Ha...haha...hahaha...! AAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAA HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! Okay, I think I'm done. ...Nope. BWAHAHAHAHA HAAHAHAHAAA!
xDDDD Oh I got you all SO good! HAHAAHAAA!
BTW, if you didn't get the memo, last chapter was fake XD Just an April Fools prank. *walks away laughing*
District 8 will always be special to me. Not just because of Garret, not just because of all the pretty clothes they make the textiles and fabric with, but for the people of the District.
When Annie steps on stage, thunderous applause greets her. And it's genuine, I can tell that much from here in the room where we watch the whole thing live on huge screens. Maybe some of it is fueled by their love of me, but I think they honestly treasure Annie in the way they did me. Because she was kind to their tribute. Because she held him while he died. It was completely awful in District 9 since Annie killed their male tribute and is the reason Rosalinda isn't the victor, so having such a great reception here has a steadying effect on Annie.
It's a good thing Anders is with us. It's a good thing we have down time between each district. Because after a horrible start in 12—she killed their female—it was obvious that this Tour would be harder than we thought. When Annie's not talking to Anders, she's singing with me, or cuddling with Finnick somewhere in the train and no one tries to stop them and no one goes hunting for them until dinnertime.
After the scripted speeches are read, Annie pauses, biting the inside of her lip, then tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. "I should've killed him," she says. "He was suffering. It would've been mercy to kill him quickly so he didn't have to die in pain…but I… I couldn't hurt him. Too much hurting…" She closes her eyes and clams up.
Then the people clap again, more quietly this time, as if they're afraid their loud cheers will scare her. Tears stream down Annie's face as she's whisked off stage.
We have to wait until she's mellow before she can be re-dressed for the tour of the factories. Then they escort us to a factory where they make satin. On the way back from the factory I spot a familiar girl with light brown hair and green eyes standing on the sidewalk. Garret's sister, Maggie, bundled up in dull, scraggly coat that doesn't look insulated and no gloves to keep her hands warm. She's watching our precession with a friendly, yet wistful smile.
I glance around then dart away from the group, towards the sidewalk and Maggie. Surprise flicks across her face. I smile at her then remove the snug, Capitol-made gloves from my hands, holding them out to her.
"Take them," I insist.
Maggie stares at me in surprise, her eyes lingering on my scars for a moment longer than what could be considered polite, then her gaze returns to my eyes.
"It's warm where I live," I tell her. "Take them. You need them more than I do."
Maggie looks down at the gloves for a moment, then gently takes them from me and slides her hands into the warm cocoons. They're a bit too big on her, but warm is warm. Delight appears on her face.
"Thank you, Dylan," she says. "But…I can't pay you back…"
"You don't have to," I say. "They're a gift. I wish I could give you more."
She shakes her head. "Why? Dylan, you barely know me. You only knew my brother for a few weeks."
"And those weeks were enough," I say, wishing I could tell her that I've known him longer. Sorta.
Lillian calls me back to the group. I smile at Maggie and squeeze her free hand tightly then hurry back through the snow to the procession.
"What do you think you were doing?" Lillian hisses to me as we walk.
"That was Garret's sister. I gave her my gloves because she didn't have any."
Lillian looks over her shoulder, I do too. Maggie is still standing where I left her. Her hands stick out like twin lighthouses in the bright yellow gloves.
"Oh, really? I swear, Dylan, you can make friends with anyone anywhere."
"Not anyone," I say.
Lillian smiles at me. "It's just a figure of speech."
The rest of the districts are quite uneventful. The people seem to understand Annie is fragile because even if they don't particularly like her, their mannerisms are tender. The victors treat her like a daughter, gentle and kind. As the days and districts pass, Annie seems to retreat inside herself to escape. She stops eating on her own, only consuming food after much coaxing by some of us. By the time we reach District 3, her eyes are hollow, her voice lifeless, and her overall manner is that of a child.
Finnick's not doing so well either. It's not good for him having to watch her in so much pain, unable to help. We all agree that she should go home right now, but when Tina gets wind of it, we get a lecture and a firm NO.
Sometimes Annie, Finnick, and I curl up in the back of the train, watching the world disappear behind us. They usually sit together on one side and I sit on the other, all of us leaning against the sturdy glass, but one time, Finnick motions me over and I curl up next to him gratefully, stretching my arm over to hold Annie's hand. I don't know what I'd do without Finnick. I don't love him the way Annie does, I never will, but I need him in a way she doesn't. I would've probably been a drunk or a regular mutilator by now if he hadn't been around to help me, to hold me together.
We end up falling asleep that way and my dreams are free of nightmares for the first time since the Tour began. When I come to, I find someone has draped several blankets around us and Beril is sleeping on the plush sofa that the three of us never used. We victors really are a sad bunch. It makes me feel sorry for those victors with only one or no other victors in their District. In 4 there are many of us, we look out for each other. A big family of the mentally, emotionally, and physically screwed. Even Beril, who I don't particularly like all too much, is now someone I can't live without.
