AN: A huge thank you goes out to Estoma for working her beta magic on this chapter.
Rated M for some language and heavy adult themes. Trigger warning: Rape.
I finally make it to the old shack. As I've done a hundred times before, when I came home from hunting, I slip through the back door. I take my jacket off and leave it on the chair in the corner, another old habit. The dust covered remains of furniture are all that greet me in the silence. Typically at this time of night, you would have to paw your way through the total darkness. Since the reaping, power surges through every street, fence, and television in the district. A dim light seeps in through the windows accompanied by sounds from a nearby work crew, frantically working to make up for lost time. There had been a delay in getting men and equipment out to 12; three weeks ago, there was another cave-in at the mines. It sent an earthquake through the District, creating a rockslide over the main rail line, nestled against a steep ridge. I wonder if the contractors have a boss who thrives on stress and last minute results like Effie. "Big, big day!" The sound of her voice in my head reminds me that in one day's time, I will be back in the Capitol and in a month's time, more than likely dead.
I take a deep breath and let the dust and dry wood fill my senses, sobering me for a moment while I remember what I came for. I realize why Haymitch drinks this stuff; I can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning. I do a slow 180, peering through the long shadows, looking for a clue. I rub my eyes, breathe again and let out a slight chuckle. I'm going to be dead soon, and all that will be left of me is my Mockingjay pin. My pin! Cinna will kill me before I even see another tribute if I forget it. I quickly step into the other room where one of my father's many hidden compartments is. Wrapped in a small cloth, I find my pin along with other keepsakes too risky to keep out in the open: a rabbit's foot, my fathers ID tag from the mines, the first arrowhead I had ever made, and the container that held the medicine that healed Peeta.
I carefully wrap everything back up and seal the false panel. I make my way back to the front room, examining my pin, letting the feathers flicker in the low light. Suddenly, I hear voices, but not the same as from earlier. Quieter, closer, and more. . .military. I clench my pin in my right hand and duck into the shadows. I go to the back entrance to make my escape, but through the windows I see their white uniforms. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," I whisper. I turn back to find another escape. Two steps into the other room, I come face to face with Head Peacekeeper Romulus Thread. I stumble backwards against a table and catch myself with my free hand.
"Commander Th-Thread," I manage to spit out. "What brings you here?" He stands in front of me like a statue you would see in one of our school books; all in white, his uniform, his hair, his pale skin.
"I'm sorry, if there is something wro-"
"Quiet!" he barks, making me flinch. I can feel my face growing hot from the anxiety of being cornered. My head is still swimming in white liquor. "You are out after curfew, young lady."
"Curfew? But this is my-"
"House?" He cuts me off again. "This shit hole? We have reason to believe you might be attempting to escape. You know the laws, Miss Everdeen, if you refuse to attend the Reaping, your family will face grave consequences." I don't understand, where was he coming up with this? I know the laws, and even the new set of rules Snow had conjured in our last meeting.
I straighten up at the accusation and give a stern look. "I don't think you know the consequences you'll face when you fuck with a Victor" I lift a cocky eyebrow. Not only has the white liquor made me forgetful, it has made me careless. And slow.
Thread steps forward and grabs me by the back of my head, slipping his gloved fingers tightly around my braid. His face is inches from mine and a growl emits from his lips, coated in a coffee stench.
"I said, quiet," he hisses. I try to turn my face away, but my head is pulled back. "What's that in your hand?" I reluctantly raise my closed fist, and with his free hand, he turns my wrist over and I present him with my pin. His eyes dart back to mine, and I can see the corners crease as he smiles. "Contraband, even better." I feel the rough cloth of his gloves scratch over my palm as he confiscates my pin. I try to look down for one last glimpse of my pin, but yet again, I am controlled like a puppet by my braid.
"It's not contraband. It's my token for the games-" My head is pulled backwards in a swift jerk. I have no time to cry out, yet just enough time for him to shove the pin into my gaping mouth and clamp my jaw closed. I inhale deeply through my nose as if it is my last, and stare into Thread's eyes with bewilderment. My mouth starts to water in protest of the taste of brass. The coffee stench is now mixed with old leather and grease from his scratchy gloves. The adrenaline must be pushing out whatever alcohol is left, because my senses are finally awake. The statue of a man is now towering over me as I lean backwards over the table. The only things keeping me up is his hands around my head.
"You've caused me nothing but trouble, young lady. The square, that stunt you pulled jumping the fence, and now sneaking around after curfew. You victors think you are above the law, above me. Not anymore!" I clench my eyes closed and hold my breath. I can't fight this man, but can I scream? I can't even swallow, fearing asphyxiation. All I can do is question this man with my eyes.
"You victors are all the same. You didn't win your freedom; you just won some extra food and a fancy house. You have no right to undermined my authority." His eyes move from mine, sweeping down and back up. "I've had victors before. District 4 and 7, but a 'Mockingjay,' now that sounds even better."
