Suffocate

I find an elevator almost without realising, the sleek silver looks like a smoothed edge but the door slides open and as I step I’m glad it’s empty.

I don’t want to see anyone, not right now.

Peeta’s shaken me more than I thought possible. Being in there, I’d been so lost myself it had been terrifying but in a whole different way. Seeing him there, in a safe setting.

You’re safe here.

It’s been eleven days, or twelve now, I can’t recall. I didn’t expect him to be better, physically we were all a bit better off, but mentally...not even Johanna can hide nightmares now. I just didn’t think he’d be so bad, I’d been told, told that the first thing he did when he woke here and was coherent was wrap his fingers tight around Katniss’s throat and try to throttle her. That he spent all of his hours in an odd tensed posture; any thought of her set him off.

Why did I think I was different?

The elevator door slid shut with a gentle whoosh and I glanced at the range of buttons, the number went higher than I would have expected, but then I had no idea how deep the rabbit warren, as Johanna referred to it as, went. I couldn’t even press to go to the further floors, they seemed to require a code I had no idea of.

I didn’t want to go deeper. I wanted to go outside, although I knew there was no chance of that. You didn’t just go outside, you didn’t just go anywhere here it seemed, there were codes and orders, timetables and rituals followed to the minute under penalties.

I hated being underground, ever so often in my nightmares the crushing weight of the earth breaking through the compound appears and I wake up choking.

I pressed the number three, it sounded familiar and I searched for a reason as the mechanical room around me quivered and rose, making my stomach churn and twist before it stopped suddenly.

Three, Compartment 3045. Thom’s apartment, Rita in the adjoining one.

I shrink back under the artificial light, smacking my thumb against a different number.
I don’t want to deal with people.

I should make my way back to the hospital, but that’s where everyone would be heading, would expect me to go and I don’t remember the way. Every hallway is the same, the same sterile shine, the same doors. Whenever I’ve left the hospital previously I’ve been with Finnick, and he was far more interesting to look at then the walls.

When the elevator stops I slink out instantly, lowering my head as a few younger teenagers walk past. They must be from Twelve. I remember hearing that, there weren’t many children in Thirteen before the survivors of the bombing arrived. Thom had chipped in there was some sort of epidemic and a lot of the original inhabitants were not sterile some refugee from Ten had discovered.

It made me feel a little bad for them.

Now I found I was too consumed with Peeta I didn’t care.

He’d recognised me; that was expected, his memory loss was more severe than mine but not quite that bad. The gleam he mentioned, that rang so true it had stunted me, that was exactly how it was, a shimmer around memories, they played like clips had in that cell.

“You saw them, you saw the clip!”

All Finnick did was brush her hair out of her face. That was it I told myself, angered by the flurry of jealously in my stomach. I hadn’t even seen Katniss; she was still off fighting somewhere, in Two, Thom told me, more there for show, to keep the Mockingjay alive.

To continue to give a symbol that people would die for.

I continue, lefts and rights a blur, hunting for any place quiet. I find one, almost an alleyway, thin and covered in equipment, boxes and metal cabinets. I open one to distract myself and come face to face with piles of paper and pamphlets. Nuclear History is printed on many and I close the door again, sinking behind it, all but my feet invisible to the world.

All Finnick did was brush her hair out of her face. I know it’s true. I saw it; Peeta is making it into something more in his delusion. He didn’t see it in person, he was asleep. Finnick was trying to get them to trust him; the gentle movement was a sign of friendship, nothing more.

I don’t know why my body doesn’t agree.

I’m aware there’s a lot of things Finnick still hasn’t told me. Least of all what he had been doing the six weeks before I was here. Johanna and I weren’t the only ones who had therapy, even if lately he wore his sleeves down more.

I sigh, I haven’t been properly alone in too long, but even now I’m probably watched by security cameras. Thom won’t be happy I ran off. Finnick will be more concerned.

He’ll know Peeta meant him, he’ll wonder what I haven’t told him, what I saw but hasn’t said.

I liked it more when we weren’t discussing anything, when I could have a few hours at a time not talking about it. Doctor Wyere had brought it all back again. I want to strike out but unsteady fingers clench into a fist, as ever those on my left hand burn with a weak ache.

The weakness of my bones only lowers my mood further and I huff, kicking the wall opposite, barely reaching it but still managing a thud. My childish actions have a consequence I didn’t think of, there’s a hiss and two yellow eyes appear from a fallen over tin box, before a staggering orange mass follows it.

