Don't Look Back—Chapter 10
A/N: More updates! Fun stuff! Okay that last chapter was really something. It was incredibly suspenseful at the end, huh? I like torturing people…enjoy Ch. 10!
Chapter 10—Recognition
Elly's POV
Two days earlier
"IAN!" I scream as he drops, yelling "ELLY! ELLY!" His arms flail madly and he scrapes the rock for any grips, anything, anything to hold onto. I'm frozen with terror except for my mouth, which screams "DON'T DIE DON'T DIE DON'T DIE" over and over and over and him yelling up at me "I WON'T I WON'T I WON'T" and we're both just shrieking and shrieking and no one can do anything and the lord knows what is running through his head as he falls down, down, down
And then he collides with the rock, actually bouncing upward once before landing again and I hear a snap and I start sobbing as I practically tumble down the stairs, thinking not his neck not his neck please not his neck as if that would somehow change the outcome.
It's not his neck, thank the heavens, because he landed on his knees, but they look broken and his spinal cord seems to have gotten some damage and that sends me into another round of mental hysterics as I start fretting about how to get him up the rough stone stairs.
But then, oh, then, I see something in his pocket. A PHONE! I see the code etched onto it and then two more codes. One, in scrappy handwriting, reads primrose 4221 and another reads haymitch 0676; I decide that his girlfriend might be a bit out of control, with her suicide attempt and all, and she might fly into tears and screams and I don't want her to worry like I am, so I punch in 0-6-7-6 and listen to the rings, the tears slipping down my cheeks as I prop Ian up and lay his head in my lap.
After what seems like a tiny eternity Haymitch picks up, his voice slurred and nearly incoherent.
"Whatta ya want, Ian," he says, sounding amused. "Girlie problems?"
"Haymitch, please listen: My name is Elly but that's not important. I'm Ian's—friend and he just fell off a huge cliff, and he's unconscious, and I need help. Is there anything you could possibly do to help?"
There's a pause as Haymitch drinks in the words like he would his alcohol.
"Please!" I say a more desperate edge to my voice. "Please, Haymitch, we need help!"
Another pause, a sigh, and a clink of a bottle. "I be over fastly, girl, and ya best be ready…what are the coordinates?"
One day earlier
"IAN!" I yell, pounding on the door. "LET—ME—SEE—HIM!" I struggle against the two doctors' grips, kicking and punching and screaming as I make for the door twice more.
"No, no!" the doctor says, her fake eyelashes hanging from her eyes, "he's unconscious, dear; you won't be able to—"
"I—DON'T—CARE!"
"He mustn't be disturbed, sweetie," the other doctor says, her wig askew. "He needs quiet."
"I'LL BE QUIET IF YOU LET ME IN THE ROOM!"
They look to each other, sighing, and in their hesitation I finger the doorknob and try to burst into the room, but this time a smaller hand takes mine and tugs gently. I look down angrily and see Diana standing there, her eyes full of pity, saying softly "It's no use, Elly, you won't help…"
"Diana, I need to see him, you wouldn't understand, you haven't—"
She turns to the doctors and starts to wail. "Please, please, please let me in, I have to see my brother, I'll be quiet, I'll be quiet, I promise…" And she wipes away pretend tears, sobbing incoherent words. I catch on and play along, saying, "I'm with her, I'm supposed to be watching her, I'm sorry."
"Oh…fine, go in, but one peep and you're out," the lady says, rubbing her forehead. "I just don't see why you'd want to talk to someone who can't talk back…"
"Why do you care for people who can't recover?" I ask softly, and her expression changes slowly.
"Because…they…" She cuts off, and then says peevishly, "Get out."
"I'm Elly Opal."
She gasps and then puts a hand over her heart. "Oh, my goodness…you…should've said…just…stay as long…as long as you like…"
"Thank you," I say curtly, and pull Diana into the room with me.
Ian lies there, bloodied and bruised, and I start crying again; Diana starts crying with me, and Ian rouses slightly.
"Oh, my god, Ian…"
"What's happened to him?"
I explain tearfully to Diana exactly what happened, from the stumble to the fall to my screams to his yells to Haymitch's slur to the hovercraft pickup.
"…and this is my entire fault, all my fault, I let him get too close, I let him too far in…"
Diana pats my hand calmly. I'm enraged by the fact that she was crying before I told her everything but afterward she's fine. I want her to cry with me again. She's the only one who I told the whole story to. I don't even know why. I feel something about Diana, something warm and cold, something strong and weak, and it puzzles me. I need to be on my guard but at the same time I feel okay with telling Diana everything.
