You'd think that I would've run out of tears by now, silently crying upon the vice-gripping bed. All of my minor scars from minor incidents because of these crude games had been appropriately stitched and ready for the Victor's Tour. Wouldn't want their winner looking like he'd suffered, wouldn't we now?
Even though he'd rather kill everyone responsible for his loss-especially President Snow.
Could someone's rage be enough to take down someone so, dare I say it, powerful? Could it avenge for his fallen brethren, for his . . . love? And should I even attempt such acts with the big, Capitol knife suspended over my head so menacingly?
Hell yes I should. For Katniss.
A knock on the door came and with a clearing of my throat, I called them in.
"Nice to see you're awake," Portia said, wanting to sound cheery, but her features betrayed her. Her eyes screamed 'I feel so sorry for you', while her heavy steps and clenching fists whispered 'let's kill them all'. She tried her best to smile, but it just ended up looking sloppy and ungraceful, which is so unlike Portia.
"I guess that sedative can't last forever," I monotonously said. If I didn't have the restraints around my wrists, I would've shrugged. "Why am I still tied down?"
Portia looked at the bindings then to my face again. "They're worried about your mental state right now, afraid you might lash out and try to avenge Katniss."
This made rumbles of laughter tumble out of my lips and into the tense air. "Happy" tears rolled off of my cheeks and into my ears. By the time I was done, Portia was smiling with a faint confused scowl written on her gold-tainted eyebrows.
"They might just be smart after all," I whispered to myself. No later had the words been spoken, Haymitch bounded into the room with a nurse on his tail, demanding I be released at once.
She just stared at him and shook her head. I realized then that she was a Avox, a slave-type that Katniss once told me.
"Do you have a piece of paper?" I asked. When she nodded and brought it into view with her clipboard, I asked if she had a pen. Saying yes, I had her write out why I couldn't be released.
The words that she wrote all but blinded me:
They're holding you for experimenting.
