I'd like to think it was all a dream. It felt like it was. That's probably the drugs talking. Everything. The Reaping, the battle, the deaths. I wanted to wake up in my cold bed with Prim curled up against me, feeling that permanent dull hunger I've always felt. Always having just enough but always wanting more. I feel that growl in my stomach now. The rations of the Arena, replacing the days of feasting like a lavish Capitol citizen, have taken their toll. Doctor This told me I need to eat to put on weight. I need to be the curvy girl they all once saw. But Doctor That said the stick thin look is fashionable after my experience. I don't care what they say. They can do what they like with me.
There's only the opinion of one person I care about.
"Sweetheart..." he murmurs softly as he visits me in my hospital bed for the first memorable time. He looks in my eyes and stops what he was about to say. He knows. It's obvious. I don't want pity. I don't want apologies. I don't want 'there was nothing you could've done'. Nothing anyone could ever say would ever make me feel any different. The blame will always be on my shoulders. I must live with this. I do not want to live. But Doctor That has put a watch on me. The light for the camera blinks in the corner of the room. I have someone feed me. There's no point in resisting. They want their Victor. They must have me.
"I didn't want them to," he says to me. I look confused. What is my mentor talking about? "They went ahead before I even got the chance to get to the medical suite."
I don't know how long I've been asleep for. I do not care. But I admit, I feel different. Not mentally. I am still a broken ball of emotion. But physically.
"What?"
They are the first proper words that have left my voice since waking up. My voice is dry and crackly. It sounds just as broken and fragile as I am. It doesn't really sound like a word. More like a squeak.
My mentor brings forward a mirror and presents it to my face. I don't make a noise or a sound; I just look and analyse the changes as he explains everything to me. My eyelashes are permanently longer, my lips are fuller, despite being dry and cracked a little, my cheeks are rosy naturally and are slightly plumper and fuller. The crooks in my nose have been straightened out and my teeth whitened. My hair is longer, fuller, darker, more luscious. I don't look at my body. I can feel the implants in my breasts and the silicone in my hips and buttocks.
I'm a product of their design. I always have been.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says eventually. "You have to get ready for tonight."
Of course. My crowning. The replays. I will have to endure it all again.
He takes my hand delicately in his large masculine one. He had hands similar. It must be a District 12 thing. I am lifted out of the bed. I look at my body as he slips on soft cotton slippers on my still aching feet. I'm no longer the girl on fire. I am the fiery girl. He leads me through the catacombs of the medical centre and into the elevator. I find my new hips swaying in a way that they have never done before. I lick my plumper lips to moisten them. I am dying for a drink. Maybe Haymitch has one on him. He still smells of liquor, but fresher. It's possible it's just a residual smell. He's drank so much of the stuff that he'll still have a stench that will follow him. He pulls me into a hug. Human contact. That's what I needed. I want to cry. But I have no more tears left to cry. My eyes are dry like my lips. He places a delicate kiss on my silky brunette locks and inhales deep.
"I tried. I did. I-"
"Don't." I interrupted him. I look away and into his Seam grey eyes. I have to be bitter about this. "He went... Just too far. It's his fault."
I sense shock at what I had just said. But it was true, right? I didn't force those berries down his throat. The Capitol didn't. He just wasn't quick enough.