I don't own Hunger Games.

CHAPTER 7

The Calm

Juliana's burial is a quiet affair, like all other burials here in the district. We bury our dead in a small corner of the district, pushed up against the electric fence that never runs. The graves are old, a few even going back to before the Dark Days. There's a quiet dignity that hangs in the air, giving the dead the respect they never could get in life.

JULIANA EVERDEEN

49

The number is not her age. Since we don't know of any other way to keep track of years beside the Games, the number represents the Games that have finished closest to the death of someone. The 50th Hunger Games will commence in a few months.

Christopher's grave is small, tucked so close to Juliana's that I could almost believe that in death, she wraps her arms around him in an embrace. The baby did not last long, his lungs were weak and became infected almost right after birth. He died yesterday.

So here I am, around a small group of people that I don't know, dressed in a black dress that's much too expensive, holding two flowered branches. Wisteria. I wanted to give the two of them something of me to hold on to. Rodrick is here, dressed in a grayish shirt and an angry face. He won't look at me, won't speak. Hazelle is there too, but when she tries to speak to Rodrick, he brushes him off. She ends up standing next to me, an easy silence filling the space between us. I think we're friends now, but I'm not sure.

The funeral ends, and the dirt is tossed on the coffins. We all press the three middle fingers of our left hands to our lips and extend them to the graves. Our last goodbye. Hazelle and I leave with the somber crowd, but don't head home. We walk around town, arms linked in uncomfortable friendship. Spring has hit it's peak, with flowers blooming and birds singing and the smell of growth filling the air. I want to scream at it all, I want it all to stop. Because everything isn't right anymore, because I've ruined everything, because I can't handle this anymore.

We walk by the Hob, a small warehouse that is apparently the new meeting place for black market traders. This makes me think of Rodrick, which isn't what I want. We walk into the bakery and examine the cakes and are greeted by their painter, Wheaton Mellark. He tries to talk to me, ignoring Hazelle completely, but he's too awkward. This makes me think of Rodrick's easy charm. We stroll through town, making small comments on the weather, spotting young couples and a women carrying her toddler. This reminds me of Juliana, and that's something I can't deal with right now. We end up in the Seam, outside Rodrick's house.

"I have to talk to him." I say.

"I should go with you."

"No." I'm happy at how firm I sound. Hazelle wants to protest, but she's sensible enough to leave me to it. And then I'm alone, standing in the cruel, warm air. I knock on the door and when Rodrick answers, it's all I can do to not embrace him. His eyes are bloodshot, his face is flushed, his clothes disheveled. But when he registers my face, it's like everything in him hardens.

"Rodrick," I say meekly. "I-I wanted to see how your doing."

"Oh, I'm great." His words are so hard and mean, especially because I know I deserve them. "That was great ceremony, wasn't it? Really touching."

"Please, just let me-"

"Let you what?" He's in my face now, his breath filling my lungs. I smell alcohol and I shiver with fear. An angry Rodrick is something that scares me. A drunk angry Rodrick terrifies me. That's awful, I know. I'm terrified of the person I'm closest to.

"I think you've done enough for me, Wisteria." He continues. "I think you've done plenty. Thanks for all your help. Oh wait, let me show you something." He disappears inside and I follow, against my better judgment.

The house the Everdeen's lived in is still there, but the home that Rodrick and Juliana made is gone. The warm comfort that filled the air is replaced with cold grief and alcohol. Rodrick appears, a bottle in one hand, something small in the other. He throws to small things at me and I catch them. They're little booties, carefully knitted with a loving hand.

"They're great, aren't they? Really good work. I hope they get used well. Oh wait," He takes a swig from his bottle. "The baby's dead. And so is his mom. My mom. Yeah, she's dead." He's so bitter, so purely bitter. And I can't do anything about it, I just stand there and take it.

"Rodrick," I say. "I-"

He doesn't even pay me any attention. "And you know what else? They're sending me to the mines?" He laughs meanly. "That's just great, isn't it? Great, right? I get to work until I die in the mines that killed my dad? That's awesome." He takes another deep drink.

"You're not even 18." I say quietly. "How can they do that?"

"They think that an orphan who's 17 is ready to start doing some good for his people. Hah." Another drink. The drink is barely going down his throat, a lot dribbling out and onto his shirt. "Might as well off myself now."

That strikes a cord for me. "Rodrick, you wouldn't, would you? You wouldn't kill yourself?"

"Why, you wanna do it for me? Since you're so good at that."

Now I'm crying and I'm so mad, so angry. "Stop that!" I scream. "Stop acting like I don't care. Because I do. I do, okay? It hurts me too and it's not fair for you to treat me like this, get it? It's not fair!"

"My mom died!"

"I know!" My voice is screeching now. "I know, okay? But you're not the only one suffering from it, don't you understand that? I'm feeling it too! I knew Juliana too."

"Don't act like you understand. Because you don't."

"Rodrick, I lost someone too." I say, quiet now. I mean Juliana and Christopher and Oak. I've had my fair share of grief.

He doesn't say much for a while, just lounges in a chair as I stand stiffly in the middle of the house. The air is crackling with tension. I think he's forgotten I'm there when he says something.

"Get out."

"What?" I don't understand.

"You heard me. Get out." He starts working up momentum and begins shouting. "Get out! I never want to see you again!"

"Rodrick, this won't help. This won't bring them back." And now I'm crying again. "Please, don't push me away. Please, let me help. Please."

"Get out!" He's up out of his seat, pushing me to the door. "Go!"

"Rodrick, no." The words spill out of my mouth before I can think better. "I love you."

He flinches, like I've hit him. I think he might see reason, but he just shoves me out the door. I stumble and fall in the dirt.

"You're dead to me! Never come back! Never!"

The world is quiet now. Quiet and cold. I'm curled up on the ground, all cried up. Just kind of whimpering into myself. When the sky starts darkening, I pick myself up and go to my house. My family is worried, questioning me about how I am, where I've been, what I need. I don't answer, my blood is like lead.

The days seem to blur together. Like I've fallen underwater and I can't tell anything apart in the murky depths. I don't leave my bed most days, Mother serves me in bed. Some people come and check me, but I don't pay them much attention. I hide under the covers and block out the world. Sometimes Maysilee comes, smiling and telling me about things that she doesn't really care about but that she thinks will bring me back. Hazelle comes too, sometimes telling me about Rodrick. But that just makes me quiet and Mother makes her leave. So she mostly just sits with me, holding my hand in silence.

Daddy is getting worse. He would be better, but the stress over worrying about me has ruined the little good health that he had. He mixes specials brews, picks flowers for my bedside, has Maysilee bring her singing canary over. Anything to make me smile. But it doesn't matter. Nothing helps. He tries talking to me, telling me he understands the hurt I feel but how I must move past it because I have to, it's my duty. You're so wrong, Daddy. You have no idea what it's like.

Mother has lost any love she had for me. She brings me food with indifference, doesn't look me in the eyes. I think she's teaching this to Lily, who's started to avoid our room at all costs. So mostly I'm alone. And mostly, I either sleep, eat, or cry.

I've stopped caring. I've just let go. I don't know anything anymore.