"Need some help with that?" he asks, a grin that could belong to an eleven-year-old wide on his face. I haven't seen the boy around before, even though he seems comfortable with me.

I give him a hesitant, grateful smile and readjust the pile of fabric and jar of buttons tucked under my arm, pushing up against the not-budging door. "Fine."

He ignores me. "Here." The door moves when he pushes on it lightly and he holds it gallanty, the grin not moving.

"Thanks," I murmur nervously, tucking stray hairs back into my braid. He gives me another smile, and I can't help returning it.

I gasp and immediately start choking, the sweet taste of something that is definitely not oxygen overpowering any other sense. A scream comes from somewhere far away, but I'm too busy standing, trying not to inhale anything else. The damage is done though - even after the singular breath, I'm already stumbling forwards, trying not to injure myself.

A sharp pain blossoms in my left temple, then everything goes black.

A light blossoms, gray and pale blue threads twisting together into a fabric that surrounds me, pulling me into its world of quiet sadness.

The air itself tastes melancholy, like my chest is constricting and the air is forming a lump in my throat. Inexplicable tears form in my eyes, the sensation not unfamiliar, and I wish that for another second, Ric was there to wipe them away.

I let out a cough, the pulling in my chest almost choking me, and remind myself that I was free of his memories - in the arena, maybe. Not in my dreams.

A ghostly figure seemed to appear, the boyish smile the same as always, introducing himself. "Ric," the handsome boy says, no prompting needed. "And you're Tailor, right?"

I nod and keep walking. "Have we met?"

"No. I'd definitely remember you." I can feel myself blush and retuck my hair again.

A hard swallow keeps the memories from surfacing against, and I steel myself to walk away from the smoky vision, trying to get myself out of whatever new hell the Gamemakers have put me in.

It's surprisingly familiar, wherever I am. The muted grays and cool colors that paint the walls of the strange maze are spun into wavy patterns, and as I enter through a dark doorway, I come across frames.

Picture frames that line the wall hold what seem to be painting, realistic depictions of him laughing, brushing leaves out of his hair, winding his scarf around my neck with a soft smile, reaching over his table to slam shut his mother's locket. I can't help but stare at how carefree he was, how in love he looked. The boyish grin was replaced by a glowing smile that swelled my heart.

I rested my head against one of the frames, not one of our happiest - him, right before slamming the door in my face. Still, the hurt in his eyes, even then, was overpowered by the strongest emotion of all - love.

I could remember every second of those days, every second that I could stare at his freckles and trace his jawline with my fingers and rub those plaid shirts he always wore when he was mine.

There we were, framed forever, sitting at the kitchen table of his sister's house, chasing each other down the stairs with giggles frozen forever on our lips, walking down an autumn street with him almost stepping into the road from staring at me.

I let out a shaky, wet breath, and dabbed away at the tears forming again.

I thought I'd be fine, I thought I'd survive seeing anything else relating to Rick again. But here, with the air tasting like memories and the sound of colors that painted the walls, and that sweet scent that always surrounded Rick, I wasn't fine at all.

I let my hand lay on his smile, and could almost taste the smell of those days - crisp air that had made everything seem realer, when I was my old self.

I was still trying to find my old self, still trying to figure out who I was without him. I couldn't even remember a time when I wasn't a part of Tailor and Ric, when my lips didn't taste like his, when my scarves were knitted by my own hand and not Mrs. Stitch's, when my home was my own, not the extra bed that I nestled into at theirs.

It seemed like it'd always been that way, when my eyes were wide with joy and Ric's smile was sweet with longing and love. He'd made me forget everything else, even myself, crazy with love. Still, I didn't want it to be anything else.

I stop at a picture that almost makes my heart break.

"... and when I was eight-"

"Ric," I interrupt, softly, a smile tracing my lips. He dips his head to stare at me, nestled into his chest, and pecks me softly on the forehead, letting me breathe in the scent of him, which I can never get enough of.

"Darling."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"You're telling me about you when you were eight."

"Of course."

"Why?"

He lets a smile lift the corners of his mouth, eyes as perfectly blue as ever, the sunlight making a halo around his hair. "Well, if I'm going to spend my future with you, you should know my past."

I almost let myself cry - almost. Instead, I lift myself up on my elbows to taste his lips one more time and relax again, watching the sky pass by, and even the leaves, just starting to fall, are perfect. "Keep going. I want to know everything."

It was the first time I'd ever thought about a future, but after that it was my only future.

I wipe away a tear, the first I've let escape. I'm not fine. Not at all.

We had so much, so much hope, and somehow it got lost, or destroyed, or I ruined it, or Ric shattered the peace, and I had stomped on the pieces by running scared. The Capitol had wanted to prey on that, break me, their casual cruelness trying to rid me of my hope, my memories, the innocence that'd made it so easy for me to fall in love with Ric, and they were trying to destroy him, too.

Nothing could make me forget him.

But I'd have to become my own self again, find my own home, and the taste that my own lips allowed. The suffocating scents and the nostalgic colors that made the room feel like the magic of those days couldn't make me part of Tailor and Ric again.

The room was fading, somehow, whatever the Capitol was doing. I reached for Ric one last time, traced my finger along the edge of his jaw again, and whispered for what wouldn't be the last time.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

The room faded again, and someone - a girl's voice - shouted, "Tailor!"
I was back in the arena - or had I never left. The back of my head flared in pain when I moved, and Addison swarmed in front of me.

Shadow, too, knelt next to me. "God, you were out for ages!"

"What happened?"

"You fell, I guess, after that gas. The Capitol, again." Addison let out a more bitter smile than I'd ever seen, but she shrugged. "Minds are strange."

Strange wouldn't have been the word for mine - sad. Lonely. Mournful. The desperate dreams of the girl who'd entered the arena, but the distant memories of the girl who'd leave.

I ran a hand over the stitches of my scarf in my pocket and nodded distractedly, staring at the faded blue and dirty gray that wove other each other. "Strange."

© 2015 Microsoft#archiveModalDialog