Her face is very relaxed making her appear younger than she is; vulnerable. Some of her black hair hangs in her face. She's laying in a loose fetal position under a single blanket, her hands near her chest—I can see her fists poking out from the top of the blanket. She whimpers softly in her sleep. I wonder what terror is plaguing her mind. She whimpers again, her face shifts a bit, and suddenly she looks terrified in her sleep.
And that's when I decide that I'm going to do everything in my power to stop Ronan from going into the Games. Maybe he won't end up as my life partner, but I don't want him to be one of us. One of the murderers plagued with nightmares of his past while his soul is slowly eaten away in the aftermath.
Annie's mood affects all of us. By the time we're in District 1, everyone is glum and quiet, except our Capitol companions, but even they seem a little more sober than usual. Just a little. Tina's endless exuberance is like someone turning on the lights while you're trying to sleep. Zaire mutters darkly at breakfast that someone needs to whack her with a chair. I couldn't agree more. We don't dare, though. Physically assaulting a Capitol citizen? You might as well just run up to President Snow and scream "Kill me!" whilst throwing in an insult about his mother.
It's just after dawn when we arrive in the Capitol. The knowledge that this is our last stop before home has filled us with a buzz that wasn't there yesterday. Plus, we're getting some prime food tonight. I wonder if they'll let me sneak stuff home to my parents.
Oh. Wait. My own mother hates me now.
Never mind.
When we pull into the station, the cameras are flashing before we even step out of the train. The intensity only increases when we do step out. It gets so bad that I have to close my eyes and I hide behind Zaire's bulky frame to escape the worst assault. But I end up having to put on my brave face and form a barricade with Finnick, Beril, and Zaire and block Annie from the endless flashes and screaming which do not have a good effect on her. But we cannot go with her as she is placed into an elegant carriage to be paraded through the streets to the Training Center while the citizens will cheer. It was quite unsettling when I did it.
We instead get to take a car to the Training Center and we're waiting for her when the carriage arrives, depositing a practically comatose Annie. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her hands clasped firmly over her ears, and her face screwed up against a noise we can't hear. Finnick has to carry her off the atrocity and when she still doesn't move, he shrugs and carries her all the way the way up to the fourth floor and sets her down in her old room. I'm standing in the doorway she opens her eyes for the first time and looks around the room, taking in the lush blue and green and brown décor.
Then she starts screaming a horrible unearthly scream that sends me right back into the control room the moment of Seaborne's death, watching his head fly from his body, listening to Annie shriek. And then even further back to my own Games, cowering in that little hole while the shrieking rats tried to dig down and kill me. Then someone else starts screaming right along with her. A firm hand clasps around my mouth and I feel myself being pulled from Annie's doorway. That's when I realize that it's me. I stop screaming, but I can't stop the shakes racing through my body.
Whoever is dragging me suddenly shoves me to the ground. I grunt and glare up at Beril.
"What in the name of Silverbeard's moustache is wrong with you?" she shouts at me.
I'm still shaking and it makes my voice wobble. "I…I…d-don't kn-know…I…"
Beril's already calming down, though, and I see pity on her face. "It scares you, doesn't it? Loud screaming."
I nod once.
"Those mutts that chased you did it."
I nod again and Beril does, too, mostly to herself. "Alright, you're feeling pretty stir crazy, aren't you?"
I nod yet again, still not trusting myself not to scream again. Annie, I realize, has gone quiet, too.
Beril exhales slowly. "Get out of here, Dylan. Go get one of those nifty credit cards and go buy gifts for all your little friends, but don't let me catch you back here until it's time to get dressed for the party at five o'clock."
"But, with all the festivities, will shops even be open?" I ask.
"Oh yes," Beril says. "You might have to get a bit away from the Training Center if you don't want to get squished, but you'll find some shops. What do you think I do all the time?"
I stand up. "Party, or whatever."
"Well, what does 'whatever' entail?"
I shrug.
"You know those gifts that you each get from Mags on your birthdays?"
"Yes…" It was an old tradition among the trails. Every ten-year-old learned that when they turned eleven, Mags would have a gift for you. A real gift. Something you'd be hard pressed to find anywhere else in the entire district. Most of the older kids knew that these items were, in fact, from the Capitol. But let the little ones think that Mags was magic.
"Mags hasn't done her own shopping since she was about fifty. We do it for her. You know that pretty little necklace you got when you turned sixteen? You're welcome." Beril says and then before I can answer, she turns around and walks down the hallway.
"Hey, Beril!" I call after her. "Thanks for the blankets the other day."
Beril keeps on walking as if she didn't hear me.
I return to the room that was mine last time I was here and poke around in the closet which is still stocked with clothes of all sizes for all genders since they never know who will come and who will pick which room. I change into long-sleeved deep satin shirt, slip on a pair of furred boots, and take a coat made of soft white fur. Matching gloves wait in the pockets. The fur is soft against my skin and I nuzzle my face into it. I want this coat. I'll probably never have real use for it in the nearly always warm District 4, but I could snuggle with it or use it as a pillow. Something.