A cat.

It seems too ridiculous I almost laugh as it eyes me warily, obviously waking it deep from its slumber. Why would there be a cat? My first instinct is a rat problem, but it’s not like I would know, this is the longest I’ve spent outside the hospital walls. The cat shakes itself, eyes still holding mine before it sits, licking its paw almost in disgust as if being near me has made it grubby.

I find myself just watching the cat clean itself, simple movements, a simple creature really. I’d never been a cat person; they just seemed too arrogant, too useless until there really was a vermin issue.
A bit like me before my games I suppose. More like me afterwards, although any sense of pride and self worth had plummeted, shattered like bodies had against the hard rock at the bottom of the ravines I’d spent days clambering through.

The ravines where Tyger had finally died.

Died was putting it nicely, murdered was better. I slammed my palm over my mouth, stopping any noise from erupting, my chest was boiling and it was lava to swallow down, to keep quiet. I counted my breaths, tried to do what the doctor told me.

I let my attention drift back to the cat.

This one was huge, not fat but large, its’ fur had lately been carefully brushed although it was very wiry and thick and a bright blue ribbon lay around its chubby neck. After a while it seemed to grow bored of me, brushing against my foot, the shoes a size too big and unsurprisingly grey before it lay back down, in that weird little way cats did that made them look legless. Its' face was squashed and almost pug like, it didn’t relax much as it seemed to doze off, tail still flickering dangerously ever so often.

It was almost therapeutic staring at it. Maybe that was the point. I knew there were quite a lot of people in the hospital, in the larger area and beyond, I’d seen some but spoken to none. In truth I hadn’t spoken to many people freely. I didn’t know anyone really; I suppose that was some of the issue.

The fact I didn’t want to was a bigger one.

The cat twitched suddenly, one ear turning and I shrunk further back against as wall, as always somehow forgetting about my arm and banging the metal, swear words catching on my lips.

“Buttercup!” There was a hiss, and a set of footsteps, “Buttercup come on! You’ll get in trouble.”

Buttercup.

The cats name was Buttercup? It opened one lazy eye, looking more pissed off than before and I almost laughed again. Buttercup to me was a delicate name, there was a girl I had known of who was called Buttercup.

My laughter caught and fell when I realised exactly who Buttercup had been. I could picture her death, hear her scream. It warped and formed the word, “Buttercup! Come on!”

I cleared my throat, whoever it was sounded young, a girl, little more than a child. If they had an illegal pet and were caught, and I had to assume it was from the hint of desperation. “She’s here!” I called, urging my voice to sound less affected, quickly placing my hand on the cat before she went to scarper.

The moment the girl appears I recognise her and realise why her voice had sounded slightly familiar.
“Thank you.” She breathes, before the same thing happens to her and she recognises me and pauses awkwardly, scooping the cat up and holding it struggling against her chest. “Why...why are you down here?”

“I don’t know where I am.” I say honestly, feeling a prickle of embarrassment, “I...” I’m trying my best to be honest; Wyere says it’s the best, not to keep thoughts locked down.

It’s hard to be honest when you’re sure everyone else is lying to you.

“I saw Peeta.” I breathed, and her pale face straightened in a sense of understanding, “And I freaked out afterwards and basically ran away.” Her smiles small and I feel old habits my father once tried to drill in to me taking over, “Sorry, I’m Elena. Prim, right?” She nods, tongue slipping over her lower lip.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

I’m certain she’s lying.

All I am is a scarred reminder of what her sister has gone through twice. All I am is what? Another messed up Victor they have to baby.

A dark voice in my head exclaims it’s no wonder Finnick wanted to be close to Katniss. I sense her looking at me, no doubt my face betrays my thoughts, the darker they are the worse I am at concealing them.

“Do you want to go back to the hospital? My mother’s there and I need to meet her before refection anyway.” Her smile’s comforting.

“I don’t really want to go anywhere.” It grows, but I sigh and push myself up, ribs stinging a little and knees clicking. Her head tilts suddenly, “Soldier Volute, Thom... he’s your brother isn’t he?” I nod, “He was looking for your earlier. I just came back from lessons... are you hiding?”

“Kind of.”

“Katniss used to do that. At home, in...” her calm facade drops for a second, “Twelve and here. There have to be better places than a closed off storage bit though surely?” I let her words work, and over a few minute she coaxes me out as gently as she would the cat, who I also learn is actually male.

