break you. I guess you could say that you’re kind of concrete,” he finishes, and immediately a small smile flits across my face.
“Well, I don’t know if I’m concrete, Mitchell,” I begin, “but I do know that I won’t go down without a fight and that I will try as hard as I can to not be broken. They might own everyone and everything else in this Triple Crown, but, so help me God, when it’s all said and done, they will not own Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning.”
With that, I turn away from Mitchell and slip out of the dressing room we’re in to find Max waiting for me outside with a bored look on his face. When he sees me approaching him, his expression brightens considerably, and he asks, “What took you so long?”
“I just had a conversation with Mitchell about the state of things in my life,” I answer truthfully as I step to Max’s side to have him grab my arm. As I don’t have any male relatives or friends at the wedding – well, Jackson’s a male friend, but it’s only because Mitchell pulled a few strings that he’s even here as himself and not Max – Max will be giving me away to Luke, like he first did that fateful night almost three months ago.
“Must have been a pretty depressing conversation,” he says as he takes a deep breath and begins to walk down the curving red aisle that eventually leads into the main chapel.
“Yeah, it kind of was,” I reply with a sigh of my own, and find that I have to walk exceptionally fast to keep up with his huge strides. Max soon notices this and slows down his pace some, which makes him seem even more large and ungainly. I guess he’s just one of those people that has to walk fast.
“Ah, it’ll get better Lizzie,” Max says, clearly trying to sound encouraging but only sounding awkward. “Once you win Team Survival with Luke-”
“Wait, with Luke?” I interject, wondering if Max has momentarily forgotten about the rule that doesn’t allow Luke and me to be on the same team. “We can’t be on the same team, remember?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Max says, his tone just as confused as mine. When I shake my head, he continues, “The Triple Crown committee changed the rules so that you and Luke can be on the same team for Team Survival, which means we succeeded in making the idea of you and Luke as star-crossed lovers popular enough with the public for the Triple Crown committee to be forced to bend.”
“You sure they aren’t going to bend and snap right back like they did last time?” I ask him warily. I don’t trust the Triple Crown committee at all, and I wouldn’t put it past them to try to make us kill each other again.
“Nah,” Max replies dismissively. “The public reaction to them changing and then unchanging the rules during One-Person was horrible, so they’re not going to try something like that again.”
“Oh,” I respond lamely, rather surprised that the public didn’t like the changing and then unchanging of the rules. Perhaps they’ve become more attached to Luke and I than I thought was possible. “Well, that’s good,” I force myself to lie and say, since this rule change is going to completely mess with my plan to save Abby by choosing her to be my team mate. After all, everyone’s going to expect me to choose Luke now, and I can’t imagine that they’ll be very happy when I choose an unknown little girl who can’t fight to save her life.
“It’s very good.” Max looks over at me quizzically, and I can tell that he’s surprised by my lack of a positive response. He probably thought that I would be jumping up and down with joy, since this rule change means both Luke and I can go home, which is all he thought I ever wanted.
Unfortunately, I want more than I can have, so it looks like I’m going to have to make some very difficult decisions. One thing I know for sure though: I will not change my mind and turn my back on Abby, because that would be the same thing as leaving her to die, and I have already promised to save her. I will figure out what I’m going to do about Luke later.
“Well, this is it,” Max says as we stop outside of the huge double doors, beyond which the wedding lies. Instead of motioning to the men standing outside of the doors to open them, like I thought he would, he turns to me and tells me, “You know, you don’t technically have to do this, if you really don’t want to. The Triple Crown committee isn’t going to change the rules back if you don’t marry Luke, so you don’t have to marry him for you to both survive this.”
“Max,” I begin, gesturing at myself with a small, sad smile, “what choice do I have now?”
“Hmm,” Max grunts, and I can tell from the tone of his voice that he agrees with me but doesn’t want to vocalize that. Apparently even Max thinks this is a bit much by the Triple Crown committee’s standards.
Max then motions for the men to open the doors, and, as the huge slabs of stained brown wood slowly open with much creaking, he gives me a smile and tells me sincerely, “You know, Lizzie, I’m honored to be the one walking you down the aisle today.” Just as the doors open wide enough for everyone in the main chapel to see us, Max turns back to face the preacher at the end of the aisle, his face now a solemn mask.
“Here Comes the Bride” immediately begins playing, and everyone in the chapel rises to their feet as Max and I march in perfect unison to the beat down the aisle. I see Luke standing there next to the preacher, not even attempting to hide his shock at my appearance as he looks me up and down. I hope that means Mitchell did a good job and not a bad one.
Once we reach the end of the aisle and I am standing next to Luke, Max lets go of me and backs away, and everyone in the chapel sits back down. I turn and face Luke to find his expression still completely stunned, and sneak a glance at him to be completely amazed myself.
The tuxedo Mitchell designed for him fits him perfectly and accentuates his long, lean, muscular frame so amazingly that I wonder how it had taken me so long to realize that Luke is incredibly attractive. There also happens to be a tiny splash of light blue around the collar that really brings out Luke’s eyes, and I find myself getting lost in their ice-blue depths as the preacher drones on about God knows what.
I snap to attention when I hear the preacher asking Luke solemnly, “Lucas William Gates, do you take Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning to be your lawful wedded wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon her your heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, to keep yourself only unto her as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Luke says, and I hear his breath catch in his throat as he looks back down at me. I guess that means Mitchell did a good job.
Suddenly I see the preacher turn to me, and I realize that it’s my turn. Oh. Great. “Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning, do you take Lucas William Gates to be your lawful wedded husband, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon him your heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, to keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?”
‘As long as you both shall live’ doesn’t sound too bad, I think idly, because odds are that neither one of us is going to live very long. “I do.” I meet Luke’s gaze again and smile slightly as I admire the beauty of his eyes. That blue really is my favorite color now.
Suddenly I see someone – a very large someone – move towards the preacher and whisper in his ear, and my eyes lock on Max’s for a single moment. However, that moment is long enough for me to read his mind, and my eyes shoot open slightly in surprise as I find that Max is telling the preacher we have our own wedding vows to say. Immediately I begin to panic, because no one told me about this, and I sure as hell don’t have a wedding vow prepared! My gaze then darts back to Luke’s face, and, as I see the calm determination that has taken over his expression, I realize that this is all his idea. I guess he wants to make good on his promise of his wedding vow being ‘always.’
“It has been brought to my attention that the couple would like to make their own additional wedding vows,” the preacher announces, seeming almost taken aback. He then turns his gaze on us and motions for us to start.
I’ve prepared myself to BS it and am about to open my mouth when Luke, staring down at me with a small smile on his face, begins, “Lizzie, I think you already know what mine’s going to be, since I told you in One-Person, but I feel compelled to say it anyways: always. Just always.” He raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face, and suddenly it seems like everyone else in the room disappears and it’s just he and I talking.
“Luke, I don’t have any vows written out or anything, because apparently you forgot to mention this to me,” I start, and Luke gets a sheepish and guilty look at my last words, “but there’s one thing that I think you really need to know: I can’t promise you always, Luke – hell, I can’t even promise you tomorrow – but for today, I’m yours.” I pause and give him a smile, and feel the people around me stir. However, before the peace and sincerity of this moment I’m sharing with Luke can be shattered, I add, “And there’s one more thing that really I don’t say enough: I love you, Lucas William Gates.”
Without waiting for the preacher to say anything else, I fling myself onto him and kiss him passionately, that hunger having overtaken me again, to have his arms lock around my back and hold me against him for a long few moments. When I pull back, I’m vaguely aware of the cheering mob of people around us, but still am completely focused on Luke and Luke alone.
Gently he wraps his arm around my waist and guides me towards the incredibly large ballroom next door, where the reception is to take place. The rest of the crowd follows us, and soon the live orchestra on the stage at the end of the room starts playing and the room fills with music and the sound of people eating and talking.
As Luke and I make our way around the numerous tables of food, we given many greetings and congratulations, half of them from people I’ve never met before who must be important El Nieve socialites. Neither one of us eat very much, as we both just want the wedding to end so we can have some alone time to talk, so we’re both very happy when Max gets up onto the stage in front of the orchestra and steals a small microphone from one of the violinists.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins in his huge voice, and I think idly that he probably doesn’t need a microphone to be heard by everyone in the room, “it’s time for the dance.” He then leaps surprisingly nimby off the stage and walks towards me, and suddenly I remember that the father-daughter dance comes first, and that Max is my surrogate father.
Max nods his head respectfully at Luke before taking me by the arm and walking me out to the center of the ballroom, at which point the orchestra begins playing again and we start twirling in a small circle.
“How are you doing, Lizzie?” Max asks telepathically, his concerned, flame-filled eyes locked on mine. It’s not like we can talk out loud, with every eye in the ballroom on us, so we have to communicate mentally. Of course, I would probably communicate mentally even if we weren’t under the spotlight, since it’s almost impossible to detect and decode telepathic communication.
“Fine,” I answer, not taking my gaze away from his eyes. I wonder why he’s so concerned about me; maybe he thinks that the stress of the wedding is going to get to me and I’m going to snap.
“I’m sorry about the wedding vows surprise,” he tells me apologetically. “Luke made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you, and I wasn’t going to deny him that.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I reply reassuringly. “It gave me an excellent opportunity to work on my improvisational skills.”
Max’s mouth twitches slightly as he sends back, “Good. By the way, you did a damn good of improvising if you ask me.”
Now it’s my turn to respond, “Good,” and my own mouth twitches slightly. Suddenly it occurs to me that the rest of the public may not share Max’s opinion, and I ask him, “Did the rest of the people here like my improv as well as you did?”
His face falls slightly, and I realize that I’ve hit the cause of his concern. “Well, Rush didn’t like it too much, but, like I said, they’re not going to change the rules back, with the reception their last rule change and unchange got.” After a moment’s pause, he sends, “Don’t worry Lizzie; you don’t have anything to worry about besides the normal will-I-be-alive-in-a-month stuff.” His mouth twitches again at his own joke, and I roll my eyes.
“That’s really encouraging, thank you,” I reply dryly, idly thinking that this is a hell of a time for Max to be humorous. I guess it’s better than being all doom-and-gloom, like there’s much reason for him to be.
Suddenly the orchestra stops playing, and I realize that it must be time for me to dance with Luke now. However, before I leave, Max looks me in the eyes one last time and says with a small smile, “It was kind of nice being your surrogate father; call me if you need a fake dad again.”
“Thanks Max,” I tell him genuinely, giving him a smile of my own and a hug – which he clearly wasn’t expecting – before turning away from him to find Luke waiting for me with a smile on his face.
“Shall we?” he asks me solemnly, his eyes locked on mine as he offers me his hand palm-up, a gesture he has done so many times before.
“We shall,” I reply, making no attempt to pull my gaze away from his and just allowing him to guide me out onto the dance floor.
The orchestra then begins playing again, and Luke and I twirl in a small circle silently, at least as many eyes on us as when I danced with Max, even though there are other couples on the floor this time. I don’t have any urge to speak, since everything I want to say to him needs to be said privately, and he seems to feel the same way, so the air around us is completely silent for quite a while.
However, after about five minutes of us just staring into each other’s eyes, both of us completely peaceful and actually enjoying ourselves, I feel a presence come up behind me and hear a very familiar voice ask, “May I have this dance, Mister Gates?”
“Jackson!” I exclaim in surprise, whipping around to find him standing there with a small smile on his face. However, no smile can mask the hurt in his eyes, and I force myself to remember that I can’t bleed for everyone around me, no matter how much I want to or think I should. Instead of asking about his pained expression, I pull out of Luke’s arms and fling myself onto Jackson, giving him a hug that probably cracks a few of his ribs.
“You came,” I murmur, staring up at him and getting lost in his eyes. It’s at that moment that it strikes me that all eyes in the ballroom are on us, and rumors are probably spreading about us right now. However, I don’t pull back or make any detectable sign that I had such a realization, because that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters right now is that Jackson is here, and that I get to spend a little bit of time with him.
“I wasn’t going to miss your wedding,” he replies quietly with a smile. After looking over my shoulder to make sure that Luke is ok with us dancing, he takes me by the arm and guides me to a spot a little ways away from the crowd that had gathered around Luke and me.
“You look absolutely stunning, Lizzie,” are the first words out of Jackson’s mouth as we start to dance, and I give him a smile, about to say how handsome he looks. He’s in a suit Mitchell designed for him, so it fits him perfectly, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so attractive before. However, I don’t get a chance to, because Jackson immediately continues, “Actually, stunning isn’t the right word. To be honest, I don’t think there’s an adjective in the English language that can do you justice.” He gives me a smile of his own, and I see the passion and sadness competing for space in his eyes.
“Thank you Jackson,” I reply, smiling up at him almost warily. Even though this is my wedding and he has more than enough common sense to know that he can’t lose control here, I know he’s filled with emotions and is therefore partially unstable.
“You’re quite welcome, Lizzie,” Jackson responds. His grin changes as all passion leaves it, and it’s all I can do to not sigh out loud in relief. We then dance in silence for a few minutes, both of us just enjoying the other’s company, especially since we might not get very much of it now.
However, the passion builds up in Jackson’s eyes again, and he breaks the quiet draping us with, “You know, I always thought you and I had a chance at something like this.” He nods at the wedding around us, and immediately my heart sinks. This can’t be good. “Even when I was chasing Alexa, there was always the thought in the back of my mind that, if it didn’t work out with her, it could be you and me someday in the distant. I never thought it would be you and Luke Gates in less than a year.” He smiles a sad, insincere smile, and I have enough common sense to keep quiet and let him talk. “I think it could have – maybe even would have – been you and me, if it weren’t for the Triple Crown.” I see the anger flash through his eyes and truly begin to contemplate how much he hates the Triple Crown.
“Jackson, maybe you’re right,” I begin, incredibly and uncomfortably aware all of the eyes on us, “but it’s not you and me, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“You and I both know very well that there’s something we can do about it,” Jackson murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. Immediately I get angry with him, because how could he even think about suggesting destroying the city?
“Jackson, I don’t want any more blood on my hands, especially not the blood of innocent citizens,” I reply, staring him down and attempting to intimidate him. Of course, it doesn’t work, because Jackson isn’t daunted by anything, but I guess it was worth a shot.
“Lizzie, there is no such thing as innocent when it comes to the people that live in this city,” he snarls, and I glance around worriedly to make sure that we haven’t attracted too much attention. Yet. “Everyone here loves the Triple Crown, and worships it, and is consumed by it, so therefore they have just as much blood, if not more, on their hands as we do! It’s because they love the Triple Crown so much that it’s lasted this long, because I’m sure El Nieve would have found a different way to repress the Sections if these people didn’t love the Triple Crown as much as they do!”
“Well isn’t sad that their whole lives are tied up this Triple Crown?” I retort. “We should have pity on them, Jackson, not destroy them!”
“Lizzie, it’s the only way to save you!” Jackson finally bursts out, and now people around us are starting to stare.
“Jackson…” I begin with a warning tone, placing a hand on his chest to try to comfort him, but my gesture has no effect; in fact, he only seems to get louder and more emphatic.
“Lizzie, I can’t lose you for good. Even though I’ve already lost you to Gates, I can’t have you die on me, because then I wouldn’t have a reason to live. You’re it for me, Lizzie,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine as he raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face. “I can’t lose you, not now and not ever.”
“Jackson,” I start again, happy that most of the people looked away after Jackson quieted down, “either way I’m going to lose something, and I’d rather it be my life than my family or my identity. Trust me, Jackson, I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t have a say in the matter. This is all Rush’s and the Triple Crown committee’s doing, and I can’t do anything about it. I’m sorry, Jackson, but we’re both going to have to say goodbye eventually.” It’s my turn to raise a hand and gently touch the side of his face, and he leans into my palm slightly.
I then lower my hand, and we twirl in silence for a few seconds longer. “I’m going to miss this, you know,” Jackson says to break the quiet, his gaze on mine. “You solving my problems with logic and keeping me in check. What am I going to do without you?” He gives me a wan half-smile and attempts to chuckle but fails miserably.
“I’m going to miss you, Jackson,” I reply quietly, staring up into his golden eyes for a long moment and finally giving him a brief hug before turning away from him and back towards Luke.
“Goodbye, Missus Gates,” he whispers as I leave, and I can feel his gaze on my back the whole time.

More added.