Furs and feathers are in season right now, according to the Capitol citizens we've been traveling with, and I wonder if that has something to do with the chilly mountain temperature of the Capitol, but it shouldn't be hard to find things made of furs. Not hard at all.
I acquire a credit card from an Avox and then gratefully flee the Training Center. I stop at the first clothing shop I can get into and purchase a hat with flaps that hang down over my ears and a warm scarf made of fur and decorated with beautiful feathers. Then I make my way to Fleck Caske's bakery and he is absolutely delighted to see me again. I give him the compliments from the others about the cake he made us for the tribute's last night in the Capitol before the Games, and I make sure he knows how much Seaborne enjoyed the last desert he had.
"It was my pleasure," Fleck says. "Do you wish to make a purchase? Or are you saving room for tonight?"
"Saving room," I say reluctantly.
"Well that's a shame," he says.
"But, wait, um, do you think any of these would stay fresh for the duration of, say, a train ride to District 4?"
"Well, freshness only lasts a certain time, even with adequate storage, however, I think they should. They will at least still be edible."
I scan the rows of delicious looking pastries for something with a lot of strawberries. Finally I select a small round pink cake with white icing and strawberries placed delicately into it. The name on the card in front of it reads, "Strawberry Delight."
"I've got some more stops to make, though," I say. "Can I come back for it?"
"Certainly," Fleck says with a smile.
I also stop at a fabric store and buy a roll of glimmering light green silk for my mother. No, I am not above buying someone's love. I ask them to hold the fabric for me, which they quickly agree to after they see the generic victor information pop onto screen. After that I head over to a jewelry store and buy two silver necklaces and ask the jeweler to engrave a phrase from a traditional District 4 wedding speech into the pendants on the ends of each. For Luke and the lady he loves. No matter how he may feel about me, I'm still his little sister. I still owe him something.
The shop owner provides two small velvet boxes, one for each necklace. With them in my pocket, I head back to the fabric store and pick up mom's fabric, then the cake from Fleck Caske.
Annie, after having just finished her interview with Caesar, is shaking like a wet kid when I arrive back in the Training Center. Finnick has made it his mission to never leave her side. Anders assures us that no one is allowed to dance with Annie and all guests have been informed of this prior to being admitted to the party, but there will be handshakes and photographs taken, with Finnick nearby just in case.
We have an hour to get ready for the party. While the prep team works on Annie, Alaina presents of each the female victors a gift: a pair of small downy wings that will stick to our backs like glue, but can be removed with ease. She says Annie gets a pair, too, of course. I think Alaina is in love with the idea that Annie is a flying creature. A lot of her outfits on the tour had some sort of avian theme. Or maybe it's because many flying creatures are small and weak and appear as such.
My wings are tawny at the center, fading to white at the tips, with flecks of white here and there. They're not very big, maybe a foot or so each wing, and when I stick them to my back, I can't magically control them. They're too small for flying, anyway. I choose a dress with enough exposed back that the wings aren't hindered. Indigo satin with a halter top that hugs me to my waist then flares out just enough for me to move around freely, falling to my ankles. Finding a hair style is a different matter entirely. After numerous failed attempts at making something that looks appropriate and is possible with my weirdly cut hair, I finally just decide to go simple and brush my hair back and hold it there with a glimmering silver headband.
Finnick helps me with my makeup and is surprisingly adept with it. I suppose he's had a while to practice. And since I stopped bothering to hide my scars in District 9 I don't need Lynnea's help.
We congregate near the elevators and I get a chance to see the others. Beril, for once, has decided to dress appropriately for the party. Maybe the wings have something to do with it. Her glossy black hair has been straightened so it actually looks nice and she's wearing a deep red, almost crimson, gown that makes her pale skin oddly beautiful. Her wings match her hair, sleek and black and completely majestic. Mag's wings are a soft shade of silver. Lillian's wings are dusky brown lighter spots of tawny and white.
But Annie is the real beauty. Part of her hair has been twisted into a headband and the rest flows around a pair of wings as white as the snow in District 7. Ivory feathers are carefully placed throughout her hair and a sleek white gown that covers more than it shows falls to her ankles where dainty white shoes cover her feet. Her dress is sleeveless, but her arms are covered in a thin layer of see-through fabric.
She looks like a creature from another realm. Something that should have never even been in the Hunger Games to begin with. She'll outshine everyone in that room.
A look at Finnick makes me giggle. He looks like his brain has momentarily stopped working, his mouth hanging half open. I give him a quick kick to the leg and he starts, shaking his head quickly. "Wow," he finally says. Annie smiles shyly.
