Hey! So sorry for the long wait- I know it's been months- but I FINALLY had the chance to write another chapter of this.

I promise I'll try to post more often.

Thanks for your patience, here's Chapter 4; again, Hunger Games completely belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Enjoy,

-Caxis

CHAPTER 4

We were assigned rooms in the Training Center, based on our Districts. Wyatt and I have doors facing each other on the fourth floor, doors of dark mahogany with our names spelled in gold lettering on removable plaques.

My prep team stands in the doorway, giving me their last compliments and reassuring words. I just nod, too exhausted to say anything. Finally, Nero calls them back from the door and I pull away from them, the blue folds of my dress slipping through their admiring fingers. The door swings shut and I turn away.

Inside, the room is every bit as elegant as my compartment on the Tribute Train. The wallpaper is a textured cream color, overlapped with navy blue trim; the bed is layered with sheets of spring green and periwinkle. I have an enormous closet of clothes, from the softest jackets to the most extravagant gowns, and a small dresser with a few neatly arranged items on its polished surface. One wall is nothing but an enormous window, depicting the gleaming lights and blurry activity of the Capitol, and upon examining a thin lightweight remote lying on my pillow I discover that I can change the view.

I sit cross legged on the silky bed covers, pressing random buttons on the remote; I finally settle on the depiction of a winding stream, splashing over mossy rocks as a storm rages on. The light sound of rain pounding on overhanging branches, and an occasional clap of distant thunder, echoes in the minuscule corner speakers. I gaze at the unfathomably realistic water, a clearer blue than any sky, and feel homesick.

I slide off of the bed and cross into the luxurious bathroom. My fingers graze the fogged glass shower doors. I turn towards the mirror and sink, wanting to have one last look at the glossy curl of my hair and the flawless drapery of the blue gown, before I slip the straps off of my shoulders, slip out of the dress, and fold it neatly to the side.

I step over the shower rail and reach up to examine the variety of knobs and buttons. Upon twisting one, a powerful blast of steaming hot water cascades down. I shriek and hurriedly twist it back a little, sighing as the temperature drops.

I scan the selection again and tentatively press a small purple one. a fragrant, soapy substance pours from another faucet. Despite my situation, I can't help but smile.

I scrub the hairspray out of my auburn waves and rub the eyeliner away, letting myself drift into a blissful ignorance.

Once I've turned off all the faucets and grabbed a fuzzy towel, I duck back into the other room to examine the closet. Rows of clothing hang down, pressed and clean. I pull out a pair of soft navy sweatpants and a black tank. I notice that there is a tiny number 4 sewn with glossy gold yarn into the waistband. Upon inspection I find that everything in the closet has this.

With a flick of a switch, the lights dim. I climb back into bed, the sheets tossed unevenly around me, and close my eyes.

I think that it will be impossible to fall asleep, that I will have another bad night despite the warmth of the bedding and my exhaustion, but as I listen to the gentle pounding of the artificial rain, it isn't long before I drift.

Beth is crying. Her tears gleam like beacons in the moonlight.

"Don't cry, Beth." I try to tell her, but she doesn't hear me. The forest around us is silent and eerie. There is no wind. There is no life. The branches are black and smooth, like marble. They do not bend.

"Beth," I say again, more insistently. This time, she looks up. Her watery eyes grow wide and she stumbles back. "NO! Please, please don't hurt me." She gasps, dropping to her knees and sobbing. "I don't want to die, I don't want to..."

I stare at her uncomprehendingly. "Beth, why on earth would I ever hurt you?" I extend a shaking hand, but she shrinks away from it, cowering.

I take another step toward her and her breathing rapidly increases. She grabs a broken branch and brandishes it in front of her with trembling hands. I freeze. "Bethany, you're confused." I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You have to get back home... the others-"

"Don't you dare." she snarls, her eyes suddenly dark with tormented anger. "They trusted you! I trusted you! Don't you dare talk to me like everything is okay!"

What was going on? "Beth..." I say again weakly, then I stumble back as she raises the branch over her head.

Suddenly, she stiffens. Her arms falter and the branch drops to the ground. I follow her downward gaze and gasp as my eye catches the metallic tip of an arrow protruding from her chest, gleaming wickedly in the dim light.

"BETH!" I scream, running to her as she falls. I lean over her small, crumpled figure, trying to remember how to breathe. This could not be real...

Her eyes meet mine for a moment, and my heart breaks at what I see. There is pure hatred and nothing else. Hatred is what I am left with as the beating in her chest slowly ceases.

I feel numb and cold. My hands tighten around the blood streaked fabric of her jacket.

"We have to move her." I hear a voice, and turn my face up, squinting through tears.

The District Three Boy stands over me, holding out a hand. He grins, a bow and a satchel of arrows slung over one shoulder.