My mood brightens considerably when I see the other champions I invited – Marshall, Marcus, Adelaide, Abby and McKenzie – standing in a corner with plates of food in their hands. They are quite a diverse group, with Marshall and Marcus having almost two feet on Abby and Adelaide and McKenzie always looking around warily, as though they fear they’re being hunted right now. I guess, with all of the members of the Triple Crown committee buzzing around, that’s not such an irrational fear.
Marshall is the first one to see me approaching and calls out, “Lizzie!” as a huge smile breaks out across his face. He sets his plate of food down and steps towards me to embrace me in a huge hug, his eyes twinkling with happiness when he pulls back and looks down at me.
“You look amazing,” he murmurs as he looks me up and down, and I begin to get a little when his voice trails off. However, he doesn’t get any want or lust in his gaze, and immediately looks back up at my face, which relieves me greatly.
“Good. I think Mitchell would consider it an insult if you said anything else.” I give Marshall a smile and turn my head to see Mitchell standing in a different corner of the ballroom talking with some other stylists. From the way they keep on looking over in my direction, they’re undoubtedly complimenting him on the dress, which he deserves. I don’t think any amount of compliments could truly cover how much he’s owed for putting so much time and effort into making me, a very unwilling subject, look amazing.
“Well it’s not just him, you know. You’re doing the dress a favor by just wearing it.” Marshall returns my smile, but this time a little desire does creep into his gaze, and I immediately tear past him to address the other champions. However, I can’t say anything before Abby realizes that I’m there and runs at me to fling herself onto midsection and knock all of the wind out of me in the process.
“Lizzie!” she cries in happiness, her angelic face beaming as she pulls back to look up at me. However, she doesn’t let me go or even loosen her grip on my stomach, so I have to forcibly loosen her arms for me to be able to breathe and respond.
Abby doesn’t give me a chance to respond either though, and says, her mouth moving at a hundred miles a minute, “I can’t believe you got married – and to Luke! – and it was just so perfect and your wedding vows were amazing and I told you it would all work out and you and Luke; it’s perfect!”
I think about the best way to respond for a half a second before replying, “Thank you Abby.” Now that Abby’s tried – and nearly succeeded – at suffocating me, I finally have the chance to speak to the other Triple Crown champions.
“Thank you all for coming,” I tell them sincerely, looking at them all in turn and giving them all smiles. “It really means a lot to me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” McKenzie says as she swallows her mouthful of food. “I’m only here for the food.” She then gives me a teasing grin, and, even though I roll my eyes at her, I can’t help but smile too.
“Seconded,” Adelaide immediately chimes in, gesturing with the chicken wing in her hand. “This has to be the best food I’ve ever had; it’s even better than the stuff at the Champions’ Center. I mean,” she begins, turning to me, “have you even tried it?”
“No,” I admit, shaking my head almost sheepishly. “I haven’t had time, with all the dancing and picture-taking and Triple-Crown-committee ass-kissing.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I remember Abby’s standing right next to me, and tell her, feeling bad and embarrassed that I swore in front of her, “Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively, waving her hand. “My brothers used to say a lot worse things that than.”
“Oh,” I reply lamely, feeling that “Ok, good” is about the only response I know that would fit the general situation but also knowing “Ok, good” to be a horrible reply, considering the specific scenario.
Our group of champions then stands in an incredibly awkward silence for a few seconds until Marshall and Marcus, at the exact time, both pipe up and ask me, “Lizzie, may I have a dance with you?”
I look back and forth between them for a moment, deciding what way is best to settle this little predicament, to finally decide that they should settle it themselves. “Winner of rock-paper-scizzors gets to dance with me first,” I tell them, and turn back to the remaining girl champions as the boys go off to one side.
“Lizzie and Marshall sitting in a tree,” McKenzie begins, her teasing smirk returing in full force, to have Adelaide interrupt her, “Yeah, he wishes! Do you see the way he looks at her? It’s semi-revolting, to be perfectly honest.”
“How so?” McKenzie immediately asks, not giving me any chance to enter the conversation myself. Abby seems to notice this and gives me an apologetic smile.
“Well, he’s a douchebag and a pervert. It’s clear that all he wants to do is sleep with Lizzie. Which reminds me,” Adelaide says, turning to me now, “why did you invite him, after what he did to you in Hand-to-Hand?”
“He’s a lot different than you might think he is. He’s actually a really nice guy, when you get to talking to him,” I reply, pursing my lips slightly as I look at Marshall, who is deep in a conversation with Marcus. I didn’t realize rock-paper-scizzors could be such an engaging subject. “And that way he looks at me?” I begin, turning back to Adelaide. “It’s the same way Jackson and Luke and Marcus do.”
“You’re so lucky,” McKenzie mutters, shaking her head slightly. “You have all these hot guys begging you to take them-”
“You call this lucky?” I exclaim incredulously as I look down and gesture at the wedding dress I’m in. “Me being seventeen and married is a direct result of those guys begging me to take them! To be perfectly honest, I’d beg you to take them if it would do any good!”
“You could do a lot worse,” Adelaide chimes in, looking over my shoulder at Luke. “He’s tall and handsome and intelligent and nice and even occasionally funny; to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t know how you could do much better.”
“And he loves you, with all of his heart,” Abby adds, staring up at me with her beautiful blue eyes. “You definitely could do a lot worse.”
“I mean, I can see what you see in Jackson,” McKenzie begins, staring over at Jackson and shaking her head. “I mean, wow, is he hot – sexy accent and everything – but Adelaide and Abby are right; I don’t think you can do much better than Luke, not even with Jackson.”
“Because Jackson doesn’t love you like Luke does. You’re not going to find anyone else who loves you like Luke does,” Abby finishes, and all three of them turn their gazes on me.
Fortunately, I am spared from having to answer by Marshall and Marcus returning to the group, Marshall openly triumphant and Marcus silently wistful and defeated.
“I won, best two out of three,” Marshall announces, and his eyes immediately go to my face. With a smile, he offers me his arm and asks, “Shall we?”
“I promised,” I reply, and take his arm as I give him a smile of my own. I feel the gazes of everyone else in the group – as well as the gazes of almost everyone else in the room – on me as I proceed to the center of the ballroom with Marshall, but I don’t care. I’m just happy that he’s here and that I get to dance with him.
“I thought you might not come, with what happened at the Hand-to-Hand place,” I murmur after we’ve started dancing, my eyes locked on Marshall’s own. I can see that he’s wary too, with Rush and all of his Triple Crown committee cronies floating around, and more than a little bit sad. It must kill him, to look at me and want me and not be able to have me, especially now that he knows I don’t feel anything for him.
“Lizzie, I promised I would come, and I won’t break a promise to you,” he replies with a smile. However, I can tell that there’s more he’s not telling me.
“But…?” I look up at him and see the dismay and almost bitter amusement flash across his face and know I’ve hit something sensitive.
“But I did think about not coming, for a couple hours yesterday,” Marshall finishes, pursing his lips in thought as he looks down at me.
“Why?” I think I already know very well why – and if I didn’t I could find out in a lot quicker way than asking – but I think I owe it to Marshall to ask and keep his mind still private.
“Because I thought it would kill me, to see you with Gates – or even you with Jackson – and know that I can’t have you, and that you don’t feel anything for me anyways.” His voice trails off lamely at the end, and he shakes his head bitterly, like he’s angry at himself.
“And it hasn’t killed you?” I can’t help but ask, incredibly puzzled by why that is if his answer is yes. I know that now, with the relationship Jackson and I have, it would kill me to see him with Alexa, and I even have the benefit of knowing he loves me some.
“Exactly the opposite,” he answers with a smile. “This time I’m spending with you, just getting to talk to you and dance with you, completely outweighs any pain I feel from watching you with someone else.” His eyes twinkle as he looks down at me, and I don’t pull back when he raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face.
“You know, Lizzie,” he begins, “Jackson’s right: there isn’t an adjective in the English language that can do you justice right now.”
“Wait, you heard that?” I question him incredulously, my eyes shooting open wide as I realize how much more they probably heard. Before he has a chance to answer, I quickly ask him, “How much more did you hear?”
Marshall seems taken aback by my questions – he probably thought I would just take the compliment, like any normal person would – but quickly recovers and responds, “I didn’t hear much more after his outburst of ‘Lizzie, it’s the only way to save you!’”
My heart immediately fills with dread and sinks into my stomach, because that means Marshall probably heard Jackson’s plans to destroy El Nieve. However, I know I can’t let any of this show, and instead ask him, as calmly as I can, “Did you hear anything before that?”
“See, that’s the weirdest part,” Marshall begins, and I feel a glimmer of hope. “No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pick out Jackson’s voice from the crowd immediately after he gave you that compliment, and, even though I heard his outburst – everyone else in the room did too – I couldn’t hear his voice after that, either. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t discern his voice from anyone else’s. It was the same with you too.”
It’s all I can do not to let out an audible sigh of relief when Marshall’s finished speaking. Jackson must have distorted the air around us so that our voices couldn’t be picked out, and therefore no one except for us heard any of what we said. Well, I guess Jackson is playing it partially safe so he doesn’t give the Triple Crown committee any more reasons to kill him.
“Ok, thank you,” I tell him, giving him a genuine smile. When I see his befuddlement at my reaction, I quickly add, “Jackson and I had an… odd conversation, and I was just wondering if anyone else heard it.”
“Well, I didn’t, and I don’t think anyone else did either.” Marshall shrugs slightly, and it becomes even more difficult for me to hold back the sigh of relief threatening to burst my chest.
“Ok, good,” I reply with a mischevious grin, and he laughs out loud, drawing the whole room’s eyes onto us. When he looks around and sees all of the people staring at us curiously, he tells me apologetically and sheepishly, “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh that loud.”
“Don’t be,” I reply. “You shoudn’t be sorry that you’re laughing, since it’s not like we have that much to laugh about right now.”
“Yeah, the doom-and-gloom we’re-all-going-to-die-soon mood hanging over us all kind of kills the humor,” he agrees, and I can’t help but smile.
He notices my grin and says, taking a step back to bow grandly, with a smirk on his face the whole time, “I will be your court jester for as long as you’d like.”
“Ok, good,” I respond, giving him a genuine smile. “I need a jester right now.”
Marshall is just about to reply when his eyes fix on something behind me and he falls silent, taking a step back and away from me regretfully.
“She’s all yours, Marcus,” Marshall says as I turn around to find the huge form of Marcus, even taller and a lot broader than Marshall, standing there with an apologetic yet excited look on his face. Marshall then turns and leaves us, and I look after him in dismay. What do I say to Marcus, considering I effectively got him killed in One-Person?
We stand in an awkward silence for a few moments, me thinking idly that Marcus probably has no idea how to talk to girls and is most likely still clueless as to how Adelaide feels about him. After a while, the quiet gets too unbearable, and all the guilt I’ve been feeling finally bursts out in the form of me saying, “Marcus, I’m sorry for getting you killed in One-Person. I really-”
Much to my surprise, Marcus raises a finger to my lips to silent me and tells me quietly, his chocolate brown eyes glued on mine, “Don’t apologize. I don’t want to ruin this moment by talking about the Triple Crown.” He then proceeds to place one hand on my hip and take one of my hands in his other, and begin to dance slowly.
After a few seconds of us dancing in silence, he pipes up and says, “If I step on your feet or do something wrong, please tell me. This is the first time I’ve ever danced with a girl, and I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He drops his gaze to the floor, and I raise the hand that had been resting on his shoulder to pull his chin up gently.
When I’m confident that he’s not going to immediately look back down again, I reply with a smile, “That’s ok. It’s really pretty simple, to be honest.” I shrug, then add quietly, my smile changing into a smirk as I look around at all of the powerful – and mostly old – El Nieveans in attendance, “Besides, if all these old grandpas with dentures can still do it, I think you’ll be fine.”
The corners of Marcus’s mouth twitch slightly as he looks down at me, and a small pang of desire shoots through them before he has a chance to look away.
Suddenly it occurs to me that this is the perfect opportunity to set Adelaide up with Marcus – and get him off my hands in the process – and I ask him, “Marcus, what do you think about Adelaide?” I have to know how he feels about her before I can go about manipulating him into being with her.
Taken aback by the odd question, it’s a few moments before he finally replies with a shrug, “I don’t know. She’s generally nice, pretty funny and has a definite chance of the winning the Triple Crown, more than I do at least.” His expression gets almost bitter at the end, as though he thinks that he shouldn’t be so opposed to killing a couple children to survive.
“How do you feel about her?” I ask him, counting on his lack of experience and unsuspicious nature to keep him from getting angry with me.
However, he immediately does get suspicious, and looks over my shoulder at Adelaide with a scrutinizing brown gaze. After a long moment, he finally looks back down at me and asks me quietly, his expression not surprised at all, “Adelaide put you up to this, didn’t she?”
“How’d you figure out Adelaide likes you?” I burst out before I’m able to help myself. Fortunately, I find no reason to want to take it back, as Marcus doesn’t become surprised by this outburst either.
“She makes it pretty obvious,” he replies, his gaze darting back up to Adelaide. He then looks back down and adds, “She has to, for someone like me to figure it out.”
“Well,” I begin, staring up at him in an attempt to read his expression and figure out what he’s thinking, “what do you think about her and that?”
“She’s just a friend, Lizzie,” Marcus replies, and my heart immediately sinks. So much for my matchmaking efforts. “The only girl I’ll ever see as having the potential to be anything more than a friend is you,” he finishes simply, and it kills me to know that he means every word he’s saying and that he isn’t anywhere near the actor I am.
“Listen, Marcus,” I start flatly, ignoring his last comment for the moment, “You can’t have me, now or anytime in the future when we’ll both be alive. However, you can have Adelaide, and she desperately wants you to take her. Just…” I pause, not knowing how to end, “if you’re going to let her down, let her down easy, alright?” I meet his gaze, and he nods his head in understanding.
We then dance in silence for a few more incredibly awkward moments before Marcus tears away from me with the murmured explanation of, “Need to go talk to Adelaide,” and leaves me standing by myself in the middle of the ballroom.
A sudden movement that I glimpse out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I look over to find Jackson opening the door to the outside and leaving silently. No one but me seems to notice his departure, and I flirt with the idea of going after him for a fraction of a second before realizing that I attract way too much attention for me to be able to leave.
Sighing, I turn around to find myself staring at someone’s nose, and look up to find Luke standing there, his expression concerned as he stares down at me. It’s almost scary, the way he can sneak up on me like that. The only other people I’ve known to be able to move that quietly are myself and Jackson.
Immediately he takes a step back, to give me more space, and I ask him, glancing around the room for a clock and finding none, “How much time do we have left?” I don’t think I can bear being stuck in this hellhole much longer, especially with Jackson gone and my attempts at setting Adelaide up with Marcus complete failures.
“An hour,” he replies quietly, and I groan in misery, denial and exasperation.
“Luke, I can’t do another of this,” I murmur, and, much to my surprise, a smile begins to creep across his face.
“I know,” he replies, and I stare up at him curiously. “That’s why I arranged for us to leave early.” He then takes my hand in his and escorts me over to the door Jackson just left out of to hold it open for me respectfully. Pulled up to the curve is an nondescript black car, with no driver that I can see in the front seat, and my heart begins to race as I realize that maybe Luke means for one of us to drive. I haven’t driven anything in almost three months, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed driving myself to school everyday until now.
“Is this for us?” I ask him, not taking my eyes off of the car. Even though my Corvette is much more asthetically pleasing than the black hunk of steel sitting before me, I can’t bring myself to look away from the black hunk of steel that could save me.
“Yeah,” Luke says with a smile. I guess he figured out – I don’t know how, because I didn’t even figure it out – that I missed driving a lot, and he arranged for us to get our own car because of that. “You drive.” He tosses the keys at me and I catch them with grace as I quickly walk around to the driver’s side of the car and slide in.
Inhaling deeply and sighing with satisfaction, I murmur, “I guess that new-car smell is the same in every dimension.”
Luke laughs and agrees, “Yeah, I guess so.” He then buckles up his seat-belt, prompting me to do the same, and I finally slide the key into the ignition to hear the car start up and purr.
“Wow,” I exclaim quietly, feeling the steering wheel vibrate slightly underneath my touch. “This thing sounds like my Corvette.”
“I thought you would like it,” Luke says quietly, his eyes on me and a small smile on his face. Suddenly I realize that we must actually get to keep this car, and that it isn’t just a rental, and I unbuckle my seat-belt and turn to fling my arms around Luke in a rib-cracking hug.
“Thank you so much,” I murmur in his ear as his arms wrap around me. “This is the best present ever.” I pull back to give my biggest, most sincere smile, and his face immediately lights up upon seeing it.
“It’s not just a present,” Luke tells me, his grin seeming to be glued permanently on his face, and I look at him curiously. “It’s a way of getting to our honeymoon.”
Immediately my heart sinks out of my chest to rest in the pit of my stomach, and I have to force a smile back onto my face. I don’t want to go to our honeymoon – I mean, I didn’t even think we were going to have one – because of what’s expected to happen on a honeymoon, which I won’t do. I’ve already made it very clear that I won’t get physically intimate with Luke – I thought I made that clear to him too – but I guess he’s hoping that I’ve changed my mind.
“Here.” He pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and I unfold it to reveal a map, whose ending destination seems to be outside the city.
“Elizabeth,” I murmur, pronouncing it with perfect Spanish. Suddenly it hits me that, since El Nieve is located in the Rocky Mountains of what used to be Colorado, that could actually be the Elizabeth Luke and I are both from. “Is this…?” My voice trails off as I look Luke in the eye to see him nod slightly.
“I thought you would want to see home one last time,” he says quietly, and, even though I don’t really want to see home if it’s completely destroyed, I can’t help but smile. “If you don’t want to go there, we can always go somewhere else,” he quickly adds, seeing my obviously insincere grin.
“No, Luke. Let’s go home.” I then place the map on the dashboard so that I can see it while driving and pull away from the curve to speed off into the night and towards home, or whatever’s left of it.

More added.

