Aftermath, Part Two.
Kiero Mearlove — 16 years
District Eight Male
Victor of the 150th Hunger Games
I still don't really know whether to believe Della or not.
There's still that nagging, rather annoying feeling that I don't deserve any type of affection, that I don't deserve anything, really. Why me, out of all 24? It doesn't make sense. Maybe it never will.
All I know is that the train stopped five minutes ago, and sometime in the next 30 seconds I'm expected to go out there, and the possibility of throwing up is a very real one.
"You'll be fine," Rayon says quietly, from just behind my shoulder, like he could hear my thoughts. It still startles me, every time he speaks. He didn't say one word that I heard before the Games, but I think we've been making progress. Still, it's unnerving. Oddly comforting, though. He probably knows it best of all. Della won so long ago that she's probably got this victory spiel rehearsed, and I've never met Mia in my life.
Maybe there's companionship in victory. Family, even.
Della gives me a wide smile, one that I think is supposed to be encouraging. It helps, for all of two and a half-seconds, before I'm ushered down the stairs, off the train, and I'm put dead-set in the middle of absolute chaos.
The mass of camera flashes that go off in my face are absolutely blinding - there are spots blinking behind my eyes, a crush of people around me, and enough noise and yelling to deafen a small village. Someone shoves through the crowd just in front of me, pushing reporters and camera-people back with two arms. The woman gives an annoyed sigh, looking half-ready to rip the cameras out of people's hands if they don't stop.
"Sorry, kid!" She yells over her shoulder at me. "I'm trying, promise."
It's when she looks at me that I know. Mia Calison. Victor of the 117th Hunger Games. Della lets out an amused huff behind me, watching Rayon duck away and towards Mia, practically tucking himself under her shoulder. She's still yelling frantically, trying to ward off the crowd with only one arm, now. After a moment she turns back to us. It's not until that moment that I realize I'm smiling. Mia gives me a look.
"I like this one already. Good job, Dells."
Mia pauses, looking over her shoulder, past Rayon.
"Well, I had your sister, but it appears I lost her. My bad," she admits, shrugging towards me. Something skips in my heart. I almost forgot, for a second. My family's here. My friends are here. If only it was easier to see.
I don't have to, apparently. Not a second later the crowd begins to part, just barely, and I see a flash of blond hair running towards me. That's all I get before Vero launches herself at me.
It might as well been with the force of a freight train, because that's what it feels like, with her arms wrapped vice tight around my neck, legs dangling off the ground. Without Della's hands on my back, steadying the two of us, Vero would have taken us straight to the ground.
We've never been like this, and it still feels right.
"Hey," she mumbles into my shoulder, barely audible over everything going on around us. "I love you."
A strangled laugh bubbles its way out of my chest, and she pinches me hard in the shoulder. I barely feel it, though. It's amazing, how right this feels. How every concern I have couldn't matter any less right now.
"I love you too," I tell her. She must finally be satisfied, because she loosens her hold on my neck and lets herself drop to the ground, pulling back. Before she looks at me she wipes frantically under her eyes, drawing the sleeve of her shirt over her hand.
"I'm not crying," she tells me instantly, but I can hear the thickness in her voice. It feels wrong to ruin the moment, though, and prove her otherwise.
I had barely noticed my parents approach. Apparently Mia was doing a better job of holding back the crowd that I had previously thought. My Dad hugs me, tight and worried, but I can feel the tension leak out of his shoulders the second I reciprocate. It didn't really sink in, until then, that I was okay. For all of us. We finally have confirmation that I'm not going anywhere. My mother is doing her best to wipe her face into something calm and collected, just like I would, but when she wraps her arms around me I can tell just how terrified she was. Feeling safe has never felt so good. There were times, before all this, when it felt like I had to take care of everything. Watch over everyone.
It feels nice to not have to, just for one second.
"Incoming," Vero says, normal as ever, just after I pull back from another hug. I blink at her.
And then an octopus, or something equivalent, attaches itself to my back.
I know it's Marylaw the second Vinsley's indignant screech rings straight into my ears.
"Hey, let me in, assholes!" He shouts, attempting to worm his way in-between us. Marylaw laughs, letting go for only a second before she spins me around single-handedly and all but attacks me again, burying her face in my shoulder. She's shaking, more than slightly, rocking the two us back and forth. Vinsley finally ends up squeezing himself half-between us, and it's so reminiscent of the goodbyes it actually hurts, somewhere in my chest.
Marylaw pulls back, hands on either side of my face, practically squishing my cheeks together. She's crying, openly and unashamed, but laughing at the same time, looking so damn happy it's almost a crime.
"Okay," she starts, fanning her face with one hand. "Okay, now I'm actually glad there are cameras here right now."
"Why—"
She grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around, again. It's worth it though, because the look on Soren's face, who was standing not five feet behind me the whole time, is something I can't even describe.
"You know, I was hoping I would never have to deal with this," he says simply.
