A/N-Please enjoy my representation of Cecelia's Games.
Disclaimer-I do not own the Hunger Games, they are the property of Suzanne Collins and do not wish to claim anything that might get me sued. I hope you understand and enjoy this fic anyway.
Enjoy :)!
"Cecelia Beauregard!" It's sick that something so horrible could be said in such a cheery voice. It's not right. I'm only 16. How could she condemn me to death like this at this age? I make a decision here and now: I hate my name.
...
Tears. They're everywhere. Staining the burgundy plush couches in the gold-toned room we're sitting in. Slipping from eyes, and turning hearts to stone, right after they break. It solidifies the crack.
"Don't go, CeCe!" My little brother sobs. He's only six. That's old enough to understand that my life is in jeopardy, but young enough to think I can change the fact, if he just begs me hard enough, if he just cries for long enough.
I pull up his chin, look him in the eyes, and tell him the only thing I can to help us both. "I'll see you soon." I kiss his cheek, then he is being pulled away by my father. "I love you, Chris. I love you all." Then they are gone, and the only tears I have left won't untangle from the lump in my throat.
A peacekeeper comes to take me away from the room where my heart turned to stone. I'll never go back there. But there are more places where a part of me can die, and this is one of them.
Davin Napier is only 13. He's so sad. It's a perpetual looking sadness, coming from before the Reaping. His mother died two years ago. She had some disease that killed off a lot of people at the factory. Poor-working conditions. I know him pretty well, because his brother is around my age. "Hi, CeCe." He has tears in his eyes when he speaks to me.
I want more than anything to lock away every part of me and not unlock it until I'm back home with Chris. To just say I don't have feelings; to just be empty. But that's not who I am. I need people and I love people. And Davin reminds me of what Chris could be in 7 years.
"Hey, Davin," I say, walking over to him. I sit next to him on this accursed couch stuffed full of fluffy tears and the memories of dying hearts. "How ya doin', kiddo?"
And that's when I know my heart could never be locked away.
...
"What can you do, Cecelia?" asks Thompsie, my mentor. He's only 19, young for a mentor, but District 8 doesn't have that many Victors; yet.
I tell him what I can do. It's not much, in my mind, but he seems to think it is. I can use a dagger, that's what I'm best at. I can identify edible food from poisonous, and I am fairly decent at camouflaging my dark brown hair and tanned skin.
Thompsie tells me to stay away from the knife throwing section, since I'm best with short-handled weapons, and work on longer weapons. Spears, swords, bows; anything I can get my hands on. I nod, agreeing with him. He won the Games, he knows how it works.
"What about me?" asks Davin. Thompsie doesn't know what to do with the kid. He's been letting Darra, the other mentor, work on Davin, but Thompsie is the expert on Training, so he's supposed to be helping us both with this aspect.
"Stick with Cecelia," he finally answers. I frown. I'm already in too deep with this kid. I know he's got no chance. Besides, he'll have to die for me to get back to Chris. Davin nods eagerly and reaches out for my hand. I smile down at him, warmly. There's a special place in my heart reserved for Davin, no matter how much it already hurts.
...
We sit on the couch in front of the big TV. Everything in the Capitol is too large, too extravagant, and just too much. I don't understand how they live like this. Why would they want to? Don't they realize that happiness comes from love and people and moments-not things?
My arm around Davin's small shoulders, I can close my eyes and imagine the rest of this world away, and be happy. For a moment. But it goes by in a flash, and I'm brought back to the present by the droning of a Capitol goon on the television, announcing the "brilliant success" of the sessions with the Gamemakers, and how this year's Games will be "the best Games ever!"
The faces rush by, and I know that these pictures will be the last view I will get of most of these children. Except the one's I kill or see die. These will be the pictures projected in the sky, announcing the loss of another life, the breaking of so many more hearts.
The boy from District 4 gets a 10. He's the highest. The other traditional Careers have high scores, too. Everything is as to be expected for the first 7 districts. Davin's face flashes by, and I want to cry when I think about the last time I'll see him. He gets a 5.
Davin is disappointed, but Darra assures him that 5 is a good score. I squeeze his shoulders reassuringly and he smiles at me weakly. I know that he looks up to me as a mother-figure, and I'm okay with that. I feel like his older sister.