“This place is really nice,” I murmur appreciatively as I sit down on the huge feather bed and let myself fall backwards to end up staring at the ceiling. The fact that I’m not in my wedding dress anymore – Luke is currently changing out of his tuxedo in the small bathroom – really helps with the niceness of the place.
The small house Luke managed to rent for the night is a relic of the past, one of the very few buildings still standing from our time. I was shocked that Luke originally thought I wouldn’t like it, because it was too small or too old or something like that, when in reality I love it, because it makes this barren, alien plain seem more like the Elizabeth I knew.
“Hey,” a voice from behind me calls, and I turn my head to see Luke, now dressed in a T-shirt and basketball shorts, walking towards me with a smile on his face.
I happen to be wearing the exact same thing, except my shorts and T-shirt are a little shorter and I’m wearing Spandex underneath shorts, so, as he approaches me, I scoot over to give him room to sit down and tell him with a smile, “Nice outfit.”
“Thanks,” he replies, his grin getting bigger. He looks me over for a fraction of a second before adding, “Yours is pretty nice too.”
I answer with my smile growing to stretch from ear to ear, and I lean into him and sigh when he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to him. I can tell that Luke likes this reply, because his grip on me tightens.
However, he doesn’t say anything, and a few moments pass in an awkward silence before I finally have the nerve to pipe up and ask, “Well, what do we do now?”
“Well,” Luke begins, and he moves his free hand to gently rest it on my thigh, not high enough that I would consider it offensive but definitely high enough for it to be suggestive, “it is our honeymoon.”
“Luke, no,” I quickly reply, more surprised than angry that he would even think of suggesting something like that, and he removes his hand like he’s been shocked.
“I know,” he murmurs quietly, and a sad smile flits across his face for a moment. “I just thought I might as well try.” He then removes his arm from around my waist and looks at me expectantly, as though he thinks I want to get away from him now.
However, I don’t want to get away from him, so I manually place his arm around my waist again, and tell him with a smile, “Luke, just because I don’t want to sleep with you doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be around you.”
“I just thought...” Luke begins, and I surprise us both by raising a finger to his lips to quiet him. Then, before the logical side of my mind can take over again and I can deter myself, I lean up to kiss him.
As soon as my lips have touched his, that hunger, more uncontrollable and insatiable than ever, takes me over, and I find my fingers locking themselves in his hair as he crushes me to him and kisses me back. I close my eyes, wanting to completely enjoy the moment and not let what I see distract me, so I’m incredibly startled when I pull back for a millisecond to get a breath, and lean back forward to find that he’s not there anymore.
My eyes immediately pop open, and I find him staring at me with a small, sad smile on his face. As I realize that we’re probably not going to kiss again anytime soon, I gently untangle my fingers from his hair, and he catches my hands in his as I bring them back down.
“Lizzie, I don’t want to do this,” Luke tells me, his eyes locked on mine, and immediately backtracks to say, “Actually, there’s nothing in the world I want to do more, but I’m afraid I’ll lose control, and I won’t be able to stop no matter what you say.”
In the back of my mind, I idly think that that really doesn’t matter, as I could easily throw him off of me using my powers of controlling air. When I get incredibly angry, frantic or emotional, those powers show themselves in their full extents and I don’t even have to control them, so I think that, if worst came to worst and Luke really couldn’t stop himself, I would be able to throw him off of me or get out from under him very easily.
Of course, it’s not like I can tell Luke that, so I instead stare deep into his eyes and tell him sincerely, “Luke, I trust you.”
“Lizzie, I don’t trust myself, and I don’t want to risk it,” Luke says with a tone of finality. “I’m sorry,” he adds after a few moments, and I shake my head as I smile insincerely. He really is a fan of apologizing for everything, isn’t he?
“Luke, what do you have to be sorry for?” I ask him, and he stares at me blankly for a half a second before I continue. “You’re stopping me – and yourself – from doing something that could potentially have negative side effects or a negative outcome, and that’s nothing to be sorry for. That’s just having a sense of self-preservation.”
“I guess so,” he replies quietly, his head hung low in defeat, and a few moments pass in an awkward silence. Finally Luke pipes up and says, looking over at me with an almost frightening amount of intensity in his eyes and in his voice, “Lizzie, I want to try something.”
He then leans over and gently kisses me on the lips, but I can feel the reservation. He clearly is going to test his boundaries to see what he can do. As I kiss him back and don’t get nearly the reaction I usually do, I idly wonder how he’s going to know when he’s supposed to stop if he loses control at any point of this.
After a few long, blissful seconds, he pulls back to murmur, “I can do that, no problem, but I really, really, really want to do more.”
“So do more,” I tell him, my resolve on not my decision to not get physically intimate with him wavering some. After all, we’re both going to be dead soon, so why does it matter what we do now? It could just be part of going out in style.
“Luke, I trust you,” I say again, my voice quieter and more intense now, and I’m the one who leans forward and kisses him this time.
Luke, much to my satisfaction, isn’t reserved at all this time, and I soon find myself flat on my back, my fingers locked in his hair again, with him on top of me and his arms wrapped tightly around me. I pull back for a moment, as I need to breathe, to have him groan in exasperation, annoyance and anger and roll off of me to lay next to me with a stormy expression on his face.
“I can’t do it, Lizzie,” he says quietly, his tone almost angry as he stares at the white ceiling above us. He then rolls over slightly so that he’s facing me, and tells me, his voice even quieter and more intense now, “I can’t resist you.”
“Then don’t,” I reply, and pull his face to mine to kiss him again. However, he immediately yanks away, and manually removes my hands from the back of his neck.
“Lizzie, no,” he tells me, his voice much firmer now, and, with a sigh, sits up to slide off the bed and stand over me. “I won’t take advantage of your desperation, no matter how much I want to.”
“But Luke,” I begin, sitting up myself, “I’m not desperate. Well,” I concede, when I see the incredibly skeptical and doubting look on his face, “this decision isn’t affected by my desperation. This is-”
“Lizzie, that’s BS,” Luke interrupts. “Every decision you make, whether you realize it or not, is affected by your desperation and the knowledge that you probably won’t be alive in two weeks. I know that as well as anyone – better than you, it seems – so you can’t sit there and tell me that this is a completely rational decision when I don’t think there is such a thing as a rational decision, when you’re in the situation we’re in.”
“Damn it, why do you have to so honorable?” I grumble, and a small, almost bitter smile flits across Luke’s face.
“Lizzie, you have no idea how much I don’t want to be honorable, and how much I want to take advantage of your desperation-” – Luke sees that I’ve opened my mouth to interrupt and keeps on talking – “but I can’t, because my honor and moral code won’t let me. It would just be... wrong, and I don’t think I could live with myself afterwards.”
“Fine,” I say, making a huge show out of sighing. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t actually think that Luke would, considering his previous reactions to similar events, but I thought it was worth a shot. After all, what does it matter what I do now? I’m going to be dead soon anyways, so I can basically do whatever I want, as part of going out in style.
Hell, I might be dead even sooner, since I have no plans of actually cooperating with the Triple Crown committee and shutting up, so they might get rid of me to quiet me and help push the Sections away from the edge of rebellion. They’re fighting a losing battle there, since the Sections have already taken the conscious decision and the leap towards rebellion and nothing is going to calm their desperation now, but I guess the Triple Crown committee could think that they might do some good by getting rid of the Sections’ spark.
I don’t care what they do or when I die, as I’m going to die no matter how it ends, as long as I get the chance to be the spark and the martyr the Sections so desperately want before I die. After all, the whole point of embarking on this quest of martyrdom is to end up dead but a martyr, so it would be a shame if I didn’t even get the be the martyr I’m striving for.
“Lizzie,” Luke murmurs, pulling me out of the world of my thoughts, and I turn to look at him curiously. “Just because I don’t want to sleep with you doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be around you. In fact, I want more than anything to be around you.”
Smiling slightly at his exact quotation of my previously-said words – which I have done a complete 180 on in the last few minutes – I scoot over to give him room to sit or lay down next to me, then rest my head on his chest to have him pull me closer to him when he does.
I look down at the lengths of our bodies, marveling at the fact that they fit so perfectly together, as if I was made for him and he was made for me, and am incredibly taken by surprise when Luke gently picks me up and sets me down on his lap.
“I decided you were’t close enough,” he whispers in my ear for an explanation, and I smile slightly. I don’t think I ever actually could be close enough for him.
“I kind of figured that,” I tell him quietly in reply, and lean back against him to sigh in pleasure when his arms lock around me and he holds me against him.
A few moments go by in this contented silence until Luke shifts slightly and murmurs, “Lizzie, I’m sorry that I did all of this and didn’t tell you about it.”
I can’t help but smile as I reply, “Don’t be. To be honest, I’m really enjoying our honeymoon so far.” I turn my head so that I can look at him and give him a smile, and he smiles back at me and tightens his grip on me.
“Yeah, I’m not really sorry about it either,” he whispers in my neck, his lips brushing my neck, and a small grin flits across my face. Of course Luke’s not sorry about it; he has everything he could possibly want. After a moment’s hesitation, he adds quietly, his voice filled with longing and emotion, “I wish I could live in this moment forever.”
“Agreed,” I respond quietly, feeling him pressing against me on every line of my body and inhaling his scent into my nose with every breath I take and listening to his voice intently every time he speaks. In the last three months that we’ve been together, he has become part of every aspect of my life: he has become the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night, and he’s just gotten inside of me.
Occasionally when I close my eyes, what I see is him, as though his image has been burned on the back of my eyelids, and sometimes, when he’s away from me, I’ll get small but definite pangs of longing that pull at my heart and make me desperately want to have him standing right next to me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lived to see him die; I guess I’d probably want to kill myself. I think I finally understand even just a fraction of how Luke feels in regards to that and why he’s so opposed to me being the spark.
In the last three months, it’s as if Luke has stormed my heart, and captured a part of it permanently. I know that I will die loving him to some extent – hell, I might even love him more than Jackson right now – but what surprises me the most about me loving him is how quickly he crept up on me. It’s only taken him three months to claim a large part, maybe even more than half, of my love for himself. I guess that just shows how good Luke is at changing me, because God knows that Jackson did never and could never accomplish something of that magnitude; after all, it took Jackson almost nine months to get me to even consider him as something more than a friend.
“Lizzie?” Luke murmurs, his voice in my ear and his lips on the back of my neck tearing me away from my thoughts.
“Luke?” I reply with the same tone, then wait expectantly for him to tell me what’s on his mind. That’s one of the many things I’ve grown to love about Luke: he isn’t very good at – nor does he try very often – to hide his feelings and thoughts, so I almost always know what he’s thinking and feeling. It makes our relationship a lot easier for me, trust me.
Jackson, however, is incredibly skilled at hiding his emotions and thoughts, and I can’t read his mind either because he’s also very good at blocking that off, so my relationship with him is a lot harder than my relationship with Luke. Of course, my relationship with Jackson would be harder, even without that, because of all the baggage and mixed feelings we both have. That, and the fact that neither one of us really knows if we honestly love the other person.
With Luke, that’s not an issue at all; in fact, it’s almost an issue for me that I know he loves me as much as he does, because I feel terrible for not returning that love. Luke tells me every day, at least five times a day, that he loves me, and invariably there’s the word ‘always’ in his professions of love. If it were any other seventeen-year-old boy telling me that they will love me always, I would laugh, but I know for a fact that Luke actually does and will love me always.
It’s almost like Luke is far beyond his years emotionally; to be honest, it seems like he loves me with the same intensity that my parents, who have been together for fifteen hundred years, love each other. Seeing how much he truy loves me and discovering how much he’s willing to give me without any hope of it being returned is almost alarming; after all, knowing that he would give me everything – he’s already given me almost everything, his heart, soul and life included – if I wanted him to is slightly frightening. I don’t want to have that kind of power over him, because, like I told Kuro, I don’t want to rule or own anyone, but it looks like Luke isn’t going to give me a choice in the matter.
“You know I love you with all of my heart, right?” he whispers in my ear, and immediately warning bells sound in my head. Luke doesn’t adopt a tone like that or say something like that unless he’s about to unleash potentially devastating news on me and is afraid of my response. If it truly is devastating – as in, Abby is dead or Jackson went on a killing spree and eventually got himself killed – Luke actually does have a reason to fear my response.
“It’s not like you don’t tell me that five to ten times a day,” I reply, trying and failing miserably to bring some humor into the depressing air that has taken over our conversation.
“Lizzie, I haven’t been completely honest with you,” Luke begins, and immediately my heart sinks. I’m almost afraid of what could be so bad as to make Luke, who tells me everything, want to keep it from me.
“What haven’t you been honest about?” I ask tactfully, hoping to get a direct and not drawn-out answer. After all, there’s nothing I like less than having to have a whole five-minute conversation with someone to get a piece of information I could have gotten out of that person with one simple, blunt question. It’s just not a very effective interrogation tactic, and, when you have to question a large amount of people in a short amount of time – like I did when I was an assassin and gathering information for missions – it just can’t be used because it’s too time-consuming.
“Lizzie, while I’m not going to try to stop you from being with him or whatever,” Luke begins, and I can instantly tell – much to my dismay – that it’s something about Jackson, “but I feel like I should let you know that I get insanely jealous when I see you with Jackson.”
I almost laugh out loud at Luke’s annoucement, as he didn’t have to make a grand show out of telling me that for me to know it. The look in his eyes every time I’m with Jackson when I’m around him is a declaration all its own.
However, in order to not offend him and humor him, I stifle my laughter and tell him, my tone just as serious as his, “Luke, I know that, but I’m afraid I can’t stop seeing Jackson. I...” Here I pause, not knowing what to say about Jackson’s and my relationship. “I need him, Luke,” I finally finish, and I know that my words are true.
I really do need Jackson; he’s been such a major part of my life for the last almost year now – the last three months especially – that I honestly don’t think I could stop seeing him without going into incredibly painful withdrawals. It’s almost like I’m addicted to him, and I need him to be there to get me through the day. Of course, I feel the same way about Luke – I know I couldn’t quit him cold-turkey either – but the situation that I’m in actually isn’t that uncommon for an immortal.
We tend, much more than regular humans, to latch onto and get addicted to people instead of substances, which is almost cruel when those people happen to mortal. I guess it’s a good thing that Luke and I will be dying soon so I don’t have to experience time cutting me off from my opiate that is him after sixty or seventy years.
“I know,” Luke replies quietly, nodding his head slightly in understanding. “It’s almost like he’s your drug, isn’t it?” he questions, and I look up at him in surprise. He’s a mortal, so how on earth does he know what it’s like to be addicted to someone? However, I don’t get a chance to vocalize my question, because Luke continues, his voice filled with intensity and passion, “Lizzie, sometimes, when you’re not around or even right next to me, I get filled with such a powerful desire for you that I can’t even breathe for a few seconds, and I get incredibly edgy until I see you again. My mood goes down the second you leave the room, and it’s almost like I have withdrawals from you if I can’t reach out and touch you and hold you.” After a moment of silence, he adds quietly, “It’s almost scary to think what I would do if you died.”
“I try not to think about what I would if Jackson died,” I murmur quietly, for once allowing my mind to wander in that direction. If Jackson were gone, and my supply of morphine completely dried up, the first thing I would do, no questions asked, would be to track down Jackson’s killers and make them pay for what they did. I don’t know what I’d do after that though; maybe I’d spend the rest of my life trying to forget him, or maybe even trying to join him.
“I think you’d react in a similar way to what I would if I lost you,” Luke says quietly, and I nod my head in agreement. “After all, the feelings are the same, even if they are to different levels, and I’d think that they’d trigger relatively similar responses.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and am suddenly seized by a desire to stop talking about what would happen if we saw our loved ones die. “Luke, I want to talk about or do something happy,” I tell him, and, before he can respond, I turn to face him, wrap my arms around the back of his neck, and kiss him passionately.
After a few long, blissful moments, I pull back to leave a very stunned Luke sitting there with a pleased look on his face, and turn myself back around to curl up against him and rest my head on his chest. I then reach over and turn the lamp illuminating the room off, and whisper into the darkness, “Goodnight Luke.”
“Goodnight, Missus Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Gates,” he murmurs in reply, and I fall asleep as soon as the last word is out of his mouth.

Sunlight invades my eyes, and I blink once or twice to allow my eyes time to adjust. As I stare at the white ceiling for a few moments, I suddenly realize that there’s someone next to me, and I roll over to find Jackson sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at me with a small smile on his face.
“Good morning,” he tells me softly, then finds one of my hands with his own and gives it a reassuring squeeze. However, that gesture does nothing to do the alarm that I’m feeling at him being here and not Luke, and I immediately straight up to regard him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s just that... oh, right, I don’t trust him, or at least I don’t trust the person he is when he loses control.
“How long have you been here?” I ask him in reply, almost shocked and slightly disconcerted that Luke would let him into our bedroom on our honeymoon. Of course, there’s always the possibility that Luke didn’t let Jackson in and Jackson let himself in, but I’d rather not think about that.
“Since three in the morning,” he answers with a smile, and gently removes his hand from my own to raise it to my face and gently stroke my cheek. “It was amazing, seeing you so peaceful in his arms,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. “You never were that peaceful when you were with me, awake or asleep.”
“Jackson,” I begin, but he bulldozes right past me as if I hadn’t said anything at all.
“I guess I can’t really blame you though; Gates is a lot calmer and a whole hell of a lot more peaceful than I am.” Jackson’s mouth twists into a bitter smile, and I feel like crying. He has to make everything so hard on me, doesn’t he? However, Jackson isn’t even done yet, because he continues, “Lizzie, I have never known a day of peace in my life, and neither have you, but I would gladly drop everything and try my best to be peaceful for you.” His gaze is glued on mine, and I can see the pleading look in his eyes.
However, I don’t let pity for him win out this time, and shoot back harshly, “Jackson, don’t you get it? You’ve lost; I’m Luke’s, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
“Lizzie,” Jackson begins, surprisingly not angry at all, with an even tone to his voice, “I haven’t lost yet, because I still take up a part of your heart. Just because you’re married to him doesn’t mean that you’re his, if you don’t feel that way in your heart, and I know you don’t. Lizzie, as long as I have that precious part of your heart, I will fight with all of my being to keep it, and even to take up more of your heart, if you’re willing to give it to me. As long as you give me even just the slightest chance that you might choose me in the end – in other words, as long as you give me something to fight for – I will fight until you are truly his or you are truly mine.”
“Jackson,” I begin, to immediately freeze. Since he’s right and there’s nothing I can say that will convince either one of us that he isn’t, there isn’t really anything I can say at all. I mean, how do you argue an issue you know you’re going to lose? After a few long moments, I finally look over at him and tell him, my eyes locked on his, “You know there’s a chance that you could lose me completely, right?”
“Lizzie, there was that possibility from the moment you set foot in this dimension,” he says softly, and I can’t help but lower my head slightly in admittance. “At least I won’t have completely lost you – as in you won’t be dead – if you choose Gates, and it would be a lot easier for me to live with you belonging to him than you belonging to the afterlife.”
“Yeah, I guess it would be,” I agree quietly, and a small smile curves Jackson’s lips.
He tells me, his grin insincere as he looks over at me, “However, you seem to be determined to leave me with nothing, and die as well as choose Luke.” His eyes are cold and hard and bitter as he stares over at me, his smile not even coming close to touching and melting them.
“Jackson,” I start, my eyes locked on his, “you know I don’t want this, that I don’t want to be married and seventeen or the spark who’s going to be inevitably consumed and destroyed, but you also know that I feel it’s my duty to be the Sections’ martyr, now that they’ve chosen me to be their martyr.”
“And you also know that I think – well, I know – you don’t owe these people anything. The only person you owe anything to is yourself, and you owe yourself the possibility to keep on living. You owe yourself a sense of self-preservation, Lizzie.”
“I guess it’s too bad that I don’t have one then,” I answer icily, and rise to my feet, intending to leave the room. I don’t want to be in Jackson’s company any more, if he’s going to insist on bringing the Triple Crown into every conversation and making it so that we can’t even pretend like everything’s like it used to be.
“Lizzie, it’s in your best interests – hell, it’s in my and Luke’s and everyone who cares about you’s best interests – for you get one really soon,” Jackson tells me, his voice pleading, and I turn my head to see him giving me the most begging voice he can muster.
However, like all of his other pleas for me to save myself, it doesn’t do anything to change my mind, and I tell him, “Jackson, it’s too late. I’ve already lit myself on fire.”