Buttercup is an even worse name for a tomcat but I don’t tell her that. I follow her; she’s not actually that much shorter than me, back to their compartment. It’s the first I see and it’s far from homely. Everything is simple and basic, standard I imagine, identical in every room. There are a few personal elements, a jacket, a plant, a few books stacked up against an off white wall. The window is the most interesting aspect and I find myself drawn to it without asking permission to enter and standing on my tip toes so my fingers reach out through the wide set bars.

“It’s for Buttercup so he can hunt. They don’t really like pets here but Katniss got them to make an exception.”

“I’m sure she did.” My voice has an unnecessary edge I try to remove, but all it does is slice my throat as I choke it back.

I’m jealous of far more than Finnick touching her hair, I know that. And I’m angry about far more than my brother dying for her cause.

“You can stay here for a bit if you want.” She suggest delicately, “If you still rather not go back. I doubt they’ll start checking rooms.” I shrug, knowing wasting time here isn’t helping, not if it’s already close to dinner.

“I shouldn’t.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” She agrees and I spin, watching her try to ensure her brute of a cat doesn’t sprint towards the door. She sucks in her cheeks, seeing me make no effort to move, “I think Katniss will be back soon. Plutarch was saying.” I don’t know what she expected so I force a short smile and nod.

Am I happy about that? I’m not sure; it wouldn’t make much difference to me in some ways. But that was a lie; I was here because of her, both in a positive and negative way. Without her I’d just have been in Four, apologising to two more sets of families. No difference, no change in the world.
But a lot more people would be alive.

“She’s in Two, right?” I tell myself it’s more for her sake than my own, that she clearly misses her.

I’ve met her mother briefly, another who looks nothing like the girl on fire. “Yeah.” Prim says slowly, “She’s okay though, I’ve spoken to her once or twice, and Gale is there...” I fight for a face but come up blank, just nodding again like I understand. “She’ll be back soon.” She repeats.

I understand the stress on her face, it’s the same around the eyes that Thom had the night before the reaping, that he still seems to carry whenever he sees me.

She’s scared her sister won’t come back. She will, she’ll be the best protected soldier there, little more than a face to fight more, all she’s ever really been. Finnick’s told me about all the propaganda videos, the ones I briefly saw and the others created since then. I’m going to see them soon, Doctor Wyere is going to secure copies of them.

I didn’t tell Finnick that.

I also didn’t tell him I asked to see sections of the games, the parts I struggle with. More than anything I want to watch him.

Peeta just drilled that further into me today.

“Here, I’ll take you back whilst everyone’s busy anyway.” She offers finally, although I get the sense she’s been talking and I haven’t heard her, as ever drifting away in my own mind. “Sure.”

I try to take note of the turns, the number she presses but all of a sudden I’m exhausted and my body’s aching again, what feels like poison pooling in my fingers. “Thank you.” As expected several people are in the small area Johanna and I share when I return, none of them look particularly happy.

I know the moment Prim leaves I’m in for it, even Johanna sends me a slightly wide eyed look. I sigh, “Thank you again Prim.”

“No problem.” She expertly keeps her eyes from lingering on Johanna’s emancipated form, instead she says hello to my brother, Haymitch and Finnick and vanishes smoothly.

I’m not quite as lucky.


Four days later I’m released from the hospital with firm orders to return if I ever feel I need to. I also have to come back twice a day anyway for pain medication, I was weaned off morphling, which I hadn’t really expected. I thought I’d easily stop using it and that would be that, but I could feel my body craving it at first, every tinge of pain made me lean to practically plug it back into the crook of my arm and I felt agitated once it was gone for a good couple of days.

I was jealous of Johanna, but she had hers quite high permanently. She was very sour about me being allowed out, citing time and time again that it wasn’t because I was better really, it was that Thom and Finnick wanted me out. That was fair enough, probably true although I knew I could slot into some routine, that being bed bound wasn’t helping me.

Too much time to think.

Too much time for Johanna to grow ever bitter, to start snapping even at Finnick when he found time to visit, to drown herself in morphling.

That was something that worried Finnick.
And he worried me.

Wyere had danced around it, me sitting there, the lack of morphling no longer made my hand drowsy, instead fingers flick and spasm easily. He showed me the propaganda videos of Katniss first, her back at home, ashes at her feet, her in Eight, meeting people who died just minutes later. I saw her singing, talking with Gale, the name had a face.