But you already have a little brother, Cecelia. And you told him you'd come back. A voice in my head says to me. It's true, I can't be Davin's sister, he has to die.
I took well to Training, which is why I'm not surprised to see the number 9 flash by beneath my face. Everyone congratulates me, especially Davin, who is beside himself with excitement and pride.
Thompsie smiles at me smugly. I know he's already decided who the sponsor gifts for the District 8 Tributes will go to. I know it's not Davin.
...
"Why do you think you can win, Cecelia? Everyone was impressed by your 9 in Training." Caesar Flickerman looks at me expectantly. He's got green accents this year. It's his fifth year, and he's so young. I've got to give him credit, he really is trying to make us all look good for sponsors.
"I have a few tricks up my sleeve," I answer with a smile. Knives, spears, bows. I can use every weapon they had in the Training Center. I'm confident that I can kill no matter what I've got in my hands.
"Is there anyone special back home you'd like to get back to?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. I know he's referring to a 'special boy', but I'm not interested in romance yet. I take his question differently.
"My little brother, Chris," I say. I look straight into the cameras. "I love you, Chris. See you soon."
My time is up. It wasn't very inspiring, but perhaps someone will want to sponsor an older sister who loves her little brother. Besides, I at least seem determined, if nothing else. And confident. Plus, there's the 9 I got, that'll help. It was second highest, behind the D4 boy, and tied with the girl from 1.
Davin's interview is horrible. He's nervous and sad. When Caesar asks him who he wants to go home to, he looks at me. I nod to him, for encouragement. I know he's realizing that we can't both go home, and I just said that I was. Which means he isn't. I think he already knew that he wasn't going home, but it still hurts him to know that I know it too. "My older brother, Cassiel." He looks at me again, while he says his brother's name, and I see a deeper, wiser meaning in his eyes.
...
"Good luck, guys," Thompsie says, patting me on the shoulder after he ruffles Davin's hair. He opens his mouth again, looking into my eyes. I know what he wants to say. You can win. But he doesn't say it.
"Thank you," I whisper. I mean it for everything.
I hug Davin, then he's taken away by his stylist. It isn't the last time I will see him. We're going to be allies. I'll keep him alive as long as I can. As long as I can stay alive, too.
...
Sixty seconds. That's all I get to see the path to the golden Cornucopia, overfilling with weapons and supplies. There's a big, white backpack halfway in between me and the horn. I see Davin, three spots to the left of me. He catches my eye and I gesture for him to run into the trees behind him. He nods. There's a forest behind us, a desert in front of us. On the other side of the Cornucopia there is a sea. The sea is beautiful, waves crashing violently onto the sand of the desert. Sixty seconds is up.
I run to the horn, grabbing the white bag and slinging it onto my back. It's hard to run through the sand, but I can do it. I'm the first to reach the Cornucopia, the first to grab a spear, knife, and bottle of water, and the first to leave.
I don't reach the forest right away. I am hindered when the female from District 2 comes at me with nothing but a knife. Good, that means my spear will reach her first. I don't want to abandon the knife, so I drop the jug of water to the ground to give myself a free hand to wield the spear. She throws her knife at me. It nicks my leg, but not bad. A little bit of blood, some pain. I've had worse, and now she's weaponless. I thrust the spear into her heart once she gets close enough. Her mouth overflows with blood, and I yank the spear out. I grab my jug of water before running into the forest.
...
Davin and I are up in a tree. We are up higher than most of the other Tributes can probably climb, but they wouldn't be able to see us up here anyway, so we're safe, I think, for tonight. The white backpack was a good find. It had a sleeping bag, some dried meat and fruit, water, iodine, matches, and a few other items for injuries. I offered Davin the sleeping bag, since he is much smaller than me, and the night air is harder on him, but he declined, so now we are situated inside of it together, keeping warm from our reflected body heat, listening to the anthem play. 16 Tributes died today. Today's bloodbath had the highest casualties in Hunger Games history, besides the 50th Hunger Games, where there were twice as many Tributes.
But Davin made it, and I made it. And that's all that matters. More important than the fact that I ruined people's lives today. That I broke their hearts by killing their daughter, or sister, or friend, or girlfriend. Maybe it was only one child out of 16, but that's still too many. Too much blood on my hands. But I can't think about that, because I have to get home to Chris.
