This chapter is something I'm very excited for. This chapter is in the point of view of Tara, the female tribute from District 2, Enobaria's daughter. I really hope you enjoy it because it is something I have been looking forward to for a while. Thanks to the wonderful keelie119  for her idea! I really hope this chapter helps you see what it helped me see and what keelie119 's idea was; to see the human side of this career. The side that's hidden.

(Tara's POV)

The questioning look on my face explains everything. "Before you continue," I say, gesturing to Boston who's already begun to climb up the side of the maze. "How, and why, in the world are there vines growing in the desert?" He seems just as perplexed as I am.

"Don't ask me," he says, almost defensively. "Like you said, this is the Hunger Games we're talking about." I shake my head and he gets a grip on the grassy incline and hoists himself on top of the wall. The walls much taller from the ground. But once you're on top, it's not so bad. He extends his hand and I grasp it, knowing that if I let go it won't end well for either of us.

I'm much lighter than he expected. The surprise in his voice is what gives it away. "That wasn't so hard," he says, and he gives me that concerned look that he's already given fifty times. It's kind of cute.

"Let's just hope you're not the only one who thought of it," I say vulnerably. What happens next happens too fast to process. It's the sound of the cannon that puts me over the edge. Running along the top of the grass wall, we have a perfect view of the entire arena. The remaining tributes are scattered about, just as lost as we were. I shrink down, avoiding all chances of anyone seeing us.

Boston slumps down next to me and grips his ax in his hand. I didn't even realize he had kept a hold of it while we were running. We slowly crawl along the top of the wall, and the quiet is peaceful. But it's not natural. I feel goosebumps crawl up my arms and I know somethings not right. "Run," I say, barely audible. I push him up and we both run along the top. It's not smart, and neither is looking behind me. One of the tributes is chasing us and instead of encouraging me to go faster, my determination to keep going diminishes. I yank Boston to the side and we jump off the wall, landing in an enclosed space with only one exit.

There's no hesitation between either of us as we continue running, and I hear the tribute get off the wall, thumping into the sand. The maze feels endless as we follow the twists and turns, slip at the sharp corners and slowly lose energy. Eventually, I give up. "The game-makers win!" I say, surrendering myself to my ultimate death. "I can't go any further." I'm not exaggerating.

"Don't make me drag you," says Boston. "You have to keep going." I shake my head.

"I can't. I'm not fast. And there's a tribute chasing us."

"There's no threat. Can't you kill him? Or her?" I shake my head again. There's a crick in my side and pain in my voice and I know I'm in no shape.

"Killing isn't a game," I say a little more harsh then I intended. "I can't do it any more. I just want to leave."

"I thought people like you loved it here. I thought you saw it as a game and a chance to prove yourself. You guys always have enough." He's not wrong. We're supposed to love it here. We as in the careers. We may act vicious. We may train before the games. But in the end, only one of us actually lives. It's not a joke. "Can you at least climb up here?" He asks, getting a hold of another dangling vine. I oblige and as soon as we're on the top of the wall again, Boston cuts the vine, giving the tribute in pursuit no ability to climb up after us.

The vine drops at the tribute's feet and I finally get a good look at the kid who was running after us. "Rasta!" I shout.

"Can you let me up?" He asks. Boston looks at me and I shake my head. If I'm being honest, I can't even trust my brother right now. "Why?" he asks.

"If you're with us you'll just get hurt," I lie. He looks up at me skeptically. If I'm being completely honest, we've never had the best relationship. We're the only two kids at home. We're together way too much. And we've spent the last nine years training for the games. What's to say about that?

In the moment, I know I should have let him up. I don't even see the knife in his heart until the cannon goes off. Boston and I react in unison, terrified to see the girl from One now chasing us down. If we don't run, we'll both die, and if I don't win, I want it to be Boston who does. I'm yelling my brother's name as we run. "Please!" I yell over the sound of our loudly pounding hearts. Really loud. "Just let me say goodbye." I want to cry. We might not get along entirely, but he's still my brother.

"No," Boston says. "We have to go." He's practically dragging me and I finally give in. We've been running for eternity when I risk a look back. The girl from One isn't chasing us anymore, and I let out a sigh of relief. We move from a sprint to a jog, and come to a stop, this time for Boston's sake.

"She's gone," I say in between breaths. "Let's stop here." Resting our backs against a wall, it's the most relaxed I've felt since I've landed in the arena.

I didn't realize I had fallen asleep until the blaring sound of the Capitol anthem bolts me awake. I hate the snarky picture they show of my brother up in the sky. It's a lot harder then I thought, living with the fact that he's gone forever. The first cannon I heard belongs to the girl from Nine. And that's when it kicks in. There's only seven tributes left. And now, at home, the interviews are starting. And I bet the biggest question will be targeted towards my mom and dad. About how I didn't help my brother.

"You alright?" Asks Boston. I almost forgot he was here.

"Sure," I say. He doesn't believe me.

"You're lying," he says, without a hint of sarcasm.

"No," I say. "I'm completely fine." He stares me down. "Ok. I knew he would die when we both went in, but I didn't know it would effect me."

"Don't let it get you down," he says. "Just admit it to yourself." Admit what? The fact that he's dead? The fact that I'll never see him again if I get out of here alive? And then he says something that I didn't expect. "I'm pretty sure you're the only career who's like this."

"What?"

"You're not the same as everyone else. You just want to get home. You're not bloodthirsty."

"Boston. The careers you've heard about before we're raised their whole lives to kill. I wasn't born like this. The games only re-started nine years ago. The majority of me hates this."

"Keep going," he says. Keep going? What else is there? "You're mom is known for being vicious," he adds in a hushed voice. "Why aren't you like that?" I know there are cameras, so my voice diminishes into even less than a whisper. I know the quiet conversation is going to set the audience on edge. If anything, the cameras are zoomed in on us, desperate to here the truth about my supposedly vicious mom.

The truth thoroughly said: she's not vicious. Well, except when she's told to. She's told me way too many times how much her time in her first arena will haunt her forever. How she only did what she had to to survive. And then, of course, Capitol pressure. I'm pretty sure no one out there would voluntarily file their teeth into fangs and plate them with gold. Maybe there's someone out there who would. But my mom isn't that type. Once you get to know her, she's everything but vicious.

Enobaria; the girl from District Two. Enobaria; the girl who filed her teeth into blades after famously ripping her opponent's throat during her games. Enobaria; victor and survivor of not one, but two Hunger Games. It's not fair. It doesn't matter where we come from. Everyone's got a heart. Some people are just really good at hiding it. Everyone is human. Sometimes it just doesn't show.

I didn't realize I had gotten carried up in my thoughts. Boston's staring at me like there's more, and that snaps me back to where I really am. If I'm being thorough, I wouldn't mind staying in the arena a little longer. Under different circumstances, of course.

Something I've learned is that Boston is one for unexpected behavior, especially under pressure like this. But what he does next completely throws me off. His lips against mine is a relaxing sensation and when he releases he says, "I'm sorry. I had to do that. Just once." At the rate things are going, well both be dead in a few hours. If anything I understand his motives. The look on my face is reflected on his, one of embarrassment. It's that look everyone has. When they've done something they knew they shouldn't have but it felt so good.

"I wouldn't mind if you tried to do it again," I say.

Oooh! Cliffhanger! Haha. Hope you all enjoyed! Comment and tell me if you ship them too! Should out to KjerstiLong03 who came up with the idea. Also... if you ship them... does anyone have a name??