Well, I met you at the blood bank
We were looking at the bags
Wondering if any of the colors
Matched any of the names we knew on the tags
You said, see look that's yours
Stacked on top with your brother's
See how the resemble one another
Even in their plastic little covers
- Bon Iver, "Blood Bank"
Chapter Nine – Liam – The Dream
"Ladies and gentlemen – the victor of the twenty-fifth annual Hunger Games – Liam Heron!"
The ground seems to resist my hands as I push myself up. The effort itself is exhausting, like my bones are iron and my skin is stone. My head is heavy, too – I look around the arena to get a grip on my surroundings, but everything's in a milky, blurred haze. I try to make out the smudge of green in my field of vision, and I breathe in the air, trying to get a decent bearing.
"Liam!"
The voice paralyzes me, forces me to steady myself.
That voice… I've played it back in my head countless times. But I never expected it to sound so young.
Then again, I haven't heard it in eight years.
I turn around, my world spinning, shifting, changing, and my eyes focus on the boy only a couple strides in front of me.
"Graham!"
I run to him, and the hug is more like a collision than an embrace. My arms wrap around him, and he flinches, as though he's been caught off-guard. When we push away, I get a better look at him. He's the same as the day we said goodbye – only fifteen, with the same blue eyes and brown hair as me. The only difference is his face, which is more pointed and is flecked with freckles.
"Graham, God, I've missed you," I start to stay. "I…" he doesn't respond, and my words fade. Graham isn't looking at me; rather, his gaze is fixed on a point to the right of me. I turn, and see that Anna is stepping out of the shadows, arms folded, her eyes trained on me. Elise follows a few feet to the side of her.
I try to think of something to say, but the words are caught in my throat, and my lips refuse to move. A second later, I hear a rustling, and turn to my left, and see my parents coming from the opposite direction.
They form a circle around me.
Then, like a pressure drop, a chilled wind blows across my skin. A shiver runs through me like a river in winter. I feel my flesh stinging and burning, and look down to my hands: they're raw and bloody. My palms are scraped, and rivulets of blood mix with the dirt on my arms. Limbs heavy, I hold my hands up in front of me, stupefied. I can't remember the fight with the tribute before the announcer's cry, or anything before that.
Even when I look around, there is no tribute, no hovercraft here to take me.
Just them, surrounding me.
"Elise… Anna…" the words are thick and hoarse as I choke them out. "What…?"
I have a million questions, but not one of them comes out. Then, Graham nods towards my bloodied hands. I look down at them again, and see they are just as red as ever. I take the palm of my left hand and run it down my right forearm, trying to wipe some of the blood away. While I get most of it off, I'm surprised that there aren't any gashes or tears in my skin.
I shift my gaze to my family again, just in time to see them descend on me.
The ground hits me so hard, so fast, the blurred landscape starts spinning sideways in front of me. I try to turn on my stomach to prop myself up, but they're everywhere, on my hands, feet, back, pinning me to the ground. Tearing at my shirt and hair. A cry is torn from my throat as a sharp, searing pain explodes in my leg. Thrashing, I catch a glimpse of Graham's eyes. They're not as blue as I thought they were. In fact, they look almost violet for a moment.
But then I realize that's because they're flecked with red.
All of their eyes are.
I realize what they… what I am… when their fingernails burrow into my flesh.
"Liam! Jesus Christ, how do you wake up?"
Addison's angular, angry face is hanging above me. Our foreheads almost bash together as I shoot upwards into a sitting position. The current of the bedroom fan is cold against the coat of sweat on my skin, and I shiver.
"Do you always scream in your sleep?" she says curiously.
"What? Uh... no." I pant, rubbing my eyes. "I was screaming?"
"Not reall - well, kind-of. Anyway, get up. I only have a couple of more hours with you before the Games, and we have a lot to review. How soon can you be ready?"
I roll over onto my stomach, shielding my eyes from the bright overhead light. "I don't know… ten minutes?"
"Wrong. Be down in five." She says with too much verve in her voice. I pull the covers up over my body again, trying to take away the involuntary shudders coursing through my limbs. I hear Addison mumbling under her breath as she sits up from my bed and pads across my room.
"Remember: five minutes."
The door slams, and it echoes a thousand times over in my head.
