Inhale

I cocoon myself with a thick fur blanket on my couch, staring blankly at the projection which was still celebrating the games. It was yet another program exploring the victors relationship, the highlights from before and during the arena. I just saw nothing in her face, no glimmer of real emotion at any point. Maybe it was because I knew what Haymitch wanted, what warranted a gift for them. Maybe it was because I found it easy to put myself in Katniss' shoes and see what the best plan of action to stay alive was, the best deception.

That was exactly what I had done before.

But there was no way she would get away with it. Maybe they would stage it as an accident, have a public mourning, a funeral. Killing her could make her into something more than she was, just a fairly clever sixteen year old who knew how to shoot an bow. I tried to wipe it from my mind, sinking deeper into the fabric. I hated being alone more than ever right now, although often it was by choice.

I could call someone; that was an option. But then who would I disturb? My brothers worked long hours and as much as they tried they could never understand. My mother was a lost cause. I had people I still counted as friends, in some form or another but it was all foreign to them. There was no-one I trusted other than the old woman, half senile in the house opposite and Finnick. A year or so again that thought had depressed me more than anything. Now I felt grateful I at least had that.

I watched the girl from Eleven, little Rue, die again. That had been the only time Katniss Everdeen had seemed human before she had found Peeta. Before Haymitch had come up with his genius idea and begged me to intervene with Seneca.

I stretched for my glass of water, sweetened the flavour of orange with some syrup I brought home with me from the Capitol each year. The swell in my throat returned. The program finished and another started, I glared hard at Ceasar's face. I didn’t know when the man slept, other than during his many surgeries to keep that strange sense of youth on his face. He was smiling again now, that shark like grin that never reached his eyes, his hair and lip still bore the signature colour of the seventy fourth games as he chatted on. I got the sense of the show, it was each tribute, from chariot to death.

You would think now the bloodbath was over people would want to move on, but that was never the case. The citizens of the Capitol made the games into a whole summer long event. There was the build-up, the sneak peeks only for them of possible arena ideas. And then there was the betting, the parties in the style of past games, past victors, before you even got to the games themselves. Around now people would be collecting any winnings, giggling over dinner about their favourite moments, taunting those who said someone else would be victorious. And this year, with the element of a love story, they would still be feverish and no doubt the arena tours had already started.

I always got to leave after the final ceremony, regardless of who had wanted me to stay. It was the only thing I had ever felt confident saying no to Seneca about. But then he never threatened anything, although he had to know threats were still the basis for everything. He wasn’t that naive. I had been served on a platter built with the possibility of my families death. I would have done anything. I would still do anything.

Seneca wasn’t like that I had thought he would be, not how Finnick described with many of his. I'd been so scared, and even though I now know without a doubt that Finnick had done all he could it was not enough. A Victor deemed desirable could be brought. I would never have thought of myself as being so but shortly after my victory tour news came that I was up for grabs. President Snow was auctioning off my virginity. I was a prize to be sold to the highest bidder.

It could have been far worse than Seneca Crane. There was some sad comfort in that. It still made me feel sick, remembering how I had felt, our district escort coming to take me, just me, back to the Capitol. I dont allow myself to think about this either. Crane was dead and all I could do was hope I hadn’t taken anyone else's fancy. Acid stings my throat and I push myself upwards, almost slipping as I free myself from the blanket.

The room was still warm, we had very hot summers here, being so far south and usually I relished it but now it was irritating and I was already overheated from the flurry of emotions. I snatch up my drink, finishing it in one large gulp before slamming it down a little too hard, watching a thick crack shoot up one side of the glass.

I ran my finger very gently over it, feeling the jagged wrinkles before I grabbed it, suddenly angry again and threw it into the woven bin, watching the glass shatter this time and spread across the wooden flooring. Diamonds in the weak light. I had enough diamonds and gems and stupid pretty little things.

I wasn’t sure what I could do with them now,. I turn off the screen so I can think. I’d never worn any of them at home as it was. They were all gifts from someone who wasn’t there now. Wearing them would be bad if he had died how Finnick claimed. Seneca had betrayed President Snow. Of course he had suffered.

If I was seen with them it would be seen as a smite towards the Capitol, an unnecessary risk. Besides, I couldn’t imagine wanting to wear them again, not with the memories, especially not with the look they had always drawn from Finnick.

I decided to have a dig around, make a collection of everything Seneca had given to me. I could decide what to do with them when it was light, but for now it would be a distraction.

It had happened to be one that unexpectedly ended with me weeping in my spare bedroom surrounded by jewellery and silly little trinkets.

