Enjoy...
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE - ROSES ARE RED
The next morning, Mags and the others tell me that I got through the rest of the recap and the crowning ceremony without further mishap.
I don't remember much of it though ... vague dream like images of me curled up and bloody in a bush, me screaming and thrashing underneath Ash, me swimming upwards towards glimmering sunlight.
And then, of course, there's the other tributes. Every so often, my brain throws up a hazy image of another kid - the girl from 7 smashed to bits against rocks and trees as the huge wave hits, the boy from 10 struggling in deep water, apparently unable to swim to the surface to breathe, Sneaky Eyes surviving the wave, managing to stay afloat for the whole time I did, only to be sucked down into the dark drain as the water swirls away.
Faces and screams and deaths that I know will haunt my dreams forever.
Starla makes me watch the highlights of last night – the interview, my screaming fit, the complete lack of explanation to the audience. It's bizarre actually. Caesar just carries on like it never happened and when I finally get back on stage, no one mentions it.
You can tell I'm completely off my head on drugs though. When everyone stands to listen to the anthem, I sway unsteadily on my feet. When Caesar asks me something, I giggle and then completely forget what I'm talking about. When President Snow puts the golden crown on my head, I blink at him like I've no idea who the heck he is.
At the end of the highlights, different audience members are interviewed. I sit curled up in a ball on the sofa, listening as at least ten people pronounce me utterly insane.
Seated comfortingly next to me, Mags snorts as one particularly strange looking man announces to the camera that I'm 'one crazy chick'.
"That's rich," she says scathingly. "Coming from a man with green skin."
"He's right, though," I mutter, burying my face in my knees. "I think I'm going crazy."
Mags rubs my a soothing hand up my back.
"It'll get better when you're home," she tells me gently. "Think of Ava."
Ava. My Grandmother. The person who means more to me than anyone else in the whole world.
I'm going home soon and everything will be fine, I try to tell myself, everything will get better...
But it won't, I know it.
Because when I get back, I'll have to face Ethan's family. And after that, I'll have to face the families of every kid in that arena on the Victory Tour. And after that, I'll have to face the families of next year's District 4 tributes and I'll have to watch two more kids go through everything I've just been through, and I won't be able to do a single thing about it.
I'm trapped forever in a web of nightmares, memories and future Games, right up till the moment I die.
The elevator doors suddenly ping open and I look up to see Finnick step through, his eyes anxious and his mouth set into a hard line.
"Annie," he says in a slightly strangled voice. "President Snow wants to see you."
...
My heart has never beat so fast.
Nothing in the arena – no tribute, no mutt, no trap – compares to this man. No terror I have ever felt compares to the terror I'm feeling right now, as I stand, incredibly alone and incredibly vulnerable, in front of these huge, golden gilded, double doors.
On Finnick's orders, Starla has put me in a knee length cream dress with delicate lace sleeves. My hair is loose and pulled back from my face with a simple cream headband and I've never appeared more child-like in my whole life. I briefly wonder what kind of look they're aiming for. Maybe Snow likes his victors vulnerable.
My stomach turns, but biting back the fear, I lift my hand and knock.
"Come in," he calls, his voice as smooth as syrup, from within.
I swallow hard and push gently on the door. It opens without a sound and I step inside.
The room is warm and sunny and fragrant. I look around me, taking a few hesitant steps forwards, and realise I'm in a huge greenhouse. Greenery and flowers – mostly roses – surround me, thorny vines weaving their way up the ornate white metal of the balcony that runs all the way around the room. Somewhere amongst the dense plants and trees, a fountain gurgles and bubbles like a laughing child.
It's unexpected, to say the least.
"Welcome, Miss Cresta."
I turn to see President Snow beaming down at me from the balcony above the door. I offer him a smile and he chuckles.
"Go, child," he gestures forwards. "Meet me on the patio."
I make my way slowly through the greenery – my lace ballet pumps barely making a sound on the pave stones – until the plants start to recede and the pathway becomes a small terrace, hidden away amongst roses and trees. A spiral staircase climbs upwards from the centre, small walkways high above the garden joining it with the outer balcony.
I wait at the edge, my hands knotting anxiously together in front of me, watching as President Snow ambles idly across the walkway and down the staircase. He reaches the bottom and smiles at me.
"So, Miss Annie Cresta," he says, looking me up and down. "We meet at last."
I swallow.
"I thought, I thought we'd already met."
He laughs lightly.
