Godforsaken

The last person I expect to visit me is the drunken mentor from Twelve. He comes in with his hands in his pockets, rattling something in there, grating on my nerves even after a second. With a scowl, I flick my gaze to the opposite wall and stare.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little immature about this?”

My heart starts to pound quickly in my chest and I strain my wrists against the shackles; if it weren’t for them, I’d be attempting to strangle Haymitch right now. He just watches me with slightly narrowed eyes as I try to find some way to get myself out of these restraints, appearing unamused and like he’s analyzing me.

“Why don’t you just get the hell out?” I snarl.

“Nobody else was willing to try and compromise with you,” he sighs, dropping down in a chair near the doorway.

“Compromise with me about what?”

Crossing his legs, he pushes his blonde hair out of his aging face. “We can’t have you trying to kill all the Victors, sunshine. Coin’s already having a field day with that stunt you pulled with Odair.”

I don’t have a response to that and just sink back into the bed, wishing I could reach something in order to throw at him.

The truth was that I wasn’t angry at anyone else, at least, not like I was with Finnick. I hadn’t trusted any of the other Tributes like I had him. I’d given him everything: my body, my trust, my love… And he’d stepped over it all in order to stab me to death.

Swallowing thickly, I pull on the cuffs again, mostly out of habit and because I don’t want to think about Haymitch or President Coin. I want to forget everything—I want to forget why I’m here, that I ever went into the Huger Games in the first place, that I’d ever met Finnick Odair—and I was so desperate for this that I was ready to steal some morphling in order to help it ebb away.

A creak sounds and my head snaps up just as Beetee shuffles in. His motions are slow and easy, like he’s trying to be quiet, and when he turns to glance at me, he sighs, as if disappointed. He regards Haymitch with a nod as he comes by my bedside.

“I was hoping you’d be resting,” he says.

“The drunkard stumbled in and won’t leave,” I grumble.

Beetee looks at me disapprovingly and I advert my gaze to the floor. I don’t feel ashamed, or not as much as I know I should, but I chide myself and try to remember to behave while the District Three Victor is here to see me.

Different than all the others, Beetee was kind to me. In a sense he was my father. As soon as I was a Victor, he was teaching me about mentoring, how to deal with the flashbacks and nightmares, and helping me garner a substantial talent that would keep Snow pleased. He checked up on me frequently while I was home at District Five and quite often we would be spend long amounts of time talking over the phone about an array of topics, though most centered on technology. Beetee had taken over a roll that had never been filled in my life up until now and I loved him for it.

“I’m trying to reason with her, Beetee,” starts Haymitch, interrupting my thoughts.

“Because of the incident that happened last week?” asks Beetee, twitching his nose a little.

The news that I had been here so long startles me. Time in this place is hard measured, as there’s no sun or any indication of the hour in the room I’ve been stuck in. I’d thought I’d been in here for a while, but not a week. My skin itches at the thought and I want to get out now.

“When can I leave?”

Beetee pats my hand comfortingly, but doesn’t answer my question.

“He nearly bled to death.”

“I understand, but keeping her chained up in here isn’t doing anything but harboring her anger. Persuade them to let her out and come down to help me, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t attack Finnick or anyone else.”

Haymitch stares at Beetee for a long second, flicking his gaze over to me and then back over to the man who was still patting my hand. He lets out a sigh before rubbing his forehead, then nods a few times.

“Alright. I’ll try to get them to let her out, but only under the condition that she stays down there with you,” he says.

Beetee smiles a little and turns to look at me. “We’ll have a good time, Kara. I can show you the new designs for some weapons I’m making. You’ll like that.”

The thought of helping Beetee make war weapons does intrigue me and as I have no desire to really see anyone else, staying below with him sounds like a splendid deal.

“I’d like that,” I smile.

Haymitch leaves a little after the agreement and Beetee takes his chair, scooting it closer to my bedside while telling me to shut my eyes and rest. He holds my hand while I try to fall asleep and even pets my hair some. It eases me and makes me want to cry, all at the same time.



Beetee is leading me down a hallway, towards the Special Military Weapons room, when I first catch sight of Gale Hawthorne. The tall, dark headed boy eyes me warily as he falls in step alongside Beetee.

“Hello,” he calls.

I simply look him over, then flick my gaze forward. I hear as Beetee sighs beside me and cringe a little.

“Kara, this is Gale Hawthorne. He’s been helping me design and build some of the weapons.” He takes my hand and comfortingly pats it a few times. “I think you two will get along. You both have meticulous minds.”

Again, I sweep my eyes over to Gale. He seems to be studying me as I had briefly done him seconds ago and, just like I did, he doesn’t seem to find anything too fascinating. But instead of just glancing away uncaringly, he offers me a small smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“I saw your Games,” he says. My body stiffens and I ready myself for the clap on the back a Victor usually received. Instead, though, Gale sticks his big hands in his pockets and his smile falls a little. “I’m sorry they made you do that.”

When I stumble a little, Beetee has to help me get walking again, and when I glance confusedly down at him, he just smirks a little. I shoot him a frivolous glare.