Stell's POV
There are three things I like to avoid in my life. The Capital, its people, and prostitution. They have been a part of the last eight years of my life, ever since I was crowned Victor of the Sixty Eighth Hunger Games.
Luckily for me, all of that is over.
My hands stay clasped together in my lap as I stare out the window of the train. They gave me a private car, so that I wouldn't be disturbed on my trip home. Home. Back to Four.
They had actually told me I wasn't allowed to go back, but I had snapped at them.
"We can't risk that sort of thing Stell. You may have a breakdown again." Doctor Aurelius told me carefully as my hands bunched into fists at my side.
"So what if I do?"
"It's dangerous." He says simply.
"I can do anything you ask of me. I did everything the Capital told me to. I can fake smiles, laughs, anything. I played my part for seven years, I gave everything to them. I can do it again."
"We're not asking-"
"I'm a human!" I yell at him, his jaw drops. "I bleed, and I feel things, and have my own goddamn thoughts!" my voice rises. "Don't you realize that! Sure, I can be a machine, a killing machine because that's what they made me into! But I'm a human! Just like you! Think about that! I've been stuck here alone for months, alone in a cell for months! You'd want to go home to!" my hands run through my hair. "I can only take so much. I can't stay here, I can't." I look up at him, to find his eyes still on me.
"You'll be on the first train out to Four in the morning. Weekly required phone calls. You stay in that house you told me about. You don't leave the District without permission to do so." I let out a breath.
"Thank you."
I glance again to the bag on the floor beside me. It's not even full, even though it holds all my possessions. Just a few shirts and pants. Loose fitting clothes, I can't wear anything else right now.
My eyes adjust so I can see myself in the window glass. Half of my face has scars clearly visible where the skin was ripped off. The scars over the rest of my body seem to all go together, from my face, down my neck. I know where they are under my clothes. I can see them come out and go along my arms as well. Not all of them are as distinct as the others. The worst is on my back, the ones that were constantly reopened. Those are the darkest and some of them are on the back of my arms.
Only three or four are prominent on my face. Yet somehow, if I try, I can still see myself in the reflection. Without all the scars. My hair color is the same; my face structure is almost identical to what it was before. My hair has grown back, going a few inches past my shoulders now.
The prosthetic that I have in is the best I've ever had. It fits perfectly, and doesn't even hurt when I put it on. If it does start to ache, I have a medication I can take. I have a lot of medications I have to take anyways. All of them already shipped to where I'll be living. Home. They didn't trust me enough to carry them with my clothes.
There are no avoxs to come tell me that we're nearing District Four. And I haven't been home in such a long time that I cannot recognize when we're about to pull into the station. I only know when the train is stopping.
I stand up, grabbing my bag off the floor, along with the cane they made me bring to use when I don't attach my fake leg. It's a short walk to the exit door, and as it opens before me I'm blasted with a gust of warm, ocean scented air.
It brings a small smile to my lips instantly. The way I can almost taste the salt, the smell of it and the water heavy in the air. I look out over the town area as I make my way off the train. I stand out, I'm sure of it, and spot a few people pointing over at me. I can feel myself withdraw from the people mentally. It's an instinct, the underlying fear of having a flashback in public. But I don't hide my face, I meet their gazes, their stares, I show that I'm not the broken mess that I feel like inside.
I make my way carefully down the steps, I'm running now, sure, but steps are still tricky. The little ounce of focus my mind does not want to put into the task. I glance up periodically as I walk down one of the streets. They've rebuilt since last I was home. Some of the shops have new signs out, new windows. The wood is new as well. There's still sand in the streets, and my eyes train towards Victor's Village as I pass by the road that would lead there.
But that's not where I'll be living now. I should sell the place, since I won't be there. I don't even think I could handle going inside anytime soon. I hike by bag higher up on my shoulder, aware of the people gaping at me. No one offers a greeting. I hear their whispers though, about my scars, my face, about me.
I stand tall as I walk, not slouching or sinking away from anyone. People get out of my way on their own, seeing who I am. I'm sure that my face scares them, even though I know I'm still beautiful. I'm not being arrogant, but I know that I'm still attractive, even with the scars. I look fiercer, more like who I really am.
The faces that I see, most have smiles on them. It's a sight that I don't remember seeing in Four before. Not everyone this happy, this at ease. I feel out of place. This doesn't feel like the Four I know. This doesn't feel like home anymore. Not really, not completely.
But I cannot complain against it. It's what I always wanted for Four. Happiness is not something I'm used to though.
I am thankful that people cannot see what's on the inside. The gaping hole that seems to always feel like it's inside me. It's the fact that I watched all those people die, that I enjoyed killing people, that's a part of me that I'll never get back. I'll never forget.
I'm able to relax a bit once I get more outside of the busy section of Four, down one of the stone streets towards the more secluded section of shoreline.
