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PART XIV
S-T-A-T-U-S-Q-U-O
It was too much for her fragile body to handle. Katniss fell to her knees, her eyes still locked on the painting. It was him, even without color. It was Gale. Seeing his face again was something she hoped. Now, Katniss knew she would never see him alive. Gale Hawthorne was a dead man walking, bidding his time until his very last breath. His life was not his own anymore. He was a slave, an object, a property belonging to President Snow.
Her body started to convulse involuntarily. She was barely taking air in, as she let herself fall.
Katniss Everdeen was finally giving up.
Peeta tried to rile her up, but without success. Her eyes stayed closed and her body was dead weight in his arms. Only her slow heartbeat and slight inhalations let him know she was still alive. His eyes stared up at the dreadful painting. It was even more gruesome now. It was like the blood was dripping off, rivulets of blood ready to swallow him whole. This man, the one he had seen kneeling before him, Katniss knew him.
She had seen what was forbidden.
"Please forget… you need to forget, Kat. MAGS! MAGS! I need your help!"
Peeta tried to stand with Katniss in his arms, but he could barely lift her. Loud steps alerted him of Mags coming to his aid, in this horrifying scene. He found strength to lay Katniss on the sofa, as he covered the painting from view, just as Mags barged into the room.
"What's wrong Peeta? Oh my! What's happened to Katniss? What have you done, boy?"
The old woman touched her forehead, finding it sweaty and hot. She tried to open her eyes, and checked her heartbeat. Old Mags was no fool. She knew what had happened inside that attic, the smell and state of disarray giving it away. She closed her eyes willing to keep her mouth shut. It was good her dear Finn wasn't home yet, for this would kill him. Betrayed by the one he loved most. As she assessed Katniss' state, Peeta paced and yanked on his hair.
"You better stop that, or you'll be bald by nightfall. She's just in shock. Her body is protecting itself. We have to get her into her bed. I'll keep watch over her. You get rid of that thing… today. She saw it, whatever it is…Not a word of this day will pass through our lips. Do you understand, Mellark?"
Peeta looked into sea-green eyes and nodded. It was a rare occasion, when said woman would refer to him by his family's name. He was her Peeta since the very moment he stepped inside this house. He cringed and gazed upon Katniss' motionless body. Something had been broken here and it wasn't only Katniss. Mags would never trust him again. He couldn't do anything to change it now. He had unfinished business to attend.
Before he left to get ready, Peeta leant down to kiss her forehead, knowing Mags was watching. His lips brushed her ear, murmured, "You are the strongest person I know… you will survive this and more. Forget, my Kat. I need you to forget. And… find forgiveness for what has been done… I will come back to you. Take care of our Dahlia."
S-T-A-T-U-S-Q-U-O
The Palace was deserted. No Avox to guide him or petulant assistant eyeing him from head to toe. He had been let inside by a simple servant, in red colored clothes emblazoned, with the Capitol's seal in gold. The opulent room had a lingering scent of tobacco and sex. Peeta refrained from sitting in any of the chairs. The walls in this chamber were covered in a bucolic scenery, of shepherds and fields, so different from the paintings he had seen in the ballroom.
A particular painting caught his attention. It was one of a forest, a small cabin, and a lake. For some reason it seemed familiar to him, but Peeta knew he had never seen it. He got closer, looking at every detail. There was a meadow with dandelions in the background. It was so like his…a cough alerted him that he was no longer alone.
"Mr. Mellark? I'm Haymitch Abernathy, the President's private tutor for his sons. Last time you visited we didn't properly meet. I see you are looking at District 12. Wonderful place, don't you think?"
"District 12? Have you been there, sir?"
Peeta turned, locking his gaze upon the interloper. It was the man he had seen that day, the one that had let loose the little brat. It appeared he was more lucid today, not smelling of liquor and not a hair out-of-place. Abernathy stared back, not intimidated by Peeta.
Was this easily rattled boy the hope for the future? He scoffed, and moved in the direction of the decanter. He was too sober for this shit, Haymitch thought.
"Want one, Mellark? I think you're going to need more of this in the coming days… How's your…what's his name Filch… no Finnick, Finnick Odair? I heard he's moving up into a bright future. You must be sooo proud-"
Peeta sneered, "State your business Abernathy. Enough with the sarcasm."
Haymitch answered him with a sardonic laugh, "You need to grow some balls, boy. Or you'll be eaten alive. You've entered into the lion's den, and the only way out is with blood, sweat and tears. Let's go somewhere more… private. Shall we?"