Wait, what did he call me? Had? Oh no.
My eyes widen at the realization, wider than his stained smile. And in an instant, I am flat on my back on the dusty hard wood floor. The wind has been completely knocked out of me. Thread lies on top of me, his knees slip between my legs while he pins one of my arms down with one hand and covers my mouth again with the other. My free hand pushes against his white Kevlar vest as I try to shake his hand away. I kick until my heels grow numb. Saliva starts to pool in the back of my throat and I start to gag. Dust falls into my eyes, making me clamp them shut. The heat from Thread has enveloped me causing my heart to race. Suddenly, I am in the arena and hear explosions as I claw through smoke. Crackling trees are screaming from the fire. My heart is pounding, and I start to run.
The sound of Thread's voice brings me back. "Is this the kind of victor the Capitol is making now? You're pathetic."
I manage to swallow without letting the pin slip past my tongue. I open my eyes and see Thread look down as he is fumbling with something. A moment later, I feel a tug on the waist of my pants. I kick again, harder in protest, and turn my hips away. Finally, my free hand cracks him across the jaw. This stops him for a moment and his hand releases my pants. Before I can feel a sense of victory, he returns with a blade against my cheek.
"Don't you get it, you little cunt?" Thread spits his words in my face. I stare him down, reminding him this isn't the first time I have had a knife pulled on me. "You fucked up. President Snow wasn't too pleased with the outcome of your Victory Tour. He said you should be punished for your actions, but not like your cousin. We don't want to mark up that pretty little face of yours again, now do we? Or would you rather your sister, Primrose, take your place?" My eyes start to burn, but this time not from the dust.
My hands fall back in defeat. I feel the knife slide down my throat, between my breasts, over my belly and under the drawstring of my pants. A quick flip, and they hang loose across my waist. He drops his knife and plucks off his glove with his teeth and starts to tug at my pants again. My refusal to cooperate earns me a threatening look from Thread. I choke again and relax my hips so he can lower my pants.
The heat I felt turns ice cold. The belt and clasps of Thread's uniform graze my naked thighs causing me to shake and my teeth start to chatter. I roll my head to the side and look away, trying to find something in the darkness that I can use against him, even if it isn't physically tangible. The house was stripped, just as I was. The only thing left are the memories that it holds. My mind frantically searches for something to hold on to, but is torn away when I feel the tip of his member graze my flesh. Sobs erupt from my throat and bubble out into his glove. I shake my head and my eyes plead for him to stop. He rocks forward, pressing against me. When he spits into the palm of his hand, I snap my eyes shut and hold my breath. I feel his fingers slide between my legs, wiping his saliva against me. His cock presses against me a second time, stopping just inside my entrance.
"That's it," he whispers.
He wraps his right hand around my left knee, lifting my hips up to meet his, and gives a hard thrust, driving the rest of himself inside. I let out a jagged scream as he strikes deep inside my core. The small amount of spit he wiped across my lips did nothing to ease the friction of his complete penetration. He pulls out and pounds again, slowly and deliberately. I can feel him growing harder with every entry, with every scream. I try to tilt my hips to a different angle to avoid the painful blows, but his weight is too much for me. He plunges deeper and deeper, sending shockwaves through my body. Until now, I never realized how fragile I really was.
I spit into his glove, crying out, cursing his life as I'm pushed back and forth on the dusty wooden floor. Tears and saliva fall into my ears. His hand moves from my mouth and I gulp in the cold air, keeping the pin between my teeth. But when his hand finds my throat, I panic. Training and instinct kick in and my hands start to move, clawing at his face. I am not dying on this kitchen floor. Not for his stupid rules.
My head started to pound. My body began to ache. Red flashes across my eyes in rhythm with Threads rocking, his white hair and uniform pulse crimson. Slowly, the room was started to fade into darkness. His breath is intensifying, as is his thrusts. His growls are not at all human.
The smell of wet grass, blood and mutts fills my senses. Their grunts and growls echo in my ears as they tear apart a body, just below my feet. I look over the edge of the cold metal of the Cornucopia, and see myself, being mauled by mutts. But these mutts started to change. Mutating into Peacekeepers, tearing at my naked flesh. Instead of turning to run away from these monsters, I sit down and let my legs dangle over the edge of the Cornucopia and continue to watch myself get torn apart.
"You shouldn't give up that easily." I spin around and see Prim approaching. She joins me and lets her feet dangle along with mine.
"But there are too many of them. No matter what I do, I'm dead." To further illustrate my point, I nock an arrow and loose it into the back of one of the Mutt Peacekeepers. It violently reacts, spewing blood from its wound and its mouth. When it collapses, it melts into the ground with a hiss. Seconds later, a blue halo appears and another mutation is extracted, taking the other's place consuming my flesh.
