Inhale

Mags insisted on helping me wash up. Although there was really no need. I think it’s because of her hands, the deeply setting arthritis. She could have it healed; I’m sure, if she came to the Capitol with us and sucked up to the right people. But she never takes advantage of it.

The Capitol's advanced healing certainly wasn’t for everyone. Maybe that was why, maybe there was a more righteous side of her that thought if others didn’t get the chance why should she? That wasn’t a view I had adopted, letting them laser my eyes practically the moment I had reached the Capitol for the first time. I think it was more because I was terrified still, astounded and confused by what I saw. They hadn’t wanted me to have to take my glasses into the arena, vanity in its purest form. Who wanted to vote for an unattractive tribute?

Others were like Mags. Chaff, the only male champion of District Eleven had one arm. He’d lost the lower half of his right arm in his games, many years ago. He must have turned down the prosthetic option; I didn’t know why he had done. I’d often wondered, seeing him each year in the Capitol. Everyone coped in their own way, maybe Chaff needed that reminder. He was a big drinker, that was really all else I knew of him. We'd never spoken directly, Eleven and Four hadn't had an alliance for at least a decade if I'm remembering correctly.

After they had left and I’d gone upstairs, I did my usual paranoid rounds before heading to bed, checking everything was where it should be and doors that were usually closed were so. Finnick had been upstairs earlier and I had heard his wandering about but thought little of it. It was only now that I noticed the slight difference in the smallest room. Crane’s presents, rather than the mess of gold and jewels on the floor were laid out neatly on the desk. I knew without a doubt Finnick would have gotten the wrong idea. He shouldn’t have been snooping. If he thought whatever he did it was his own fault, he could have asked me. He had no reason to be fiddling with my things. I'm not even sure why my eyes were stinging.

I let my fingers skirt over a few of the items, my heartbeat was slowly increasing and that choking feeling was trying to rise up again, a hand stretching to clutch my throat. I wouldn’t let it. I storm around the desk, opening the bottom drawer which was close to empty and use my arm as a shovel, unceremoniously dumping them deep inside and slamming the wood shut so hard the edge of it caught on the desk and splintered.

My brothers and I never touch on the subject of the games. Once I was back, my form of ‘better’ we tried to move past it. After a couple of years we stopped speaking about the Capitol altogether, once Crane was in the picture. Or rather once Crane was the picture. We talked about them, their work, their children’s schooling, and other less vital silly things.

I didn’t always have to try as much around them. Although at points when it was busy and loud I found it hard to concentrate and my stutter would appear again. I had to give the impression I was fine. Being with them helped, but I still had nightmares. Those I hardly ever managed to escape.

It was worse in their homes, and harder to keep it a secret. The walls were thinner; the houses smaller. They never said anything, regardless of where we were or how loud I thought I had been.

My eldest brother preferred to act as if they didn’t happen, or that he simply didn’t hear them. Thom was more open, I think he wanted to speak about it, all of it, but Luka had always talked him out of approaching it.

When they stayed over at mine for that long week he finally tried. We were sat on the porch, Phillus had gone to bed claiming a headache and Luka and his wife Rita were sat up, watching some nonsense on the screen. The children were all asleep, excited by the prospect of a trip to a small cove not far down the coast in the morning. Their friends were far from them here and they grew bored easily. I was hardly the most entertaining person.

I wasn’t sure how we got into the conversation, we were just talking about being tired- although it was for very different reasons. Eventually, with an awkward cough, he asked. “You been having a lot of nightmares since you’ve gotten back?” I glanced at him, hesitating for a second. How honest should I be? “I always do,” I replied softly. He nodded, although he wasn’t looking at me. I could only imagine how awkward he felt. He was quiet Thom, not as silent as I had become but close. He was hesitant, careful.

I hated to think it but I knew he would never have survived the games if he was the sibling that had been drawn in.

Still, he could have done more with his life. He was smart; brighter than Luka and myself. He could have gotten into something more in-depth. Fish patterns, wildlife conservation, something more important. Instead, he was a trawler, he worked the longships deep out at sea where the water was the colour of midnight.

“Is it about being back there...in the er...arena?”

“Most of the time.” He nodded again, jaw tense.

“What part? I mean,” he seemed to stumble over his tongue. He was as nervous to break into it as I was, “I mean...what bit is the worst?”

“None of it was good Thom.” I said a little sharply and regretted it instantly. I try some honesty, “It’s normally Tyger...”

“From District One.” He finished, everyone knew about that moment, although they liked to skip over it when it was shown. In their rush to end the games and force the remaining tributes together, they had damaged their own equipment. We had removed our tops in place of bandages for the wounds that coated us, the microphones too far from our mouths, and my words too muffled from our position and hair. They had made the necessary improvements the very next year.

