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KILL FOR YOUR LOVE.

act three.

(chapter thirty-eight, you are simply just a killer)

a white room, 75 ADD.

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JUNIPER STOOD IN-FRONT OF the bedside table, eyeing the new tray of food that laid upon it. A Peacekeeper had brung it in a few moments ago and the Hale woman inspected the plate of corned beef and peas, eyeing the glass of water. It was not poisonous, that she knew of because she had watched Clampitt take a spoonful of her porridge in the morning, but she still didn't trust the Capitol. She never would.

But the sound of her rumbling stomach and the intoxicating smell of the corned beef filling up her senses forced her to sit down on the floor with the tray in-front of her, knife and fork in hand as she immediately shovelled the meat and vegetables down her throat. It was much better than any raw fish or bread she had eaten in the arena and whilst Juniper should have savoured the meal, cherished it due to her captivity, she didn't. The last time she ate was the evening of the last night of the Quell. And as she slurped the glass of water down, Juniper closed her eyes. 

Plutarch left her behind.

And then she swiftly opened them again. 

She clenched her jaw, tried to control her breathing as she looked around the room. But there was nothing new to see. It was all white, all perfect, all pristine, all clean. Nothing else was in the room that Juniper hadn't seen before and so, she placed the tray back on the bedside table before laying on the bed. 

But she didn't go to sleep. She wouldn't go to sleep. She couldn't because she knew the minute her eyes closed and Juniper was dragged by the hands of sleep, it would be the death of her. She fell asleep before, sedated, and dreamt of Brent Higgins. If she closed her eyes, who else would she see? Her father? Finnick? Lucy Stevens? Cashmere Nicholo?

Cashmere Nicholo. 

Juniper sat up and placed her head into her hands. She had told herself during training that she would be mad at the circumstances, despise whoever would kill the woman. But she also told herself she would move on, that Cashmere Nicholo's death would not break her. And she was right, Juniper wouldn't be broken about her death because she was unbreakable. She had built secure, strong barriers around her heart and mind that she couldn't possibly be broken. But she hadn't moved on. It had to have been days ago, Cashmere Nicholo's death and yet, Juniper was still thinking about her. 

Why was she still thinking about her? Why had she dreamt about Brent Higgins? She didn't feel guilty about killing the man and she wasn't broken over Cashmere Nicholo's death. She wasn't. Juniper knew that. She wasn't broken. She wasn't devastated. 

But one thing entered her mind as soon as that thought left. Juniper would be dead soon anyway. The Capitol was surely going to kill her soon despite what Clampitt said. If they pulled information out of Juniper, if, they would have no use for her. And even if they didn't, even if they failed, they would still kill her. They didn't like anything they couldn't control. That was why they sold Juniper off, to control her. That was why they put all the Victors' in the Quell, to control them. The Capitol wanted power, to control everyone and everything. They would eventually kill her if she didn't prove useful. But she needed to live. Not for her own worth. Juniper Hale couldn't quite care if she died, but she needed to live for Finnick. For her father. For Annie. And for... Lucy? 

Juniper sighed at the thought of Lucy Stevens. What was she thinking? She had to be with the rebels with Haymitch Abernathy. And would she be distraught at the fact that Plutarch left her behind? Would she even care? Juniper would like to think that she would, that Lucy Stevens cared for the poor soul of Juniper Hale because Juniper cared— 

She stopped that thought the minute it popped up. She did like Lucy Stevens and she did... care. But where did that get her? Locked in the white room of hell? And Lucy had changed and Juniper insulted her nearly every day. As she thought about Lucy Stevens, she felt her heart seize up again. She had no idea what she felt for Lucy Stevens whether it was love or if they were mere acquaintances, forced together by their situations. But through the entire night, petrified of sleeping, Juniper thought about Lucy Stevens. 

And it was only when the door bursted open and Dr. Clampitt came waltzing in, her black hair done in an intricate braid down her back, still remaining with her glasses and lab coat, that Juniper forced herself to sit up and toss away any thoughts of her mentor. The woman walked further into the room, holding a black square that looked like another tape in her hand, but stopped when she saw the state of Juniper. She perked a brow and her nose wrinkled up. 

"Did you not sleep?"

Juniper didn't answer and remained still on the bed, staring at the doctor with narrowed eyes. 

"Well, at least you ate." Clampitt unwrinkled her nose and relaxed her brow as she eyed the empty plate and glass on the tray. "You should be getting breakfast soon." 

"Oh, lucky me." Juniper scoffed as the doctor resumed walking further into the room until she perched herself on the end of the bed just like the day before. "Is that another tape? Are we going to rewatch the blowing up of the force field?" 

"No." Dr. Clampitt sighed. The door burst open and a Peacekeeper wheeled in a trolley that had the same television on it before leaving quickly. "Why would we? You were adamant yesterday that there was no rebel plan—" 

"And you actually believe me?" 

