CHAPTER TEN: PTSD [PREPARING TO SIGNAL DEATH]
"It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."
Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay
I don't move.
And neither does anything else.
Time slows. Motion ceases. Sensation stops.
My mind captures the next few moments in second-by-second snapshots. I won't piece together these events until much, much later.
The trident connects with Rue's neck, slicing nearly all the way through the bone. Blood spurts everywhere and tendons become visible, as do veins. Everything inside Rue seems unnaturally brilliant, as if she is lit from within by her own personal sun. The glistening white bones in her neck are a glaring contrast against her cocoa skin and the gloomy cast of the arena.
Rue's head bends so far back it almost touches the skin between her shoulder blades. Her eyes lose color, but not awareness. She gazes at the moon as the trident digs further into her neck. She appears to be taking in a big, shuddering breath. Her tiny body, for a brief instant, is suspended between the forest floor and a looming tree. She looks weightless…peaceful…sorrowful.
Because she must know that this is the end.
Her body hits the ground with a dull thud, and dust cascades around her. Blood seeps into the grass and pebbles and moss, snaking through misshapen roots and bushes and fallen leaves. Her limbs relax, and the hair that never seems to flatten spreads around her head, fanlike. Rue's eyelids grow heavy, although they twitch once, twice, three times when a high-pitched keening pierces the air.
It's me.
I'm screaming.
Frozen in time, I'm not entirely sure how it started. But my mouth is open, my body is no longer my own, and my voice is exploding out of me in a single, mournful pitch. Mournful? No, that can't be right. I'm scared, angry, confused, devastated. I shouldn't be feeling mournful. Not yet. It's too soon.
Suddenly Rue's face begins to flicker, and no sooner have I realized this than her face morphs into another. One that is more familiar to me than my own.
It's Prim.
She's gaping at me, her porcelain skin ruined by smeared blood and grime. The look in her light blue eyes is distant, receding.
Accusing.
But then Rue is back, her body nothing more than an empty shell.
Prim.
Rue.
Prim.
Rue.
And I know what they're both trying to say: "You failed. You didn't protect me, Katniss, and now I'm dead. It's your fault. You left me. It is your fault! You LEFT me!"
I'm still screaming.
Something big stomps across the forest floor. The thundering footfalls approach swiftly. Another voice joins in with mine, although the emotion in it is different. This person is angry, furious, livid. I am nothing. I feel nothing.
I place the voice – and the footfalls. It's Thresh. He seems to have grasped what's happened. This understanding will no doubt lead to feelings of guilt and remorse later, but for now…all he seems capable of is an insurmountable rage.
And for some reason, he's decided to blame Rue's death on me.
My screams cease only when I'm tackled from the side and my head smacks against the ground. Everything becomes disjointed. Colors blend above me in the sunless sky, swirling and twisting and transforming. Nothing else moves; nothing else matters. After – a minute? an hour? a year? – the colors all coalesce into one, impenetrable shade of black.
Black, like the farthest point from the sun.
Black, like the look in Thresh's eyes.
Black, like the absence of life, of hope, of Rue.
The remaining tribute from District 11 raises his fist, and I do nothing to stop him. He can punch me, kick me, torture me to an inch of my life, but nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare to the feeling I'm experiencing now.
The feeling of wishing I was already dead.
I stare blankly up at the sky – "Your fault! It is your fault, Katniss!" – wanting this to be over. If only Thresh would hurry it up. His fingers tighten into a rock-hard fist, and I await the pain with a sense of relief. Finally, I think. Finally.
Just before Thresh swings, something latches onto his fist. It appears to be another hand, and a face that controls the hand swims in and out of view. I'm unable to connect the face with a name or an appearance. All the same, this unexpected hand pulls on Thresh's fist, forcing him to turn his head.
A moment later, his head jerks back, and he jumps away from me, staggering. An equally-as-large figure begins to attack Thresh, and a loud, fearsome battle ensues.
I watch all of this disinterestedly, wishing someone would end my agony. Why is it that the one and only wish I've had since entering the arena is being continually denied? I think angrily. Where's a spiked mace when you need one?
Several endless minutes later, a loud boom – a cannon? – ruptures my peaceful state, and I'm forced to acknowledge that I'm still here, still alive in this godforsaken arena. I silently beg and plead and scream for someone to end my agony…but these requests go unanswered. A familiar hand swims into view again. It touches my cheek, probes under my eyelid (although my eyes have been open this whole time), and touches a spot on my chest. I remain totally silent throughout all of this.
A scream rips through the air. Thankfully, it's not mine. There's a big commotion off to my right, but I can't will myself to look. My level of curiosity has currently descended into the negative numbers. I just want to be left alone, but that's apparently an impossible task.
I blink and somehow find myself inside the Cornucopia. Hours later, days even? Oh, who cares. I'm in a far corner, facing one wall. Birds chirp outside, and I can smell something frying. Meat, maybe. Or it might just be the wood burning. I wonder how much time has elapsed, though I figure it can't be too much considering someone's still screaming their head off.
Staring at the metal covering of the Cornucopia, I remain in my sleeping position for the next four hours. To anyone else I might appear transfixed by the little beetle that's slowly but surely making its way across the inside wall of my shelter, but really, I'm just too unmotivated to move. Eating, hunting, and talking require effort, and effort is something I'm completely devoid of at the moment. Unable to think clearly, I will myself to fall back asleep.