"Sixteen, CeCe," Davin whispers to me sleepily. He's a lucky kid, because I know he will be able to sleep tonight. That's more than I can say for myself. Problems are rushing around in my head. The one that sticks out beyond the rest is our lack of water. There were two bottles in the pack, almost as if the Gamemakers knew that I would get the white backpack, that I would be sharing my supplies with my district partner. But two water bottles isn't enough to keep up alive for long. I can probably make it three days without needing more than what is in the bottle, but Davin will only be able to make it two. Davin yawns hugely and curls into my side. "That means you are so much closer to getting home."
I want to reassure him. I want to tell him, "Or you." I want to help ease his mind, make him think he has a chance. But he has none. He won't make it to the final two. He can't, because I can't kill him, and I can't die in here. But he won't last that long anyways. I know he won't. I hope that he won't, and I hate myself for hoping that. By the time I open my mouth to respond he is already asleep, so I let it slide by.
It's going to be a long night.
...
"Climb," I whisper to Davin, waking him up. He's smart enough not to make noise or any sudden movements. I have a finger against my lip, and the other hand clasped firmly around my spear. While he was sleeping I fastened a sort of loop to hold my knife in. I also drank more of my water than I would have liked to.
Davin scurries higher up the tree, the backpack looking very bulky on his back. I would take it, but I can't afford it with what I'm about to do. I really hope that Davin stays up as high as he can until I come back. If he doesn't, then he's dead. Where we are is within reach of the arrows I see in the quiver on the District 4 boys back. But the boy is too heavy to climb up the tree almost at all, and if Davin gets about fifteen feet higher he will be out of range. Then he will be safe from all the Tributes left. All the other young ones and skinny ones died yesterday in the bloodbath.
I begin my descent. A spear toss from this height wouldn't be enough to be fatal, at least not right away. The boy would still have time to kill me first. I have to get closer. He's keeping watch for the girl from District 1. They are the only Careers that survived the bloodbath. She's in the bushes, picking berries. They are poisonous berries, but not the kind that kill you instantly. They make you really sick but can take days to kill you, if you don't die of dehydration first.
When I'm ten feet away, he spots me. "Fainin!" He yells quickly, drawing back his bowstring and aiming at me. I only have one chance, so I've got to make this count. I wait for him to release the arrow, and before he even lets it fly I know that it will be a perfect shot. You don't get a 10 in the Gamemaker sessions if you can't aim.
The arrow flies, and as he is pulling out another, I kick off from the trunk of the tree. I don't get as much distance as I thought I would, because of the cut in my leg, but I get enough to evade the arrow. It hurts and I grunt in pain, but it sounds more like a grunt of exertion and power. The sound makes me feel...strong, and that scares me. He's about to pull the bowstring and send the other arrow at me, but I throw my spear first. He jumps to the side, but not quick enough. The spear lodges itself in his chest, and he falls to the ground.
I run at him, pulling my knife out as I do so. I slit his throat before he has time to react. Pulling the spear out of his chest, I thrust it out in front of me. The girl, Fainin, is running at me. I can smell her fear, her rage, her disgust. And then, before I know what's changed, I can smell her blood, bubbling around the spear point.
Her cannon fires, and I guess I must have missed the boy's, because I only hear one.
I don't want to draw attention to Davin and I's position, but we have to get out of here so that the hovercraft can collect the bodies, and climbing down a tree is quicker than climbing up, so I call up to my little brother-my, to Davin. "Bring the sleeping bag!" I add as an afterthought, just in case he forgot about it. While he climbs down the tree, I stand guard.
His face is almost as white as the backpack, but I pretend not to notice his fear. I have my own fear to deal with. Heaving the pack off of his shoulders and onto my own, I say, "Come on, kiddo. We need to find some water. And we leave behind the trail of broken hearts.
...
We get a lucky break this afternoon; we find water. It's a small pond with a tiny trickle of water feeding into it. Neither of us are out of our bottles yet, so I pour the rest of mine into Davin's, and dunk my now empty bottle into the part of the pond nearest the inlet. It fills quickly with water, and I place a few drops of iodine in, like the trainer at the Capitol taught us, purifying it before I drink some. I screw the cap back on and let it sit.