"Of course I don't," Clampitt said. "But it would be a waste of time to ask the same questions over and over. Therefore, we will be watching something new from the Quell."

"And why is that?" Juniper asked. 

"Because I want to see what makes you tick, Juniper Hale." Dr. Clampitt smiled so sweetly that it was sickening. "You see, I am a doctor. I understand what makes people go insane, what makes them kill. But for you... I am perplexed." 

"A doctor should heal people, shouldn't they?" Juniper questioned. 

"I am not that kind of doctor, Miss Hale." 

Clampitt put the tape into the player before switching the television on. The sound of the anthem played around again before the screen showed a shot of the Cornucopia in the Quell where seven figures surrounded the mouth. Juniper. Finnick. Peeta. Johanna. Katniss. Beetee. Wiress. 

And yet again, like the last clip, the narration from Caesar and Claudius were muted as if Clampitt wanted her to focus on the tributes and not the hosts. And that was what Juniper did as she listened to herself on the screen. 

"The hell is a canary?" She had asked as she wedged a knife in the gap between her belt and jumpsuit. The camera shot moved from her face to show the entire group.

"It's a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there's bad air," Katniss had stated and Juniper, on the screen, merely nodded. 

"What's it do, die?" Johanna had questioned. 

"It stops singing first. That's when you should get out. But if the air's too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you." 

Everyone on the screen shrugged as they went back to what they were doing. The camera lenses zoomed in on each and every one of them. Johanna was throwing a pair of lethal-looking axes into the side of the Cornucopia. Juniper was swinging around her sword, looking somewhat happy. Katniss and Peeta were hunched over a make-shift map of the arena with the times of each hourly horror that they knew of. And Finnick was admiring his trident with Wiress at the water's edge, dunking the cylinder in the waves as Beetee rested against the metal of the horn. 

"Did you notice anything unusual in the others?" Katniss asked as she peered at Beetee, Juniper, and Johanna as they all regrouped. 

"Blood," the man from Three responded. "That was it... though I was unconscious for most of it." 

"I guess they could hold anything," Katniss murmured as she looked at Johanna, who shrugged. 

"I'm going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers' weapon follow us out past the jungle, so we'll stay clear of those," Peeta had stated as he took the large knife he held and began to draw diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches before sitting back. "Well, it's a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway." 

Juniper clenched her jaw as she realised what Clampitt was showing her. She knew what was happening, but she still watched as everyone on the screen turned around to see a dripping-wet Gloss slitting Wiress's throat open, blood pouring out with her wound looking like a sick smile. And Juniper forced herself to look down at the white tiles of the floor as she heard the whizzing of her blade, the groan Gloss let out. And then the eventual boom of three cannons. 

Wiress. Gloss. Cashmere Nicholo. 

And then the screen went black as if Clampitt edited it so it only showed Gloss's death like it was the topic of the day. 

"Why did you show that?" Juniper murmured as she continued to look at the tiles. 

"Because I want to know why you killed him," the doctor said softly, voice filled with pity. "I want to know why because there are two reasons that contradict your actions." 

"And what are they?" Juniper snapped as she looked up at the woman. Rage began to bubble up in her stomach, slowly making its way to her heart and throat. 

"Well, firstly, you didn't care for Wiress from District Three. I mean — you slapped the woman and you and Mason yelled insults and threats to her the entire time you were within her vicinity. You didn't do it for revenge, you couldn't possibly have," Clampitt told her. "And secondly, you shouldn't have killed Gloss Nicholo from One because of his sister, Cashmere Nicholo. You had a connection due to your personal experiences... because you were both Reaped with your brothers—"

"Don't." Juniper hissed as she narrowed her eyes, fingers twitching. She could feel her heart beating viciously.

"Why did you kill Gloss Nicholo?" Clampitt repeated. 

"You don't understand—" 

"Why did you kill him?" Dr. Clampitt asked once more. "You know what it's like to watch someone impale your brother with a knife. You know the pain, the torture you go through. And yet, you still killed Gloss in-front of Cashmere without a single thought." 

"I... Cashmere Nicholo didn't see," Juniper said, breathing heavily. Unless Mellark lied to her. 

"Yes, yes, she did, Miss Hale..." Clampitt said it so softly, so faintly that Juniper barely caught it. "She saw it."

But Juniper had heard it and it made her freeze. It made her rethink the scenario over and over. Wiress dying. Gloss dying. Juniper hadn't seen Cashmere Nicholo throughout the attack. And Peeta had told her, reassured her that Cashmere Nicholo hadn't seen, that she was already gone. But here, Clampitt was telling Juniper that she did see. 

And as Juniper forced herself to rethink that day, that moment, a guttural whimper began to build up in her throat, fighting against the rage. Had Cashmere Nicholo seen Juniper kill Gloss? If she did, what did she think? Did she decide, moments before her death, that she despised Juniper Hale? That was something Juniper couldn't bear. She couldn't possibly imagine Cashmere Nicholo hating her. But if she did— 

"She saw it..." Dr. Clampitt repeated. "The look on her face... Miss Hale, you killed her brother. Just like Leona from Two killed yours. You know that pain and so... why did you kill Gloss?" 