"Soren!" Marylaw chastises, and Vero hits him in the shoulder, and the feeling of this is so overwhelming that I feel like I'm going to cry. I've felt like that a lot, lately. Can't say it's really all that surprising.
"Are you going to come over here, or are you going to make me?" Soren sighs. "You're gonna make me, aren't you?"
I don't even have to say anything. He just steps forward and embraces me, hands clasping together around my back. That's different than usual. He's never started things, put his foot forward first. Maybe he just doesn't care anymore. I tighten my hands around his back, quite content to bury my face in his shoulder and literally never come out.
"If you cry, then I'm going to cry, and we're going to have some serious problems," Soren says quietly. I laugh, faintly, into his shoulder, and he just responds by holding on tighter.
It's not a maybe anymore.
This was worth it.
Mia has a dog.
I don't know why this is the first thing my brain chooses to focus on.
Vero all but drags me through the gates of the Victor's Village. People have been moving stuff into our new house for the entire day but I still haven't been in, despite the rest of my family tromping through it the past few hours. It still doesn't feel real.
But back to the dog.
It's a German Shepherd, or something similar. All I know is that it's big, and bounding straight towards us, and Vero looks like she's in love. It takes all of my sister's strength not to get tackled straight to the ground by 80 pounds of fur and saliva. I'd rather her get slobbered on than me.
Mia comes quickly down the steps of her own house, Rayon on her heels even though he lives next door. I'm moving in next to Della, or so I was told, who's practically directing the move-in. Her husband comes over to us almost immediately, rubbing his dirty hands across his pants and holding his hand out to me.
"Aravis," he says, smiling genuinely. "Nice to meet you. It'll be good to have a new neighbor."
It's nice that he words it like that. New neighbor. Like I didn't kill three people to be able to move in next door.
"The kids kind of invited themselves over. Izara's making dinner, I think. Quinten and Rhys were trying to help move stuff in and ended up getting in the way more than they did anything else, so I made them go help. They're excited to meet you all, though."
Aravis sounds almost apologetic, like his kids are toddlers instead of being almost twice my age. I know Izara's ten years older than me, but her brothers are easily there. It's funny to hear them talked about in such a way. Maybe it's funnier to realize that Della has a life, one that she loves. That I can have that too.
Della comes out of her own house, smiling, who I assume is Izara at her side. I can barely keep track of all the people I've been introduced to, and now there's more. This feels easier, though. More like home. Izara greets me enthusiastically, her brothers almost equally so. Mia's dog is still weaving between everyone's legs despite her attempts to call him back. Apparently he doesn't care. Despite all the bustle of it all, I kind of agree with the dog. This feels more natural than anything I've been forced to do or participate in since I got out of the arena.
"Are we inviting anyone else?" Izara asks, looking around for confirmation. Her eyes land on me. "Friends coming? Boyfriend?"
I freeze. There is a definite furrow between my eyebrows. My attempts to side-eye Vero fail when she takes a very obvious step back, out of my line of my vision.
Dad fights off a smile. Mom rolls her eyes.
Mia snickers.
"I totally just said that when I shouldn't have," Izara states flatly, glaring at Mia. It's apparent where she got the information from.
"He doesn't have a boyfriend," Della clarifies. The look on her face is torn. Clearly she debated saying anything at all and letting it continue just to humiliate me.
"Yet," Vero stage-whispers.
I throw a elbow at her side. She sees it coming from a mile away and leaps out of the way, practically cackling. I force a smile back onto my face, watching her dart into the house and returning my eyes to everyone else once she's gone. My ears are burning. If my whole face isn't red, it'd be a miracle.
Fuck's sake.
"This house is humongous," Vinsley says, the next day, squinting across the room and up the stairs. "Seriously. Gigantic."
"Yeah, because you're a midget."
"Soren."
Soren grins. Vinsley puts a hand over his chest, looking wounded.
"Just because you're 7'6 doesn't mean you get an opinion," Marylaw says from her perch on the table, swinging her legs back and forth.
"I think that's an overestimation," I point out. Soren looks down at me from the corner of his eye. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Apparently I'm shit at reading people, or so I learned at the goodbyes. I never figure anything out until it's too late to do anything about it. His eyes are nothing but impassive, giving nothing away about how he feels about all of this. Or me.
"You think?"
Vinsley continues staring around the room, eyes wide and awe-struck. None of my friends have ever been particularly bad off, but we never had it like this. When I first stepped foot inside the house yesterday it took me hours to get used to it. I don't know if I'll ever be used to it.
I stop paying attention for a grand total of two seconds, which is long enough for Marylaw to hop off the table, abandon her mug of whatever she stole from my fridge, and dart up the stairs. Vinsley sends us a confused look but chases after her nonetheless.
"I don't even wanna know," I settle on. I cross my arms over my chest, staring after them.