I take several long, deep breathes in the darkness of the covers before I can will myself to get up. That nightmare is definitely a new one for me. Throwing the covers off, I realize that my torso is bare. I must have taken my shirt off in the middle of the night. Going to the closet by my bed, I take out a simple black shirt. The door to the bathroom is open, and through it, I can see my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
I turn to the right and the left, evaluating my frame after days of stuffing myself with Capitol food and training hard with Senneth and Vera. Already I've fleshed out a few pounds. Eating plenty of fish and working for years in the Fishing Sectors had given me a fairly average frame, hell, well above average the boys in District Three, but nothing like the ones Cyrus or Hudson have: thick, with a deep chest, and imposing. Now, the difference is already noticeable after a few days of my new regiment. Good; I'll need it for the arena.
I pull the black shirt over my head, and notice it's more fitted than before.
Even my hair is new-and-improved now, according to my stylists who fretted over it all last night before the interviews. They washed it and dried it and washed it again, standing over my like surgeons. There were four of them, all girls, each garish and decked out in ruffles or high, wide collars, or some other ridiculous outfit. Each of them seemed to favor a color: one's ensemble was entirely pink, while the most experienced one was dressed in all black.
Either way, they all had something to say about which way to part or comb my hair, or which product to use, until Addison finally barked from the corner, "For the love of… Why don't you just cut it?"
Now, running a hand through my hair, it's a lot shorter; none of it hangs above my eyes like it used to. "You'll thank me later," Addison insisted that night. "When you're in the arena, you'll be covered in blood and dirt. A big, greasy tangle of hair on your head should be the least of your worries, right?"
I wonder what Elise thought of it last night… I wonder what she thought of the whole interview. Me dressed in Capitol clothes, eating Capitol food… it's quite a departure from District Three, and even Four. At least Addison, Senneth, and even Rutledge were ecstatic after I walked off stage. Apparently, Senneth and I had both hit all of our marks, and despite being independent from the Career pack, the sponsors should be tempted enough to start betting on us. As far as Harper goes… well, the fallout from the night of the scores didn't do anything to improve whatever relationship I had with him up to that point. He's become even more distant and solemn.
The breakfast table is just as filled with food and extravagant as ever, but, when I sit down, Addison offers me her drink: a tall red glass filled with a bright red drink. "Have a sip."
"What is that, a bloody mary?"
"No, pig's blood. What do you think?"
"I'm alright; thanks."
"Fine, if you insist." But she leaves it by me and orders a new one.
I'm loading up on eggs, toast, and bacon when Senneth comes in, sleep-eyed, with a head of rumpled hair. He looks bitter, and that's when I notice drops of water dripping off the ends of his hair and onto his shoulders.
"Did Addison pour a glass of water onto you, too?" he asks darkly. Senneth takes an empty mug from a nearby table and fills it with coffee from a waiting pot.
"Umm…no," I mumble.
"But Liam didn't throw a pillow at me." Addison points her fork at Senneth, flicking it up and down with the authority of a dictator. "I don't have time for you guys to sleep in. Eat up."
Senneth starts helping himself to the fare, and a moment later Rutledge shuffles in, his purple hair smoothed down, sporting a set of emerald, silk pajamas. He claps his hands together. "I just want to congratulate our two tributes on being dashing, debonair gentlemen last night. I'll be the first to admit it," he says, as if everyone is thinking it, "I didn't think you two could pull it off. But even I can be surprised. District Four has more hope this year than I thought."
"Should I be flattered, or insulted?" I ask with a grin.
Rutledge is clearly confused. "The first." He says in all seriousness, with a furrowed brow.
"On that note…" Addison interrupts, taking a long sip from her drink, "I hope you two talked to Vera that you plan to go into the bloodbath?"
"Mmmhmmm." I hum, mouth full. I swallow dryly. "But we shouldn't plan on spending too much time there, right? I mean, the Careers and a couple of other tributes are going to be there, aren't they?"
"Yeah, of course." Senneth agrees. "But the past years in the bloodbath… the tributes who aren't Careers are the ones to get killed, but since these kids were voted on by the Districts, who knows? They might actually be good."