"Ah yes. We have." His cold eyes – unnervingly at odds with his warm smile – meet mine and I have to fight the urge to recoil. "But am I right in suggesting, Miss Cresta," he continues. "That you do not remember our first meeting?" I bite my lip and he laughs again. "Not to worry, my dear. I am well aware Benedict supplied you with drugs." I look down, not entirely sure how to respond. "Come, come," Snow gestures towards the two chairs set out on either side of a small white metal table on the other side of the patio. "Let us sit."
I follow him and gingerly seat myself on the ornate metal chair. Snow sits opposite me, crossing his suited legs and folding his hands in his lap.
Although I am almost afraid to stare too closely, I can't help but study him, morbidly fascinated. He's a small, thin man and looks like he could probably blow away at the barest breath of wind. His skin is so pale it looks like he might bleed white if you cut him, and his hair is the colour of the chalky cliffs that surrounded the arena. A single white rose – the very symbol of purity and flawlessness – is pinned to his lapel.
He looks like a fragile, gentle little man. Nothing like the monster I know he is.
Except for... except for his eyes. They are pale and unnatural – his irises almost transparent – and they're as cold and as calculating as a snake's.
As I'm thinking this, those awful little snake eyes meet mine and I flinch.
"How are you faring, Miss Cresta?" President Snow asks me, leaning back in his seat and regarding me speculatively.
He smells of blood and roses.
"Very well, thank you, sir," I reply faintly, blinking a little. He lets out a small chuckle.
"I would prefer it if you did not lie to me, my dear. Your little performance last night does not lead me to believe you are 'very well, thank you'."
I eye him nervously.
"Performance?"
He meets my eyes with a level stare.
"Was that not what it was? A performance?"
My heart is thudding like a drum in my chest and it takes me a few seconds to work up the saliva to speak.
"No," I manage eventually. "I didn't - I didn't mean for it to happen."
"Oh?" Snow inquires. My bottom lip begins to tremble.
"I just... I just couldn't... Ethan...I saw him..." Tears collect in the corners of my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I truly am."
Snow reaches in his pocket and after pulling out a white handkerchief, hands it to me. I mumble my thanks, dabbing at my eyes.
After a minute or so, he speaks.
"The whole country believes you to be insane," he says, his voice gentle again.
I close my eyes.
"I know," I say softly.
"Your mentors think you are insane too."
"I know," I say again, my voice pained.
"Do you think you are insane, Miss Cresta?"
My eyes flutter open and I see him watching me carefully.
"I don't know," I say, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. "I'm not sure what insanity is supposed to feel like."
A small chuckle bubbles through his strangely plump lips.
"Interesting answer, my dear," and then his eyes flicker sideways and he raises his hand. "I do believe it is time for some tea."
He barely twitches his fingers and a red haired, red uniformed young woman appears from the greenery, carrying a tray. Without a word, she sets a white china teapot onto the table, along with two dainty teacups and saucers and a small china pot. I watch her silently as she gives me and Snow a deferential nod and backs away, the tray still in her hands.
Snow pours tea and milk into both of the cups and then looks towards me.
"Sugar, Miss Cresta?" I shake my head once. "I'm afraid I have two," he tells me with a smile, spooning sugar into his drink. "I've always had a fondness for something sweet." He chuckles quietly to himself for a moment, before pushing my drink towards me. "There you go, my dear."
I manage a faint smile.
"Thank you."
We sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the steady clink of his spoon against the china as he stirs his tea.
Eventually, though, he speaks again.
"You're what I like to call an accidental victor, Miss Cresta," he says. I blink at him, confusedly.
"A what?" And then I blush. "Uh.. I mean... excuse me?"
Snow laughs.
"An accidental victor."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"It means," he says, taking a sip of his tea. "That you were never meant to win those Games."
I look down at my hands.
"Oh."
"You were not the favourite to win," he continues. "You were not bloodthirsty, or cruel, or even especially talented... but then, Benedict flooded that arena, and you – the poor little girl driven mad by her District partner's death – were the only survivor." I hear his voice harden. "Look at me, Miss Cresta."
I lift my head slowly and meet those awful eyes.
"Your victory was an accident," he continues. "The result of a very poor choice on the behalf of the Gamemakers. You were never meant to win and you are not how a victor should be." He runs his finger idly around the rim of his teacup, his eyes still on mine. "Your mind was too weak to withstand the arena. You, Annie," my first name sounds all wrong on his lips. "Are too weak."
"I- I..." I begin anxiously but he cuts me off.