Davin still looks pale. We haven't talked about killing yet, never even discussed it. I didn't tell him about the girl from 2 that I killed yesterday, and we stay away from the subject of the other two Careers I've just slain. I'm afraid that his opinion of me will be forever tainted. I'm afraid that my opinion of myself will be the same, and I'll actually have to live with it. For a very long time, because that's what I need to do for Chris.
There had only been one bow at the cornucopia, and that is now gone with the boy from District 4's body, so I will feel a lot safer up in a tree tonight than I did last night. I might actually be able to sleep. and we've caught a lucky break. Not only did we find the water, but there are very tall trees here, densely coated in leaves. Also, there are some leaves that I recognize. I don't know exactly what they are, but I know that they are edible. Davin and I seem to be in pretty good shape for the time being.
Along with the two deaths that I have caused, there has been one more cannon fired today. That only leaves five people. Which means only three people besides Davin and I are left. This will be the shortest Hunger Games in recorded history. Probably the shortest that there will ever be, too.
We climb one of the trees. It's not quite dark yet, but I want to get some sleep before the anthem plays so that I can stay up most of the night, to keep watch. I'm so tired, I fall asleep within minutes of settling into my sleeping bag.
...
I'm awoken by the anthem, not by Davin. But he is sitting next to me, awake, staring at the sky. His face is still drained of color, completely drained of color. "Davin?" I ask with a yawn, looking at the sky rather than him; I don't want to think about why he is so pale. "You were supposed to wake me up."
"Sorry," he says quietly. "But you're awake now." He doesn't say anything else, just continues to stare at the sky.
I see the faces that I have killed, and I think of the hearts that I have broken. Along with the two Careers, the boy from District 9 has died today. "Who does that leave?" I ask, mostly to myself but also directed towards Davin.
"The two of us. The boy from 3, the girl from 6, and the girl from 11," Davin answers. He paid a lot more attention to the other Tributes during our week in the Capitol, while I was mostly concentrating on how I would keep myself alive. I nod but don't answer, and don't look at him. "I don't feel very good, CeCe," he says after a few moments pause.
"I'm sorry that I killed them, Davin. But there was no other way-" I try to continue with my protests and excuses but he cuts me off.
"No, it's not that. I think it was something I ate."
I study his face for a moment, consider if this is possible. "The only things we've eaten have been some dried fruit and those leaves. None of that will make you sick." I can't believe what he's saying. Can't believe how my heart can still fracture at the idea of his death, when I thought it was already broken to pieces. I'm in denial. "It's probably just the death. That's all."
"No, CeCe, listen-"
"No, you listen. You are not sick, do you understand me? You can't be sick." He can't be sick. He's going to win these Games. I can't...I can't go home to Chris. Chris is alive, he will live with or without me there. I can't win at the sacrifice of Davin. I love Davin, he's like a little brother to me. I can't.
"CeCe. I found some nuts up at the top of the tree this morning. I didn't know what they were, but I ate them anyway. I've been sick since then. It has to be that." He looks at me, straight into my eyes, and I feel it pierce straight into my heart, the deepest wound I've ever felt.
The sky goes dark, and the arena becomes silent. But only briefly, then it is bursting with animal noises that I can't keep out of my head. I can feel the blood rushing around in my ears and I think I might fall out of the tree; I'm so dizzy. "It's probably only temporary," I tell him, unscrewing the lid to his water bottle. "Here, drink some water and you'll feel better."
He shakes his head, but takes the water anyways. He's not in denial, he thinks he is going to die. Right here, like this. I can't let him. "You'll feel better," I repeat, but it falls on deaf ears, because he knows. He knows, and so do I.
"CeCe," Davin says weakly after swallowing a few mouthfuls of water. "When you get home, I need you to do something for me." He looks up at me with big, golden-brown eyes, and he is pleading.
"Anything," I say, and a few of the tears that have been caught since I left my brother in the Justice Building slide down my cheeks, splash against the sleeping bag.
"You have to promise," he insists, and his eyes fill with moisture but he doesn't cry.
"I promise, Davin. Anything."
He pauses, as if he doesn't know how to say what he wants to say. I wait patiently. Trying to clear my eyes, I blink frantically and let the drops slide down my face. I want to be able to see him as long as I can. "Don't-don't avoid him. I want you to go to him, and talk to him. Please. He'll need you."