Peeta felt tempted to just turn the way he came and leave. He had done what he intended to do. The painting had been taken by the servant. He'd been assured it was going directly into a safe room, following Snow's instructions. He tried to question how the painting would be placed inside said room, but the servant had left him inside this room. And now he was stuck with the drunkard, irresponsible tutor. But curiosity made him humor the man and follow him.
Once outside they had entered one of the many gardens. This one had no roses, and for that Peeta was grateful. He took gulps of the fresh air, trying to cleanse his lungs and calm his nerves. Abernathy was looking around, as if making sure they were not followed.
"I'll make this quick. You saw him… I know you did. He is a good man, who doesn't deserve this fate. You must know this. The Snow reign and the Law has to be stopped and bring back freedom to Panem's people. Life wasn't always this way, boy. Women aren't objects to be used and raped by men. Think of your baby girl… of the woman who carries her. They don't deserve to continue being subjected to this inhumane treatment. You and your Finn have to make them see… really see what's been done here. You have to make a choice. It is time for the Mockingjay."
Peeta listened to every word, each one making his insides churn. It was treason. A sure way to a quick execution, a revival of a very public spectacle for the enjoyment of the proud Capitol citizens, all devoted followers of the Law.
"Why do you say such things to me? Don't you fear I'll report every single word you've spouted off? Why me?"
Haymitch kept facing forward, his hands locked and resting on his lower back. Peeta wasn't certain if the man wanted to appear calm and collected. If anyone was watching, it would seem inconspicuous. He was ready to bolt and never look back. He took a few steps back, readying his escape.
"You've got a lot to lose, boy. It doesn't matter to me, if you tell on me. I'm dead anyway. This is no life. I once had it all in those woods you seemed mesmerized in. I've seen the real thing, lived it. I've experienced what real freedom is. Not this… prison you have known all your days. I have lived where no Law can touch you. Your woman…she lived it, too. Catnip was Gale's nickname for her. If not for those poachers, they would've made a lovely couple…with five o six kids running around the valley. It is too late for him, but don't make it so for Katniss. She deserves better than this, Peeta. I know you're a good man. This…is not your world. Help make it so."
Abernathy was about to leave him all alone in that garden, but Peeta stopped him.
"It would mean my life or Finn's, or both. How can I seriously consider such act of sedition? I-I love Finn…it is not fair to him. To obliterate what our lives mean to each other…For what? To accomplish your improbable dreams of revolution and total anarchy. How could it be accomplished? I have no power…"
The man with blue-gray eyes and wheat-colored hair, stood tall and squared his shoulders. He pondered what his next words should be, to give the decisive punchline, the winning statement that would persuade Mellark to join the Resistance.
"I've held my daughter, loved and cared for her until the last day she walked this earth. She was killed by Snow's scouting patrols. There was no mercy or afterthought. My wife killed herself and I was left alone. I said I had live in true freedom, but I have also lived the shackles of tyranny. What will happen when Katniss gives birth to your daughter, Mellark? Will you get to hold her in your arms? See her grow up and smile at you? Call you daddy? She'll belong to the Republic, and so will Katniss. You will never see them again. What you have to ask yourself is… Is Finnick Odair enough? Long live the Mockingjay!"
S-T-A-T-U-S-Q-U-O
Finnick was fed up with the monotonous endless sessions. He wished he was teenager again, so he could run from his responsibilities and return to Peeta. He was missing him terribly, yet he feared what he would find when he returned home. Some inkling in his gut told him things would not be the same. Cruel thoughts had kept him company. He had envisioned homecoming to Peeta and no Katniss or the child.
He cursed the moment he thought with happiness of bringing a son into their lives. He should asked for a deferral, chosen a different vessel… he'd be awaiting for a son… Peeta's son. There were other options available to those with money. He could have hired Dr. Aurelius, who assured only sons as offspring. He was a despicable man, but one that got results.
Finnick eyed the liquor cabinet in the corner. It was empty. He had imbedded like never before. He found he was mean drunk, lusting after a blue-eyed, blonde artist he left back in the Capitol. Muttering to himself, "You better not break me…for there's no glue to piece me back together again…" He decided staying inside his room alone for another night was pointless.
S-T-A-T-U-S-Q-U-O
The strobe lights hurt his retinas, making his head pound with the bass of the music. Bodies swayed, some bared for all to see and touch. He was sitting by the bar, drinking shot after shot. Finnick tried to think on how many days he had left of being separated from Peeta, but his brain was incapable of coherent thoughts at the moment.
There was too much ruckus surrounding him. The barkeeper kept winking at him, propositioning him. Finnick pretended he had missed the signs. But he wasn't left alone for long, as every five minutes someone would come along asking him to dance or offering to buy him drinks.