More added.

“In two days we’re slated to die,” I murmur quietly as I stare up at the moonlight ceiling, my eyes searching the empty whiteness for answers to my own emptiness. It’s been a week since I last talked to Jackson and finally set it in his head that I’m going to die, and, while I miss him terribly, I know it’s best for us to both get our distance. It won’t do either one of us any good to interact and make this even harder on him and me.
“And there won’t be any coming back this time,” Luke whispers quietly, and I can feel his gaze on the side of my face. I can tell that he’s worried about me – I mean, when hasn’t he been worried about me? – but his worrying is pointless, since there’s nothing he can do about it except wait for us to die.
“It would have been kinder for the Triple Crown committee to not have revived the other champions. After all, who wants to live just to die again?” I reply quietly, and see Luke nod his head in agreement out of the corner of my eye.
A few moments go by in silence, until Luke finally pipes up and asks aloud the question that’s plagued both of our minds, “What are we going to do?”
“Well,” I begin, sucking in a deep breath, “you already know that I’m not going to pick you to be my partner – Abby needs me more than you do – but I guess you and your partner and Abby and I can still team up and work together.” I leave out the part about how, because Luke and I aren’t going to be on the same team, one of us will have to die, since I don’t think the Triple Crown committee is fond enough of us to let us both live a third time.
In fact, they might purposely kill me off just to try to do some damage control of their own, but I don’t want to bring that up right now. Hell, I don’t want to ever bring it up, and keep on trying to run from the truth as long as I can, but eventually the truth will catch up to me in the form of an arrow to the heart or a knife to the throat.
“Yeah, that will work.” Luke’s reply is just as feeble as my answer to his question, but hollowly dodging the truth is about the best both of us can do right now. I mean, it’s better than actually facing the truth.
A few more seconds go by in the depressed, sad silence that has become just as large a part of our conversations as actual words, and I sigh deeply. Even though I honestly don’t want to be the spark and I honestly don’t want to die so early in life and I honestly don’t want to leave my family behind and I honestly don’t want to be the Sections’ martyr, I also know in my heart that it’s my duty now, and I can’t turn my back on the Sections. The time for cowardice is past – well, there really isn’t a time for cowardice, but this sure as hell is one of the worst times for it – and it’s time to fulfill the destiny the Sections have put upon me and truly go up in flames like the spark I am.
“Lizzie, this isn’t the only option,” Luke says, and the bed moves slightly as he rolls over to face me directly. He then gently rolls me over to face him, and stares me directly in the eye. “You don’t have to die, you know.”
“Yes, I do,” I reply quietly, my mouth hard as I stare Luke down. “It’s too late for me to get cold feet and try to save myself. The fire’s already started, Luke, and it’s too late for me to get myself out of it.” After a moment’s pause, I sigh slightly and add, “Besides, it’s not like the Triple Crown committee’s going to let me live, even if I survive the arena. I’ve become too much of a problem for them to let me go on living.” I can’t tell him the whole truth, that I saw all of this in Rush’s mind at the wedding, so I guess I’ll just have to improvise and tell half the truth. I seem to be particularly good at telling Luke half the truth by now anyways.
“Lizzie, if you do everything they want you to do and win Team Survival like you’re supposed to-” Luke begins, but I quickly interrupt him.
“That won’t make a difference, Luke!” I shoot back, angry at what he’s suggesting and almost shocked that he still thinks there’s some way for me to save myself. Of course, he probably doesn’t actually believe that there is a way to stop me from dying in front of him but is so desperate that he’ll grab at and cling to anything he thinks could help at all. “I can’t make up for everything bad I’ve done by being good for three weeks in Team Survival! I’ve dug myself into a very deep hole, Luke, and there’s no way for me to get out of it now.” I sigh, seeing his hurt expression, and add quietly, “I’m sorry, Luke. I wish there was some way for you to be unaffected by this.” I raise a hand to his face and gently caress his cheek, then lean in to kiss him lightly on the lips.
However, when I try to pull away, Luke’s hand on the back of my head stops me, and, before I can react, he’s rolled on top of me and is kissing me for all he’s worth. Apparently he thinks that, if he shows how much passion he has for me, I’ll be convinced to stay. If I was affected by his passion enough to save myself, I would have never gotten myself into this mess to begin with.
After a few long, passionate moments, during which time I’m overtaken by that hunger again, he pulls back and rolls off of me, breathing heavily.
“Lizzie, I can’t lose you,” he tells me desperately, his eyes locked on mine. “I can’t lose your smile, or your laugh, or your intelligence, or your wit, or even your cynicism, sarcasm and suicidal tendencies. You have become everything me to me, and I just can’t lose you. Please, Lizzie,” he murmurs, raising a hand to my cheek to gently caress my face. “I can’t lose you.” He then leans in and kisses me again, this time much more gently but just as passionately, and, almost regretfully, he pulls back to take a breath after a few seconds.
“Luke, I’m sorry,” I say, meaning those words more than I’ve ever meant them before, because I can see and know exactly how much me dying will kill him. However, there’s honestly nothing I can do now, as I am completely confident that the Triple Crown committee wouldn’t let me live, even if I did survive Team Survival, so, no matter how much I want to make Luke happy and erase the pain from his eyes, I can’t. I guess the only consolation to the imminent death I’m staring down is that my family and friends won’t be harmed, as I saw that in Rush’s mind too. As soon as the Triple Crown committee kills me and makes my death look like an accident, they’ll be done with the Lightnings permanently.
“Lizzie, there has to be some other way,” he murmurs, and I feel my throat close off in guilt and sadness when I see the tortured look on his face. I didn’t realize he would look this bad before I died.
“Luke, there isn’t. It’s done and over; either I die in the arena or they kill me afterwards and cover up my death, and you and my family and friends all get to survive. It’s better this way, Luke,” I tell him, my voice taking on its own measure of persuasion and desperation. “No one else has to die this way.”
“No one but the most amazing person to have ever walked this planet,” Luke whispers, his gaze locked on mine, but not even the hardness and determination in his expression can hide the tears welling up and threatening to overflow from his eyes.
“Luke,” I start, tears beginning to well up in my eyes at seeing him so close to crying, but he gives me no time to speak and instead cuts me off.
“Lizzie, you are my everything,” he murmurs fiercely, not taking his gaze away from mine, even as one tear trickles agonizingly slowly down his cheek. I resist the urge to raise a hand and wipe it away, and instead continue to meet his eyes. “If I lose you, I will have nothing left, except for my life, and what good is a life if I have no heart or soul to go along with it?”
“Luke,” I begin again, but don’t get any farther this time than I did last time. I guess Luke is incredibly determined not to hear me out.
“I would die a thousand agonizing deaths – hell, even a million or a trillion or however many I needed to – just to keep you safe and sound and not break my promise of always, Lizzie.” His ice-blue eyes, made even clearer by his tears, are locked onto mine and staring directly into my soul, and, even though his x-raying scan of me makes me rather uncomfortable, I don’t tear my gaze away, because I owe it to him to at least hear him out. “But here you are, determined to make me break that promise and not give me any choice in the matter, and I can’t help but wonder if there is something different I could have done, something else I could have said that would have convinced you to not be the spark and would result in us being alive in a month. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault, somehow, because I wasn’t devoted enough or didn’t make you feel loved enough to stay.” His voice cracks with emotion, but he doesn’t look away, and I do him the courtesy of not looking away either. “I hate to think that this was ever the only option, that it was your destiny to die and take my heart and soul with you. Lizzie, there has to have been some other way, some alternate option at one point or another that didn’t end in your and my deaths, and I can’t help but feel that I could have done something differently to make that other way happen.”
“Luke, this has nothing to do with you,” I tell him, not surprised but still hurt and touched by the fact that he is trying to take the blame for something that he couldn’t have done anything about. He’s very insistent on covering my ass when I make terrible decisions, that’s for sure. “If this decision was based off of the amount and devotion you’ve shown me, or even just slightly influenced by the love and devotion you’ve shown me, then I wouldn’t have made this decision at all. You’ve given me so much more love and compassion and understanding that I could ever deserve, especially considering the nothing I’ve given you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I finish, “Luke, this has nothing to do with you, and there’s nothing you could have ever done that would’ve made a difference or even swayed me slightly. This stupidity of mine is all on me; you’re not even a negligible part of the equation.” I give him a tiny smile, hoping to have convinced him to stop beating himself up over the dumb decisions I’ve made that he truly couldn’t have done anything about.
However, it doesn’t work at all, because he immediately replies, “Lizzie, it still feels like I’m breaking my promise to you but not being able to stop you from doing this.”
“Luke,” I begin quietly, raising my hand to gently touch the side of his face again, “you can’t save me from myself, no matter how much you want to or think that you should be able to.” Luke and Jackson are rather alike in the aspect that they both want to take the responsibility for my stupid, life-threatening decisions, I think idly.
“I know, Lizzie,” Luke begins quietly, shaking his head slightly, “but I can’t help but feel like I should, like I’m responsible for you on some level.”
“Luke,” I start, a bitter smile flickering across my face for a moment, “if you want to take responsibility for me, you’re going to have a lot of disasters and bodies to cover for.”
“You didn’t kill and destroy by choice though, Lizzie; you were compelled to do so to save your family. And, you know, I don’t think you really chose to be the spark either,” Luke says quietly, and I’m confused. What does he mean, I didn’t choose to be the spark? Of course I chose to be the spark; even though Mitchell – and then the Sections – pressured me to be the spark, I still could have denied their wishes and not been the spark. “I think you were somewhat pressured into it, but, above all, I think you were compelled by something in you that you can’t control,” Luke tells me, and I meet his gaze almost warily. How can he know that, when the thought hadn’t even occured to me up until now? “Something inside of you – your honor or your feeling of duty maybe – drives you to help other people, even if you hurt yourself by doing so. It seems like your sense of self-preservation has been destroyed by the thing that drives you-”
“Or that I never had one to begin with,” I finish quietly, thinking of what Jackson said to me a week ago, and a wan half-smile flits across Luke’s face for a moment.
“Yeah, something like that,” he agrees. A moment passes in silence before he continues, “Whatever the reason is, all care for yourself and all of your natural instincts to avoid danger and pain and hardship are completely overridden when an opportunity to help others appears. It’s almost as if the thing that drives you to do all of this is instinctual, and a very powerful instinct at that, because I’ve never seen anything like this want of yours to be a martyr. It defies all logic, all natural human instincts, and it puzzles and frightens me, to be perfectly honest.”
After another pause, this one far more uncomfortable than the last, he continues, “I think that, if you thought you owed anyone anything, you would never feel like you had fully repaid them, no matter how small the thing you thought you owed them was. After all, you’re going through all of this because you think you owe the people of the Sections something, and because you want to help them. I guess one could say that you’re a very... determined supporter of democracy,” Luke finishes with a small smile, and I can’t help but think that he’s hit it right on the nose.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” I agree absentmindedly, giving him my best smile as my mind wanders and picks at everything that he’s said.
It almost alarms me that he’s able to tell that I’m driven by something neither one of us can identify before I can; it’s like he knows me better than I know myself. Of course, he very well could, as half of the time I think idly that I can understand everyone’s mind but my own.
However, it still scares me that he can tell I’m pushed forward to these desperate measures by something unknown but powerful enough to override my instincts when even I can’t, because I don’t want him to understand me. When there are so many scary things you have to face when you try to, you don’t even want to understand yourself.
Suddenly a conversation my mom and I had about two years ago floats to the surface of my mind that I had never thought much of until now, and I let myself flash back.
“Mom, is it normal for me to want to save everyone but myself?” I ask her, and she looks up from the magazine she’s reading to meet my eyes calculatingly. Her perfect long light-brown hair frames her face regally, and her intelligent, twinkling golden eyes that I was fortunate enough to inherit stare deep into my own.
“Yes, actually, it is,” she answers after a moment, then sets down the magazine and motions for me to come and sit next to her.
When I’m seated and looking over at her expectantly, she elaborates, “Lizzie, as immortals, we lack or have less of certain instincts than humans. One of those happens to be the sense of self-preservation, or us before them.” After a second’s pause, she continues, “Because we cannot die, we internally lack the fear of death that mortals do, so we don’t care as much for our own safety as perhaps we should.”
I enter her mind cautiously for a moment to see her thinking about when she and my dad found Gwillan and Gruffen, the dragon brothers they had been friends with for almost five hundred years and then had fallen out of contact with for five hundred years – not my brothers – dead. The most ironic part is that the dragons had been killed by their own carelessness: they had allowed themselves to be seen in their dragon forms by humans and had then been hunted down and killed.
“Anyways,” she starts again, shaking her head slightly, as if to clear the disturbing image from her mind, “because we don’t care for own safety, we are far more invested in the safety of the people around us than humans are. It’s almost ironic: we care more for the humans than they care for each other.” Her mouth twists into a slightly bitter smile for a moment, as we have always been hated by humans simply because we’re different and more powerful than they are, before she continues. “Well, I believe that answers your question; is there anything else you would like to know?” Instead of waiting for me to say anything, she simply enters my mind to see if there is anything else, and, when she finds nothing, quickly exits.
Rising to my feet, I give her a smile and say, “Thanks Mom,” before turning and leaving for the solitude of my room. After all, having everyone in your mind at the same time can be very annoying and almost maddening.
“Well, I guess that solves it,” I say quietly, shaking my head slightly at my own stupidity. How could I have not thought of that conversation before now, especially considering that it was a very important conversation?
“What?” Luke asks me, and I turn my head to look at him in surprise. When I delved into my memories, I completely forgot he’s here with me.
However, I quickly recover from my surprise to answer, “I just remembered a conversation I had with my mom a while ago that kind of explains why I’m driven to help everyone around me by putting myself in danger.”
“And why are you driven to mortal peril to help everyone around you?” Luke meets my gaze, and I can see the disapproval in his eyes. No matter what my answer is, he won’t like it. I can’t say I really blame him though; no matter what reason I give, it undoubtedly still looks like suicide to him.
“I don’t fear death,” I answer simply, shrugging my shoulders. It’s true, although my answer, without the knowledge that I can’t die, makes me seem far more noble than I actually am. “Therefore I’m not limited by that fear and can do so much more than people who do fear death.”
“So basically you care nothing for your mortality, right?” Luke questions, his tone dubious, and I shake my head. In truth, I respect and want mortality more than anything else on this planet, and I would give up everything I have for the chance to be mortal.
Of course, Luke can’t and won’t ever know that, so, even though it kills me to be lying so blatantly, I immediately backtrack from the shake of my head and tell Luke hollowly, “Yeah, I guess I don’t.”
“I still don’t understand why you don’t fear death though. I mean, death is the final ending, the way to leave this world, and there’s no coming back once you die, so why do you not fear or at least not want to go?” Luke meets my gaze curiously, his ice-blue eyes locked on mine, and I shrug my shoulders again.
“Death just doesn’t seem that bad to me,” I reply truthfully. “After all, it is the final escape, if this world gets so terrible that life isn’t worth it. Besides,” I add, “what if it’s not the end? What if it’s just a beginning?” After a moment of silence, I continue, “I’d like to think that dying is like having a door opened, and that there are so many more things you can do after you die when you don’t have a body to limit you.”
“Where do you think you go when you die?” Luke asks me quietly, and I shrug again.
“I don’t know,” I respond just as softly. “I mean, I hope it’s not just a lonely expanse of whiteness that you have to sit in for forever, and I don’t think it’s the whole heaven-and-angels-and-huge-gold-gates thing either, but I honestly have no idea.” A second goes by in silence, and I add with a wan half-smile, “I guess we’ll find out pretty soon.”
“Yeah, I guess we will,” Luke agrees ruefully, and a long expanse of time passes in between us with neither one of us speaking. The silence feels like it could go on forever, perhaps in the way everything is silent forever after you die, but Luke will have nothing of that, and pipes up to say, “You lacking a fear of death still doesn’t explain why you care about helping othr people so much. I mean, you could be the most fearless person in the world – you could be invincible even,” Luke adds, and I can’t help but think about Kuro, with him essentially being a god, “and not want to help people, so there’s something more to it, I think. There’s something else inside of you, something even more powerful than your disregard for mortality, that drives you to use that disregard to help others, and I don’t know what that is.” Luke meets my gaze calculatingly, and I think idly that he really is getting good – almost as good as I am – at x-raying people.
“I guess...” I begin, rolling onto my back to stare up at the ceiling and purse my lips in thought, “I guess I just care about other people, maybe even more than I care about myself, and I think that it’s right, that it’s my duty almost, to help someone if I can.” I shrug again, then roll back over to meet Luke’s gaze again.
“You are the ultimate public servant, Lizzie,” he tells me quietly, his eyes locked on mine as a small smile curls his lips. “You would give everything you have to help people you’ve never even met, and that nobility kind of stuns me, to be perfectly honest.”
“Well,” I start, “everyone has to be something in life, and I guess I’m the martyr.”
“Yeah, I guess you are,” Luke agrees with a small smile, and shakes his head. Turning to look back at me, he meets my gaze and says, his voice full of emotion, “It’s almost unfair though. Couldn’t you wait a couple years to be the martyr?”
“Sorry Luke, I don’t really have a choice in the matter anymore,” I tell him, and it kills me to see the pain tainting his expression and know that I have singlehandedly become the sole cause of that pain.
“I know,” he says, pursing his lips and nodding his head slightly. “It still seems unfair though, for the world to lose such an amazing person as you so early in your life. I mean,” he continues, “you haven’t even reached your full potential yet, and you haven’t done all of the good that I know you can and would if you were allowed to live longer, and you haven’t made the huge impact in our dimension that I know you would.”
“Luke,” I begin gently, looking him directly in the eye, “what if this is the greatest good I can do?” When he doesn’t answer, I continue, “What if helping the Sections by dying for them is my ultimate purpose in life?”
After a long moment of silence, he answers, “Life is definitely unfair then, if that’s the case. I mean, that means that you were born to die, and that’s terrible. You must have a greater purpose than that!”
“Well, what if I don’t?” I ask. Even though I’m just as disturbed by the possibility that my purpose in life could be to die as Luke is, I know that there’s no point in getting mad about it because there’s nothing I can do about it. “What if my whole purpose in life is just to die? To be honest,” I quickly add, as I see Luke open his mouth to interrupt, “I don’t think living to die is such a bad thing, if I get to make such a difference by dying. I mean, I think I’m going to make more of a difference in more peoples’ lives by dying at seventeen than I could in a hundred years of life.”
“Lizzie, that’s not true!” Luke shoots back, his tone angry and indignant now. “You are one of the most amazing people to ever walk this planet, and you’re selling yourself short if you honestly think that you could make more of a difference by dying than by living. Do you have any idea how many people you could and would save in a hundred years, no matter what you choose to do?” When I don’t answer, due to not having a good answer or rebuttal, Luke continues, “Lizzie, I’ve told you this so many times before, but I guess it still hasn’t stuck: you are worth so much more alive than dead.”
“What if all I can do when I’m alive is kill people, Luke?” I burst out, my guilt and self-loathing finally getting the best of me. “Am I really worth more alive than dead if all I can do is harm people around me?”
“Lizzie, you can do so much more than kill people!” Luke tells me emphatically, meeting my gaze and not allowing me to look away.
“Oh yeah?” I question, staring him down. “Like what? Give me one viable example of something else I can do besides destroy.”
“You can love,” he answers immediately, and my heart sinks slightly, because I know he’s right. “You’ve made so many people happy and helped so many people – hell, you’ve made my whole life worth it – by loving, so there’s all the proof you need.”
“But,” I start to protest, to be immediately cut off by Luke.
“No buts, Lizzie,” he says firmly. “As long as you can love, you’re definitely worth more alive than dead. After all,” he adds with a smile, “it’d be unfair to all of the people you might love in the future to die now and not let them know what it’s like to be loved by the amazing Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning.”
A few moments go by in silence, with me still trying to absorb everything Luke just said and formulate a response to it. His devotion to and adoration for me unsettles me greatly, and I don’t know how to or even want to reply to his comments, so I finally roll over onto my stomach, bury my head in my pillow and grumble, “Fine, you’ve won this one.” I then lift my head up to look him directly in the eye and tell him, a small smirk on my face, “Don’t expect to win any other ones though.”
“Lizzie, I didn’t win this one,” he replies with a smile of his own. “You won this one against yourself.” He then rolls over onto his side, wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, kisses me gently on the forehead and murmurs, “Good night, Lizzie,” before falling asleep and taking me with him.