I wasn’t just crying for Seneca. That dawned on me slowly as the skies finally began to bleed orange. A part of me was, for him as a person, the person I felt I’d had glimmers of that others never had. But I was crying for myself, for the uncertainty, for the knowledge the next one, whoever it may be would be worse.

Finally, as I should have been already, I was crying for the children sent to die. The two I had failed, Tali and Shim. I’d let them down, they were both dead. Tali has suffered horribly, her screams as the tracker jackers stung her had kept me awake all that night. I hadn’t cried then, not in the Capitol. I should have. They deserved more than the end they had, they deserved better than me.

A gull swept past the window, cracked open to let in an endless supply of fresh air. It let out a cry and I sobbed with it.

The layout of his house is a little different to mine. He has an extra bedroom where I have a wardrobe that could double as one. His kitchen is smallet, but the master bedroom, where he sleeps has the most amazing window. I think if I hadn’t chosen my home I would have wanted his. They all varied a little, the houses of the Victors Village, but then Four was like that. Nothing was the same, it didn't seem like there had been any set plan for construction . It was one thing I loved about the district, it didn’t match but it just worked.

I didn’t knock when I entered, and I hadn’t even slipped anything over my short nightdress, creeping out in the weak light. It wasn’t quite a habit but it was something we had both done occasionally, when things became too hard as they often did in the evening and at night time. But I wasn’t here just for comfort. I felt like I had to explain myself. I slipped into his room, not sure how to expect him but not surprised that he was fast asleep, the thin sheet twisted and caught around his body.

I debated leaving. I’d wanted him to be awake so we could speak, so that he could understand what I meant and make any lingering feeling from our talk earlier dissipate. I whisper his name gently but it has no effect and I half spin on my toes, there was only a couple of hours before I would have to rise as it was, and I wanted to look somewhat together to meet Tali and Shim’s families. I owed them that much. Or perhaps it was just another layer of deception, pretending I was fine so that they had just to assume it wasn’t our fault.

“You know that feeling when you're being watched?.” My heart splutters and I see the corners of his lips lift before his eyes open. “Sorry.” I breathed the word easily, and with another wide yawn he patted the bed. “What time is it?”

“Erm...early, still.” He stretches and the sheet slips further down his chest. He pats again and I sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “It was about five when I left.”

“And have you been lurking over me for long?” I wasn’t looking at him now but I could easily imagine the grin, cat like. “Of...of course not. Sorry, I’ll go...what time was it...” I was cut off with a squeak as his arm looped around my middle and dragged me backwards. “Stop saying sorry. You don’t need to.” I gave in and made myself comfortable, fluffing up a plump pillow and curling on my side. He mirrored me, and again studied my face intently. “You haven’t slept at all have you?” I shook my head silently. His mouth pursed this time, “Try now. You’ll make yourself ill.”

“Okay.” The word caught in the pillow and he rubbed the top of my arm, thumb tracing circles. “I wanted to talk to you.” He mumbled some sort of reply, already almost asleep and I open my mouth to start. To explain how and why I felt upset. How he’d hurt me with his reaction, how worried I was about everything after what had finally happened in that arena. I let my lips close, it could all wait. The peaceful look on his features wasn’t worth disturbing right now.

Maybe it would be better if I started trying to handle things on my own. Rather than crawling to him over every little upset. I turned onto my other side, and instinctively, I assume, he let his arm lay over me, dragging me back into him so I could feel his warmth.

It was enough for now.

The movement woke me up, the gentle shift of the mattress as he tried carefully to clamber around. I felt myself groan something incoherent and pushed my face further into the bedding. The lack of sleep had struck me instantly and there was a pounding in my head. “Elle?” I responded by raising my body slightly, my hair a suffocating mask. He leant back over, flicking more hair over my eyes. I swiped weakly at him. “I’m going to go shower. We’ll have to leave in about an hour, okay?”

“Yeah.”

I waited until I could hear the running water before I left his bed, stretching hard until I heard several joints clicking. I’d showered the evening before so that wasn’t necessary but making myself presentable still seemed like a mammoth task. I straightened his sheets a little before letting myself out, shooting an awkward wave to Tobias who was lumbering past. He grunted in response. We’d never really spoken, he had spent the years since his victory shovelling food into his mouth and washing it down with clear alcohol. It was unusual , it had to be, that I barely knew some of the other victors. But since Finnick and I were mentoring, thanks primarily to the desire of having us in the Capitol for that time period each year, I had no reason to speak to him.

Tobias came along quite often, Victors were always invited to the annual games, but he stayed in another part of the training centre, so I didn't see him.