He hadn’t had one in the Capitol. But I knew who he was now, that terrifying, bloody beetle who had come to kill me in my cell had been a boy a year younger than myself who had morphed into a soldier, not a monster. Apparently he was the only reason most of the survivors from Twelve had gotten here.

Thom said he was in love with Katniss. He hadn’t smiled when I’d replied that most people were.
But finally, in the tiny office he held on the same floor as the hospital itself, Wyere let me see Finnick.

Well, first I heard him, seeing deaths of important victors and tributes, those he knew, or those that would touch any audience most. After that I didn’t want to watch the games, hearing about them dying had been enough to trigger memories back that night. Johanna woke me up again, shaking me from my nightmares.

“You’re still far too upset about Cashmere.” She’d said simply, stalking back to her own bed. As ever I just let her, watching her turn take a deep sip of sleeping syrup, morphling didn’t stop you dreaming.

Wyere had been observing me constantly , making me do odd little tasks or simply talking to me during our daily sessions; explaining things I had missed, both in the timeline of Thirteen and any information about my time in the cell. He stopped whenever he could tell the walls were cracking around me. We worked on that too, squeezing my fingers into my palm, straightening them as I counted my breaths.

Always up to five, in and out. Close my eyes and think of something happy.
Don’t let the walls crumble, don’t let myself crumble.

It worked to a degree, but not at night. Nothing had ever worked at night but Johanna was fiercely keeping my own dose of sleep syrup with her. I didn’t argue, it was too tiring, too much.

There wasn’t ever a time I thought I’d pity Johanna. I got why she was mad, upset. It wasn’t just that I was leaving her, Wyere had explained, it was that people wanted me to leave her. She was mad because my family wanted me with them, I had somewhere to go, people to be with.

She didn’t. She knew nobody, she had nobody.

“She has Finnick.” I argued lightly, watching as he made a note of it, asking me my view of their relationship, how our own had developed in both cases. That was a couple of days ago and had made me uncomfortable, it was just him buying time before he showed me the propaganda videos.
But now we were finally here, his pen scratched madly against the paper as he played the final video Finnick had been fully involved in. Something he’d recorded during the rescue, a distraction. He did what he did best, he used his secrets.

The camera was on him for easily twenty minutes, but it didn’t feel long at all.

I was entranced, horrified by what he was saying and to a degree how he looked. He was tired, bags under his eyes, his hair in unruly curls, those odd pink patches on his finger tips.

He still hadn’t told me much about how he had been when I was gone. I wanted to know.

Secrets spilled from his mouth, some he had told me of, many he’d never mentioned. All were dark, and I could picture the reaction wherever Beetee had broken into the signals. Wyere didn’t speak to me once it was over and I didn’t encourage a conversation. I was trying to absorb it, the secrets were nothing, I didn’t care about the stupid and often horrible things those in the Capitol did.

It was the look on Finnick’s face, the way his fingers kept twisting with one another, the way his hair was split, clearly identifying where is hand had run through it. The session was over quickly. I never knew what Wyere wrote, I could imagine but then I didn’t like too.

I’m sure I wasn’t painted in a good light, if he was honest at least.


“It’s cute you’re going back to being all dreamy and absent again.” Johanna, of course. I blinked, starting to tug the off white socks back up my foot awkwardly with my good hand, like everything with the uniform they were too large for me, even with the slight increase in weight.

“It’s cute you never stopped being a complete bitch.” She smirks, stretching, finishing the last of the mush in her bowl. “You want mine?” I’m not offended by the suspicious look but shuffle over, placing it on the bedside table and watching her take it.

I’m not hungry, my stomach is an odd mix of nerves and excitement. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt anything close to this, I was relieved, and that was weird enough. “When are you going then?” She’s already digging in, the nausea that struck me with the amount of drugs in my system doesn’t seem to affect her at all.

“W...When...” I clear my throat again, rubbing at it weakly, “During reflection, they’re training and Phillus is working.”

“She works in the kitchen right?” I nod and she shrugs, slurping loudly purposefully, “Can you ask her to start making more exciting food?” She grins when I just roll my eyes, sitting further up on the bed, already finding the collar of the shirt constricting. I undo a few buttons, even the underwear here is bland, and I don’t really enjoy knowing I’m wearing someone else’s that could well have died in the epidemic. "Reflection is such a bullshit idea." She trails off, keeping silent for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“What exactly do they do in training?” I don’t know and I tell her as much, all I know is guns, that everyone does it. “So Coin wants her own army?”