A tip from the older victors: don't eat lunch on the day of the Capitol stop. I learned why on my Victory Tour. There was so much food that I was glad I took their advice and resisted the temptation. It is no different this year. My mouth is watering before I even step in the room. I give Annie and Finnick each a kiss on their cheeks, wish them luck, then all but fly towards the banquet tables. I like food.
The party is in full swing within five minutes of our arrival. An orchestra perched on what appear to be clouds plays beautiful music, above them is a ceiling that shows a starry night sky. An allusion, I think, since the lights from the city drown out all but the strongest stars. Rows and rows of tables line the wall, each covered in an unimaginable amount of food, no dish holding the same thing as another. Fountains and ponds are scattered throughout the room, some containing water flowers, some fish, and others both. Couches and plus chairs wait here and there for people to collapse in.
A lot of the citizens are, indeed, wearing feathers. In their hair, on their clothes, as accessories, and some of them even have feathers sprouting from their skin. I don't think it's like our wings that are simply attached to our backs. I think those feathers are actually inside them. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.
I'm slurping down a bowlful of some amazing brown soup with finely cut squares of meat when I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me."
I swallow and spin around, careful not to spill my soup. "Sol!"
His hair is still sunny and he's spiked it up instead of having it down and shaggy like when I first met him. That's the first thing I notice. The next are the pretty designs stenciled on his forehead and framing the sides of his eyes; lines connecting birds taking flight. He's wearing a white dress shirt and black pants that make his hair seem out of place.
Sol smiles, pleased that I remembered him. Or maybe it's that I recognized him without his typical easy-going attire. "I thought that was—" Then he stops and I know he's noticed the scar under the layer of makeup intended to hide only minor flaws. He takes a step back. "What…in…the…?"
I wince. For all their time watching the Hunger Games, people from the Capitol are always shocked when they see scars on people. "You know," I say, "Back home, if you have no visible scars, you're considered inexperienced."
Sol gawks for another few seconds. "What happened to you, Dylan?"
"A knife got me," I point to the one he's staring at. "Rocks got me here," I point to the ones on the side. "And this one happened on the boat." I hold up my arm.
"Why don't you get them removed?"
"Why is everyone asking me that?" I ask. "I want them, Sol. Please, can we not talk about this? I'm here, so let's try to have fun."
Sol smiles, though still seems a bit surprised. "We won't even have to try."
He's right. Since I'm not the guest of honor I have a lot more freedom to move around. Occasionally people come to shake my hand or get a photo, which I allow, even though their momentary distraction from my scars is annoying. I dance with Sol once the music picks up since I've never done any slow dances and I don't want to. We eat until we're ready to burst. Then, strangely, Sol says he'll be right back. He takes an odd looking glass from a table and I watch him disappear into the bathroom. When he comes back he doesn't tell me what it was for, but even more strangely, he suddenly is able to eat again. He goes for another glass after eating some more, but doesn't offer me one.
While he's in the bathroom, I seek out Beril. She goes to Capitol parties all the time. She'll probably know what's in those cups. She's easy to spot with her sleek gown and protruding wings and I tap her on the arm. She looks away from the young man she was speaking with and arches her eyebrow at me.
"Those cups," I point to the table. "What are they?"
Beril's eyes narrow slightly. "Don't drink one," she says immediately.
"Why?"
"Just don't." She leans closer to me and lowers her voice. "It's one of the most despicable things you can do."
And Sol was drinking them? I frown. "What…do they do?"
Beril sighs. "They make you puke up your guts."
My eyes bug out of my head. "They do what?" My voice goes up several octaves.
"Not literally," Beril hisses, glancing around. "For Poseidon's sake, girl. It's just a figure of speech. Those glasses contain a mixture which makes you throw up all the food you've consumed recently. It's so you can feast over and over again." She looks around the room at the buffet. "They eat. They throw it up. They eat again. Lather. Rise. Repeat."
I feel sick. I might not even need to drink one of those cursed things to get my meal to make an appearance. "That's…were they here last year?"
"Yes." She says.
"And so when Sol's going into the bathroom with one of those…" I trial off. Beril stares at me, not answering. But she doesn't have to.
"Has he offered you one?" she asks.
"What?"
"Did he ask you if you wanted a glass?"
"No."
"Did you tell him you were full?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, that says something about him, at least." Beril says then nods her head to something over her shoulder. "And here he comes."
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and by the time they're open again, Beril's drifting into the crowd. I turn to Sol who's as sunny-faced as ever.
"So, I guess you feel like eating again?" I snap. "Well, go on then. Stuff your face! Want me to hold a bucket so you don't even have to make a detour to the bathroom?"
Sol blinks slowly. "I thought you knew the first time."
"No," I say pointedly. "I didn't."
"Well, if…I guess I…if it makes you feel better, I won't do it again for this party."
"Don't do it again ever, Sol!" I burst out. "There are people within my district, all across Panem, who would kill for the food you just wasted."
