Bright lights dimmed just enough to allow Steve to see as he walked out. His long legs were decorated in black suit pants that had been specifically made for him. He blinked an eyelash out of his eyes and sneezed. Perfume and makeup filled the air. Very girly, but it wasn't for him.

No, it was for the thirteen billion girls that all had to be dolled up. The outfits were creative, at least, his was. It started with an extensive wash and then a yellow shirt bright enough to make the sun wince. Little strands of silver weaved through the yellow in delicate flecks. From there he had donned a dark purple jacket that hugged his muscles and cast a mysterious look. His hair had been extensively washed and combed up while they had shaved off his tiny beard. In his suit pocket--a single, perfectly cultivated Snapdragon flower.

Around him, people ran left and right. His stylist had abandoned him hours ago to work on his district partner, Yukana Chambley. She was apparently wearing some sort of pretty white dress.

Why is everyone dressed up as flowers? Is this some sort of Rose parade? He laughed silently to himself as he waited for his turn, mind spinning on wheels of gold and blue. What did the bee say to the flower? Hello, honey!

Finally, it was his turn. He adjusted his blue spotted magenta tie and walked up the steps to the stage.

"All the way from District Nine," called out a sharp and slightly scary voice, "is Steve Young! Steve, come on out. We have a special guest for you."

He felt his throat tighten up at that as he went to his seat. There, right before him, was Shelia.

Shelia.

With a grin he hugged her, his strong arms squeezing her body close as his lips lifted upwards. "Babe!"

"Hey, Steve," she said. Her voice was soft. Weak. Something's wrong. "Have a sit, will you?"

"Yes, Steve, take a seat," Wisteria, the hostess, ordered. She was scarier in person. Nails like a witch's, sharp and long, and a thin body encompassed in a large carnation dress. It was strange, over the top, and just enough to give him nightmares. She gave him a short smile. "Lovely outfit."

"Yeah--if you're into the 'I just escaped a greenhouse' look." He chuckled, glancing back at his girlfriend. She looked radiant as ever with her plump sides and corn-colored hair. Her dress was wavy and bright orange. Perfection.

He gave Shelia a broad smile, "I'd say you're as pretty as a rose, but a rose ain't got nothing on your beautiful tulips."

At that she let out that pretty little laugh of hers, teeth flashing and round cheeks blushing. "Ain't he a riot!"

Wisteria, who was about as cheery as a dead field mouse, only shook her head. "I can appreciate a funny man," she said, "but beneath that. Tell me, Mister Young, what skills do you bring into this arena?"

He shrugged. "I'm strong. I can run. I can fight, climb..."

Pursing her lips, Wisteria shook her head. She turned to the side for a second, sharp nails digging into the metal of her chair. Her metallic eyes pierced his soul, forcing him to talk, to spill everything.

"Are the Games a joke to you?"

"Yes."

It was automatic. It was easy. Shelia, though, let out the smallest cry of pain. Tears flooded her eyes at the same time confetti began to rain down on them all.

Steve felt as though there was a scar crossing his heart. Lies that brought him into the world and lies that would kill the one he loved. Life, death, a giant bloody scar, bumpy and ruined. Something to be seen and scoffed at, something to be hated and hidden from the world.

But the scar was really on her, who had electricity of some sort wound throughout her body.

Wisteria giggled. It sent shivers down his spine. "Let's move on, shall we?"

The crowd, who couldn't see what he saw, laughed and cheered her on. Steve felt like ice had replaced his bones.

"Steve, tell us, what's your game plan? Your strategy for winning?"

"I..." His throat felt sore. He couldn't lie. Lying hurt his gal, his Shelia. Fuck. I can't get her hurt! "I want to win. Anyway that's possible. I--I hate losing. I can't stand it. I don't care how many...scars I get. I don't care if I lose an arm, an eye...all I want is to get back home. To get back to Shelia."

They 'ooh'd and 'aw'd that, a few hooting. Steve's heart beat fast in his chest. Is my answer good enough? Damn! Better, Steve. Don't let them hurt her.

He cleared his throat, "Really, I'm going to win for Shelia."

"Ah, yes. Nice. How sweet."

Shelia's eyes bored into his forehead, worse than the metal ones that Wisteria held. Her pain was obvious. Wisteria's a robot. Some sort of--of freaking robot terror-freak.

"You know, lovers don't do well in the arena. It'll be sad when your body is brought back, now, won't it? Does that scare you, Steve? To know that you'll be dead?"

Shit. She wasn't going easy on him. Maybe if I can avoid her questions long enough I'll wake up and get a real human. Dang androids. Always trying to break you.

Shelia answered for him, her voice still nothing like he knew it to be. She sounded meek, mild, almost timid. "Oh, he's coming home. We're going to get married, you see. Steve and I, we've got a life to live. The Games won't take this from us."

"Are you excited, Steve?"

"No-" He was cut off by Shelia's small cry of pain. Answer real. Real! "I...yes, I'm excited. My soul is absolutely shaking. I've always wanted to meet a boogeyman, you see." His answer wasn't a lie but it was a joke. Steve knew he was excited. The prospect of the perfect Game--if he won, his family got everything.

"You don't like losing, do you?"

He chuckled, trying to calm his ever beating heart. "No. I mean, losing is fine--I just hate doing it. Who doesn't?"

"Is there anything you want Shelia to know in case this goes bad?" she asked, crossing her legs. The high heels on her feet were distracting with their bright neon yellow and greens. He could tell from the way she sat that she was the type to get high off of other's pain and drunk on their sadness.

"I'd..."

He couldn't answer.

It was the Reaping all over again. He had two minutes to talk and he couldn't. The entire time he made jokes. Pat had laughed until she cried. His mother had cried the entire time, never once even smiling. Shelia hadn't gotten to show up, she'd waited too long. By the time the train rolled out he only got a glimpse of her tear streaked figure waving and running after him. That had been enough to rip his heart.

"I want her to know that I love her," he chocked out. Wisteria 'tsk'd under her breath and Shelia let out another small cry. Tears streamed down her face. Whether from the pain or his pitiful lie, he couldn't say. The whites of her eyes stained red as her mouth fell agape. Betrayal stung like a bitter friend as it slit her neck and left her for the flies.

I hope I die out there, he thought. He never wanted to see that face again.

"I love you," she whispered back. Pain lined each word spoken. "I love you, Steve."

He nodded, barely holding back his own tears as he stood. In a short walk he was before her, leaning down and wiping away a tear as he kissed her gently on the forehead. She smelled of home--of wheat and grains. Her skin tasted of sweet bread and burnt life--the odd, silvery taste that lingered in his mouth.

"I'll return home. Nothing can stop me," he muttered against her head. A rush of hot, searing electricity filled his mouth and body, flowing straight from hers. Another lie. Quick, he rephrased himself, "I'll try not to let anything stop me."

"Well, it's been lovely. Thank you, Steve."

That was the end. Time for him to go. For Shelia to return to...home? To stay in the Capitol, free for torture? I'll win, and we'll both return home. I'll do it, I'll win.

"Goodbye," he told her, voice falling to a low sigh. With a gentle hand he removed the flower from his pocket and pressed it into her tiny hands.

Shelia wiped away all the tears that she could before responding, her voice clear and sweet. "Goodbye, my love."