"Who?" I ask, because the only people I can think of are Davin and Chris, and I know that he is not talking about Chris. He of all people would know that I would never, ever avoid Chris.
"Cassiel." The word is a whisper on his lips. I can barely hear it, and I am right next to him. I think that the cameras will not have been able to pick up the sound. The last word he ever spoke, his dying wish. Now I have two people to get home for.
Boom!
...
I leave the tree, and I leave Davin behind for the Capitol. They'll send him back to his father and brother. Cassiel. I'm not sure exactly what Davin meant by him. Why would I avoid him? I know why; he would remind me of Davin. And I feel responsible for his death. Even though I shouldn't, I still do.
I go back to the tree we stayed in the first night, the one so close to the stream and pond. I'll need the water more than anything else right now. Especially with only four Tributes left, there probably won't be much conflict. In fact, it will be a waiting game for a while, until the Capitol gets bored and decides to push us together for more bloodshed, more broken hearts.
Tonight, I don't fall asleep. But I don't look up into the sky when the Anthem plays, either.
...
The days pass: one, two, three, and so on. They pass and I know that the audience grows restless but I've nothing to show them. I do nothing but sit here in my tree at night, and gather some edible plants during the day. I'm losing weight, but I don't care. I drink water from the trickle of a stream, and I sit up in my tree. I watch the sky at night now, but no faces ever show up.
There are still four of us left. In the first three days, twenty children died. In the next three, no one did. I'm just as grateful for that fact as I am horrified by it. I can only assume that the other three children don't want to kill anyone, which means that I will have to, because I can't stay up here in my tree forever.
...
It's now the seventh day. I have been in this arena for a week, and I still haven't gone to see the ocean. That is my goal today, to go see the ocean. I smile to myself. To think that I could have a goal as simplistic as that is almost enough to make me laugh. But I am missing a brother, and I cannot find enough joy to produce the sound.
It is a long, familiar climb down to the ground. I take it quickly, even with my spear and the now mud-covered backpack on my back, stuffed full with the sleeping bag and all my other supplies, including some plants, in case I'm unfamiliar with the ones on the other side of the arena.
I walk in silence. Real silence, because my only slightly noisy tread falls on deaf ears. Someone could attack me right now, and I wouldn't even hear them coming. The thought registers, and I make an immense effort to pay attention to my surroundings. It only kind of works.
...
I'm back at the golden Cornucopia when trumpets blare. Claudius Templesmith, who has been announcing the Games for only three years now, appears in the sky as I look up.
"Congratulations to the final four!" His voice booms into my head and causes a migraine to form almost instantly. I guess with the poor diet I've been on for the past four days, it was waiting to happen. I haven't eaten a speck of the dried fruit or meat that is still in my muddy backpack since Davin left me. "I would like to invite you all to a feast at the Cornucopia in ten minutes! That's right, ten minutes. I know we usually give more time to prepare, but today is a special occasion." His face fades from the sky.
Ten minutes, that means everyone is close by. They wouldn't make it that short of time if people were far away. Maybe everyone had the same idea as me. Four days is too long for the Capitol citizens to go without bloodshed.
I quickly give up on my plan of getting to the ocean tonight. Instead, I make my way into the trees and hide my pack there under some bushes. I venture about twenty-five feet away from it and lean my back against a tree. Every sense is on high alert, listening for the sound of footfalls in the forest, watching for a body appearing from the desert, smelling for the scent of sweat and fear and rage to fall upon my nose. Even my mind reaches out, searching for some sort of sixth sense or awareness that I've never had and have absolutely no reason to think that I have now.
Perhaps I'll go home today.
I try to remember the remaining Tributes. There's the boy from three. He is tall but not big. He didn't look very strong, and he got only a 7 in his session with the Gamemakers. The girl from six was really big and burly. She was short and muscular, and always had a snarl on her face. People from six are usually smart, so maybe she is too. She had an 8 in training. And the girl from 11. I don't know how she made it this long, I guess she just hid someplace and watched the faces appear quickly in the sky. She is 17, I remember. It stuck with me because of how tiny she is. But I watched her a little in training, and she is mean with throwing knives. She had a 7 in training as well.
One at a time, none of them should be able to best me. But if more than one of them come at me at once...