We don't use cars here, walking is how we get around. Only the Capital people drove them in Four, and since the Rebellion happened, I don't see a single one.
The house is just as I remember it. It's away from everything else, though I can see the nearest home. It's small, only having seven rooms in all. The outside is made of light brown shingle wood, the roof slightly darker. The color has washed out in some parts, due to time and the salt water hitting the sides. I push open the door, dropping my bag just inside.
The living room isn't big, but it isn't too small either. A fireplace is in the corner, and a couch is in front of it. A table that my uncle had built with my father out of driftwood sits between the two. I walk through the room and into the kitchen. It's small, tile floor with a stove and oven. The counter space is only slightly limited, and the refrigerator is a decent size. Right beside the kitchen is the dining room, not much of one, the wood table only has four chairs around it. I see the bathroom off on the other side of the house.
I go back to the front, grab my bag and slowly make my way up the stairs. It goes up into a beige carpeted hallway. There're only three doors. One goes to the guest bedroom, one to the guest bathroom, and the other to what will be my room. The door opens easily and I look out the window over the ocean. It's rocks really. The cliffs go down into the ocean. The bed is still where it was before, up against the wall, across from the other bathroom door. I open the dresser drawer, putting my folded clothes from my bag to the dresser.
It's then that I realize my other clothes are still in Victor's Village. And I'll have to get them at some point. I'll have to go buy food as well. And bathroom products.
I feel my heart rate pick up at just the thought of having to go into town again. I sit down on the bed, my head falling into my hands. I take deep breaths, trying not to think about it.
I can go early in the morning, when not many people are up. Just when the earliest fishing boats are getting ready to leave port. That may work. I wouldn't see too many people that way. Or I could go right before they close. I'd be walking there at the time that most of the fishermen are walking home though.
I'd see less people going earlier. I may be able to handle going out, like walking here, I did that just fine. It doesn't mean I have to like it.
That still doesn't help that I have to go to Victor's Village to get my clothes. Unless I asked Mags to get them for me. I'd have to find Mags then still. I don't know where she is.
That's a lie, I know where she is, where she could be at least, I just don't want to go there.
She's either at her house, or Finnick's.
I really don't want to run into Finnick. What would I even say? Hello? That's not something you should say to someone whose life you wasted practically a year. All those days he spent with me, trying to help me.
I wish he just understood that he couldn't, he can't help me.
I sigh, pushing myself off the bed and walking over into the bathroom. I open the medicine cabinet, and there, someone has already put all of my medications.
I freeze when I hear a knock at the door downstairs. I close the cabinet, turning and walking out of the room and making my way downstairs. I stop outside the door, and narrow my eyes when the person knocks again.
I open the door slowly, a small grin coming on when I see Mags smiling up at me. She holds a bowl of soup in her hands. "Put this on the table, would you?" she asks me. I just nod, taking the bowl and going to the kitchen and placing it on the counter as Mags comes inside, closing my door behind her. I turn around once I put down the bowl, and stop when I see her staring at me.
"What?" I ask and her smile grows bigger.
"You're getting better." She states and I let out a small chuckle.
"I guess so." I shrug and Mags sits down on the couch, patting the spot beside her as she rests her cane against the other side. I sit beside her, and she reaches over, taking my hand in hers and turning it over. Her frail fingers trace up one of the scars on my arm, all the way up until she rests a hand on the side of my face. I smile now back at her. Back at the woman who took over the mother role after mine was murdered.
"I'm happy you're home." She tells me sincerely.
"They wouldn't let me come home before now." I tell her and she nods. "How'd you know I was back? Where I lived anyways?"
"You think they'd let you come home without telling anyone?" she asks incredulously.
"I guess not, wouldn't be safe." She nods her head, lowering her hand from my face to take my hand again.
"You're accent is back."
"I don't have to hide it anymore." I say evenly.
"You don't have to hide anything anymore. You know that don't you?" she asks.
"Of course."
"You can talk to me whenever you would like child. And I know that boy you do anything to have a conversation with you." I purse my lips together, looking down at my lap as she mentions Finnick.
"I don't have any business with Finnick."
"You have all the business in the world with that boy." Her voice is stern, and my gaze snaps up to her, surprised at the hardness in her eyes. "You're everything to him. And you two are everything to me. I don't like seeing my boy hurting."
"He chose to leave. He made that choice himself." I pause, "He doesn't know me anymore."
"You don't know him. That doesn't matter to him though. I'm just telling you, he misses you."
"I know." I snap and Mags raises her eyebrows at me. She reaches for her cane, getting up and walking slowly over to the kitchen.
"Don't use that tone with me Stellar. Get another bowl and spoons." I just nod, getting up and looking through the kitchen to find what she told me to get.
Reviews, favorites and follows are all very much appreciated! I'm hoping to get one more chapter in before I leave Friday!