Juniper let out a shaky breath. 

In. Out. 

In. Out. 

In. Out. 

Why did she kill Gloss? She didn't kill him to avenge Wiress. Juniper would be lying to herself if she ever thought that. But why did she kill Gloss? And the only answer she could think of was: she didn't know. Juniper supposed instincts. Adrenaline. The Quell. All those factors would contribute to her killing Gloss because she didn't do it for revenge or spite. She just simply killed him just like Leona simply killed—

"Because I just did..." Juniper mumbled. "There's no scientific or intricate reasoning behind it. I just did. And if that makes you realise what makes me tick, then there, you have your answer. But I just did."

Clampitt stared at Juniper for a while, brows furrowed. The woman seemed to chew on her gums, contemplating something before nodding, saying, "Yes. Yes, it does help me realise what makes you tick."

"And what's that?" Juniper asked. 

"You're a killer, Miss Hale." Clampitt got up after retrieving the tape from the player. A Peacekeeper came in and wheeled the television out as the doctor followed him. "That's all you are... like you said, there is no scientific or intricate reasoning behind it. You are simply just a killer." 

Juniper stared at the woman and didn't even wince as the door slammed shut, leaving her alone in the white room of hell. And whilst Juniper knew she was a killer, the fact haunting her in her sleep, it seemed to be different. And she didn't know why. But it did. 

Cashmere Nicholo.

Had she seen? Had she truly seen? Juniper had, for the most part, been all right with killing Gloss because Peeta Mellark had told her that his sister hadn't seen. But then Clampitt said she had. And Clampitt had the recording. Peeta Mellark had just his own opinion. And maybe he was just telling Juniper that to make her feel better. 

Cashmere Nicholo had seen Juniper kill her brother. 

(Because if she didn't turn around, she wouldn't have seen Leona holding her brother's shoulders from behind, holding a dagger she had taken from the rack in the Cornucopia)

The guttural whimper won the battle against the rage built within Juniper's being as she slid off the bed, curling up on the tiled floor as she let out a cry. Her vision became blurry as tears began to viciously roll down Juniper's cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto the tiled floor. She was shaking as she let the realisation that Cashmere Nicholo was dead and that she had seen Juniper kill her brother sink in. 

And then her cries began to turn into sobs and sobs into screams as Juniper allowed the tears to come pouring down. It wasn't like she had enough strength to stop them either way because she shuddered, a chill going up and down her spine as the pain started to come back harshly. 

Cashmere Nicholo had seen. 

The pain was beating, searing. It enveloped her entire being. It slid up from her feet, to her legs, to her stomach, spreading to the tip of her fingertips, all the way until it reached the top of her head. It infected every limb, every muscle, every bone, every fibre, every joint in Juniper's body. And it made Juniper curl herself up into a ball because whilst she had experienced all sorts of pain, what she was feeling in that moment felt as if someone had lit a bomb in her insides, letting it explode. Everything ached with every movement. And all the painful thoughts kept coming back. All because of a simple sentence Dr. Clampitt had muttered to Juniper. 

Cashmere Nicholo had seen. Juniper had killed her brother. She had seen. 

What did Cashmere Nicholo think of her? Was she filled with rage? Or did disgust drown her? Or did a sudden sadness seeing Juniper Hale, the twin-killer, the girl who snapped, kill her brother wash over her? Juniper wouldn't know because Cashmere Nicholo was dead. She was killed by Johanna. But she had seen. She had seen it. Cashmere Nicholo had seen Juniper Hale kill her brother. 

Juniper had enough energy and common sense to get up from her ball to climb into the bed where she curled into the quilts, letting her tears dribble onto the fabrics. She allowed the sheets and blankets to caress her aching skin, letting out a sigh of relief, but it turned into another sob. And soon, the flesh of her cheeks were soaked, hair stuck to her face and in that moment, she let everything wash over her if it hadn't already. 

Plutarch left her behind. Juniper was the only one in the Capitol. She was going to die. She had killed Gloss. Cashmere Nicholo had seen. Cashmere Nicholo was dead. 

The Hale woman, as she sobbed, closed her eyes. She wasn't sure how long she cried for, but she felt extremely exhausted afterwards that she couldn't care less about what dreams she could encounter. And so, with a shaky hand, Juniper wiped away her tears as she tried to calm herself down, excusing the odd hiccup here and there. She hadn't cried like that in a long time and forgot the aftermath of such an event. 

Juniper Hale hated vulnerability. She hated emotion. She hated feeling so bare, so open. She had promised herself that she would close herself off, to not feel things so she could have a clear head. But she didn't have a clear head. Every pained, tortuous thought that entered head clouded her judgement, clouded her mind. And she figured if she was stuck in the white room of hell with no-one around, she could at least shed some of her layers before the solitude began to eat at her.