I stare at the body of Beth, then again at the boy.

I am on my feet before he can blink, his back pressed against a tree and my hands at his neck. "You killed her!" I shriek, tightening my fingers.

He struggles to breathe, trying to push me away. "What is wrong with you?" He gasps. "Of course I killed her!" He points to something behind me.

I whirl around, releasing him. He sags to the ground, rubbing his neck.

I let my eyes drift until they catch on a pile of upturned dirt a few feet away. I start to walk slowly toward it, afraid of what I will find.

My steps falter and I look down at the six deep holes in the ground at my feet.

Bodies lie in the first five, with their arms neatly folded across their chests and their eyes glassy. I force myself to look, knowing what I will find, then close my eyes tightly, a sob tearing through me.

"You killed them all." I whisper through gritted teeth, feeling my world collapsing around me.

I look over at the boy as he approaches the sixth hole, pushing Beth's body inside. He meets my numb gaze with confusion. "Ivory..." He says, laughing a little. "You killed them."

I wake with a strangled gasp, jolting up to a sitting position and pushing some of the sheets off of the bed. My breathing is heavy and erratic, and I reach up with unsteady fingers to brush at the tears on my cheeks.

It takes a moment for me to remember where I am. Strangely, the first thing I notice is that someone has turned off the Holographic wall.

I try to breathe slowly, running one hand through my tangled hair. It was just a nightmare.

But that didn't make it feel any less horrifying.

Suddenly, someone coughs, and I jump, turning around. It is a boy, and I think immediately of the District Three boy from the dream. I tense, before I realize it's just Wyatt.

He looks uncomfortable. "Um... they sent me to wake you up. For Breakfast. Are you okay?"

I stare distantly at him for a minute. "Yeah. Breakfast. Be down in a minute."

He nods awkwardly and leaves.

I sit and gaze down at my hands for what feels like hours, trying to banish the dreamed images that scar my mind. Finally, I stand.

I'm too tired to change or to attempt to look nice, so instead I just pull the matching sweat-jacket over the tank top and slip on a pair of fur lined shoes. My hair is frizzy from drying naturally, so I pull it into a loose ponytail and head out the door.

I get lost at least three times on the way down to the dining hall. There are so many furnished hallways and identical doors; I even convince myself at one point that the building somehow defies the laws of gravity and logic and is built so everyone ends up back where they came from, no matter what direction you take. But I finally manage to find the wide archway and elegant glass tables of my destination. Verta, Ethan, Wyatt, and my prep team are already eating.

"There she is!" Marcella squeals, pointing at me with her pristine, bubblegum pink nails. I glance down at my own nails, the only thing that remains from my escapade at the Opening Ceremonies, though the blue paint has rubbed off in some places.

"Hello Ivory, what took you so long?" Verta asks, sounding cross.

"I got lost." I reply curtly, and Eustacia giggles.

"Well, sit down." Ethan pulls up a chair, but I ignore it and sit across from him, near the edge.

I scan the length of the table hungrily, my eyes widening at the variety of foods. I lean over and grab a bowl of some sort of pasta in a thick white sauce, with shredded peppers. The steam is warm on my face as I spoon piles of it on my glossy china plate. I set that aside and again reach across the table, grasping at the tinfoil covering some kind of meat, baked to a golden brown.

"Now, really!" Verta says indignantly, pushing me back. "You musn't do that! People will think you're starved!"

I glare at her. "I am starved. Pass the mystery meat."

Nero starts to laugh, then quickly disguises it with a loud cough. He pushes the plate towards me.

The food sizzles on my tongue, and I close my eyes, savoring the taste. I know I might not have the chance to eat this kind of food for long.

"Now that everyone is here..." Ethan starts. His voice is clear and loud; he's the kind of person who you can't help but pay attention to. "We can discuss training methods."

Wyatt looks up from his fried potatoes, glancing at me and then back at Ethan. He is about to speak, when I cut in.
"I want to train separately."

Ethan looks surprised for a moment, then nods in understanding. I don't make eye contact with Wyatt, but I know he is disappointed, and possibly a bit hurt.

I reprimand myself. Why should I care?

And I know; that exactly is the reason why we cannot train together.

If I want to make it home, I cannot become attached to my District partner.

If I want to make it home, Wyatt must die.

I breathe deeply, playing with the hanging strings of the lightweight jacket I was given. We were told to change, and upon returning to our rooms we had found simple gray outfits draped over the beds. I had taken out the ponytail as well, and instead twisted my hair into a messy bun at the nape of my neck, but loose strands still hang behind my ears.

Wyatt and I stand in the wide doorway of the Training Center's Gym; the distance between us is thick and uncomfortable somehow. I wonder when I began to care, or notice him at all.