Sol squirms uncomfortably under my gaze and doesn't meet my eyes. But my words must've meant something to him because he doesn't even glance towards the food the rest of the night. I guide him over to Annie and Finnick for his official introduction to the tribute he sponsored, the only reason he was permitted to attend this party. Annie looks like she's enjoying herself a bit, but there's something in her eyes that tells me she doesn't feel comfortable here and wants to get the hell out.
I introduce her to Sol and he smiles, bowing politely, then says hello to Finnick.
"So you're the boy who dragged her around the city," Finnick says. "Well, at least you got her back safely."
I kick Finnick in the leg. "Seas, Finnick, you want to sound any more like my father?"
Finnick grins at me. "I'm kidding."
Annie tilts her head, studying Sol. "You sponsored me?"
"Yes, I did." Sol says.
"That's why he's here, Annie." I remind her.
Annie nods slowly. "When?"
"What do you mean?" Sol asks.
"When did you start to sponsor me?" And I realize she's in one of her moments of complete clarity. They've been few and far in between since the Tour began. It won't last. I meet Finnick's gaze and he knows it, too. We say nothing. We'll let this moment carry on for as long as possible. "Before the Games? After the Bloodbath? When?"
Sol looks uncomfortable. "After, um…after you…" he trails off, opening his mouth a few times, but never forming words. One of Finnick's eyebrows goes up, daring Sol to say what he's thinking. "After you split off from your alliance." Sol finally says.
"After the ambush," Annie says.
Sol nods.
My shock is mirrored on Finnick's face. Sol sponsored her after she was deemed a lost cause. He must've known it would probably be a waste of money. And yet still he did it.
"Thank you," Annie says, smiling warmly at him, then, as if on cue, her smile fades and she seems to retreat inside herself. She looks at Finnick and rests her head on his shoulder while he pats her back. Sol looks confused, glancing at me. I shake my head ever so slightly. Not the time or the place to explain what just happened with Annie.
Sometime before midnight, Sol and I are sitting on a plush couch near the wall, watching the party progress without us.
"Are you coming back for the Games?" he asks.
"Maybe," I say. "I don't know."
"How will I know if you do?"
"Watch the coverage for the train station in District 4. They always get shots of the mentors boarding the train. If you see me, you'll know."
Sol smiles, "I'll be watching."
"But I might stay home," I warn him. "I'm starting to work in the training program for our tributes."
"Really?" He leans closer to me. "Who's coming for your district?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I didn't ask. But we're about to have the final test for the older boys and girls. Whoever wins these will be tributes in either the seventy-second or seventy-third Games."
"Sounds exciting. Who do you think will win?"
I look away from him. "I don't know for the girls. But for the boys…it will probably be…Ronan Flit."
"Should I sponsor him, you think?"
I close my eyes and say nothing. If I succeed, Ronan won't be the tribute. I feel the couch shift as Sol leans forward, as if to look at my face. I don't know. I keep my eyes closed. He says nothing and neither do I. We're silent for a long time.
"Do you love him?"
I open my eyes.
"The boy," Sol's looking at me. "You love him?"
"I might," I murmur. "I don't know."
Sol sits there awkwardly for a second, then hesitantly reaches over and places his hand on my back. Tina comes to get me a few minutes later and I bid Sol goodbye, giving him a fierce hug. "Thank you," I say to him.
"You're welcome—oh!" he says then steps back and plunges his hand into his pocket. "I nearly forgot. Here—something to remember me by. Just in case I don't see you for a while." And he pulls out a small black leather box, like the ones containing the necklaces I bought, handing it to me. I open it carefully.
Inside is a slim golden chain, big enough to fit around my wrist, with a small sun dangling from the end.
I smile at him as he fastens it to my wrist.
We stop at the Training Center to grab our things then it's back to the train station. We board the train quickly, barely lingering long enough for the cameras to catch our images, then the doors close and we're zooming back home.
Finnick carries Annie down to her car because, by now, she really does seem physically incapable of doing it herself. I take my bags of stuff (one of which now contains that snuggly fur coat) and head down to my compartment. I carefully pull the wings from my back. I slip off the dress. Wash the makeup off my face. Flop into bed.
It takes us only about a day to reach home. During that time, since we won't be going straight to any parties, there are no preparations. We have a day to do whatever we want. And, for most of us, that 'whatever' includes lounging around while our stomachs digest the food from the party, sleeping off hangovers, or watching television programs which mainly includes footage of us. Not very entertaining.
More than once, I see Annie run past wearing a loose white dress with her party wings on her back and her arms extended as though she might fly, laughing like there's no tomorrow. One time I'm near Anders when she races past us, totally lost in her own little world, and the psychiatrist says she's in some sort of self-preservation mode from all the stress and that it entails her acting like a six-year-old. My words, not his. His explanation involved a lot of fancy terms and implications and other stuff. In any case, her mind's in its happy place and Annie seems content pretending to be a bird so we leave her be. Well, except for Finnick, who spends half the day following her through the train and finally, to humor her, borrows my tawny wings and plays her game.
