Chapter 9
I look out the window as the train rushes across the landscape at over two hundred miles per hour. I'm in the car alone. I don't want to see anyone: not my mentors and especially not those Capitol servants. In the distance, I watch the buildings of a district glide by. What district is it? What difference does it make? Among its citizens are two weeping families who are mourning the lives of their kids. I only hope it's not District 7, the home of the only tribute I killed. That girl's family must hate my guts. I may never know until I see them when I visit the district on the Victory Tour.
The past few days have been as bad as the days in the arena. If I had a coin for every Capitol moron who's looked me in the eye and said, "Well done", "Way to go", or "Congratulations", I'd be the richest person in the world. Idiots! Have they no shame? I lost my district partner, my pride, and my sanity in that lousy arena and they have the nerve to congratulate me? Do they even realize that they're just humiliating me? Or better yet, do they even care?
All these questions and more circle in my head when I hear the car door open. I don't bother to see who's joining me. It's pretty obvious anyway. It can only be the one person who's treated me more like a teenage girl than a board game piece since the very first day. I don't care though.
"Hey, kid," says Finnick.
I don't reply. Heck, I barely hear him. My mind is set on the distant district that's most likely populated by thousands of people who hate my guts. He doesn't seem to care that I'm giving him the cold shoulder.
"How's it goin'?" he asks.
My reply is I wince, and I don't even look at him when I make it.
Finnick laughs. "I was expecting a more verbal answer, but I'll settle for that. At least I was able to get some sort of…"
"Finnick, please!" I snap. This time I actually make eye contact with him.
He stares at me blankly for a moment. "Hey, take it easy. I just wanted to…"
"Just leave me alone! I don't want to talk to anyone until we get home!" I cover my ears and plop down into a chair.
But Finnick doesn't leave me alone. Even with my eyes shut and ears covered, I can tell he's still next to me. He even seems to be talking to me. I can't really hear him, but based on the few words I'm able to catch, I think I can tell what he's saying.
"That's fine. You don't have to talk to me," is what I think he starts with. "But that doesn't mean I can't talk to you, right?"
That's what I think follows, but I hope it isn't.
"So I bet you've got some big plans for when you get back home. That's how felt after I became a victor. My first thought when I got out of the arena was, 'I wonder what I should buy first with all that money'."
If he thinks this is even remotely helpful, he needs a wakeup call. All this is doing is making me feel like I'm the only one to come out of that arena who feels any remorse. I know for a fact that he killed far more people in his Games than I did. But it must've been different for him. His experience was probably much more pleasurable and luxurious than mine. No, it was. I should know, I watched it from beginning to end just five years ago. He didn't witness the violent death of his district partner. Also, the way he's going on and on about his own Games makes me think he cares about as much about Harper as Amber did. He did mentor the two of us knowing one or both of us would die. Would he be acting like this if Harper were here instead of me? I know I told him I don't want to talk to him, but since he and I are the only people here I can only help but ask.
"You don't care, do you Finnick?" I blurt out.
He gives me that stunned, speechless look again. "I – I'm sorry?"
"You don't care! You're just like all those heartless Capitol idiots! You never cared about Harper!"
Still he looks shocked. "Annie… What's gotten into you?"
"You tell me," I say sobbing. "You saw it! You were watching it all happen on TV! You saw Harper get killed! You saw me run and hide! You saw how I let that one girl live when I could've taken her out in the blink of an eye! You saw it all! You should know what's gotten into me!"
"Annie, please," says Finnick. "Just calm down."
"NEVER!" I scream. "I'll never calm down! Harper told me the Games change people and he couldn't have been more right! The Annie you once knew is gone, Finnick! There's blood on my hands and I see it as clearly as you see these tears in my eyes! I've been changed more in these last few weeks than I have in my whole life, and the old me can never come back!"
"Oh, Annie."
Finnick gently throws his arms around me. I lay my head down on his shoulder and cry like never before. Strange as it may seem, his embrace actually feels calming. Probably because he's the only one who's even offered me a hug since I've been out of the arena.
"I'm sorry about Harper," he says sincerely. "I know he was your friend. And I really did care about him. I cared about you both. But you have to understand what it's like for us mentors. Every year we meet two really great kids with the knowledge that one or both of them is going to die in a matter of weeks. Remember my first year as a mentor? I became really close to our tributes and then both of them died. It's painful for us, but it's just how the Games work."
"It's not fair," I whimper.
"I know it's not," Finnick replies. "But we have to go along with it, or a lot more than twenty-three innocent lives get taken away."
"Why do they get so much pleasure out of watching us suffer?" I ask.
"I wish I could answer that."
I have hundreds of more questions I know he probably can't answer, but if I don't ask them I don't know what I'll do.
"Did you see how they reacted when they saw Harper die?" I ask.
I know he heard me, but he doesn't answer. I don't bother repeating that question. I know he's silent because he's afraid to answer.
"What about when I killed that one girl?" I continue. "How'd they react then? And what about the bloodbath? No, what about the flood?"
Still, he's silent. The answers to all my questions are the same, and I know it.
"Lab rats," I snarl.
"What?" Finnick asks.
"That's all we are to them, isn't it? We're all just a bunch of lab rats in their maze. And I'm the one who made it to the cheese."
"Annie…" Finnick begins.
"You know it's true," I say. "They don't care about Harper, or Amber, or Opal, or Parr, or any of them. All those kids dying before their time, and no one in the Capitol cares. It's sick and inhumane."
"Shh, keep your voice down," says Finnick. "I don't disagree with you, but you can't say things like that out loud. It could be dangerous for you and your family."
I know he's right. I just have to get it off my chest.
"Promise me that when you get home, you won't repeat anything like that in public," he says.
"I promise," I say.
"And promise me that you won't ever go anywhere near alcohol, or morphling, or any other drug. I've seen what those things do to victors who… can't escape what they saw in the Games. Just look at Haymitch Abernathy, and those two morphling addicts from District 6."
I've always known Haymitch is at his worst with a bottle of liquor in his hand. He's the reason District 12 is such a laughing stock. But he's nowhere near as bad as those two from 6. I remember seeing them a few times before the Games, and then wish I hadn't. They're so addicted to morphling, that they're beyond help.
"I don't want to see you end up like them," Finnick continues. "No matter how much these memories haunt you, you have to promise me you'll deal with them yourself."
I think at first that this may be asking too much of me, but I come to the conclusion that he's right. Anything's better than voluntarily becoming a yellow skeleton.
I nod and say, "I promise."
End of chapter