More added.

I look around at the buzzing crowd of at least ten thousand and can’t help but roll my eyes. This many people honestly paid ten thousand dollars to come to the Team Survival team-selection ceremony?
“This is fucking crazy,” I mutter under my breath, scowling at one El Nieve boy who gives me a more-than-interested look as he passes by, despite the fact that Luke is standing right next to me with his arm around me and I’m flagrantly displaying my wedding ring.
“You’re telling me,” Luke murmurs back, his arm around my waist. “I guess it shows how much of these people’s lives revolve around the Triple Crown.” Ten thousand dollars in El Nieve money is the amount that an upper-middle-class working person makes in a year, and there aren’t that many people with ten thousand dollars to spare in the city, so most of the people here coughed up the money to get in by shorting themselves and their families on other, more important things. It makes me shudder to think that the people in front of me would give up their food, water, clothes and home just to come to a Triple Crown ceremony.
“It’s sad that they don’t have lives at all then,” I whisper back, and a wan half-smile crosses Luke’s face. Despite the fact that we both hate the El Nieveans for being so blind and giving up their individuality for the Triple Crown, neither one of us think that it’s right that they are willing to give up a year’s salary just for a few hours of entertainment.
“I feel bad for them,” Luke says quietly as he looks around at the huge crowd surrounding us. “Almost.”
I can’t help but smile slightly and nod my head in agreement, and am about to vocalize this agreement when Puck, looking absolutely verdant in a brilliant emerald suit, walks out from behind the huge red curtains onto the stage in the middle of the room. I immediately fall silent, as I know that it must be time for the ceremony to start, and wait patiently during the incredibly loud applause he receives.
After the room has quieted down, he picks up the microphone from its stand in the middle of the stage, clears his throat and booms, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Triple Crown Team Survival team selection ceremony!”
That’s the cue for Luke and me – as well as the other champions – to make our way to the stage, and I give Abby, in a brilliant blue dress that perfectly matches her eyes, a smile as I pass her. She, along with everyone else in the room except for Luke, couldn’t expect what’s going to be the outcome of this ceremony.
Once all of us champions are seated in the thirty-two identical chairs on the stage, with Luke and me occupying the first two because we won Hand-to-Hand and One-Person, and the audience has quieted down again, Puck turns to Luke and me and says, “Mr. and Mrs. Gates-” – I can’t help but cringe internally at the Mrs. Gates part – “-as you won Hand-to-Hand Combat and One-Person Survival, one of you will pick first. Please decide among yourselves which one that will be.”
Even Puck, who can get enthusiastic about anything partially related to the Triple Crown, considers this part of the ceremony to be a formality, as clearly he thinks that whoever one of us picks will choose the other. I wonder if he’ll have a heart attack after hearing who I’m actually going to choose.
“Lizzie, you pick,” Luke tells immediately, then gestures for me to go to the microphone. I can tell that he isn’t exactly thrilled about who I’m choosing, as I know that he would much prefer to be on my team so that he can try to keep me safe, but he’s also smart enough and respects where I’m coming from enough to not try to discourage me.
“Thank you,” I tell him with a smile, and rise to my feet agilely, for once not having to worry about what my outfit’s doing. I requested that both Luke and I just wear T-shirts and basketball shorts, so we are, and I personally think I made a very good decision in doing so. While everyone around us is sweating buckets in the ninety-degree heat, we’re relatively comfortable, or at least not soaked in our own sweat.
When I take the microphone from Puck, I notice that, despite the fact that the whole room is silent, it’s a bored silence, not an excited silence. The boredom is evident in the faces of the people I look at, and I can tell that they just want me to get it over with so they can get onto the more interesting picks to be made. I can’t help but think idly that they’re not going to be bored for much longer, and this is most likely going to be the most interesting pick of the day, maybe even in Triple Crown history
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin, my back straight and my voice clear and determined, “my partner for Team Survival will be...” I hesitate momentarily for effect, “Abigail Williams.”

The effect on the room is instantaneous. People in the audience gasp audibly, and stare at me in such shock that their eyes are in danger of popping out of their heads. I hear all of the champions except for Luke either sit up or gasp as well, and I can tell that everyone in the room is in a state of disbelief. Well, everyone except for Luke, me... and Rush.
I meet his gaze momentarily to see a small, unsurprised smile crossing his face. Somehow – I honestly think he might have cameras or microphones put in every room so he can watch and listen to me all the time – he saw this coming, and he’s probably smiling because he’s envisioning all of the ways he can torture me by trying to kill Abby in the arena.
“Mrs. Gates, are you sure you spoke correctly?” Puck asks me, his eyes also threatening to pop out of his head as he looks over at me, completely stunned.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I confirm with a smile, idly thinking that there’s no way out of this one now, and Puck seems to recover from his surprise slightly.
Tearing his eyes away from me, he turns to the champions and says, “Miss Williams, please come up to the front of the stage.”
Abby, who, up until this point, had been one of the most visibly shocked of the champions, now comes to and cautiously makes her way up to the front of the stage to stand right next to me, her eyes glued on my face the whole time. Clearly she didn’t expect this any more than the other champions did.
Giving her a smile, I gently take her hand in mine to comfort her and hear Puck announce, who’s clearly still not completely recovered from his surprise, “Ladies and gentlemen, Lizzie Gates and Abigail Williams!”
As Abby and I walk off the stage, still hand-in-hand, she leans towards me and whispers, her eyes still round with shock, “What are you doing?”
I smile down at her and, my eyes on the crowd gathering around us, murmur in reply, “Picking a partner I know I can win with.”
“But Lizzie…” Abby says, her tone that of utter disbelief, and turns to look at Luke, who is still sitting on the stage with an unsurprised, slightly amused and also slightly sad expression on his face. “Who will be Luke’s partner?”
“I don’t know,” I reply frankly, turning to look at Luke as well as the other champions still on the stage myself.
Luke would never pick Marshall as a partner; he hates Marshall too much to even consider pairing up with him. He might pick Marcus, except for the fact that Adelaide and Marcus are now dating and Luke would want them to be partners. McKenizie is off-limits too, because she’s already made it clear that she’s going to partner up with the boy from her Section – Sam Smith, I think she said his name is – which basically leaves Luke with the remaining sadistic careers or the remaining pathetic non-careers. Man, I really should have thought this out better, because I will feel terrible if Luke gets stuck with a psychopathic career or a cowardly little non-career that would as soon stab him in the back as help him.
“Mr. Gates, it is your turn to pick a partner for Team Survival,” Puck announces, pulling me away from my thoughts and spurring me – and, in turn, Abby – to walk over the chairs we’re supposed to be sitting in and watch Luke take his pick from the not-so-good field. “Please make your way to the front of the stage,” Puck commands, and Luke rises from his seat to do just that. My eyes are on him the whole time, and I can’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he looks from this angle.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Luke begins, and all eyes in the room are on him. There is a definite buzz of excitement to the room, now that I’ve been taken out of the pool of available champions, and it’s clear that everyone – myself and Abby included – want to find out who will be Luke’s partner for Team Survival.
I see a flash of orange, yellow and red in the stands and look up from Luke momentarily to find Max, his bald, tattooed head reflecting the sunlight coming through the window next to his seat. He catches my eye momentarily, and I can see that he’s not surprised at all either. I guess he figured, with my past track record, that I would want to try to play the hero, even if at my own detriment, again.
“My partner for Team Survival will be,” Luke continues, and instantly my gaze is drawn back onto him. I meet his eye for a moment and he gives me an almost imperceptible smile. He then finishes, “Marshall Moore.”
“Marshall?” I can’t help but burst out in surprise. What has gotten into Luke, that he chose Marshall Moore as a partner? I mean, last time I checked, Luke hated Marshall’s guts, and didn’t want to touch Marshall with a ten-foot pole – unless that pole was tipped with a blade, of course; then I’m sure Luke would touch Marshall in order to spear him.
No one else in the room saw this coming either, as a fresh wave of whispers and murmurings, nearly as loud as the one that occurred when I announced Abby as my partner, breaks out. Even Max looks surprised by this one; I catch his eye again and mouth the question, “What’s he doing?” to have Max shake his head in reply.
In fact, Rush is the only one in the room who doesn’t look surprised, but that’s probably because, after all of the sabotage and killings and backstabbings and betrayals he’s seen and caused, nothing surprises him anymore. I narrow my gaze at him, and, when he sees me looking at him, he gives me a sardonic, partially malicious smile. I quickly look away, not wanting to feel Rush staring into my eyes and reading the contents of my mind, like he’s so adept at doing.
Suddenly it occurs to me that there’s one partially good quality – or at least it’s something that makes him easier to predict and deal with - about Rush: he never lies and he means everything he says. If he tells you that you’re going to be dead in twenty-four hours, you will be dead in twenty-four hours, if not sooner. That’s why I’m so scared about crossing him and unleashing his wrath on my family, because I don’t know if even they, five incredibly powerful immortals, could survive that.
Puck is almost as surprised this time as he was when I made my choice, and it takes him a few seconds to recover and regain his voice. When he does, however, he wastes no time in calling Marshall, who looks as shocked – if not more – than everyone else in the room, to the front of the stage to stand next to Luke and then walk off with him.
The audience gives them a round of applause before Puck dismisses them to their seats next to us, and I can feel the lingering excitement in the air. This has to be the most interesting and controversial Team Survival team selection ceremony in the history of the Triple Crown.
The first thing Marshall says when he sits down next to Luke is, “Luke, what did you do that for? I thought you hated me.”
“Well,” Luke begins, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from me to look at Marshall, “I’m not exactly your biggest fan, but you’re competent, and Lizzie says you’re a decent guy, so I didn’t really have any choice but to pick you. I mean, look at the rest of the field.” Luke gestures to the twenty-eight champions remaining on the stage. “Only three of them are known to be trustworthy, and those three already have partners, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to team up with one of those backstabbing non-careers or psychopathic careers. That would just be signing my own death warrant,” Luke finishes, and Marshall nods his head in understanding, a small smile on his tan face.
“Well, when you put it that way, I guess I kind of am the best choice you had,” Marshall agrees quietly, and Luke is clearly about to say something in return when Puck’s voice breaks the excited buzz blanketing the room and shuts up everyone in it.
As I look back up at the remaining champions on the stage, I can’t help but think about how, in a day, all of us are going to be back in the arena and slated to kill each other again. The only difference will be that this time there’s no coming back if you die.

The rest of the ceremony goes relatively quickly, with Marcus picking Adelaide, McKenzie Lewis picking Sam Smith, the leftover careers picking each other – I’m not exactly too happy to see Marissa and Hunter on the same team again – Nick picking Sarah and the remaining non-careers picking each other. In the end, Luke’s and my picks were the only controversial and unexpected ones, which means that we get a lot more attention than the other champions as we exit the ceremony room.
“Lizzie, why did you pick Abigail Williams, a small, weak non-career girl, to be your partner instead of Luke, even with the new rule change in place that would allow you to pick Luke?” multiple reporters ask me as I leave the room, which I find rather rude, as Abby is still holding my hand and can hear every word they’re saying. I brush past all of them without a word, and can’t help but smile slightly when I see their disappointed expressions out of the corner of my eye.
“Luke, why did you pick Marshall Moore as your partner when even he thinks that you hate him?” those same reporters shout at Luke, who is being follwed by Marshall Moore, as they exit the dome behind us.
When the reporters don’t get a response to that question, they immediately question Luke, “Luke, how do you feel about Lizzie not picking you to be on your team? Do you feel hurt, betrayed, backstabbed? Or was this all some conspiracy between Lizzie and you?”
Luke ignores this question as well, although I can see the anger sparking in his eyes and know that, if he were given the chance, he would like to stuff the reporters’ microphones down their throats. And I don’t blame him .It makes me very angry just hearing the questions they’re asking him, since they don’t have any right to try to turn Luke and I against each other – it’s not like it’s going to work anyways – so he must be incredibly angry by this point.
It seems like forever before we finally reach the black car, the same one Luke and I drove to our honeymoon, waiting for us on the curb with the keys already in the ignition. With cameras still flashing and video still rolling, I slide into the front seat to have Luke slide into the passenger seat and Abby and Marshall climb into the back.
I rev the engine as a warning to the reporters standing in front of the car and stopping us from leaving, and, when they finally move and I am able to drive forward a little bit, I turn to Marshall in the back and tell him, “Cover Abby’s eyes.”
When he does, I flip the reporters off, then drive away, a smirk on my face the whole time. After all, it’s no less than they deserve, considering they’ve been trying to fuck us this whole Triple Crown.