I feel it then, rather than hearing it or seeing it or smelling it. I don't know how it happens, but I feel a presence enter the area. The back of my neck prickles and the hair stands up on my bare arms. Looking around quickly, I spy the girl from 6. I'm glad that she is here first, because I think that she is probably my biggest threat out of the three remaining opponents.
I don't give her the chance to notice me. I charge at her, my spear held high, and just as she is turning her head to look at me, eyes wide in terror, I throw it at her. It impales her in the leg. She bellows in pain and I run at her, drawing out my knife. Before I can get close enough to use it however, she throws something big and bulky at me, and it slams me in the chest, knocking the air out of me. I fall on my back, and don't think I can move. The object is some sort of black box with tiny, silver buttons on it, and I have no idea what it is meant for, but she has used it as a weapon. I push it off me, and doggedly make my way back up to my feet.
The boy is here now, and he isn't even taking the opportunity of knocking out an opponent when we are both injured. He is just standing there, wide-eyed. Then there is a disturbance in the ground, and it knocks me back down to one knee. The whole earth is shaking. All three of us turn our heads toward the golden horn, which is now overflowing with every object that they normally give you on the first day, except for weapons. There are no weapons at all, but there is food and water and blankets and medical supplies. The boy is overwhelmed, but the girl doesn't even seem to notice. She is climbing back up to her feet, pulling the spear out of her thigh in a yanking motion.
She starts to walk toward me, but she stumbles and her bleeding leg gives out on her. I could throw the box back at her, probably knock her unconscious with a blow to the head, but instead I take a risk. I throw my knife at her, leaving myself virtually weaponless, and watch in sick fascination as it pushes its way into her skull. I don't hesitate, but run to yank it out, then slit her throat to guarantee her death.
I turn to the boy, who is slinking his way towards the plethora of supplies in the horn. I don't even bother with the precaution of throwing something at him, but run right up to his back while he is unaware and wrap my arms around his throat. It is almost like some sort of macabre embrace before I pull the blade across his jugular vein and drop him to the ground.
I know it must not be true, but to me it seems like both cannons fire one right after the other. Kills four and five. How many hearts have I ripped to shreds now? How many lives have I ruined? More than should be possible for one person.
I don't bother with the Cornucopia, and I don't bother waiting for the other girl. I just go back to my pack and continue my journey to the ocean.
...
When the anthem plays, I refuse to look in the sky, but instead keep my eyes on the crashing waves in front of me. The desert sand is cooled down now, almost too cold. I don't care. I don't care about anything but getting back to Chris. And Cassiel. I don't even think about my parents anymore. Just my brother, and my dead brother's brother. They are the only people who I need to get back to.
I notice when she slinks her way across the sand, but I don't move from my position. My legs are pulled up to my chest, and my chin is resting on the top of one knee. I stare at the full, silver moon rising over the inky waters, and I don't look at the dark figure approaching me from my right.
"I know you see me," she says in a voice that sounds like darkness. Like a dark angel coming to complete my transformation to an utter beast. Her hair is black, which I hadn't noticed before. Or maybe it's just my own imagination playing tricks on me.
I don't respond, so she continues in her horribly calm manner. "I don't want to spend another minute in this accursed wasteland. It's time to kill or be killed, Cecelia."
I'm surprised that she knows my name. I didn't learn anyone's name but Davin's. I didn't even learn the names of my escort or stylist. But she remembers me, some nobody Tribute from District 8. "It's always been kill or be killed." I stand up, picking up my spear. I notice that she has a knife in her hand, so I pull out mine as well.
"I guess you want to get back to your little brother, Chris, huh?" She asks me, twirling her knife in her hand. It nicks her arm and sends a trickle of blood down to stain the sand. She doesn't even seem to notice, but I do. It will give me an advantage. "How many have you killed?"
I shrug, because I really don't know the answer. Five children, but countless family members and friends. Countless souls destroyed by my hand; my knife and my spear. "Two for me. They didn't even see it coming."
I guess I've underestimated her then. She throws her knife, and I stick out the shaft of my spear to deflect it. It goes careening into the distance, and even in the scarce lighting I can see her face pale. She underestimated me too.