I could remember it word for word. I relived exactly what was said and happened often.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be...”

“No,” I shook my head slightly, shrugging further into the thin jumper I was wearing, “We never talk about anything, we never have.”

“I’m sorry. I think we thought it would be better if we just moved on and you forgot.”

“It’s not something you forget.” My tone ended the conversation.

Finnick came back after a week or so and neither of us mentioned what he had found in the spare bedroom. In fact, I made a conscious decision to not mention Seneca at all. Finnick, however, seemed to be of the opposite view. I don’t know if he was testing my emotions, trying to suss me out but ever so often he would bring Crane up; often in some really obscure way that didn’t fit in the conversation.

I was trying to put it behind me and I wished he would.

But still, days passed into weeks and months where little changed. Our routine returned and I forced myself to a few more social occasions, weddings of distant relations and the annual celebration of our Mayor. But really a small amount happened that was worthy of note; the weather grew worse although it was rare to have a cold day this far south. Sometimes, after seeing snow in other Districts on my Victory Tour I wish it would. I had pictures of the woodlands from Seven coated with a thin layer of ice hanging in the kitchen.

They were another world. Sometimes that was what I longed for most, especially when we reached the festive season. It had always been hard without my father, harder still as time passed and everything else had happened. I always spent it with my brothers, in one of their houses; as Finnick did with Mags when he hadn't been summoned to the Capitol.

Once I was back another dreaded countdown began. One that involved countless phone calls, shipping of cloth and clothing designs scrawled on creamy paper. The Victory Tour was approaching. Before I knew it, those long dragging days seemingly gone in the blink of an eye, it was the morning of, and there was a sharp rap on the door.

I’d done the basic steps of preparing myself, including ignoring Finnick’s sniggers at the thick gloopy like conditioner that had turned my hair into snake-like tendrils. I was hoping I had done enough, shaved, conditioned, moisturised, but as ever with Luine, my attempt wasn’t acceptable.

It was pointless her coming really. I know she had designed and had several different outfits made, the options were hanging in my bedroom. But it could have been sorted in one of the many conversations she’d forced me through on the phone. I was not in the mood.

That wasn’t to suggest I ever had been, but this year more than ever just seemed harder and part of me was starting to pity Katniss Everdeen. The Victory Tour was horrific when you were the Victor, smiling; dragged from District to District to smile at the parents of those you had killed and make small talk with previous winners. All of us were just different, unfortunate options for their future. I hoped the two of them brought each other some comfort, but now, with the fuss they had made filming them in their many catch up videos, we had to at least be civil.

As Luine was bustling around me, Naloh,our escort burst in, the back of his hair another extravagant design and a new colour of eyeliner over his lids. “Gold,” He explained before I even had to ask, “After Cinna, you know, Katniss Everdeen’s stylist? Everyone is in love with him, they all wear him.”

“Are you wearing him?” Luine giggled even though my voice had been deadpan, showing me her shoes. I pretended to be impressed. “Honestly,” Naloh complained lowly, checking his watch, “Where are Mags and Andromeda? Can’t stand this constant tardiness...” As if on cue there was another knock and the two appeared, ready to be barked at by Luine until she had tried at least three dresses on each of us.

“I have the baby to get back to,” Andromeda moaned to me as soon as their backs were turned, “I don’t want to leave her with my mother too long, by the time I get back they’ll both be sick of each other.” I smile a little as I led her upstairs, the three of us forced into one dress after another.

Luine always said she found it easier to design for me. I was younger, that was her only reasoning, she could get away with baring my legs or breasts. That and I was far more in the Capitols sights, it was better advertising for her, a better chance to show off her skill set with all the events Seneca had dragged me to. “That one,” She decided finally, tugging at the hem, “Leave your hair down but put some light eye-makeup on.” She sighed, hand lifting to stroke down my cheek, “I should have brought the prep team.”

I assured her very quickly there was no need, shrugging away and leaving the others in her clutches; thankfully sneaking to my bedroom, putting mascara and eyeliner on, patting powder over my face and applying perfume as I brushed my hair into the thick waves it sat in.

It was enough. I wasn’t going to be on camera long, it would linger on us before they did the speech. We’d then meet them quickly on their way out, perhaps join them at the meal; view a dance. It was always awkward, but I’d heard less this year than ever and wondered if it would be different as there were two of them. It would make sense and it would give us a chance to try and decide, once and for all that was between the young ‘couple’. Finnick and I had spoken over it recently and we had some manner of an unpleasant bet forming.