“You know the drill Lizzie: nice responses that make Rush and everyone else happy with you,” Max tells me, and claps me on the back. “No comments, no song quotes, nothing at all rebellious, alright?”
He looks down at me for conformation, and, even though I know what his answer is going to be, I can’t help but ask, “What if Puck asks me to sing again?”
“Then sing something nice, like that song you sung last time,” Max replies. As Puck’s voice begins to float down the tunnel and the other girl champions in front of me begin to move forward, Max gives me a shove forward and says, just before he slips off to the side, “Go be nice to them, Lizzie. I know it’s a stretch for you, but your family’s sake, please try.”
I don’t even have the time to roll my eyes at Max before I find myself stepping out of the tunnel and onto the stage with thirty-two chairs lined up in eight rows off to the side – half of them already filled with the boy champions – two chairs in the middle of the stage, and Puck, looking very pink in a brilliant magenta suit, sitting in one of them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your sixteen female Triple Crown champions!” Puck booms into the microphone in his hand, and the crowd goes absolutely crazy. I look out at the people in the stands to see that many eyes are on me, and glance down momentarily to be reminded that I’m wearing a sparkling gold, orange and red dress that gives the appearance that I’m on fire.
Mitchell apparently didn’t get the anti-spark message from Rush, or Mitchell just ignored it; to be perfectly honest, the latter possibility seems the most likely, since Mitchell probably figures he’s dead anyways. He already knows that I think I’m dead too, although he doesn’t know that my friends and family might die with me too if I don’t stop being rebellious, so I guess he thought that neither one of us had anything to lose. Unfortunately, he was wrong, and my loved ones might suffer because of it.
However, I have no time to dwell on such thoughts, because the interviews – which I’m supposed to be paying attention to – start as soon as I sit down.
I pay partial attention to the interviews of the champions from One through Three up until Marshall, noting that the careers seem just as sadistic as usual – with the exception of Marcus, of course – and that the non-careers seem just as pathetic as usual – with the exceptions of Adelaide, McKenzie Lewis and Sam Smith. In fact, if it wasn’t for me and all of the controversy and rebellion I’ve stirred up, this might be one of the most boring Triple Crowns yet. I guess the Triple Crown committee should be grateful that they have me to liven things up.
“So, Mr. Moore, how are you and Mr. Gates preparing for Team Survival?” I hear Puck’s voice say, and I immediately sit up straight and listen at the mention of Luke. I see that Puck is interviewing Marshall, who is almost directly in front of me, and I catch his eye momentarily, which is long enough to see the exasperation and annoyance in them. I can’t help but smile, as I feel the exact same way about the interviews, and, even when he turns back to Puck, I keep my gaze on his face.
“Well, I can’t tell you our strategies,” Marshall begins, and Puck nods his head in understanding, not taking his eyes off of Marshall’s, “but I can tell you that we do in fact have strategies, and that we hope they’re going to work.” A smile curves Marshall’s lips at his own joke, and the crowd – including Puck – bursts out laughing.
“That’s good to hear, Mr. Moore, that’s good to hear,” Puck says when he becomes coherent enough to speak again. Puck then shifts slightly, and I see the immediate change in his posture and know exactly what he’s going to say: he’s going to ask Marshall about me.
After a half-second’s hesitation, Puck questions, “Marshall, how will you and Mr. Gates deal with the issue of Lizzie Lightning, who is now Lizzie Gates?”
Marshall, thank God, simply replies with, “What do you mean, issue?” When Puck doesn’t reply after a fraction of a second, Marshall continues, “Lizzie picked Abigail Williams as her partner, and Luke picked me as his. There’s nothing to be done about that now, so I don’t see the issue.” Marshall shrugs and meets Puck’s gaze, and I idly think that Marshall is an excellent actor and Bser.
“Well, I was referring to the issue of both you and Mr. Gates being attracted to Lizzie, but her being married to Mr. Gates. Wouldn’t that cause some tension between you two?” Puck stares Marshall down too, and I see Marshall’s confidence waver some. I have to admit, Puck can be kind of intimidating at times.
“Puck, that unites us, not divides us,” Marshall replies, and instantly my heart sinks even more than it first did when Puck asked the question to begin with. I don’t like where this is going, I don’t like where it’s going at all. “Both of us only want the best for Lizzie, so we’re going to do everything in our power to keep her safe.” Marshall shrugs, and meets Puck’s gaze evenly again.
Even though I know that it won’t be good for damage control at all, I can’t help but sigh and bury my face in my hands at what Marshall’s saying: that he is willing to die for me, which means that I’ll have another name to add to my kill list. My God, I’m not even trying and I’m still killing people!
”Are you saying that you would die for her?” Puck asks Marshall, and I look up in surprise. I, knowing Marshall personally, know that’s exactly what he’s saying, but I guess hearing it will just validate my suspicions.
Marshall meets Puck’s gaze evenly and rationally again as he answers simply and calmly, “Yes, I would die for Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning.” He then turns his gaze onto me and adds with a sad smile, “Well, I guess you’re Gates instead of Lightning now,” and I know that he’s probably thinking about how I should be Lizzie Moore instead of Lizzie Gates.
Puck is silent for a few moments, exaggerated tears running down his face, until he finally wipes them away, clears his throat and says, “Well, that’s very noble of you, Mr. Moore.”
Very noble indeed, I think as I roll my eyes. It’s incredibly dumb and incredibly reckless – in fact, it’s downright suicidal, considering I plan on dying in Team Survival – but it is noble. It really would be in Marshall’s best interests for him to not be so noble; actually, it would be in his best interests to have never fallen in love with me, but I suppose one mistake just leads to another.
“Thank you, Puck,” Marshall replies politely, and rises to his feet and exits the stage, his eyes on me the whole time, when Puck waves his hand to dismiss Marshall.
Marshall chooses the open seat to my left – for once we actually got to pick where we sat, so Marshall, of course, picked directly to my left, Abby directly to my right, and Luke directly behind me – and turns towards me to ask, “What’s the matter?”
“You, you dumbass!” I reply hotly, locking my eyes on his angrily. I see the surprised expression on his face and can’t help but roll my eyes. Did he honestly think that I would want him to die for me? “I don’t want you dying for me!”
“Lizzie, I’m just trying to help you. It’s the right thing to do, after all,” Marshall tells me in reply, and I shake my head bitterly. Him and Luke and their damn senses of honor.
“Marshall, the right thing to do is to save yourself,” I shoot back coldly. “I’m on my way out anyways, and I plan on dying in Team Survival, so you might as well not go down with the ship.”
“You’re wrong, Lizzie,” Marshall responds, his eyes locked on mine fiercely, and I resist the urge to look away. “Number one: the right thing to do is most definitely to save you, since you’re not going to die in Team Survival, and number two: even if you do die in Team Survival, it is best that I go down with the ship, because my life won’t have meaning without you. If I let you die without even trying to save you, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
I can’t help but sigh again, because I see the honesty in Marshall’s eyes and know that he means everything he says. Unfortunately. It would be so much easier if he didn’t, if he was as good of an actor as I am.
“Marshall, I just don’t want you wasting your life and dying for me,” I tell him, my tone defeated. I know that he, like Luke, isn’t going to give up on something once he’s set his mind to it, so any arguments I try to make against him are basically pointless.
“And I don’t want to live without you,” Marshall answers evenly, meeting my gaze determinedly, and I’m grateful for the interruption and excuse to look away when Puck begins interviewing the next champion.

Abby’s interview goes relatively well; Puck, thank God, only mentions in passing that I picked her as a partner and doesn’t ask her any direct questions. Luke, however, does not escape Puck’s wrath so easily.
“So, Luke, what do you think about Lizzie picking Abigail Williams as her partner for Team Survival instead of you?” is the first question Puck asks Luke, and Luke meets my gaze for a millisecond before answering.
“Lizzie picked who she wanted to pick. It’s not my place to judge her for that,” Luke replies coolly, and even shrugs his shoulders to show his nonchalance. It’s an obvious ruse that I can see right through – and that Puck undoubtedly sees right through too – but the audience gobbles it up. That’s good, because those are the only people we really need to believe our answers. Well, I guess I need Rush to believe mine, but that’s never going to happen, so there’s no point in me even thinking about it.
Instead of dropping the subject, like I had desperately hoped he would but knew he wouldn’t, Puck instead says with a smile, “Oh come now Luke, you must feel something about her decision. Anger? Distrust? Betrayal?” Puck looks at Luke expectantly, and I can tell, the sick feeling that’s overtaking me increasing tenfold, that it would make Puck’s lifetime for Luke to reply with yes to one of those.
“Actually, you’re right, Puck; I do feel something about Lizzie’s pick for Team Survival,” Luke begins, and Puck’s toothy smile gets even broader. However, I sit straight up and stare at Luke intently and almost warily, as I know the tone in his voice and don’t like at all where this is going. “I feel that it’s none of our business to pass judgment on Lizzie’s pick, and that it’s none of your business to ask questions that are deliberately meant to test my relationship with Lizzie, so please stop.” Luke meets Puck’s gaze almost fiercely, and, with a start, I realize how truly intimidating Luke has been made by the sheer emotion he feels. Well, I guess a reply and aura like that are a couple ways to make Puck wet those sparkly, magenta pants.
“Alright, alright, no need to get defensive.” Puck throws his hands up in the air, his fear evident in his eyes, and I can’t help but move my hand with the motion of waving a flag slightly. It’s something my friend’s mom made up freshman year, the bullshit flag, which you wave every time someone says something that you know is complete bullshit. Now that I think about it, I probably should have been waving it every time Puck opened his mouth.
“How about we call that the end of the interview, eh?” Puck suggests, and Luke nods in agreement, rises to his feet and exits the stage to complete and utter silence. Suddenly someone begins clapping, and a smile spreads across my face as I see that the lone person standing up and applauding is Max. The people around him, other Triple Crown mentors who hate Puck just as much as Max and I do, start clapping too, and soon the whole arena is applauding and cheering Luke. I catch Max’s eye just as he sits down and give him a nod of recognition and thanks, which he returns with a smile of his own.
However, my happiness at Luke’s embarrassment of Puck is short-lived, because, as soon as Luke sits down next to me, Puck opens his mouth to announce the next champion being interviewed, which I remember to be… oh, right, me.

More added.

“Lizzie Lightning, the female counterpart of our favorite Triple Crown couple,” Puck says as he gives me a beaming smile, and I involuntarily ball my hands into fists. I guess Puck just instills violent emotions in me.
“Or I guess you’re Lizzie Gates now,” Puck corrects, his smile getting even bigger, to meet my gaze for a moment, which is long enough to feel the full extent of his brown, x-raying eyes. Despite the fact that he seems very bubbly and maybe even not very intelligent, his eyes tell the truth: that nothing gets by him and that he definitely isn’t happy all of the time.
When I simply give him a fake smile and don’t say anything in reply, he says, his gaze locking on mine again, “So, Lizzie, I just have to ask: why did you pick Abigail Williams as your partner for Team Survival instead of Luke?”
Without hesitating or even thinking, I answer, “Because there’s a possibility I can save her, Puck.” After a half-second of silence, I continue, “Even if I’m dead, Abby isn’t, and I fully intend to make sure she doesn’t die. Besides,” I finish, “Luke doesn’t need me to save him. He can save himself.”
A long, dangerous silence takes over the arena for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder worriedly if I said the wrong thing and a band of immortal mercenaries is currently on their way to wipe out my family and friends. However, I know that worrying about such things will get me nowhere, so I take a deep breath and try to shake off the thought by telling myself that my dad’s a god and that he can stop anyone who tries to hurt my mom or my brothers.
It doesn’t work very well though, because I know that, while my dad is a god, he is a minor god and therefore not very powerful at all, if compared with other gods. In fact, I’m sure Kuro could probably destroy my dad, although Kuro is technically a minor god as well.
Actually, considering all of the evil and chaos and destruction in the world right now, he might not be so minor anymore. After all, very malleable humans and their want for power at any costs are very useful tools for destruction and chaos that are just begging to be used by Kuro. When there is a person who wants to take over the world, or blow something up, or kill other people, Kuro finds that person very quickly and puts them to use creating destruction. It’s how he’s become so good at his job.
“But Lizzie,” Puck finally begins, overcoming his shock at my answer at last, “don’t you want to at least try to save Luke? Is he not worth that much to you?”
Before I can stop myself or moderate my tongue, I find myself replying, “Holy shit, Luke was right about you! You really are determined to tear us apart, aren’t you?” My anger takes over me, and all of a sudden, I find myself on my feet, towering over Puck. “Do you enjoy chaos and heartbreak, Puck?” I pause for a fraction of a second, don’t give him a chance to reply, because I keep on talking almost immediately afterwards. “After all, you go out of your way to sabotage relationships and fuck with people, so I really think that you must get off on betrayal, despair and using people.” I can’t stop myself from adding at the end, “If so, you should meet this friend of mine. His name’s Kuro, and he’s just as much of a son of a bitch as you are.”
When I finally stop talking, I find that the arena’s completely silent again. Desperately I search out Max in the crowd to find him with his head in his hands, and I can tell, without even trying to read his mind, that he thinks I’m going to be dead by the end of the day. I guess it really doesn’t make much of a difference, considering that I would dead, with the start of Team Survival, tomorrow anyways.
I catch Mitchell’s eye for a moment to see him visibly sigh and shake his head, and I feel momentarily guilty for not being able to last long enough to be the spark like Mitchell wanted me to. Oh well; maybe my comments to Puck will suffice as rebellious enough for me to be the martyr.
Almost defiantly, I scan the crowd for Rush, and find him almost immediately; those pitch-black eyes are impossible to miss, even in a gathering as large as this one. I meet his gaze to see an amused but not at all surprised look on his face, and I know that he must have predicted I would snap like this at some point before Team Survival actually started. He should be happy; I’ve just given him an excuse to kill me even earlier than he had planned.
However, I don’t see him whisper anything to the attendants around him, or reach into his jacket to flip the switch that controls an alarm to release the soldiers to come get me. I guess that means that he’s already called the soldiers, and my death – most likely televised, as they’ll want to send a message to the Sections – is only moments away. Completely disregarding Puck, who is still sitting there in shock, I look around warily at the entrances to the arena, expecting to see soldiers rushing out of one of them at any moment.
However, five seconds pass without any signs of soldiers, and I look back up at Rush to find him still sitting there, his expression even more amused now. It then hits me that there aren’t any soldiers coming for me, that Rush is going to have me killed on national television tomorrow like he wanted, and that, for twelve more hours, I’m safe. Well, it depends on your definition of safe, but I guess I’m safe by Triple Crown standards.
By this point, Puck has finally recovered enough to speak, and announces into the microphone in his hand, his voice a weak echo of its usual volume and emotion, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Lizzie Gates!”
He then gestures for me to exit the stage, which I do so eagerly, catching Marshall’s gaze and smirking with him as I do. Even though Luke, his expression stony as he looks up at me, clearly doesn’t approve of my behavior, at least there’s one person who’s willing to back me up all the way to hell. Oh, wait, we’re already there.