I nod. From the training sessions, the lowest score anyone got was a five, and that was a girl from District Nine. While it isn't exactly a good score, most years the tributes from districts like Eleven and Twelve gets ones and twos, but they got sixes this year. It's enough to make even the Careers nervous.
Addison looks at her silver wristwatch. "Okay. The Games start at 5:00 exactly. That means you two have to be in your positions by 4:30. Which means… we leave the Tribute Center at 4:00. It's 7:16 right now: you have about nine hours. What do you want to review?"
"Sponsors." Senneth immediately suggests. "How much control do we get to have over what we get in the arena?"
"Almost none." Addison says, pushing her honey-colored hair out of her eyes. "You can scream at the cameras, 'Hey, Addison, I really need some medicine,' but really, I'm going to be the one deciding how to spend sponsor donations… assuming we actually get enough to spend. And, it's just my personal preference – call me playing it safe – but if we even get enough donations to use, you guys won't see it from me until the competition starts getting thin, unless you're about to die."
"But wouldn't your money go farther at the beginning?" I ask.
She shrugs. "You two will get to the finals. That I'm almost confident about. I'd rather give you guys a final boost at the end… and you'll have a better chance to win."
We spend the next two hours going over questions-and-answers with Addison. Sponsors, tactical moves, fight strategies and combinations; she seems to know everything. Maybe its part of the guilt she's suffered over the years from being a victor. That, in order to advance her tributes the farthest they can go, she knows vast amounts of information and studies all the past Games meticulously. Even the ones she wasn't a mentor for.
"Remember the tenth Games?" she would say. "The tribute from Five left his tracks in the snow, and gave the Careers a straight path to him. Don't ever, ever, leave a trace."
When lunch time comes, Addison relents and decides to give us an hour break, only because of how well we held up during the interrogation of edible plants. If my time in the Tribute Center is as limited as she says it is, then I have two things I need to do. One of them is that, discussing Games strategy, Addison doesn't want Vera going into the bloodbath right away. I've been chosen as the messenger, since there won't exactly be time to tell her in the arena.
"If she's only good with long-range weapons, then the Careers or another tribute could get her seriously injured before she gets an axe. I saw her; she looks small. I think it'd be better to clear some of the field first." Addison told Senneth and me.
But that's second on my list.
Instead of taking the elevator, I take a right down the long hallway and go to Harper's bedroom. When I knock on the door, it takes him a second to reach the door, accompanied by some banging and thuds. When he opens it, his eyes are bleary and his whole demeanor is worn-out. His hair, pre-maturely white from the stress of his Games, is unwashed and uncombed.
"Oh… Liam." He mumbles. "Is it time to leave?"
"Not exactly." I tell him, standing in the doorway. "Harper, I just – I just wanted to apologize for the other night. It wasn't right of me to make assumptions about you like that."
He leans against the doorway, a hand over his mouth. He lowers it. "Why are you apologizing? You hardly need to. It's me who should be asking for your forgiveness."
I look at him for a moment, and realize his words are genuine, despite the harshness behind them. "I only have a couple more hours before the arena, right? I didn't want to go in there with the other night between us. It just didn't feel right."
Maybe because he was drunk the night we argued, or the fact he is sober now, that Harper smiles. "You know, I've never had a tribute talk to me the way you did, and now here you are, apologizing. I have to say, I'm impressed."
I try to think of something to say, but all that comes out is a "thank-you."
Harper nods curtly, and swiftly starts to close the door.
"Good luck."
The wood of the door bangs against the wall.
His words catch me off guard, and before I can think about it, the corners of my mouth form a smile.
The elevator ride up to Vera's floor leaves me contemplating Harper's words, and his change from the night we fought. It seems almost too drastic a transformation. The only thing I can come up with is that his words to me, the ones about Elise, and the girl that broke his heart, might have sparked something in him. But what? Sympathy?
The thought that he pities me, because he thinks Elise will find someone else throughout the course of these Games, sits in the back of my mind like an unwelcomed, uninvited guest. The idea almost seems to fold its arms, cross its legs, and smirk at me with dark satisfaction.
Elise isn't the girl Harper loved, though. She's different. And, I don't even know the whole of Harper's story, so how can I really compare the two?