By the time I walked downstairs the other two had left, probably with strict instructions on what underwear to slip on under their dresses as they dressed at home. “We leave in half an hour.” Luine confirmed, “Marck is here for the boys.” In the months that had passed, I could certainly say that I didn't miss the ring of the Capitol accent again. The clipped high pitched tone, the lift at the end of every sentence. Some of their accents were more grating than others; that, I’d realised was down to wealth. Even the Capitol had its poorer areas, although by comparison to places like District Eleven they were havens. It was irritating, Luine was one of the only people I could bear from there. Naloh used to have his moments under his stern demeanour but they were rare and growing ever more so.

“It will do,” Luine decided, eyes scouring over me, “Although I do wish you would use more conditioner, your hair always feels dreadful after what the salt water does to it.” I smiled, biting back several rude remarks as her long blue eyelashes skirted over her cheeks. Her own hair was full of extensions, giving her curls in such an unrealistic volume they looked almost cartoonish.

I would never understand why they dressed like that, why they did all the modifications to their bodies and skin that turned them odd colours, gave them strange proportions. Their fashion was as alien as most of their values. Few went against any of them, least of all the person I had been closest to from their luxurious part of the country.

I stood awkwardly, letting Luine scuttle off to select shoes. I liked the dress, it came just above my knees and the fabric was light and luxurious. It was white, with a layer of lace over my torso and chest. More importantly, it was simple. She had this idea of keeping me looking angelic, pure. I didn’t know if it was to make up for how I had been before when the country had watched me slaughter others. Maybe she just thought it suited my skin tone. I half shrugged to myself, fighting back a smirk. I really didn’t think that Luine had too much going on behind those dyed copper toned pupils.

Maybe that was why I couldn’t really dislike her, she was too simple. She was as harmless as anyone who shipped of children to be murdered every year could be.

“I think heels and more jewellery.” She pottered back down, shoving some into my hands, “After all, we’re driving to the Justice Hall, so walking isn’t an issue.” She tucked back a section of my hair and I tried to shrink away again.

“Just shove them on so we can rally everyone.” Naloh sighed again, looking at me as if I was the most painful being alive. For an escort, he never seemed that happy to be here. Maybe it took more of a toll on him than many of the others. That, or he was just bored of it all. I had no idea what he did in-between the games, probably floundered around not too differently from myself.

I slip the shoes on, Luine fiddling with my dress and hair until she was satisfied, letting me push the earrings through my ears carefully. “I’m just popping over to Mags and Andromeda... poor Mags might not be able to do the zipper up in what I put her in!”

I truly detested the Victory Tour. The time between games should be ours, we had earned it but still, it was broken with events like this. Too often several Victors including myself were dragged back to the Capitol for other things, gala’s, Presidents Snow’s birthday. That was when we played trophy. I was glad that element of it should be over for me now. At least I assumed so, I hadn't been called on at all since last summer. Finnick had on three occasions. He came back and pretended he'd never left each time.

“Alright, the cars are here. Let’s get out.” Naloh practically demanded, his heavily tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest. He tutted to himself, muttering to no-one about how rude we were all being. I walked slowly after him, trying hard not to trip on the steep steps and halting by the closest car.

It was odd to see the other Victors together. Considering there were only about fifty people alive to understand what we had been through we barely spoke. I communicated little more than through nods with all other except Finnick, Mags and Andromeda. The other four men were practically strangers to me; although I could recall how each of them had killed. I suppose never having them as a mentor or partner kept them that way. Even when Tobias came to the Capitol he stayed elsewhere.

Finnick spotted me, swiftly walking over. He looked cruelly handsome as usual , my eyes accepting the sight eagerly, dark well-fitting trousers and a light shirt, clinging to the tops of his arms. “Fun as always isn’t it?” I rolled my eyes at him, finding it hard to tug them away from his collarbones peeking out of the low collar of his shirt. He mused softly, “Naloh looks like he’s about to explode.”

“We can dream.” I found myself stuttering bitterly, earning a loud boom of laughter from Fyg, the most reclusive of us all, that made me jump against the vehicle and only encouraged more.

A few more minutes passed and although the most recent storm had long passed it was cooler than usual and my arms pricked as the hairs rose. “Alright, come on.” Naloh demanded, “Split into the three cars, everyone.” He forced a smile, his teeth were extraordinarily white, even more so than his eyes and it always made me a little nervous. Finnick ignored him and clambered in beside me, Mags getting the seat in the front as was her right. Andromeda huffed again, fiddling with the ends of her short chestnut coloured bob as she perched on the edge of the leather.

Her skin wasn't as tan as Finnick's and my own was but that was because she went outside far less. Her husband didn’t have to work due to her wealth and I completely understood why and how she had made her house into a safe place, away from it all. A place to grow her family. Her home was her sanctuary and I had always been envious of that.