“So what’s our plan for the Triple Crown?” I ask Abby, and she looks up at me blankly for a second before realizing that I’m actually asking her, even though there’s no one else in the room. I guess she didn’t count at all on me using on her strategizing skills; maybe that’s because she doesn’t think she has any.
“Survive?” she replies, shrugging, and I can’t help but smile. Leave it to Abby to come up with the rational response to a question I would reply to with ‘die.’
“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good plan,” I agree ruefully, thinking that it’s a good thing Abby doesn’t know my actual plan. I would never hear the end of it about breaking the promise of always Luke made me if she did, and I might almost be guilted into not being the spark and not dying in the arena. Of course, I’m dead anyways, even if I win the Triple Crown, so I might as well die on-screen, where I can at least say some famous last words.
A few moments pass in silence between us before Abby gets the nerve to pipe up and ask, a teasing tone to her voice, “So how was your honeymoon with Luke?” She looks up at me with her huge, adoring blue eyes – which I know are actually at the mention of Luke – and I can’t help but think that she should have been the one to marry Luke.
“It was ok,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. “We didn’t really do much, to be perfectly honest. We just talked a lot and then fell asleep.”
“You didn’t…?” Abby begins, her tone a terrible impersonation of seductive almost, and suddenly I realize that she’s asking if Luke and I slept together. Oh God; I really didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone, much less Abby!
“Oh God no,” I instantly reply before I can moderate my tongue. Oh well; she deserves some tougher language for putting me in this situation. Actually, she should consider herself lucky that I didn’t say something even worse.
“But, why not?” Abby asks me, and I can’t help but think that it really isn’t her business, even though she does like to claim partial responsibility for Luke and I getting in a relationship in the first place.
“Luke and I…” I begin, not knowing how to phrase it so as to respect her delicate ears, “just aren’t like that.” When I’m finished, I shrug. Unfortunately, that happens to be the best, most eloquent and explanatory answer I can come up with right now.
“Really?” Abby questions, and I look over at her warily. Where’s she going with this? “Because I see the way he looks at you, and I think it’s pretty obvious that he does want it to be like that.” She meets my gaze inquisitively, and I roll my eyes at my own blindness. If a fairly innocent eleven-year-old can see that Luke wants to sleep with me, how in the hell did I not see it?
“Well, I don’t want to do that with him, and he respects that,” I reply, and Abby nods her head in understanding.
A few seconds go by in silence, until Abby finally adds, “You know, he really is perfect for you,” like I knew she would – she really is one of the most predictable people I know, besides Luke; no one can beat him in a predictability contest.
“I know,” I respond quietly, and I can’t help but sigh. Everyone – including myself – has been telling me that Luke’s perfect for me, that there shouldn’t even be a choice between him and Jackson, but even now, even though I’m married to Luke, I don’t know if his perfection is really what I want. I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter anymore though.
Suddenly I realize that Abby and I have been in my room talking for almost two hours – although only about a minute was actually used for strategizing, like I had intended the whole time to be used for – so I turn to her and tell her, “It’s late, and we need to go to bed.” Even though I don’t dare add, “So we can be rested for our deaths,” at the end, the threat of doom hangs in the air just as heavily as if I had.
“Ok,” Abby agrees, her voice sullen and depressed all of sudden. I can’t help but smile, even as I roll my eyes at her, at the fact that she doesn’t want to leave; in some ways, she really is seven or eight.
“Abby, you can stay with me tonight if you’d like,” I tell her, not able to stop a little bit of exasperation from creeping into my voice.
“Like a sleepover?” Abby asks, her tone anxious and hopeful, and, when I nod my head yes, it’s as if I pulled the pin on a grenade of high-pitched sounds.
As Abby’s happy squeals fill the air, I feel my eyes begin to water because of the pain the noise is causing my eardrums and slap my hands over my ears in an attempt to block out some of the sounds. Even though it’s not very effective, it doesn’t take Abby too long to look over at me and realize that my face is screwed up in pain, not happiness like hers is.
“Are you alright?” she asks me concernedly, and, as I warily remove my hands from my ears, I nod my head yes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply, shaking my head slightly to clear all remaining memory of Abby’s earsplitting shouts out of my mind. “You just have an incredibly high voice.”
“Sorry,” she tells me bashfully, dropping her head to her knees.
“Oh no, it’s fine,” I say reassuringly, then rise to my feet from off the bed and cross the room to rummage through the closet, looking for something Abby can wear. Even though everything in the closet has been designed especially for me by Mitchell and therefore is huge on Abby, there’s bound to be something that she can just throw on for the night.
When I come across a pair of short shorts – which won’t be short on Abby at all – and a tank top that’s a little short on me – which means that it will be a dress on Abby – I turn to her, tell her, “Nightclothes,” and throw both garments at her.
She catches them easily, and slips off of the bed to go into the bathroom adjoining my room to change. I strip down and change myself, and am about to put my nightshirt on when Luke, whistling slightly, comes into the room unannounced and takes me completely by surprise.
“Luke, let me put my shirt on!” I hiss at him, very conscious of only having a bra on, and shove him back out of the room and lock the door behind me before he can say anything in response. I then quickly slip into my nightshirt and open the door a crack to glare at Luke.
However, unlike I thought he would, he doesn’t look abashed at all. If anything, he looks pleased with himself, and beams down at me as I scowl up at him. “What? We’re married,” he says with a smirk, and, annoyed, I shut the door in his face again. However, he soon calls out, “Oh, come on Lizzie, I was just joking,” and, sighing slightly, I turn back around to open the door up a crack again.
“And?” I prompt, staring up at him expectantly. It’s my turn to smirk when I see the exasperated look on his face, but he replies like I want him to.
“And I’m sorry,” he finishes, and I give him a true smile as I open the door up and stand back to let him in.
“Apology accepted,” I tell him, and lean up to kiss him lightly on the lips. When he pulls back after a moment, he wraps one arm around my waist and pulls me to him, smiling down at me as I bury my face in his shoulder and inhale his scent. It’s scary and more than a bit alarming to realize that I’m going to get cut off permanently from my supply of the drug that’s him in less than a month.
Suddenly my mind wanders onto the forbidden subject of Jackson, and I immediately try to get myself to think of something else, anything else. However, it doesn’t do any good, and I find myself pulling away from Luke, sitting down on my bed and sighing as I allow Jackson Lucas Carter to come into my thoughts for the first time in almost a week and a half.
I wonder how he’s doing, considering that he’s facing losing me tomorrow. I hope he hasn’t gone on any more rampages or destroyed any more El Nieve property; he’s probably been killed by the Protectors by now if he has. (Jackson is conditionally immortal, like I am, and undoubtedly Rush knows this and would be more than willing to use it, if an opportunity to get Jackson out of the way presented itself.)
However, my thoughts are almost immediately interrupted by Luke simultaneously asking me, “What’s wrong?” and a door creaking open as Abby, making my clothes look like baggy robes, comes out of the bathroom to stare at Luke in surprise.
“Just thinking about Jackson,” I tell Luke in reply at the same time that Abby questions him, “What are you doing here?”
Luke nods his head in understanding at me and then turns to Abby, a smile on his face, to tell her, “Well, Lizzie and I kind of are married, so I was hoping we could spend the night together.”
“Oh, ok,” Abby says slowly, looking between Luke and I almost suspiciously, as though she thinks that this some kind of conspiracy or secret of ours. I suppose she does have a basis for thoughts like those, considering that Luke and I have had our share of conspiracies and secrets between us. Of course, she doesn’t even know the biggest one of those yet.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone then,” Abby says, her tone slightly disappointed.
However, she slips out of the room quickly and without any further comment, closing the door behind her, and, when she’s gone Luke turns back to me to ask again, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah,” I reply, to immediately backtrack, a bitter smile crossing my face, “Well, no.” I pause for a moment, not sure how to intelligently articulate my thoughts. “I just… I’m just worried about Jackson. You know how unpredictable he can be,” I say quietly, and Luke nods his head again. A few seconds go by in silence before I finally get the nerve to say the rest of what’s on my mind. “And… I can’t help but wonder if there’s something wrong with me, for still loving him some when you’re perfect for me and I’m married to you.” I look up at him desperately, and he takes a seat next to me, a small, knowing smile on his face.
“Lizzie, just because I’m perfect for you doesn’t mean that I’m what you want,” Luke tells me gently, and I look over at him in amazement. He shouldn’t be telling me this stuff; it goes against everything he wants! Oh, right, he’s one of those really weird guys who will tell me the truth no matter what, even if it hurts their cause.
“I know, Luke,” I begin, “but isn’t there something wrong with me if I don’t want the best I can get, if I don’t want perfection?” I look over at him again, and, much to my surprise, he answers almost immediately again too.
“Love is a very… odd thing,” Luke replies, and I can’t help but snort slightly. He’s telling me! “Who knows why I fell in love with you the first moment I laid eyes on you? Who knows why you still love Jackson when I’m supposedly better for you than he is? Love is basically a game of ‘who knows’ questions, with nobody but God – and he sure as hell isn’t telling anytime soon – knowing the answers.”
I smile at his reply, because, even though I don’t like not knowing the answers, it makes perfect sense, and I scoot over to lean my head on his shoulder and have him wrap his arm around my waist.
Suddenly it occurs to me that Luke is supposed to be using this time to strategize with Marshall, not answer my nearly-unanswerable questions, so I turn to him and say, “Aren’t you supposed to be strategizing with Marshall? You know, figuring out how to survive Team Survival?” They already have a strategy which I hate: keep me alive at any costs, even at their detriment, but you’d think that they might have other things to talk about still.
“Oh, Marshall and I already have a plan that we don’t need to discuss, which you heard during interviews,” he replies, and, as he looks down at me, I can see the slight fear in his eyes. Clearly he knew from the beginning that I wouldn’t like his and Marshall’s plan, but they went through with it anyways, which just makes me even angrier at the both of them/
“Remind me what it is, please,” I command coldly, meeting his gaze and narrowing my eye at him. Since he knew I wouldn’t like his idea, but he still chose to do anyways, he gets to deal with the full force of my anger now.
“Find you and Abby and protect you till the end.” He meets my eye firmly and almost stares me down – I guess his drive to save me, even when I’m not worth saving, finally kicked in and gave him the backbone to hold his ground – and I can’t help but sigh in exasperation, weariness and anger. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to happen!
“Luke, I don’t want another person dying for my sake!” I tell him, my temper getting the best of me and my voice getting louder.
“Lizzie, it’s his choice. You can’t dissuade him from it now,” Luke tells me, and I shake my head in frustration. “Besides, it’s like you said to Jackson-” – at the mention of Jackson I immediately look up and stare over at him almost warily – “‘You can’t save me from myself.’ Well, you can’t save Marshall from himself either, because he’s chosen to put his life on the line for you.” After a moment’s pause, Luke adds, “You should be honored, Lizzie.”
I can tell that, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Luke regrets speaking them. However, I don’t let him take them back, because I explode on him. “Honored?! Honored?!” My voie fills with anger and indignation and I look over at him like he’s lost his mind. I suppose he very well could have by now, considering all of the stress this place puts on your mind and body.
“Lizzie,” Luke begins to say, but I don’t want to hear anything else from him and keep on talking like he hadn’t said anything at all.
“Luke, I don’t want another name on my kill list, whether that person chooses to be on there or not!” I meet his gaze to have him stare back at me coolly, which puzzles me enough to get me to shut up for a second. Shouldn’t Luke be meek and apologetic, not trying to stand his own ground?
“Lizzie, you don’t have a kill list,” Luke says, and my eyes shoot open even more in surprise and anger. This is less tactless than the last comment he made!
“No kill list?!” I stare over at him for a second, dumbstruck by his momentary stupidity. Luke should know better than to say something like that to me right now. “Have you forgotten that I killed every person I faced in Hand-to-Hand Combat except for you and that I was the kill leader for all of One-Person Survival? That sure sounds a whole hell of a lot like a kill list to me!” I exclaim, and here Luke finally has the decency to drop his head and look away ashamedly. After pausing a moment to control my thoughts and take a deep breath, I continue in a normal voice, meeting his gaze and willing him, and his inherent innocence, to understand, “Luke, I don’t want to be responsible for any more bodies. Being responsible for all of the bodies I’ve created in the past is a big enough job already.”
“Lizzie, this is his decision, not yours. Therefore it’s not something you’re responsible for,” Luke tells me gently, and it’s my turn to lower my head in admittance. I know what he says is true, that I really shouldn’t feel compelled to take responsibility for other people’s actions, but I guess that’s why I’m the martyr: I want to burn for everybody.
“I know, Luke,” I murmur, not looking up when he lays one warm hand on my forearm comfortingly. “I just... I just can’t help but feel like, since he might die to protect me, that whatever happens to him is my responsibility.” Here I look up at Luke, meet his gaze, and shrug in defeat. Like usual, the only mind I can’t understand is my own.
“Lizzie, look at it from his perspective,” Luke begins. “Marshall knows he’s going to die anyways, so why not die protecting the girl he loves?” I hear Luke’s voice tighten a bit at the mention of ‘the girl he loves’ and I can’t help but think how genuinely alike Marshall and Luke are; in terms of behavior, they honestly are two peas in a pod.
“He sounds a lot like you,” I say quietly, and a small smile crosses his face as he nods his head in agreement.
“I guess he kind of is,” Luke murmurs in agreement as he stares over at me. “After all, he is kind of hopelessly in love with the most amazing girl on the planet.” After a moment’s hesitation, he adds, “Of course, considering all of the places you’ve gone, there’s probably a hundred more people like us.”
A brief, bitter smile flashes across my face as I murmur quietly, “I’m really not nearly as amazing as you and Marshall and Jackson make me out to be.”
“Lizzie, don’t lie like that!” Luke shoots back, and the exasperation, indignation and anger in his voice surprises me. “You are the most amazing person I have ever met, and the fact that there’s two other guys who believe that as strongely as I do just further emphasizes its validity!”
“Oh yeah, three teenage boys falling in love with the same girl totally makes her perfect,” I reply sarcastically, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at his downright idiotic logic. Does he really listen to what he says sometimes?
I see, out of the corner of my eye, Luke open his mouth to respond and I immediately continue, trying a different vein that will hopefully work better on him, “Luke, do you know how many people I’ve killed? Do you truly know how many names are on my kill list? Do you really know how much blood and sin I’ve soaked myself in during the seventeen years I’ve been alive? Can you even truly comprehend how far from perfect, how a-moral I am?”
I see the fading, angry look on his face and take his silence as an opportunity to keep on talking. “Luke, I am so far from the perfection that you see that the Lizzie you think I am and the Lizzie I really am could never exist in the same universe. You are so blinded by your love for me that you can’t see what I truly am: inherently dangerous. Hell, if you could see me for what I really am, you would stay the hell away from me!” I exclaim, which prompts Luke to try to interrupt me. However, I see this attempt and keep on speaking before he has a chance to cut me off. “Luke, you claim that I am perfection, that I am good for you, when in reality I am as far from good for you as is possible. I mean, if it weren’t for me and my assassin skills, we wouldn’t be in this dimension right now!”
“I guess you are to me as Jackson is to you then,” Luke finally gets a chance to say. “You might not be good for me, and there might not be a reason for me to love you, but you are still all I will ever want and I still love you with all of my heart, and isn’t that kind of how it is with you and Jackson? You love him, even when you think that you shouldn’t and you know he isn’t the best thing for you.” He looks over at me for conformation, and I feel compelled to nod my head yes. “That’s kind of how it is with me and you. I don’t know why I love you, or why on earth my heart chose to permanently latch onto you, but I do know that I will you love you always, no matter what you say or what happens.” He hesitates for half a second before adding, “Hell, I would say that I will love you until I die, but I know that I will love as long as my heart and mind live on, which I hope is beyond the grave.”
His comment brings a question that has been floating at the back of my mind for a while up to the surface, and I ask, looking over at him and meeting his gaze, “Do you think we’ll get to be together, in the afterlife?”
“I sure as hell hope so,” Luke replies, a slight smile crossing his face despite the serious and desperate situation. “I mean, I lived the last four years of my life for you, so I’d hope that I’d at least get to spend a little bit of time with you when I’m dead.”
“Yeah, I hope so too,” I reply honestly. Luke really has crept up on me and grown his claim to my heart over the last two and a half months exponentially, so much so that I think I might love him more than I love Jackson now. “It’d be a shame to die for the sake of love and not even get to see the person you died for in the afterlife.”
“You’re telling me,” Luke says quietly, and reaches over to gently wrap his arm around my waist and pull me to him again. After a few moments of just holding me and stroking my hair, he murmurs in my ear, “We really should go to sleep now. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”
I can’t help but snort at Luke’s last comment, because he sounds more like a father talking to his elementary-school-aged son than a man facing death with the person he loves. “Yeah, a day that might be our last,” I mutter in reply, but oblidge to his request all the same and pull back the covers on my bed to crawl in and have Luke crawl in next to me.
I then reach over and flip the switch to turn the light out, and Luke and I proceed to lay in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments until Luke finally works up the nerve to break it. “Well, if tomorrow is our last, at least we get to die with the people we love,” he whispers in my ear, then kisses the back of my neck softly and locks his arms possessively around me. “Good night, my love,” he murmurs before drifting off and leaving me alone in the world of reality.
I try to organize my thoughts about Jackson, and, when that doesn’t work, attempt to think about strategies that will keep Abby and I alive in the arena. However, that gets nowhere too, and, after a few long minutes of no results, I give up, roll over to rest my head on his chest, and find myself drifting off in a matter of seconds, my last thought being that maybe that term ‘my love’ finally applies to Luke too.

More added.