The Gym is large and spacious, with divided areas of skill. Other tributes have already arrived, and are busy preparing for the games- I catch the eye of a tall, thin boy with tousled black hair looking down at everything from a high rope net. His gaze is steady and calculating, and I can't help but look away first.

I see Cherry, locked in Close Combat; to my surprise, she is winning. However delicate she may look, she is fast, and every swipe or kick her opponent lashes out with misses. Her technique is swift and targets the weaknesses of the bulky man she fights, and soon she has him on the ground.

I swallow my anxiety and take a stiff step into the room, but before I can pick a station I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to see Ethan.

"Spend an equal amount of time working on your weaknesses as perfecting your strengths." He whispers. "And find an ally. I know you don't want to become attached to anyone," he says as I start to protest, "but you will not survive without one. No one ever does."

He retreats, and I inhale deeply, looking around. Now that I know I must team up with someone in this room, I see everything differently.

I try to walk confidently into the room, my shoulders set. A gleam of polished metal catches my eye and I turn to see a knife throwing station. I think of the nights I had spent collecting game with Quinn and Austin, and the knives I have tucked in a satchel back at Bethany's house.

The girl who is currently at the station obviously has no practice with the weapon she uses. She grips the knife too tightly, and it isn't balanced between her fingers; when she flings it forward, it travels too far, sailing over the target.

She curses under her breath. I watch her snatch another knife with the same crude grip. She is about to throw it when I speak.

"You're doing it wrong."

She turns, her hand lowering. When she sees me leaning casually against the wall, her eyes narrow. "What?"

I step forward, my green eyes calmly surveying her. "You're holding it wrong. You'll never hit anything if you don't loosen your grip."

The girl stares at me. "Is that all? Just felt like coming over here to insult me?" She says coldly, turning back to the target. "Careers," she mutters.

I feel my face flush with sudden anger. "Actually, I'm trying to help."

"I don't need your help."

I'm about to respond, then I stop and take a deep breath. "Fine." I say evenly. "Loosen your grip and hold the knife between your fingers. And don't thow it so hard. It isn't heavy, it'll travel far." I turn around and start to walk away, unsure why I tried helping her in the first place.

I hear her fumbling with the knife behind me. She's silent for a moment, then she sighs. "Wait."

I look over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

She glances at the ground. "Show me." she says flatly.

I fight back a grin, returning to the station and picking up a knife. The hilt is wooden, glossed with black paint, and the blade is long and thin.

"You don't want to hold it too tightly because that slows the momentum when it's thrown," I explain, "but you don't want to throw it too hard because it's light, so it doesn't need much to get it in the air." I pinch the handle between my middle and forefinger, my eyes trained on the small middle target circle. I take a step forward and toss the knife forward, smiling slightly when the point pierces the red paint and sinks itself deep into the wood.

The girl looks at me, trying to conceal her awe. I bite my lip and grab another knife from the rack, handing it to her. "You try."

She positions her feet to match mine, her fingers slipping on the smooth hilt as she aims. The knife pitches forward and manages to stick in the target near the edge.

I'm about to tell her it was a good try when she smiles. "That's the first time I've stuck one all day," she says cheerfully, then again is serious. "Thanks. I usually use axes and such. You know, heavier weapons. I'm not used to these scrawny things." As she reaches up to brush her dark blonde hair out of her eyes, her jacket sleeve slips down and I notice the toned muscles in her arms.

"What district are you from?" I ask curiously.

"Six. Lumber. The name's Liberty." She extends a hand.

"I'm-"

"Ivory Legend, from District Four." She interrupts, her voice once again spiked with distaste. "Yeah, I saw you at the Opening Ceremonies."

I don't know what to say for a second, so I don't speak, stiffly shaking her hand. She turns back to the target but makes no movement to try again. Finally, I break the silence.

"I didn't want to be here."

Liberty nods, sighing. "I know. I can tell." She pauses, fiddling with the hem of her jacket. "Why did you help me? We're going to eventually have to try to kill each other." She says it as if it's the most casual thing in the world, but I can hear the dread layered over her words. "Why would you damage your chances?"

I glance at her, choosing my words carefully. "Maybe it's part of an ulterior motive to increase my chances."

She meets my eyes, then hers narrow. "Are you suggesting an alliance?"

"Possibly."

Liberty walks forward, approaching the target. She grabs the handles of the knives and tugs them free of the wood with one yank. The blades clatter to the ground and she pushes them over to me with her foot.

I pick them up and set them back on the rack. When I turn back around, she is standing in front of me, arms crossed.

"You're on. But I'm warning you, Legend. I'm not some bloodthirsty killer. These aren't games to me; I just want to get back home to my family."

"I know." I respond, feeling a grudging rush of respect. "I'm not either."

"Good. Catch up with you later." Liberty grins and abruptly races off, leaving me feeling sick.

Now there are two people who stand in the way of surviving.

I hate myself for caring.