I’d shrank into myself to deal with it all. Others had their own way of trying to most past their memories.Most of these attempts failed. That was evident across the board, other than the majority of victors from District Two. Our fellow Career districts. They raised some of the most terrifying tributes I'd seen.

Once home I dressed in one of my pre-approved outfits chosen by Luine my stylist. I like it and move onto my hair, straightening it as best I can with the variety of serums and equipment available before slapping on some foundation and mascara. I look better than I normally do right after the games and I ignore the pile of jewellery still tossed on the floor as I head downstairs, seeing that my hour is nearly up and grabbing some old shoes. Luine certainly wouldn’t approve of them which makes me smile, and I’m about to double check my appearance where there are several short raps on the door. I feel my brow furrow, it couldn’t be Finnick, it’s not time yet and he’s never in his life been early so I open the heavy wood a little cautiously, although all worry in my stomach fizzles away as soon as I see the familiar face.

“Good morning.” It isn’t but I wish him the same, already leaning towards the side table for my purse. “Oh no, Mom says it’s free. She put cherries in it for you as well.” His smile is so wide and innocent it stings a little and I insist on paying for the still warm loaf. I don’t deserve treats, I didn’t bring either of the tributes back again. Against his mothers wishes he accepts the coins and flips them in his little bag. “So...” He trailed off, as ever looking and acting older than his fourteen years, “What was Katniss like in person then?” I struggled against rolling my eyes but he had that dumbstruck look on his face, “I never properly met her.” He nodded, looking disappointed and this time the remark was hard to keep on my tongue. “I best go. Thank your mother for me.”

“Will do!” He beams before hopping back on his bike. I watched until he was out of the Victors Village. Finnick was obviously right when he said her act had fooled more people than I had thought. Finnick was often right.

I was glad for the bread if a little perplexed by everything else. I’d worked there for a time when I was younger, I often didn’t want to go home and face the bickering between my mother and whoever was her latest love interest. There was practically no pay but even so the sense of independence, hidden away at the back of the shop baking was thoroughly enjoyable. My brothers said it would be a confidence booster, a way for me to be forced into social situations. I’d always been quiet and fairly awkward.

That had only gotten worse after the arena, then came the panic attacks, that deep routed anxiety. Speaking to most people made my palms sweat.

I closed the door slowly, leaving it unlocked and treading softly to the kitchen, easily untying the knot around the bread. I was appreciative for it, the little hint that even as a failure there was some element of respect. Sometimes it seemed like everyone chose to view you as a Victor and not who you had been before. Little gestures like the bread let me know people wouldn’t forget.

I could offer to work back at the bakery I supposed. Not for any money, I had plenty of that, but it would give me something to do and I had always enjoyed it. There were limited options for a Victor to do, especially job wise. It wasn’t expected that you would have one, you won the games and were essentially free to spend your days however you’d like. You were supposed to have a hobby, a ‘talent’ to show ever so often. I’d somehow, again with Finnick’s encouragement, said mine would be cooking. I enjoyed it, I was fairly good at it and most importantly it was quite boring and something people didn't make a big deal out of.

I caught myself drifting again and force myself into the present, laying the still warm bread on the large, dense wooden table and grabbing a knife. They still felt slightly dangerous in my hands, like I should be tensed, ready to fling them at incoming tributes. I see a glimmer of a body and freeze, heart thudding against my ribs. I hold the handle tightly, knuckles popping and it takes a lot of self-restraint to keep the knife in my shaking hand, to manoeuvre it through the bread rather than aim it at the wall as I wished. There was nothing here, no-one here.

I took a moment to breathe, feel my pulse slow.

Next came the jam, made of rich fruit, some of which grew on the northern border of Four and much from higher. It was shipped into some of the shops seasonally and I always stockpiled it. They liked the profit and I kept it in the cool basement, making it last as long as necessary. I don’t use it lightly; I slather it on, suddenly ravenous and take several large bites.

My front door swings open. “The bread boy never comes to me.”

“Maybe because it’s because you refer to him as the bread boy.” I tease, although I ensure my mouth is empty before I turn. “You’re welcome to some.” There’s little point in me offering as he’s already torn a couple of chunks out, thick with cherries. “That could be something to do with it.” He chews and swallows. “You ready to go?” I check over myself quickly, making sure I hadn’t managed to smear jam on myself. “I think so.”

He nods, “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” I interject a little too quickly. “You too.” He winks with that smirk carving deep into his cheeks. “I thought we could take the long way, across the beach. Buy us a bit of time.” For the first time, I see a hint of wariness as he spoke. He never looked forward to this part either.

“That sounds nice.”