“Lizzie,” I hear a name urgently mumuring, and my eyes immediately pop open. Like always, it takes a couple seconds for them to adjust to the blinding whiteness, but, when they do, I let out a cry of surprise when I see who’s standing above me: Jackson.
However, I quickly get over my surprise to sit up and throw my arms around his neck as I cry, “Jackson!” I have never been so happy to have his slightly sharp scent, made so by the hatred and anger he feels, fill my nose, and I close my eyes and lean against him, feeling his hard, lean body against mine. I hadn’t realized, up until now, how bad my Jackson withdrawal symptoms were, and how bad I had missed him. It feels like my heart is about to explode from the joy I’m feeling at having him here with me.
“Lizzie,” he whispers in my ear, his arms tightening around me, and I feel his lips brush my neck and sigh in happiness. Why couldn’t he have been with me, like this, for the last week and a half? I really could have used to take a couple more doses of my rapidly-evaporating drug supply.
He just holds me silently for a few seconds – based off the happiness and relief radiating off of him, I’d say that he missed me almost more than I missed him – and finally pulls back with more than a bit of reluctance to look me in the eye and tell me, “Lizzie, I’m sorry for waking you, but Team Survival starts in three hours-” – he chokes a little on the part about Team Survival starting, since he knows that he’s going to lose me permanently in three hours, and the desperation and unbearable sadness coming from him is enough to break my heart without him saying anything else – “-and I want to get to be with you, and spend these last few hours with you, and maybe make up for some of the stupid things I’ve done to you in the last two and a half months.” He gives me a small, unbelievably sad smile, and I can’t help but smile back to reassure him.
“Jackson, thank you for waking me up,” I tell him sincerely, leaning up to gently kiss him on the cheek. “I really could use to spend a few hours with you.” I leave off ‘before I die’ at the end, but both of us are as aware of it as if I had said it anyways.
“I think this will be more for my benefit than for yours,” he says quietly, taking my hands and entwining his fingers with mine. I look down to see in surprise that he’s not protesting at all to touching my wedding ring, which prompts Jackson to give me a small grin as he notices my surprise.
“There are more important things than wedding rings today,” he murmurs, and leans forward to kiss me gently on the lips. After a moment, he pulls back so that our noses are almost touching and whispers, his golden, incredibly intense eyes that are currently filled with happiness but also burning with more anger and sadness than usual, “I love you, Lizzie.”
He then lets go of me and stands back to let me rise to my feet, and wraps his arm around my waist as he gives me a smile to accompany me out the door of my room.
I resist the urge to get as close to him as possible and lean into him as we walk, since I know that we could both end up falling if I do, and give Max a sincere smile as we walk past him.
“Hey Max,” I call out in greeting, happily finding that I can’t stop smiling, no matter what I do. However, my smile soon fades as I see the stormy look on his face.
“What are you doing, Lizzie?” he asks me, his expression slightly angry but mostly worried as he looks between Jackson and I.
“Max, I’m going to be in the arena in three hours,” I reply, my tone exasperated. Is me being with Jackson really such an issue now, when I won’t be able to be with him much longer and am on my way out anyways? “Could you just let me do what I want to instead of what I have to for once?”
Max huffs quietly in response, and I can tell that he still doesn’t approve, but he doesn’t say anything else about it, thank God. However, I’m not so lucky with other people I happen to stumble across.
As Jackson and I make out way out to the kitchen area of the floor – both of our stomachs are downright roaring by this point – we find a very familiar tiny blond form picking up dishes, and I call out to her in surprise and happiness, “Abby!” When she turns around and sees me, a huge smile lights up her face. That smile disappears very quickly when she sees that the boy who has his arm around my waist is Jackson, not Luke.
“Why’s he here?” She jerks her head in Jackson’s direction, her eyes narrowing in suspicion and dislike as she looks at him. “Where’s Luke?” She turns back to me and narrows her eyes at me now, as though she suspects that I got rid of Luke to have Jackson around. “He wouldn’t allow him to be here.” Her eyes flicker over towards Jackson again, and I can’t help but think that the hatred she feels for him would almost be comical if it weren’t so real.
“Actually, I would,” a very familiar voice behind me says, its tone ruefully amused, and I turn around in surprise to find Luke standing about ten feet away with an amused look on his face.
“Luke!” I cry, and pull away from Jackson to cross the gap between us with five long strides and embrace him in a huge hug. As I hug him and feel his body, which, even though it’s just as muscled as Jackson’s, seems to be softer in some way, press against mine, I’m reminded of how truly different Luke and Jackson are. They’re almost polar opposites; Luke is so much more... soft, maybe even breakable, than Jackson.
After a few moments, I pull back to stare up at him and have him murmur down at me, his smile contented now, “Hi.”
In that moment, I am so struck by Luke’s eyes and his almost beauty that I can’t help but lean up and kiss him, his arms locking around me as I do so. A few seconds go by, everything else that was on my mind and around me besides Luke completely forgotten, before I realize that I kind of need to stop kissing him so I can breathe and not suffocate. Almost reluctantly, I pull back to take a deep breath and stare up at him again, almost in amazement this time. I find it almost shocking how he can completely fill me up and make me forget everything else, even if just for a few seconds. I’ve never felt that with Jackson; I’ve always been aware of my surroundings when I’ve kissed him. I guess that just shows how Luke can completely take up my mind and also how I’m willing to give myself completely to Luke. Maybe that means that I trust him more than I trust Jackson. Actually, I know I trust Luke more than I trust Jackson, because Jackson’s so damn unpredictable that it’s hard to trust him, even if I do love him.
“What was that for?” Luke asks me quietly, staring down at me in confusion and happiness as he raises a hand to gently caress the side of my face.
“You’re kind of cute when you smile,” I tell him, my eyes locked on his. I take in every shade of his brilliant-blue irises, from the blue so light that it’s almost white around the edges of his pupils to the indigo so dark that it’s almost black that borders his irises near the whites of his eyes. His eyes are truly a mosaic of colors, and I can’t imagine anything else being more beautiful than they are; they’re more breathtaking than any sunset or waterfall or mountain I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.
“Oh,” he replies quietly, his tone slightly surprised. I guess he kind of has a right to be, since I’ve never said or done anything like this before in the history of our relationship. “Well, you’re kind of radiant all the time,” he tells me as he gives me a smile, his fingers gently tracing the slope of my cheek. I lean into his hand, my gaze glued on his, and everything else – Jackson, Abby, the scary-white kitchen around us, the threat of imminent doom hanging over my head – disappears to leave only him and me, floating in space forever. It idly occurs to me that some kind of memory-capturing device would be very useful in these kinds of situations, because I’d like to remember this moment for the rest of my life.
“I love you, Lucas William Gates,” I hear myself saying, and I know that, for the first time since the wedding, I’m actually meaning those words with all of my heart.
I hear Luke gasp slightly in surprise, and he stares down at me, his expression skeptical, for a few long moments before finally coming up with a reply. “Lizzie, are you alright?” he asks, and I come hurtling down to earth. That’s not what he should reply with; no, he should reply with “I love you too,” or even just a hug or a kiss, not with, “Are you alright?”
I’m perfectly fine, thanks for asking, Luke. I’m not on something, I’m not in the arena, and I’m not acting; is it such a stretch for me to say, “I love you,” when I’m not in any of those situations? Luke’s first reply to me truly opening my heart up to him shouldn’t be to doubt it, it should be accept and embrace. After all, I thought this was what he wanted: me to mean it, and not have to act anymore. I guess I’ve just been acting with Luke for so long that even he – the boy who never gives up, who never loses faith no matter how high the odds are stacked against us – has begun to doubt if I could ever actually love him. Our relationship shouldn’t be like that, it just shouldn’t. There’s something wrong, something perverted and twisted about it, if Luke’s knee-jerk response to “I love you” is to doubt it.
“Lizzie!” I hear Jackson’s concerned voice cry out, and I am pulled away from my thoughts and into the real world again by someone shaking me violently. My eyes focus, and I’m vaguely aware of something wet on my cheeks as a very worried Jackson standing in front of me stares down at me anxiously. It crosses my mind that Luke was the one standing in front of me not too long ago – well, it could have been centuries or millennia even; I wouldn’t have been able to tell if Jackson weren’t there in front of me and, pulling me back to the present – and I look around Jackson to see Luke standing off to the side, looking even more worried than Jackson does. I hear Jackson say some more meaningless words, the only one I catch my name, and I turn my attention back onto him and try weakly to get my mind to focus and work and understand the things he’s saying.
“What’s the matter?” I catch, and I think idly that Luke says that too much.
“Are you alright?” I hear; Luke says that too much too. I see movement over Jackson’s shoulder to find Max standing there next to Luke too too, his expression just as concerned as the rest of them. They worry too much, all of them. Or maybe they make me worry too much.
“Lizzie!” Abby’s shrill, worried voice cries; they all say that too much too.
“Lizzie, please,” I hear Luke murmur, his voice almost inaudible to the human ear but very audible to mine, and suddenly I snap out of my trance, my blind reverie and look over at him as if I’ve never seen him before in my life. As I pull away from Jackson to walk towards him, the question of why did his voice snap me out of it, when no one else could, crosses my mind, and I can’t help but smile as I think idly that that’s a very good question.
“What were you asking me to do, Luke?” I stare up at him, and am struck by the beauty of his eyes again. I don’t think I could ever get over that, even if I spent eternity with him.
“To forgive me,” he replies quietly, his gaze locked on mine. “I’m sorry for doubting that you love me.” He raises a gentle hand to the side of my face again, and begins to trace my cheekbones again. A moment of silence that isn’t awkward at all passes between us, and is broken when Luke says, “Isn’t it sad, that I would doubt you love me?” I feel compelled to nod my head yes, and Luke continues, “I shouldn’t be cynical like that. I shouldn’t be insensitive like that. I shouldn’t have allowed El Nieve to get inside me and change me like that.”
“El Nieve didn’t change you,” I murmur. “I changed you.” After a moment’s pause to gather my thoughts, I keep on talking, “Me not loving you for so long made you doubt that I would ever love you; after all, even you, being human, have to run out of patience at some point.” I give him a small smile when I’m done. I guess his breaking point for waiting on me was four years, which is three years and six months longer than any other guy has waited for me so far.
I look over at Jackson and fully realize, with a start, that it’s been about six months since Alexa rejected him and he started waiting on me. He hasn’t taken it too well, either; he could pass as twenty-five easily, and his features are made almost more intense with this false aging that’s taken over him.
My gaze turns onto Max, and I see with satisfaction that he looks the same as always: somewhere between twenty and forty even though he’s almost eighty-five. At least I haven’t aged him; I don’t know if I could live with myself if I had actually caused Max enough stress to break and change his agelessness.
I look down at Abby, and see with a start that she’s aged at least five years over the three months we’ve been here. Even though her angelic face could never pass as anything older than eleven, her expression and the almost-haunted look in her eyes somehow change her, and make her look sixteen at least. It’s downright alarming, to perfectly honest. I’m not even sure I want to look in a mirror now, if all of us look that dreadful.
I turn to look back up at Luke and find, to be unpleasantly surprised, that he’s aged just as much as Jackson and Abby have. I hadn’t really noticed it up until this point – I guess I was too focused on his eyes to actually look at the rest of him – but, now that I do look at the rest of him, it’s obvious that the Triple Crown hasn’t done him any favors either. He could pass for twenty-five, just like Jackson, and the dark circles under his eyes accentuate the aging. I probably caused those dark circles; after all, it has to be really hard to get some sleep when the person next to you is flailing and screaming in her nightmares the whole night.
“I promised you always-” Luke begins, but I immediately cut him off, not wanting to hear him bring himself down, like he’s so fond of doing.
“And you gave me four years,” I finish for him, my eyes locked on his. “That’s all I need, Luke.” I give him a small smile, and the corners of his mouth twitch up almost involuntarily. I guess my smile is truly contagious.
“I still feel like I should have given you more, though,” Luke insists on saying, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at his determination to blame himself for everything. If anything, I’m the one to blame for Luke running out of patience, considering I made him wait so long.
“Luke, you didn’t have to give me anything at all, so the fact that you gave me four years – three years and nine months of which I didn’t even know about – is amazing to begin with,” I tell him, and finally he has the decency to bow his head in admittance. “I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I would ever have someone as dedicated as you give up a quarter of their life for me, so it amazes me that there actually someone out there who would wait that long for me. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m holding you to any standard or anything.” I give him a smile, but he doesn’t smile back this time.
Instead he says quietly, “I’m holding myself to a standard, and anything less than always is unacceptable to me,” his eyes locked on mine.
“You’re holding yourself to too high of a standard then. After all, you only have eighty years on this earth to begin with!” I exclaim, and, much to my surprise, a smile darts across Luke’s face here.
“You honestly think that I would stop loving you if I died?” Luke asks me, and I immediately open my mouth to backtrack and say that’s not what I meant at all. However, I don’t get a chance to, because Luke keeps on talking. “Lizzie, I will love you as long as my heart – in the figurative sense – is intact. As long as I can feel, I will feel love for you,” he murmurs, his gaze glued on mine, and the passion and reverence rolling off of him in waves is enough to pull me under and drown me in the tide of emotion.
I don’t try to say anything in reply, since I know that any response I could ever come up with would just be feeble in comparison to Luke’s announcement, so I throw my arms around the back of his neck and just kiss him again.
The kiss is different than it was before; there’s more passion and intensity to it, and both of us seem to want each other more than we’ve ever wanted each other before. As the moments pass, my hands work their way up to lock into his hair, and his arms, wrapped around my waist, crush me to him. After a few too-short, blissful seconds, it occurs to me that I’m running out of breath, and I pull back reluctantly to take in a few lungfuls of air.
“Wow,” Luke murmurs, vocalizing the thought on both of our minds as he stares down at me. Luke and I have kissed many times before, but never had we kissed like that before. It was as if we were both on fire with need for the other person, and neither one of us have ever felt that kind of passion pass between us before. It’s more than a bit alarming, that’s for sure.
I hear someone clear their throat behind me and turn around, about ready to punch whoever broke the glorious moment Luke and I were sharing, to find tears streaming down Abby’s cheeks. The droplets of water sparkling on her face pull painfully at one of my heartstrings, and I squat down to look her in the eye and try to comfort her. I reach out towards her, beckoning her to come into a hug, when it suddenly occurs to my incredibly slow mind that I don’t even know why she’s crying.
Since the only way I’m going to find out is by asking – well, I guess I could read her mind, but that goes against all of my morals about personal privacy – I almost stare her down, trying to make my gaze reassuring, as I question her quietly, “Abby, why are you crying?” I add after a moment’s hesitation, “I’m sorry if it’s something I did, and I will do everything in my power to make it right to you if I’m what hurt you.”
Much to my surprise and confusion, Abby shakes her head no, and, a millisecond before she opens her mouth to explain, everything falls into place in my mind, and I know exactly why she’s crying: she’s finally getting to see me get the fairytale ending, where I truly love Luke, that she always wanted me to have.
“Lizzie, that was the most amazing thing I have ever seen,” Abby says after she clears her throat and wipes her cheeks dry with the back of her hand.
“Agreed,” Max says, and I stare up at him in amazement. Max isn’t one to get emotional, or encourage me to get emotional, for that matter, but I see tears welling up in his eyes too, and I wonder why. I didn’t think anything Luke and I did was that amazing – well, except for the kiss, but of course they could experience that – but I guess things are different when you’re on the outside looking in.
The ultimate test, I know, will be to see if the closest thing to a tearproof human, Jackson Lucas Carter, has been brought to tears by what passed between Luke and I too. Turning my gaze onto him, I see exactly what I didn’t want to see but knew I would anyways: a hard, stony expression underlied with palpable rage. In fact, I can almost see Jackson quivering, and I know that I need to get him out of here before he hurts himself or anyone else.
Luke seems to notice the concern on my face, for he asks, “Lizzie, what’s wrong?” and, even as I rise to my feet and walk towards Jackson determinedly, I can’t help but think idly that Luke’s finally decided to mix it up from, “Are you alright?”
After all, a very good case could be made that I am in fact not all right all of the time, which means the question is in danger of losing its validity anyways.
Without replying to Luke’s question, I take Jackson by the hand and bid him quietly, “Jackson, come on. We need to leave now.” When he doesn’t start walking with me, I pull on him, to spur him into motion, to find that I’m basically pulling on a marble statue; he’s so rigid and strong that he won’t move until he wants to.
“Lizzie,” Jackson begins, his voice strained. The rest of his message he doesn’t dare say aloud, so he telepathically tells me, “If I move, I snap.”
“Alright,” I send back, and, even though I know it won’t do any good, I can’t help but hold onto his hand a little bit tighter. If he has another meltdown, this one actually in front of people he could hurt, he will have exposed himself by shapeshifting and then me by forcing me to shapeshift to stop him from hurting them, both of which would have disatrous side effects. Luke might stop trusting me and waiting on me altogether if that happened; after all, I did kind of not tell him that my whole human existence is a lie, which could definitely get on his nerves and make him angry with me.
“Lizzie, what’s the matter?” Max asks me, and suddenly I remember that I can communicate with him telepathically too.
I send to him in reply, “Jackson’s on the border of having a meltdown. He’ll lose control if he moves.” I see Max’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, and shoot a glance over at Luke to see him watching both of us silently, undoubtedly taking in every little motion and gesture. I’m going to have some explaining to do when this is all over. Abby, thankfully, still seems to be in the dark of everything though, as she keeps on looking between Max and I with an incredibly confused look on her angelic face.
“Ok,” Max sends back, and his eyes flash over Jackson’s face for a second. The tension in Jackson’s expression is evident now, and I know that I can’t even image how hard it must be to hold the incredibly powerful, monstrous part of him inside at times like this.
Luke, his eyes darting in between Jackson - who’s still trembling with the effort of keeping the rage locked up inside of him – Max – who’s currently watching Jackson carefully and warily – and me – who’s currently gripping onto Jackson with all of my might in an attempt to remind him that I’m here with him and stop him from losing it – immediately asks me, “Lizzie, what’s the matter?”
At that exact same moment, Jackson sends to me telepathically, “I’ve got enough of a grip on myself to move, so let’s get out of here,” and I send back in reply, “Got it.” I then answer Luke’s question with, “Oh, nothing. Jackson and I are just going to go for a walk.”
Before anyone can say anything else or ask any other questions, I guide Jackson towards the elevator carefully, holding onto hisarm as tightly as I can, my eyes locked on his expression the whole time. Even though he’s stable enough to move, I know that he could very well still lose it at any time, which means that I can’t let my guard down around him until I know for sure that he’s completely under control. If I do let my guard down, and Jackson does lose it, there will be almost nothing I can do to stop him from destroying this part of El Nieve, and maybe even the whole city.
As soon as the elevator door closes, I loosen my grip on Jackson a little, because there’s no one he can hurt except for me now, and he can’t permanently hurt me anyways.
“Lizzie,” Jackson begins, his voice shaking, “I think I’m about to lose it.” He looks down at me desperately, his eyes locked on mine, and I can see the rage building and threatening to take over them.
“No you’re not,” I immediately reply, determined to keep Jackson under control and not lose my friend to the monster the government created. “You kept yourself under control for this long, you can last a few more seconds.”
Jackson nods his head slightly, and grits his teeth, his expression becoming even more strained as he fights harder at the monster trying to take over his rational mind. A bead of sweat trickles slowly down the side of his face, and I raise a hand to gently wipe it away. When I try to pull my hand back, however, I find that I can’t, that it’s being crushed in Jackson’s incredibly tight grip, and I look up at him to see lust and want in his eyes.
“Lizzie,” he begins again, this time his tone full of desire, and, in less than a blink of an eye, he has one arm wrapped around my waist, pressing me against him, and one hand behind my head, forcing me to look at him.
“I want you,” he whispers, his eyes locked on mine, and I see, with fear but not with surprise, that the Jackson I know and love is gone, swept up and washed out to sea in the tide of emotions that overwhelmed him, and I know that it will be a while before Jackson’s finally strong enough to swim against the tide and come back to shore and take himself over again. Until then, I am completely at the mercy of this Jackson, the one that I don’t know and love and certainly don’t trust.
That thought alone is enough to make me almost start panicking, but I force myself to take a few deep breaths and continue to stare Jackson down, hoping that he’ll realize what he’s doing and stop before something bad happens.
“Jackson,” I whisper, putting as much emotion into my voice as I can in the hopes that I can turn the tide, and bring the actual Jackson back quickly.
However, the exact opposite of what I intended to happen does happen: this new, emotionally-overwhelmed Jackson interprets the emotion in my voice as passion, and leans in to press his lips against mine almost violently. I can’t fight back, as I’m now pinned against the wall of the elevator with both of my arms locked in Jackson’s incredibly tight grip, so I just close my eyes and try to imagine that the person in front of me is my Jackson, the one I actually want to kiss.
It works, to a degree, as I find myself softening up a little bit after a few moments of being as rigid as a statue, which causes Jackson to pull back. Hope sparks in my chest when I see that the desire in his eyes has abated some, but, as soon as he takes a deep breath, it returns to his gaze, even more powerful than it was before, and he kisses me again, his arms crushing me to him almost painfully.
After a moment, I hear a ding, and immediately feel myself falling, with Jackson on top of me. However, in the nanosecond it takes my mind to process that the elevator door must have opened, and I must have been leaning against it too heavily, Jackson rolls so that he is on bottom, and we hit the ground a millisecond later.
His body absorbs almost all of the impact, and, while the fall doesn’t seem to hurt him, it does interrupt our kiss, and his eyes pop open. He glances around in shock, all of the desire gone from his gaze, and, just as I breathe a sigh of relief at my Jackson, the real Jackson, finally returning, he looks down at me and his expression becomes one of horror and then anger and self-loathing.
“Jackson,” I begin, hoping to distract him from what he just did and reduce the possibility that he’ll try to hurt himself, but it does no good. Jackson merely pushes me off of him, simultaneously rises to his feet and helps me to mine, and walks away from me, his whole figure trembling again. However, I know that the only person that’s going to get hurt or affected if Jackson loses it now is himself, and that concerns me greatly. I don’t want to lose my wolf-boy, no matter how troubled he is.