It was a mistake leaving his private quarters. Out and about would have been fun, if he had his friends with him. But Cinnie was back in the Capitol with his Flavius, probably staring at Cashmere's buns. This mental image made him chuckle out loud.
"What's so funny, Finnick? See something amusing? Like to share?"
He knew that voice… a voice from his past. One he wanted to stay buried in the recesses of his mind. He kept staring at his drink, not giving any response. A scratching noise let him know the man had moved the adjacent stool to sit on it. He could feel the man's body heat and smell his particular cologne. It was hard to control his body's immediate response of revulsion.
Why had he left his room in search for trouble?
He could have stayed in his room and ask for more alcohol be brought up. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his cool.
Don't let him win… You have outgrown that part of your life. You're an Odair. Act like one.
The barkeeper came towards them, and immediately asked the newcomer what he liked to drink. The man asked for a whiskey double on the rocks. Once he had his drink, the man gulped it down in one gulp. He dropped the tumbler, almost breaking it and asked for another. He kept fisting his hands and shifting in his seat.
Finnick decided he didn't have to stay immobile. He could stand up and leave. Nothing was stopping him.
He hesitated a second too late.
"I've missed you, Nick. You don't know how much. Is it pathetic I treasure the moments I got to have you, when you were mine. You should have been mine — forever. If only I had the money to bribe someone in the Matrimonial Department. Our children would've been the envy of the Republic… I would have revered you. I would have loved you-"
Finnick recoiled at Heavensbee's personal pet name for him. As for the rest of his speech, he was searching for the restrooms, for he was definitely going to spew the contents of his stomach. A hand on his forearm held him back, "Take your filthy hand off me, Heavensbee. You better let me leave or I'll puke all over that brand new suit."
Brushing his hands away, Finnick swayed and bumped into people.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY! Fuck, everything is spinning…"
He was still heaving into the toilet, when he felt a hand rubbing his back. The stench was back. It was him. The man had the audacity to follow him, acting all caring and doting. It caused him to retch again. He was still panting, with a sweaty forehead. Tears were running down his face. His suit was ruined, making him think of Mags and how she would yell at him for the stains. He wanted to return home. He wanted his bed and Peeta's arms embracing him.
A handkerchief on his face, stinking of his past, cleared his face. He was sitting on the floor, inside the stall.
"I think it's finally over. No more drinking tonight, Nick. Come on, I'll take you back to your room."
His hands were trying to pull him up, but Finnick resisted. Didn't the man get it? It was over. It had been over for years. He didn't want him. It had been a mistake made in his youth and inexperience. One he wished he could banish from memory, but Heavensbee saw to it, to remind him every time they saw each other.
He used his own hands to stand up, and walked towards the washstand. He could see Heavensbee behind him, through the mirror. For a few seconds only the running water could be heard. His eyes lingered on his hands. He was stalling, but this had to be done.
Meeting his gaze, Finnick confronted his tormentor, "I'm not your Nick. I'm Finnick Odair, matched to Peeta Mellark. I love him, and will always love him. We'll have our children, and they will be the envy of the Republic. You have your life, your children, your partner, where I don't have a place or say in it, nor do I want to. What happened between us… is in the past. I don't want you to approach me in private ever again. Whatever relation we have in the future will only pertain to our duties for the Capitol, nothing more. Thank you, for sobering me up."
The older man was quick enough to stride behind him, standing flush to his back. His hands found his, holding them against the top of the counter. His mouth found his neck, his nose brushing it, inhaling his scent. Finnick felt like he was back in time, a stupid boy, incapable of moving, prisoner of this man's games, an object to be used for his amusement.
"Just give me one more night… I want one more night with my Nick. Don't you want to be my good boy? You were magnificent. A true star, kneeling at my feet. I won't make you do that again…Grant me a night to pleasure you, so I can make up for all I did to you… Let me heal your wounds."
He kissed under his earlobe, making Finnick shudder in loathing. It was a good thing he had nothing left to heave.
"Take your hands off me, Heavensbee. Don't make me report your conduct, for I will do so, without regret. I belong to another, and one I give myself freely. You meant nothing to me. Now, leave."
Their eyes met one last time through the reflection in the mirror. Heavensbee staring back at him, his shoulders slumped, showing his defeat and finally stood back.
Finnick gasped in relief, once he was alone in the restroom. His legs felt like jelly, causing him to hold the counter for support. Inside his mind all he could see was a replay of who he'd been as Heavensbee's Nick: the collar around his neck, the commands in his ear, the noise and laughter, the ridicule and the abuse. He'd been that man's sex slave.
After so many years, the past had resurfaced, but not to torture him. He wasn't the one of his knees begging. Now he'd finally had a small taste of vengeance.
An acrid aftertaste, as a memento.