“I guess so.”

“They have plenty, why are they dragging Finnick into it?”

That I do know. “Propaganda videos mainly. Plutarch told me when he came the other day.” She lifted a brow, “You weren’t here.”

“Obviously” She drawled, although I knew she was glad.

Plutarch had made the mistake of coming once before, him and some other Capitol woman, her name escaped me but now more than ever the silver flower engraved in her cheeks looks wrong against the grey. Johanna detested him, Plutarch had been one of the main starters of the rebellion, and he was there at every turn, trying to keep us alive whilst hiding his true reasoning’s. He rescued the others.

That was why she was so angry, I understood, I felt it to a degree. But if I was with Finnick I would have been rescued, if I’d stayed where I was meant too rather than foolishly going after Peeta, after letting my hate of Brutus take over....

I’d have come here with him, nearly two months ago.

Instead, my skin prickled and I took a long sip of water to try and distract myself before the cell reappeared. It was another thing Doctor Wyere and I had covered.

“No blame lies with you. You need to understand that Elenia, your actions in that arena made no difference to the outcome. It was a mistake, it was,” His voice had lowered, “It was a disgrace, an unfortunate ill timed disgrace that any of you were left in there.”

I’d ignored him then and I had now, the words brought me little comfort.

Johanna and I sat in silence for most of the afternoon, the only conversation her jesting casual and sparse, growing as the hours passed and I grew more anxious and twitchy, eager to rid myself of these walls, although I would be staring at similar. “So, do you just become a proper member of the colony now?” She asks, without any bite, all I can do, all I ever really seem to do in answer to her question, is shrug.

“I guess so, gradually.”

“They won’t put you in training. You know that. Not whilst you have at least three of your little panic attacks a day.”

“No kidding.” She always gets me to the point that I snap, and I let the irritation strike at her, “What about you? How long are they going to be keeping you here? At least they deem me sane enough not to be drugged up all day.”

“If you could be you would.”

“No.” I argue, “I wouldn’t. It doesn’t help.”

“It’s sure helping me. I quite fancy it you know, turning out like those morons from Six. Maybe when Peeta stops trying to murder people he can paint flowers on my face too.”

We haven’t mentioned his name since the first day, and even then it was stilted, she only heard thins because she was there, because the others were annoyed I had run away and forced me to basically stand there and have the whole situation repeated to understand my reasoning, what had gone wrong.

Haymitch didn’t think we were going to get him back. He’d mumbled something about telling Katniss and had left. I didn’t know why her hearing he was no better would be a good thing.

Johanna always brought me back into the present, “And there you go again, all bug eyes and staring into nothingness. I don’t understand how it doesn’t creep people out.”

I huffed, standing and going to storm out, almost walking straight into Nurse Forror who tutts and hushes me back onto my bed, telling me to have as much rest as possible whilst I’m still here.

Johanna was completely right, I wasn’t going to be training, I had no idea what I would be doing all day but it wouldn’t be strenuous. I supposed I’d end up doing what I had the last five years, waiting for Finnick or someone else to drag me out of my bed.

“I’m not arguing with you Johanna.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“Do you have too?” I snapped, “Just seriously, do you have to be so mean ALL of the fucking time?”

Her voice is poison when she speaks, “Maybe I do.”

We don’t speak again until I’m allowed to leave, Nurse Forror with Phillus trailing after her, smelling slightly, as she permanently does now, of food and warmth. The idea is I’m roomed with Rita, they’ve even added another bed, well a bunk bed, with the girls claiming their spot up top.

Not that anyone believed I would be sleeping there often, especially not, as Plutarch informed me, even ending with a wink, now that Finnick had moved compartments to that floor.

You were supposed to stay where you were assigned, but apparently after my ‘troubles’, such a nice little simple word for six weeks locked in a cell, there would be leeway. Not that Coin was happy about any of it, to her the victors were just play things to push her cause.

It was pretty much unnecessary, Plutarch said, District Two was on the verge of being taken over, strong players he called it, only a few places left to capture and Two would be the rebels.

Then it was just the Capitol.

“And then what?” I’d asked.

“We vote, we have a number of people in charge of Panem, a council, a democracy.” He smiled wider at the expression on my face, “It’s been done before, in the past, long ago but we can do it again.”

“And who’s in charge of your council?”

“You’re not understanding me.”

I was, I understood him perfectly.