Dr. Anders grumbles about six months of therapy being for naught. Looks like he'll be with us for a while. Oh joy.
At dinner, Annie pecks at her food—not literally, she uses her fingers—but doesn't seem to be intending to eat it. At least she isn't making bird noises, but she does hum for a while, before going quiet and retreating completely inside herself, eyes clamped shut, hands pressed firmly over her ears.
Beril shakes her head. "Damn them all." She snarls, then goes as silent as Annie who, thankfully, doesn't have a screaming fit or anything of the sort during the rest of the ride home.
When I wake up the next morning the first thing I notice is that the train is still. Which means we must be home. I yawn and stretch, arching my back, and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. It normally doesn't take me this long to wake up, but the past days have sucked and I've really been drained.
I wash up in the bathroom and change into a tunic and shorts, gather my stuff, then head down to the breakfast compartment. Beril is eating a pastry and she's got a glass of what I hope is apple juice. But I doubt it is.
"Grab some grub then get your butt on home and get situated. Just be at the mayor's house by six."
"Alright," I say and head over to the food. I pile food on my plate and sit down to eat quickly. Lillian joins us a few minutes later. Beril eats slowly, in no apparent rush to leave the train. Lillian finishes first and gets up to leave.
"Hurry up you two before the train leaves with you still on it."
Beril takes a drink. "I think I'll have another plate, then."
Lillian sighed. "Just hurry up. You too, Dylan."
Beril gave no sign that she'd heard her and continued to chew slowly. I finished my food and headed for the door without glancing back at Beril. If she wants to go back to the Capitol, or District 6, wherever this train is stored, let her. If it wasn't for Finnick, Annie, and Ronan, I'd probably go with her. Really, I'd prefer the unknown to…to just…waiting.
I don't know what it is, but I…I'm waiting for something. Something that makes it all worth it. If it hadn't been me, then it would've been someone else who'd emerged as victor. Someone else who would've gone through this. All the tours, the parties, the people, the money, the fame…it's all…just… If everything does indeed happen for a reason, then there's a reason I'm alive and they're not. Pisces, Garret, Sawyer, Ellery, Leona, Arno, Jules, Silk, Annalee, Barlee, Sterra, Hara, Carson, Rinn, Liam, Proy, Brit, Natin, Whisp, Skyler, Lily, Fleece, Lister, and me. We were the tributes of the 69th Hunger Games. I can see each of their faces. I can hear all of their voices. I can see them as they looked in the sky after they died. I remember them. They were as alive I am now. Out of all of us, I was the only one that made it out.
All twenty-four of us, all twenty-four tributes in Annie's games, and all the tributes before us, we all had reasons to exist. I am stronger than I was before I went into the arena. Was that the only purpose that their lives served? To make me stronger? Is that the only reason they were born? Is that the only reason any of them were born? To make us victors?
If they all died so I could survive, then there is a reason I'm alive now. And…it can't be…this. My life isn't meant to be just an endless cycle of train rides taking me to and from home and the Capitol and back again. There's a reason I'm still alive. There has to be.
Otherwise…otherwise…
"Oh, seas, you look like hell."
I blink in surprise, noting for the first time the distance I've travelled while having that epiphany. Then I recognize the voice, at the same time I see him in front of me. "Ronan!" And without thinking, I drop my bags and leap forward to hug him. He stumbles back, nearly falling, but manages to steady both of us. I don't let go of him, though, and after a second, he hugs me, too.
"Whoa, easy," he says. "It's good to see you, too, Dylan. It's been kind of boring without you around. …Though, I gotta say, you've looked better."
"There's a reason for that," I say quietly, then I realize what I'm doing and where I am and I step back, easily breaking his grip. "It's been…quite a few weeks."
"I know," he says. "I saw you a few times on TV. I could tell what it was doing to you."
"No, I don't think you could," I say quietly.
The silence that follows is awkward. We both stand there, not really looking at each other, then he clears his throat. "Uh, want me to help you with those."
"Sure. …Thank you."
I sling my several of the bags back over my shoulders, but Ronan stops me, taking the heaviest and the rest like they weigh little more than a loaf of bread. He smiles then turns around, heading for Victors Village. I roll my eyes. Males.
"So, what are you doing out here?"
"Well, I saw Finnick in the Training Center, and he said you were probably still asleep on the train…so I was hoping to meet you on the way…maybe get a peek inside the train. You know, in case I never get to ride on one myself."
I clench my teeth together so hard that my head hurts. "Oh." I finally manage to get out. "Well, sorry I spoiled your chance."
"Eh, it's alright," he says, and even though I can't see his face, I'm sure he noticed the underlying anger in my voice. He, like me, has been trained to identify emotions both visually and vocally. It's a skill that can come in handy when trying to discern who you can trust.
We walk in silence for a few more minutes, then he clears his throat. "So, uh, I'd ask how it went, but I don't think you want to go there. How was the party? They showed pictures of all of you."