We watch in silence while the other me begs for death. I nock another arrow, and send it into my throat. It's not the way I would have liked, but it silences my screams and the mutts retreat.
I turn to my sister to gauge her reaction. "See, when I die, it will be better." She turns and points back to my body. Flowers have begun to grow outwards like an aura. I am no longer a pile of torn flesh, but in an odd black uniform, covered in feathers. Peeta appears under my dangling feet and kneels next to my dead self. Then Gale. Then Haymitch. My mother, Hazel, Cinna, even Effie. Townsfolk fill in the gaps and I can no longer see myself through the crowd. Suddenly I reappear. They have lifted me up and begin walking away.
I let out a sigh of affirmation, but it quickly turns into a gasp as firebombs explode on us. Hovercrafts and Peacekeepers fill in, destroying everyone I know, everyone I love.
"You should wake up now."
Blood rushes back to my head and I come-to as his grip loosens. I take another deep breath, slipping my pin inside my cheek. I gag and cough, my head pounds even harder. I am relieved when he stops and pulls his hips away. Did he realize what he has done? Maybe he has had his fill. I soon figure out he hasn't, and I silently curse my sister for waking me for the finale.
His hand releases my thigh and his fingers slide down to my raw flesh making me shake again. He looks down as he slips in two fingers, then looks back at me as he thrusts them in as far as he can. My feet try to move and push me away, but his gloved hand takes hold of my hair again. He presents his two fingers and hovers them above my face. They were red and glossy. The games haven't even started yet, and I'm already bleeding. My head is still fuzzy from coming-to, and I haven't had the chance to take into account what his tactile display means. For all I know, he is tearing me apart from the inside out.
He looks at his fingers in admiration, but then his smile fades away. Thread looks back and me and says, "I guess it won't be a white wedding after all." The realization floods through my mind. He has already taken what little freedom I have earned by becoming a Victor, and now, the last thread of innocence I have left. Before I can spit my pin in his face, he covers my mouth again, this time with the hand that no longer smells of leather and grease, but of blood. My blood. My body gives up trying to fight back as he dips back inside.
White wedding. White. I think of Cinna's beautiful drawings, the white fabrics thrown about my room as we talk on the phone of happier times. White, like snow. Like, Snow. The sent of blood finds its way into my memories. Blood and roses.
Thread's hips start to buck forcefully. His breathing catches, his grip tightens in my hair. A sigh quivers past his lips and he stops. When he makes his exit, my insides continue to throb.
"Mockingjay. . ." he grumbles, ". . .more like a dead sparrow." He gets up and crosses the room to the chair that I laid my jacket on. I hear fabric ruffling, buckles being clasped, a cleared throat, and finally, "My men will escort you back home. I hope you have learned your lesson?"
I turn my head to look once more at the towering statue, just the same as when I first saw him in my home. I somehow manage to find myself and prop up on one elbow, lean over and spit the brass into my hand. I take a moment to look at it and think that this stupid pin, this stupid symbol, has been nothing but trouble. Then I see his white boots approach, stop briefly, and step over me as he heads towards the door. "I suggest you get yourself home. Tomorrow is a big, big day."
I hate him. I lie back down and manage to slip my pants back on, feeling the dry cotton against my wet and bruised flesh. I tie a loose knot around my waist with the recently cut drawstring. My legs are still shaking; all the strength has gone as I try to stand. I shuffle to the chair and retrieve my father's jacket. When I put it on, I pretend not to notice a shimmer of red that graced its sleeve. I make my way to the front door and before he allows me outside, he points up to a device at the top of the doorframe. I squint in the darkness and notice a small pulsing red light. "Oh, and Miss Everdeen... President Snow sends his regards."
My heart stops and my knees buckle.
A strong, gloved hand grabs my arm before I can hit the floor. The door opens and I am pushed outside into the arms of more white armor. I was wrong, the games have already begun, and Snow has front row seats. I should have known this wasn't just a power hungry prick of a Peacekeeper. I've seen those before.
"Ahem..." I look up at the dark visor closest to me. He tilts his head and releases one of my arms, and clears his throat again. When I look down, I see that my pants have slipped down around my thighs. I synch them up and gather the waistband in one hand, holding it up, not trusting another knot. I don't dare look up again.
I hear Thread mumble some things to his men before he goes. On command, his men start walking, and push me into their formation. In my daze, the sound of boots crunching along the dirt is all I can hear. no longer the work crews clanging away. I wipe my eyes and nose in attempts to clean my face of any humiliation as we walk through the town, back to the Victor's Village. By the time we reach the gateway, all but two of the men disappear, and I am left to walk the remaining fifty feet to my door alone. I look back to the men and realize they won't be leaving anytime soon.