The drive to the Justice Hall was slow, even though it was just over a couple of miles from the Victors Village. We passed small groups of wandering civilians, the numbers seemed less than usual. “Looks like we have even more peacekeepers than before.” I hissed under my breath to my friend. His head twitched in response.

The moment the cars stopped behind the hall we were met by the people in the white armour, much to Naloh’s disgust. “Sorry, we do not need assisting, we know exactly what we are doing. I’m a professional and-“

“Orders.” Barked a female one, her tone making it clear that was no way around her demand. “With me please.” We were led like sheep through the ground floor, no time as we usually had to inspect the table laid for dinner or have a short word with the Mayor. Instead, we went straight through and across the stage to our own section, the plush velvet roping us into little more than a pen.

“What on Earth is going on?” Andromeda hissed at me, looking concerned, “We don’t need peacekeepers to say hello.”

“Apparently we do.” I drawled, squashed with my fellow female victors. Finnick close behind me.

The level of security had increased dramatically and I tried for several minutes to twist my body and catch Finnick’s eyes, they were squinted a little, lines created that didn’t yet exist on his smooth skin. He was worried.

I swallowed, my mouth growing dry.

The mass of people was squashed as well, not allowed simply in a crowd as they usually would, but instead, they were in columns, split into sections, all held apart with Peacekeepers. Something must have happened I realised with a start, not here, we’d know about it. Another District, something must have happened related to the two young victors on the train hurtling this way.

And that something definitely hadn’t been good.

They arrived not long afterwards, Naloh had returned, having to lift his voice over the chatter and informing us we weren’t meeting them, we were just to stand here and wave as the camera trailed past. We were to say nothing to the victors, there would be no celebratory dinner, they would do the speeches, thank the families of the dead tributes and leave. I glanced at the relatives as they clambered up on their own small stage opposite; Shim's father had a deep black bruise on one cheek.

This wasn’t good. It really wasn’t any good.

It must have been one of the higher districts; they worked downwards towards the Capitol. That didn’t really eradicate many options. I was desperate to think hard, which were the angriest, who had the least, or indeed, most to lose? District Eleven maybe?Who would dare to turn against the Capitol? That was what had to have happened...

I heard the bell chime loudly, distracting me as a small group of school children arranged by the front to give Katniss some flowers, dressed up to the nines. I wasn’t aware I was shaking until I felt a small stiff hand catch mine and I took a deep breath, earning a glare from Luine opposite who mimicked for me to smile. I stretched my lips so far they felt like they would split,still kerping holds of Mags. Katniss and Peeta walked out slowly, but the applause was loud, hands hitting each other hard and fast.

The others around me did it gently. Mags had said to me once that no Victor ever felt like they deserved applause. At least not the half decent ones.

I let my hands rest in the right position but made no sound, eyes travelling over the crowd. It was there again, over a lot of faces, that mood, that expression of quietly building rage I was getting so accustomed to. The peacekeepers had to yell for the large space to grow silent and they stepped up to the microphone stand, Katniss looking nervous, tight-faced.

I hadn’t spoken to her the year before, I had no reason to. In truth I hardly spoke to Haymitch other than to scheme towards the end of their time, he was too drunk, too loud in his words whilst slurring others. He made me uncomfortable.

But he was a natural, Peeta, perfect for the crowds. The Capitol would eat him up if they had the chance. If he’d been the lone Victor he’d have made out coated in riches...and everything else that came with being adored and wanted. But she still stood there; it had hit me with the clapping that far more people than Finnick had believed saw her act as one of defiance, a hint of rebellion. It was so dangerous. She struggled through, there was nothing personal in her half of the speech, barking the words as if they were physically hurting her, her voice stifled. She wouldn’t have had much to say anyway, as far as I was aware she had never spoken to either of our tributes and poor Shim had lasted just minutes.

It was sickening, the Victory Tour, no amount of parties and meals could make up for constantly being faced with the families of people who had to die for you to live. The guilt was overwhelming. You knew just how much people hated you under their smiles and most people, ones who still had some sense of conscience, hated themselves as well.

A couple of young girls holding flowers moved forward, hair in that familiar braid. They exchanged a few words with Katniss that they had no doubt been reciting for weeks at school before they stepped off and her face turned, shock grabbing it. I followed her eyes, a group of about five people were stood tall, arms stretched towards the sky, fingers creating that symbol from Twelve she had used herself in the arena.

The peacekeepers near us shifted, one barging into Mags and earning several cruel words as they forced their way through the crowds, grabbing the offenders roughly, screams loud as the couple vanished into the back of the hall. My stomach twisted and sent acid racing up to my throat.

I caught Katniss’s gaze for a split second. She looked terrified.

What had she started?