"It's not your fault," she says slowly, as though trying to put two and two together. "You didn't let him too far in, that's a bit selfish of you to think that he loved you so much that even you couldn't control it. Love can always be controlled, even if you can only control it for a millisecond. Besides, you don't even know if that's exactly why he fell. It's probably not, you realize? Think of how stupid that sounds. 'He loved me so much he fell off a cliff.'"
"It's not—"
"Yes, it is," Diana says fiercely, "it really is and you are so blind by yourself that you can't see it. That's your flaw. You're conceited."
"Conceited—"
"Think about it!" she snaps. "Think! For a second, just think: maybe Ian didn't fall because of you. The world does not revolve around you. Ian does not revolve around you. You like that Ian wants what he can't have. You enjoy it. Ian does not love you and only you. He loves someone else even more; I suspect he's just dreadfully lonely."
"I'm not conceited—"
"LISTEN TO YOURSELF! You are beautiful and sweet, but you are vain. There are two types of vanity: those who realize it and either accept or deny it, and those who do not see it and cannot accept it, but will always deny it. You are a mix of the first and second type. You do not see it. You cannot accept it. You will always deny it. You must think I'm a right little liar, but I suspect you know the truth yourself, making you a mix."
"Rubbish—"
"See? You can't accept that I know something you don't. You cannot accept anyone being better than you at anything."
Diana turns and walks up to Ian, whispering words that my numb brain cannot register.
You're conceited…the world does not revolve around you…not you and only you…denial, denial…a mix of vanity…
Am I vain? Am I blinded by the thought of me as a pretty, intelligent, sweet girl? Is the vanity deep down or frothing over the top? I mean, I don't like being wrong, but who doesn't? I can accept defeat…I think…
"Diana…"
"It's the truth," she says, altogether unashamed. "It really is and it's time, much past time, you realize that."
I scowl at her, privately thinking of how wise she is for a little girl. It's a bit unnerving, really, that she gets everything that I don't. How many little girls tell you how conceited you are, and why? I mean, one might say "Ugh, you're so full of yourself," but never "You're a mix of the first and second types of jealousy". It's just not natural.
"Prim…rose…"
I hear Ian's voice and everything comes crashing back to earth. He's alive. He's alive…and…and the first thing he said was…was…Primrose…
"I AM CONCEITED!" I yell, sobbing.
Diana nods, looking sad, but still nods. "I'm afraid it's true," she says softly.
"It's—not—your—FAULT!" I scream, wanting to hurt myself. "It's my fault, all mine, every single ounce of it and you knew and you told me and I didn't believe you and it's me, all me, and I'm sorry Diana…"
"Primrose."
"SHE'S NOT HERE!" I shriek, so devastated by the fact that I was wrong about myself, who I really was, and I'm such a lying, messed up, fricking idiot that I didn't see it. "SHE'S NOT HERE, IAN, AND I AM, AND I SHOULDN'T BE, I SHOULD'VE BEEN THE ONE THAT FELL OFF A CLIFF—"
"Elly…?"
"YEAH, YOU IDIOT, IT'S ME, WHO ELSE WAS WITH YOU AT THE CLIFF?"
"Her…"
"Shut up and let him talk!" Diana whispers furiously.
"She…there…caught…no hurt…just…fire?" Ian becomes too weary to talk and I want to scream again and again and scream and make people hate me. I am dumb, I am useless, like the insignificant little white crayon that I am. That's who I am. A useless white crayon.
"I'm a white crayon," I whisper through quivering lips. "I'm a stupid white crayon."
"You just have to find someone who prefers black paper," Diana says kindly, and I vow to remember this quote forever and ever because it was the one thing that brought me hope again, these words from a little girl, a little girl who two seconds ago called me conceited.
"Black paper," I repeat, smiling slightly.
From that moment onward, Diana and I became allies, friends, even. After her screams of me being vain, I thought nothing of her, but two minutes later she told me I wasn't insignificant, only different.
Ian opens his eyes blearily.
"Hi, Reseda," I say quietly.
"Hi, Opal," he murmurs, and I laugh into his shoulder. He smiles weakly.
"I took some fall, huh?" Ian's smile is pained but happy, brighter than the sun in the middle of July.
I start to cry. "Oh, my g-good g-god, Ian R-Reseda, you better sh-shut up before I h-hit you, you inconsiderate d-dirtbag, joking at a t-time like this," I sob and laugh at the same time, and Ian laughs with me.
"I'm sorry, my charm seems to be stuck on 'make them girls go loco'."
I laugh so hard, still sobbing, that I collapse into a chair, breathless. "You are a crapload of a jerk," I say.