"What'd you think?"
"Uh, you guys looked good," he says, somewhat uncomfortable. "And, um, those wings were uh…interesting."
"I thought they were beautiful," I admit. "Annie's stylist made them for us. I still have mine. Or maybe Finnick has them. Eh, I'll find them later."
"Was your friend there?"
"Sol? Yeah. We hung out most of the time. He gave me a bracelet." I lift my arm a bit so he can see the gold chain and the sun hanging from the end.
He arches one eyebrow. "Someone's got a crush."
My cheeks flame, partly out of embarrassment. "No I do not!"
"Not you. Him."
"Now you're being just being silly," I dismiss. "He's just my friend. Besides, he knows damn well that I…well…it doesn't matter."
Ronan blinks at me, "If you say so."
I exhale slowly and look at the buildings of Victor's Village. I can smell the salt in the air, I feel the breeze ruffling my hair. "It's good to be home," I murmur. The other districts, the Capitol, none of them can compare to District 4.
"This is the best place in Panem, you know," I tell him. "You shouldn't ever leave for anything. The Capitol's flashy, but it's a lot of smoke and mirrors. Nothing there is what it seems to be, or it is exactly what it appears to be, and then it's horrible. Trust me, Ronan. You…really should just stay here."
He glances down at me. "What, not be a tribute, you mean? Just give it all up?"
I think that's anger in his voice. I decide to change the subject quickly, "I'm going to Crest to see my brother. I bought him a wedding gift…I'd like to give it to him and see if I'm welcome at the ceremony."
"But—"
"And I think I'm gonna go alone. But I do have something for you. I'll get it out when we get to my room."
Ten minutes later we're standing in my dorm with the bags dumped on my bed. Nixie isn't here right now so I guess I'll have to save our reunion for later. I pull out the gifts I have for everyone and set them on the bed. I'll give Mom the fabric later. I pull out the box containing the Strawberry Delight and present it to Ronan.
"There you go; a bona fide cake. Made in the Capitol by the best baker within two blocks from the Training Center with all natural strawberries and flavoring and no substitutes, enjoy."
Ronan carefully opens the box like it's liable to break at any second, and surveys the treat within. I stand there, waiting, then he reaches in and prods the cake with one finger. He examines the icing on his finger carefully.
"Oh for seas sake, it's not poisoned."
He plucks one of the strawberries off the top of the cake and pops it into his mouth. While I stow the two velvet boxes into my small beaded bag, he tears off tiny bites of the cake, chewing slowly.
"Alright, alright, out you go," I say. "I've got to get to Crest and back, get dressed, then get back to Crest before the dinner tonight!"
"This is really good," he tells me appreciatively. "Thanks a bunch!"Only, he's got food in his mouth, so it sounds like "Fanks a buch."
"You're welcome," I say. "I'll see you later."
An hour later, I'm standing in front of my old home. Luke's home now, since Mom and Dad moved in with Annie. He lives here with his fiancé. I swallow nervously, staring at the one place I know better than any other, which now seems ominous. I wonder what kind of reception will await me. I really hope I don't have to use the knife hanging from my belt. I slowly walk towards of the door, my stomach fluttering with more butterflies than I think I've ever had.
I pause in front of the door, swallowing noisily. Maybe this is a bad idea. Mom's probably already told him about our argument. I pulled a knife on her…he probably hates me even more now.
Pull it together, Dylan! I think. You've been in the Hunger Games. You've looked death in the eye numerous times and always survived. You can do this.
I bang my fist on the door three times before I can talk myself out of it. Then I slap my forehead. Stupid, stupid! Why'd I knock aggressively like that? Whoever answers the door is going to be expecting trouble or…or…
The door opens and a young woman peers out at me. She has golden, almost bronze-colored curly hair, which is pulled up in a ponytail. Her eyes are a sea green, much like Luke's, but unlike him, her form thin and her entire aura is demure. I blink at the doll-like young woman, amazed that Luke fell for someone this…this…fragile looking.
"Can I help you?" she asks in a steady voice that does not match her appearance. Her eyes narrow just a bit. "Oh," she says and I know she's recognized me. "You're Dylan…Luke's sister."
Luke's sister, huh? I think. I guess that's the only polite title she'd have for me. 'The victor' would be too formal, and 'the child-killer' would be beyond rude. And one thing I've noticed about ordinary folk, they tend to not be rude to victors. I wonder why.
"Yeeeuupp," I say, popping the 'p.' "What's your name?"
"Sora."
"So I guess you'll be Sora Syle soon. It's got a nice ring to it, I think. Is Luke here?"
"Yes," She says slowly.
"Can I talk to him?"
"…I suppose so."
"Am I allowed into my own home?"
"It is your home, isn't it?" she murmurs, almost to herself, then shakes her head quickly. "You're not here for trouble, are you? Luke…Luke doesn't talk about you much. And when he does, he makes it clear how your relationship is."