"You have disappointed me greatly, Miss Cresta. I had high hopes for this year's victor."
I swallow, feeling slightly panicked.
"I don't... I don't understand."
His lips curl upwards in a smile.
"Has Finnick not told you?"
"Told me what?" My voice cracks a little.
He stands suddenly and turns, starting towards one of the little pathways leading from the patio. He crooks a finger over his shoulder and I take it as an order to follow him.
We walk through the greenery, Snow slowing every so often to admire his roses. After a few minutes, we come to a halt underneath an archway, covered in tangled roses and leaves. Snow reaches out and plucks a red rose – the colour of fresh blood – from it's thorny branch.
"Such a beautiful colour, don't you think?" he asks. I have to swallow against the little wave of nausea that rises as his breath washes over me.
"It's lovely," I manage.
He hands it to me and I take it from him, pretending to study it intently so I don't have to meet his gaze. I hear him chuckle softly.
"I'm assuming your charming mentor has chosen to keep you in the dark..."
I bite my lip.
"I'm not... I'm not sure."
Snow laughs again.
"Oh, my dear Miss Cresta, where do I begin?"
I don't reply. I'm assuming he doesn't want me to.
"Your mentor, Finnick Odair, is a very desirable young man, is he not?" Snow asks, turning slightly to admire a knot of rosebuds just near his head. I shrug.
"I guess so."
"Yes," Snow says musingly, his hand lifting to caress the flowers. "Very desired, especially amongst the people of the Capitol."
"He does... He does get around," I say.
Snow laughs at this. He laughs so hard, his eyes turn glassy with tears.
"Oh, my dear!" He wipes the corners of his eyes once he's finished laughing. "You have much to learn."
I twist my hands together, unsure, and a little scared.
"I'm still not sure I understand."
Snow's eyes me, a smile on his lips.
"I think it's time I stopped playing games with you, my dear."
I almost – almost – laugh at the irony of his words.
"Yes?" I ask.
He lets out a long sigh of contentment.
"I have a lot of interest in the most beautiful of my victors, my dear," he tells me. "And so one day, I struck upon an idea. An idea to keep my people happy, and my victors submissive."
I blink at him.
"I don't understand..."
"Mr Odair provides a service for the people of the Capitol," Snow grins at me. "He gets paid handsomely for his work so long as he leaves his clientèle satisfied."
I frown.
"I still don't... I don't..." He quirks a devilish brow and then it clicks. Snow's words. Benedict telling Finnick how being beautiful as a victor is dangerous. Finnick's own popularity in the Capitol...
It all suddenly makes sense. And I suddenly want to throw up.
"Why does he do it?" I whisper, my mouth turning dry.
Snow leans towards me, his bloody breath hot on my face.
"Because," he smirks. "I tell him to."
My gaze flickers up to meet his, my chest tightening anxiously. I feel like I might vomit, but I have to ask. I have to know.
"What makes him do as you say?"
Snow cackles wickedly.
"Finnick's parents are dead," he says with a cruel smile. "That's what happens when victors resist."
"Finnick resisted?" I ask, my voice thick.
"At first," Snow replies. "But not for long. He still has his sister to look out for, after all."
I suddenly think of Ava. Does Snow want me to...? Will I have to...? Will he kill her if I don't?
The thought makes me weak at the knees.
"You want me to be a...?" I whisper. Snow's eyes darken.
"No."
"No?" I echo confusedly.
"The Capitol people do not want a girl who suffers from insanity," he says, and although this should be what I want to hear, there's something ominous, something terrifying in his tone. But then he smiles at me, and that's somehow even worse. "We do have some morals, my dear," he says lightly.
I must look completely baffled because he chuckles at me.
"You are free, Miss Cresta. Your services will not be required."
"They won't?" I ask, my voice barely audible.
"No, my dear." He suddenly gestures back down the pathway. "You may go, now, Miss Cresta."
Slightly dazed and bewildered, I start slowly across the pave stones. As I reach a bend, just before I disappear into the greenery, Snow's voice slithers towards me like a snake.
"Oh but Miss Cresta?"
I turn, realising my hands are shaking. Still underneath the rose archway, President Snow smiles, a smile so cold it threatens to freeze my blood.
"Y- yes?" I stutter.
His eyes narrow, but the smile remains in tact.
"Freedom comes at a price, my dear... I do hope you remember that."
...
But what price will it be? Ooh that Snow is an evil beast. He was fun to write though. He's kind of insane.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please please review. Let me know what you think.
Loves x
