I CAN'T BREATHE. I CAN'T FUCKING BREATHE. I'm enveloped in a world of darkness in this damned arena and I'm being chased by that kid with that fucking hatchet and I've just stumbled over myself in these high heels. Sejanus is nowhere in sight, and when I look around, it's as if he was never there. Like I've just come into this arena for no reason at all. 

I tumble over myself, a hurled mess as I cough onto the ground, barely able to hold myself up with the pain swelling in my ribs. 

My entire core feels like it's severed from my body and I'm sputtering over myself trying to gain the strength in my arms to pull myself up. 

It's a race against time and the tribute is just that much closer to me. I can hear his hurried footsteps nearing me and there's no one else here. There's no one here to rescue me and I can't go anywhere. I can't fucking move. 

I look up and the kid with the dirtied blonde hair is right in front of me, swinging his hatchet at me--right over the middle of my body and I go to scream but when my eyes open this time, I'm back in my bedroom. 

4 dark gray walls surround me, wallpaper peeling at the corners and torn at certain parts. The ceiling still has that same popcorn texture to it and though I've only lived in this shoebox apartment for two weeks, it's now my home. 

After six years in that mansion--with the lilac-colored walls and glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on my ceiling--I'd gotten comfortable. However, I settled for that blue cottage in District 12, but somehow, after I returned to those lilac-shaded walls that I was so damn tired of, I got stuck here. In the slumps of the capitol. 

It's funny, I had no idea there even was a poor part of the Capitol because even here, for $2000/month, I still can barely afford it with what my not-so-generous parents left me after kicking me out onto the street. 

I'm trapped in this room where my twin-sized mattress, bare on the floor, with the kitchen sink and mini fridge just 10 feet away, is the best I'll get. I share a bathroom with fellow tenants and I have to wear rubber shoes just to prevent getting Athlete's foot when I shower. 

Crying. No, wailing. 

Given the sharp siren-sounding cry, you'd think someone was gutting the being from the inside out. But rather, it was just a 4-month-old baby in her crib. 

My heavy panting--breathing--comes to a halt and I let out a harsh sigh as I now move from one nightmare to another--motherhood. 

I brush the loose strands of hair from my ponytail out of my face and tuck them behind my ears before tossing the lone blanket off of the bottom of my half. 

With a small groan slipping past my lips, I pull myself up off the thin mattress and go over to my daughter's crib. Her face has reddened with the tears in her eyes as she cries out for me and the tiredness hits me all of a sudden. 

I haven't had a good night's rest since before she was born and that's also partially my parent's fault. 

With two soft but assertive hands, I reach down and swoop her up into my arms. She has big brown eyes like mine and thin dirty blonde hair that gets darker and fuller each day. Her tiny, chubby hands grasp at the hem of my shirt--in just enough time for me to toss my hair over my shoulder before she's able to get a tug at it. 

I watch as her lips part with the smile on her face as I wipe the tears away from around her full eyes and if I weren't so drained, I might have smiled too. 

I take two tired steps over to the mini kitchen in the corner of this apartment and reach up, onto my tiptoes to open the latch of the white cabinet with shelves of cups inside. 

Grabbing onto the first one I see, I go and turn the sink faucet on, watching as the water fills to the brim. 

With the first sip and the eager tug on my shirt from Janus, I find myself only hoping that motherhood was just as difficult for my mother. No, I hope it was worse. Ten times worse. I hope tiny 4-month-old me gave my mother hell and gave her every single restless night I possibly could. Though she had my father to aid her, I can only pray that as a baby I drove that woman mad. My father, too. 

Now as a teenager, I can certainly try but they won't give me the time of day to even attempt. 

 I mean, there must be some reason behind my parent's neglect. I had to have been a difficult baby or else they're just shitty people. 

Or, both. 

With the third tug from Janus, and the look in her eye, I'm just brought up with how little I want this little girl of mine to go through. I want her to be loved by an honest man; with friends to surround her and always be there for her--and me, her mother, best friend, therapist--every name in the book.  

I look at Janus and her smile and all I can do is think of Coriolanus. He should be here beside me--living this domestic dream with me, cooking us breakfast while I feed our daughter. Not... pretending. 

Pretending to be my parent's child--a replacement for Sejanus. 

I thought that with my brother's death, my parents would turn to me and we'd be closer than ever--bonded over a loss. 

But instead, Coriolanus has somehow taken both my brother and I's spot in my parent's eyes and he's now deemed their only heir. He gets the allowance I once had, a full-ride to the same university as me--a happy, easy life while I'm stuck here, taking care of what was supposed to be our kid. 

Knock.

There's a knock on the door and it pulls me right out of the trance I've gotten lost in inside my daughter's eyes. 

With what I think is a sigh of relief, I open the door and Lysistrata is on the other side. She has her hand over the tote bag slung over her shoulder and I tug a smile on my lips, opening the door wider so that she can step inside. 

She knows the routine by now, as she's two times a week while I take morning classes--opposite of her. 

She, too, smiles and sets her bag on one of the few hooks beside the door the previous owner so graciously left nailed into the wall. She gives Janus' cheek a subtle stroke before I hand her over into her arms, allowing me the chance to finally get ready. 

I return to the sink and I take one final sip of rusted water before setting it in the sink and going over to my black-matte suitcase beside my mattress. 

I kneeled down, scanning through for a pair of pants to go with the shirt I'd slept in last night. "Hey, thanks for watching Janus. I really appreciate it." 

I don't have to look over to see her smile, and I can only hope she knows my genuine gratitude from the monotone mellowness that is now my voice. 

"Of course," she hums, and I can tell something is weighing on her mind. "Did you hear Coriolanus was back?" 

Heard was an understatement. Of course I fucking knew. 

I push my hair back, tying it into a loose ponytail as I stand up, my knees cracking with the movement. I don't bother sparing her my look of annoyance because she already knows how pissed off I now get at the mention of Coriolanus. That's why she tiptoes around it, and Festus loves to mention it. "Yeah, Lissy, I heard."

BLAKELY SPEAKS !

cute little easter egg- the name Janus means beginnings/endings so not only is she named after sejanus, she also symbolizes the end of marian and coriolanus but also the start of mare's new life 🤗🤗