"Yeah, I tend to not have good relations with people," I say curtly. "So can I come in or not?"
Sora says nothing, looking at me intently for another moment, then steps back, opening the door for me. I step over the threshold, trying to look as calm as possible, but I can't help but feel Sora's welcome will be better than Luke's.
"Wait in there," She gestures to the kitchen. "I'll go get him. He's out back."
"Thank you," I say and head for the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, staring at the familiar room. At the table where all of us once ate together, where we laughed…when we were all alive, when we were happy.
I grip the doorframe when I feel my legs start to shake.
I remember the last time we were all here together. It was the day before the Reaping at dinner. Dad…was telling us about this huge sea turtle that got caught in one of the nets and Luke had his own story about the pod of dolphins that had decided to play around their boat. Evan and Lana told us about their training that day. Mom talked about a dress she was trying to make, and complaining that she wanted to use silk but didn't have any. And I…I was listening. I had no stories to tell, no real input except to laugh. I think…I think even then, I was still separate from them. I don't think I ever was really a part of the family after the trials.
I should have tried harder. I should have been more involved. I should have…
"I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again."
I shriek in alarm, whipping around in a fighting stance. Luke arches one eyebrow at me. I relax and back away from him into the kitchen. He's definitely gotten older. It's been a solid year since I've seen him, I think. His cheekbones are higher, his eyes a bit harder, and his muscles more defined now that he's beginning to start his own family.
"No," I say when I find my voice. "You told me never to ask for forgiveness from you until I earned it from all of them."
"Yeah, that was it."
"…I suppose you'll be happy to know then, that Skyler's twin forgave me."
Surprise appears on his face. "What?"
"Yeah. He forgave me for killing his brother. He told me himself the night I was in 10 on my tour. I don't know about the others…but…"
"Well," Luke says after a moment of silence. "How about that then. …You didn't wait a year and come all this way to tell me just that. What do you want?"
"I…I heard you were getting married." I answer honestly. "So I…I…had these made for you when I was in the Capitol yesterday."
"I don't want anything from the Capitol." He says automatically. "And if that's all you came for then you can take them and get out."
And that, right there, does it.
I grit my teeth then backhand him in his jaw. He's so surprised that he doesn't move except to reach up and rub the sore spot.
"You're an asshole, Luke Syle. Do you hear me? You're a cold-hearted asshole. Did you ever stop and think that maybe I'm suffering just as much as those families? That maybe I'm suffering more? No, of course you didn't. Because I'm a merciless wench who feels nothing, right? I'm not the merciless one here, Luke. You are." I take a step closer to him. "Because instead of helping me, instead of talking to me, you abandoned me. You're my brother."
I step closer. "I'm a killer. I know! I did horrible things! I've been punished for it before now and I'm getting punished every day! You have no idea what these last few weeks have been like, never mind these last few months. …Did you know I'm afraid of rats now? I can't even look at one without remembering those damn mutts trying to eat me. And loud screaming…it reminds me of them, too. …Or do you even care?"
Luke stares at me while I fume silently.
"You think you're so important," I continue when it's clear he's not going to respond. "You've treated me like I'm unworthy. Unworthy of your forgiveness, unworthy of being in your presence, and other shark shit—you've acted like I'm unworthy of being your sister, ever since I got home from the trials when I sixteen.
"Do you know I've been staying away from you not only because I didn't think you liked me, but because I wanted to be sure you didn't get killed too? I've made sure I associate with almost no one outside the trials. Because I don't want them to use anyone against me. …Do you see these scars? I did them myself, you know. Every single one of them. Because the Capitol sells the beautiful victors. They sell our bodies to residents. They do it to Finnick all the time. And he lets them, because if not, they kill someone he loves. So I made myself…ineligible. And now my own mother can't even stand the sight of me. …Do you even care! Say something!" I snarl when he still doesn't respond. And he remains quiet after that, too.
"…I don't know why I even bothered. You're a cold, cruel bastard, that's what you are. Fine, I'll get out. Enjoy your life, you son of a bitch." I pull the velvet boxes out of my bag and throw them at his feet, then shove past him and head for the front door.
Sora hovers in the hallway, looking at me like I've sprouted two heads. I snarl at her as I pass, then yank the door open and slam it shut behind me. I take off running, heading for the familiar tree in the front yard like I always used to, and then I remember that it's not my tree anymore, and I change course, heading for the street.
Then, behind me, I hear Luke yell my name.
I stop, panting, then turn around slowly. Luke's standing in the doorway, holding one of the velvet boxes. It's open. He looks down at it, then up at me. And then he smiles just a little bit. He nods once, holding his hand up in farewell. I lift my hand in the same way, not smiling, then turn and walk away.
Heheheheh...ahhhh...I still can't believe you all fell for it...
Review and stuff :3 Because if you do...I maaayyy just drop a tiny spoiler for the next chapter...which just so happens to be centered around Ronan and Dylan... C'mon...you know you wanna know...