And then, then, something happens. Something indescribable, so indescribable, that it nearly chokes me, and I make a little "erg" noise, and I feel light-headed and blinded and warm and fuzzy and all I see are Ian's eyes, little emeralds in the rough, and I see his smile, untouched by injuries, just pure and whole and I hear him swearing through a window and I feel my feet pounding against the ground as I run over to it and I remember thinking God can you not and then I yelled at him and I decided to be a little devil-girl and turn the charm on—selfishly, because I'm a messed up little earthworm—and make him come but really, really truly, he made me come, and I realize right then and there, in an armchair, messy-haired and tear-soaked, that I am in love with Ian Reseda.
Present
"It's okay, Ian! It's just—just a nightmare!"
"No…no…NOOOOO! PRIMROSE! ELLY! NOOOOOOOO!" He yells, flailing, almost socking me in the face, and I squeeze his hand and whisper into his ear, my lips dangerously close to his, "I'm okay. Primrose is okay. You're okay. We're all okay."
He trembles a bit more, breathes, and stills with a final "no". I sigh. I want him to be awake. I want him to talk to me and make me laugh and make me cry and make me want to kiss him.
Primrose. Her name is beautiful, she is beautiful, and he loves her. Ian really does love her, I can tell. We never did finish To Be Honest. But I have a feeling if I asked who he loved more, he'd say Primrose. He did say he loved me. But I—I turned him down. It's the only unselfish thing I've ever done in my life. My whole life, everything selfish but this. Beating cancer for myself. Not my family, oh no, I had to survive.
And of course there's the other thing. The Big Big Big Thing, the Thing of all Things, the Thing that I can't even reveal to myself, the Thing that I should hate myself for but SELFISHLY I don't BECAUSE I AM A MESSED UP HUMAN BEING
AND NOW I FRICKING DO HATE MYSELF
GOD I AM A WORTHLESS WORTHLESS WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP!
"I'm sorry for being stupid, Ian. I'm sorry for being selfish. I'm sorry for being horrible. I'm sorry for being dumb. I'm sorry for being crap. I'm sorry for being jealous. I'm sorry for being someone I'm not. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I am sorry."
I hear a sound behind me. Another nurse, prolly, and I'm sick of their "requests" for me to be quiet. I HATE EVERYTHING AT THE MOMENT ESPECIALLY MYSELF AND IT'S NOT GOOD.
"Oh, my god."
I whirl around to see myself on a screen, my ugly self shown to an audience of at least ten thousand, Primrose Everdeen with her hands over her mouth, and I REMEMBER THAT LOOK
"Elly Opal, I know you, I remember you, AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY BOYFRIEND?!" Primrose says, horrified, and I feel like exploding.
"You—you—you—" I can't get the words out. "Capitol—you saw—oh—we were—oh—"
"Oho! Looks like Primrose has some competition!" a sugary, fake voice exclaims.
Are we on a…talk show?!
"I WANT ANSWERS!" Primrose demands, but at this point I feel like fainting. "I'm sorry—he—fell—ohmigod—" Primrose seems to be crying and ifeelsososobad…
And then Ian stirs, opens his eyes, and starts yelling, and Primrose is yelling and they're screaming "I LOVE YOU HI OH MY GOD HI I LOVE YOU" over and over and I feel like an intruder so I back away but Ian says "no stay" and I have no choice but to sit and hear Primrose and Ian tell each other "I love you" over and over.
"I heard your voice and I thought I was dreaming but no Primrose I'm sorry I don't love Elly I love you I love you I LOVE YOU!" Ian says passionately, and Primrose is wiping tears of joy out of her eyes as she replies "I've missed you so much, so much, Ian, and I love you too more than you could ever know oh my god I love you I love you!"
"Oh, look at the lovers!"
"Hi, Caesar," Ian says with a grin, waving.
Caesar Flickman slides into view. "Hello there, Ian!"
"Sorry you have to see me like this," he sighs, and the audience laughs.
"You took quite a tumble, huh, Mister Reseda?"
"I did indeed." The audience laughs again.
"So, care to introduce your sister?"
Ian spots me and smiles weakly. "She's not my sister; she's my friend Elly Opal. Elly, meet Caesar and Primrose!"
"Odd meeting place," I say thoughtfully, regaining my composure. The audience chuckles along with Caesar.
"Quite indeed, m'dear! Well, that's all we have time for; I'm afraid, oh, no, dear, don't cry…" For Primrose's floodgates have opened.
She stops abruptly and looks straight at a camera somewhere else, and I see the love in Ian's eyes.
"May I say something directly to President Snow, perhaps?" she asks, her voice dripping with venom.
"Go right ahead, m'darling!"
"Do you see what you're doing?" she bursts, and my respect for her skyrockets, "Do you see this? Two people sobbing over a (insert-not-so-nice word here) SCREEN? I AND MY BOYFRIEND haven't seen each other personally in TWO AND A HALF YEARS! You are RIPPING lives APART! Let me SEE him, for GOD'S SAKE!"
And then she flounces right off the stage with a final "I love you" to Ian.