I throw my knife back at her, and I don't even watch it impale her in the chest. I close my eyes and let the rest of my senses tell me she is dead. The sickening, squishing, thud of the blade sinking into her flesh, the cry of terror, the scent of blood and pain and despair, the boom of the cannon.
The thundering applause and the screech of the hovercraft as it lowers its ladder and pulls me into itself.
...
I almost don't notice the next few days in the Capitol. I certainly don't notice the short four hours it takes for them to restore me to health, to scrape my skin free of any mementos from my week in the arena. I don't notice the congratulations given to me by everyone, including the snake himself, President Snow.
And I don't see the replays of the Games. Cecelia's greatest hits leave no impact on my mind.
I only notice when I'm on the train heading home. I collapse onto the downy bed, and tears pour freely from my face. There is a knock on the door, and when I don't respond, the sound of the knob turning.
"CeCe?" Thompsie asks. I still recognize his voice, even after all I've been through. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I just want to go home," I mumble into the pillow, and he sits down next to me and pats the top of my head. It's not nearly as comforting as I think he wants it to be.
...
The next two weeks are a blur. I honestly can't remember coming home. I can't remember greeting my family, though I know I did. I can't remember moving my things into our new house in Victor's Village. I can't even remember my own name for a while.
But things come back to you, even when you wish they wouldn't.
"CeCe, please talk to me," Chris says, and I pull him into my lap. We are sitting by the fireplace, and he's got a cup of hot cocoa in his tiny little hands.
"I love you," I whisper, and somehow I know that those are the first words I've spoken since I've returned to District 8.
He hugs me, his drink splooshing over the sides of the mug and into my hair, and I don't care. My hair's already brown anyway, what's a little chocolate going to do? "I love you too, CeCe. Someone is here to see you!" He disentangles himself from me and scurries away. I turn to see what he is talking about.
Cassiel is standing in the doorway. I've never noticed it before, and I hate to notice it now, but he's one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. He seems to be golden. His hair, his eyes, his skin, all golden. I take him in, almost hungrily, and watch him do the same for me.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out before I can think of anything else to say.
"What for?" His eyes show surprise as he walks over to me, sitting down on the floor in front of my chair. He leans his back up against the leg of a table and stares up at me.
"I-I promised him. I promised your brother that I wouldn't-I wouldn't avoid you, and I have." I can't think straight enough to articulate exactly what I want to say, but he seems to get my point.
"From what I hear, you haven't been paying much attention to anything or anyone lately." I look away sheepishly, because he is right, and it is wrong and selfish of me.
He stands up and leans over me, one hand on each arm of the chair. "You know, I think I've been in love with you for two years now." I gasp at this, thinking for sure that he must be joking. It's a sick joke, but maybe he thinks it will penetrate through the walls of sorrow I've built around myself. But when I look into his golden eyes I realize he isn't joking.
I have no response to this, and when he leans in and kisses me, I have no response to that either. I love it, and I hate it, and I need more of it but I also need it to stop. He leans in even closer, and puts his lips right up against my ear, and he whispers to me the only words that could ever reach me now. "You're forgiven."
...
Epilogue
Cecelia Beauregard, Victor of the 56th Hunger Games, went on to marry Cassiel Napier. They lived in Cecelia's house in Victor's Village, along with Cassiel's father, both of Cecelia's parents, and Chris.
They had three children, named Davin, Cynthia, and Sicrie. Cecelia never let her heart seal up. She cried every single night for the hearts she had broken, but she never let it break her. She went on loving her family and her memories.
I wish that I could tell you Cecelia lived happily ever after, but I cannot. Ninteen years after she was crowned Victor, she was sent back into the Games, where she lost her life, but that's another story.
Her last words were spoken straight out to the audience, and they penetrated the hearts of nearly every citizen in the Capitol. "You're forgiven."
A/N-I hope you enjoyed this story. I've always had an interest in Cecelia's character, and also have a short poem written from her POV in my fic, Haunting the Loser. Please leave me a review letting me know how I did. I thank you for reading this story :).
-Mel
P.S. Have you heard about the Summer 2010 the Hunger Games Fanfiction Awards? There are many categories to choose from, and I would love it if you nominated any of my fics, but what we really need is for you to nominate your favorites.
forum(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/forum/Summer_2010_The_Hunger_Games_Fic_Awards/75284/
Thank you.