Unfortunately, I don't get very far.
"Are you awake yet?"
The voice is subdued, though there's an impatience in it that would be hard to mistake. Inwardly, I sigh. Why must he be frightening and irritating? I don't acknowledge that he's there. Maybe, I think hopefully, he'll assume I'm still asleep.
"I saw you turn your head a few minutes ago, Katniss," Cato says, exasperated. This completely blows my budding hopes out the proverbial window. Unwilling to make this easy, I don't move. And hey, if I concentrate hard enough, Cato might somehow read my mind, take the hint, and go away.
"You have to eat."
No, I really don't.
"You can't sleep forever."
Wanna bet?
"This is the Hunger Games, Katniss. You have to at least try to survive. No one else can do that for you."
Who says I want to survive? And is it just me, or has Cato actually called me by my real name…twice? And in one day, too. What a record.
I ignore him.
Cato sighs. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
And with those ominous words, he leaves.
Someone whimpers, and my eyebrows rise. Either the Careers have captured a tribute while I was unconscious, or Glimmer is making helpless little noises at the opposite end of the Cornucopia. In a way, I hope it's the former – first, because helplessness is not Career-approved, and second, whatever is scaring her so badly must be either pretty painful or pretty frightening.
I don't care enough to find out.
Twenty minutes later, Cato's back. At first I'm surprised by his persistence, but then I remind myself that nothing can surprise me anymore. After yesterday, nothing matters…especially him. After all, he's the one who dragged me here. If I hadn't been forced into joining the Careers, I could have joined up with Peeta, who – with his natural charisma – would have collected most of the allies I saw with him earlier. Both tributes from District 10 wouldn't be dead, Foxface wouldn't be injured, Thresh wouldn't be running around like a maniac, and –
I stop thinking.
"Here," Cato says, and I jump, having forgotten that he's behind me. A piece of jerky flops onto the pillow, inches from my nose. I have to give him some points for precision. "Eat."
Inside my head: "But I don't want to. Don't you get that?"
Aloud:
"This is ridiculous," he snaps, and I can tell he's beginning to get really annoyed.
Inside my head: "You're ridiculous."
Aloud:
Glimmer groans loudly and starts gasping in short pants. I can tell the screaming isn't too far behind. Shifting his position, Cato makes his way over to the District 1 tribute. She quiets when Cato mutters something, and I can't say that I'm not relieved.
Peace and quiet. That's all I'm asking for over here.
Cato returns three minutes later (I count), and this time he doesn't bother to talk to me. Instead I feel his hand on my shoulder, and without much effort he manages to roll me onto my back. I stare blankly up at the ceiling, knowing this will aggravate him. Hoping it will so he'll leave me alone for good.
He leans over me, still tight-lipped, and for a moment it almost feels like he's hugging me. His chest hovers above mine, and I can't help but examine and admire the muscles partially hidden under his shirt. His proximity is quite a shock to my system, and I wrinkle my nose, uncomfortable.
But then he's back to crouching by my side, and I exhale noiselessly. In his hand is the lone piece of jerky, which he then proceeds to stuff into my hand. Grabbing my wrist, he pries back my fingers and dumps the meat into my palm.
"Eat," he commands. Instead my hand flops to my side, and the jerky slips to the floor.
Inside my head: "Make me."
Aloud:
Cato leans over me so that I have no choice but to see him. I still don't technically have to look at him though. Keeping my eyes averted, I force myself to remain expressionless. It's actually not as hard as I thought it would be.
"Katniss," he says in a light, friendly voice, "I am not fucking with you, sweetheart."
It happens before I can do anything to stop it. I flinch…and my eyes flicker to his. A self-satisfied smirk stretches across his lips, but it's gone before I have to time get angry about the fact that he tricked me. His steely demeanor is back in place.
"You're going to do something whether you want to or not," he hisses, and stands up.
Inside my head: "Oh, he's leaving!"
Aloud:
Unfortunately, he does not actually remove himself from my self-induced nightmare. Instead of stomping out in a barely restrained huff, like I suspected he would, Cato grabs my arms and hauls me to my feet. The second he lets go I collapse to the floor in a heap.
For the record, I wasn't expecting that. I collapsed more out of surprise than rebellion.
Cato leaps forward, although it's far too late to prevent me from falling, and mutters what sounds perilously close to Fuck under his breath.
Inside my head: "Cato curses? A lot?!"
Aloud:
Sighing with defeat, he plops down next to me. I've regained my composure – or what little of it I have left – and am now sitting with my back against the Cornucopia and my legs spread out in front of me. My hands lay uselessly in my lap, and I stare straight ahead. I can hear the beetle I was watching earlier scuttle across a section of the wall by my left ear.
Cato doesn't say anything for a full fifteen minutes. Honestly, it's quite a record for him (this day has been full of records). But then he shifts his arm, and I know he's preparing to say something.
"I'm going to get some sleep."
Inside my head: "Not what I expected, but okay."
Aloud:
Cato and Clove doze while Glimmer twists from side to side, moaning.
I daydream a place that is not here.