I shake my head, and rub my eyes, trying to erase the image of Elise with someone else out of mind. If anything, she should be my motivation to make it back alive, along with my family. Not something I should be worrying day and night about.
The elevator bell gives a short ding to remind me I'm on Vera's floor, and the doors slide open like stage curtains. There's a small hall space before the double doors of District Seven's floor, sort of like a waiting area.
Vera's in the threshold of the double doors, in the middle of a conversation with Rowen and Cyrus that I've just walked in on.
She looks relieved to see me, and darts around Cyrus's massive frame. "Liam! What are you doing here?" Cyrus and Rowen turn to look at us.
"I came by to deliver some news." I say, and furrow my brow at the Careers. "Are you guys harassing my ally? Don't you get that no means no?"
A part of me regrets my tone, because, while I know Cyrus and Rowen can't do me serious harm here, they are both twice the size of Vera, and Cyrus might be more imposing than any of the CITs from District Four. I fix my stare on them.
Rowen, of all things, starts laughing. "District Four, you're so cute. I love it." The hall space is already small as it is, only a little bigger than the elevator, but she starts approaching me. I back up, trying to keep the distance even, but instead I'm greeted by the cold metal of the elevator doors. Taking her index finger, she traces the faint outline of my collarbone under my shirt. "Look at you, so big brother to come to poor little Vera's rescue."
I rotate my shoulder, and she takes back her hand, instead placing it on the elevator door, by my temple. "She doesn't need rescuing." My words are angry, but I can't focus them completely. I glare at Rowen, her bright eyes amused. "You might need it soon, though."
She grins, and leans in even closer, so that her lips are inches from mine. Rowen tries to press her body against my own, but I put my hands on her shoulders, and push her back. Before I can finish, though, she locks her hands around my neck, pulls into me, and I think for a moment she'll lean in to complete the distance between us. Her breathes are warm, even, and measured as they blow across my lips. "We'll see about that, District Four."
I glance around the room, unwilling to make eye contact with her, and see that both Cyrus and Vera are stunned. Vera is wide-eyed, unsure of what to do, or how to react, but Cyrus's steel-gray eyes burn with satisfaction.
Rowen then inclines her head, so her lips nearly touch my cheek, and whispers to me: "I'm sure your girlfriend will enjoy seeing this on television."
"Get the fuck off of me!" I shout. Steaming blood rushes and swells the veins in my neck and face, flowing just under my flesh. My voice is so loud and heavy, it stings my throat. "Leave now, or I'll make you wish you had."
Rowen steps back, shrieking, and almost falls over. Cyrus steadies her as she bumps against him, and glares at me. "I can't wait to listen to you scream when I tear you apart." These being the first words he has spoken directly, individually to me, I'm momentarily startled. But realized what Rowen's just done, with fresh, hot waves of hatred coursing through me, it hardly matters.
"Get. Out."
I'm suddenly dipping backwards, and turn around to see the elevator doors parting. Hudson is in the elevator, and immediately confused when he sees the scene he's confronted with. "Cyrus, Rowen, what are you doing?"
"Nothing." Cyrus says. "We're going. Rowen." He turns to the girl, and she smiles brightly.
"Sorry, Hudson." As Rowen steps into the elevator, she lifts a finger and traces the outline of her District partner's collarbone. Hudson's eyes light up, and, grinning, he drapes an arm around her.
Cyrus files in, and Hudson, as a good-bye, says, "See you soon, Liam! Vera!" The polished gold doors close and cut off the sound of their suppressed laughter.
"Oh, Liam, I'm… I'm so sorry…" Vera says, her voice faint.
I look up, and my stomach falls.
The security camera stares down at me.
Wooo. That was an intense chapter to right. I know I didn't elaborate on the dream much, but Liam's going to have a whole deal on it in the next chapter, when the Games start. And you'll get to see what Elise thinks of Rowen's little stunt! Thoughts? Do you like Rowen as the evil-Career? She's probably the nastiest of them all, at least in my mind. She'd much rather toy with your mind. Cyrus and Hudson would just prefer to rip you apart. Leave a review! Let me know what you think! BTM
PS - I also posted the song lyrics because, for me, they embody the worst part of the Hunger Games in a very subtle, metaphoric way. Everyone's blood is the same, and it all gets spilled. Alright. I'm done.