"I do," Soren insists. To my surprise he grabs my arm, giving me little choice in the matter. He drags me up the stairs and towards the sound of their voices, which is predictably coming from my room. It's not a surprise, however, that they ended up there. Apparently they're never going to leave me alone.
I don't want them to.
Marylaw and Vinsley are both lying face-down on my bed, making a variety of sounds that probably don't mean anything at all. Vinsley turns his head out of his arms, nearly falling straight onto the floor.
"This is the most comfortable thing I've ever laid on. Can you buy me a bed?"
"Sure."
"I wasn't serious—"
"I was."
He looks like he's about to leap off the bed and hug me. He's halfway there when Soren strides across the room and sits on him. Everything goes to shit in the next second. Vinsley shrieks, wiggling madly. He smacks Marylaw in the face and then in the ribs, who looks like she's not sure who to kill first. She settles for tackling Soren straight to the bed, pinning Vinsley further, who continues his muffled screams into my pillows.
I don't realize how widely I'm smiling until Marylaw stops, practically sitting on Soren's head, and stares at me.
It takes a second for Soren to realize he's no longer being directly attacked. He lifts his head as much as he can, hair flopping into his eyes. They're even more impossible to read now.
"What's happening," Vinsley complains. If they don't move soon he's going to suffocate. "I can't see."
Marylaw lunges off the bed towards me and throws her arms around my neck, smiling into my shoulder.
"You okay?" She asks, arms tightening around my back. I rest my chin on her shoulder. Soren's still staring. I stare back.
"Yeah."
For the first time since I got out, it might actually be the truth.
The next few months pass in a blur of things I can barely remember in order.
Trying to put things back together is easy, but only if I don't talk about what I did, or what happened, or the things that cause my eyes to glaze over when no one's looking. Della was right. It happened eventually.
The first argument with Vero happens the first night I wake up gasping, the threat of a screaming rattling in my throat, the vision of Hariwin's hands digging into my windpipe. She hears me through the walls. I don't have the continuous nightmares like some victors do. They're few, and sporadic, and it only makes them worse when it happens because I never have time to prepare myself.
She comes into my room, quietly. My eyes are blurry. I only know she's there when I feel her knees press into the edge of my bed, her hand wary and careful against my shoulders.
"Hey," she says gently. "It's okay."
"I'm fine," I manage, grinding my teeth together. I don't have to look at her face to know she's not convinced.
"Kiero—"
"I'm fine, Vero. Just leave."
She's staring at me, eyes hard. I won't look up at her. My hands are still shaking, breath catching in my throat when I think about it for too long.
"We're trying to help."
"I don't need help."
Her hand leaves my shoulder abruptly, the warmth of her presence gone almost immediately. She's almost gone entirely before her next words.
"See if I care next time. Have fun suffering alone."
I stay awake the rest of the night.
The second time it happens is a month after I get home. I spend the rest of the night sitting back against the wall, knees drawn up to my chest, swearing that I can hear Vero pacing through the walls. My door never opens.
I wake up crying the third time and can't stop no matter what I do. I can't even see properly to know that I'm truly awake. I hear the creak of my door but can't convince myself to believe it's real. It's not until Vero's arms wrap around me, hesitant but so sure at the same time that I know I'm not alone. I try to say something, apologize or force anything at all out. All she does is shush me, scooting closer on the bed.
She sits next to me, after I've stopped crying, fiddling with my blankets until I fall asleep.
It's hard for me to accept help from anyone. It always has been. I think it's even harder now, knowing that everyone wants to pity me but I won't let them. They still try to, in subtle ways that they think I don't notice. It only gets on my nerves more.
I snap at my Dad for even asking if I'm okay, when I go quiet for a little too long. He doesn't even look offended, just saddened more than I thought was possible for him. I think my Mom gets it the most. Maybe not the killing thing, or the nightmares, but the feeling of not wanting to burden everyone, of having to take care of everyone even when you shouldn't be.
She tells me, once and that's it, that maybe I just need to sit back and let someone care for two seconds.
It's harder than I thought.
To their credit, Marylaw and Vinsley try not to change. For the most part they continue on like life is normal. I know it's for my benefit, and that sometimes they force smiles on their faces when there's barely any room for them, but I can't find it in me to get angry at them. They're trying.
It's Soren that gets me.
It's the eyes on the back of my head that I can practically feel when he thinks I'm not paying attention. It's how sometimes he'll stand closer to me than he usually does when he thinks I'm not okay and how he backs up other times, like he doesn't want to piss me off. He's always been good at subtlety but now it's like he forgot how to be.
And he won't say anything. It's like nothing changed but everything has.
"You don't have to watch me like I'm going to fall the fuck apart if you stop," I tell him, wishing my voice didn't sound so bitter. "I'm not."
It's not just that. It's everything building up. Soren just stares at me silently.
"I know you're not."
"Then why are you doing it?"
"Sue me for having the audacity to care. I know you're not going to fall apart. You're the strong one. But everyone's worried that you're being too strong. You don't always have to be," he tells me. He sounds a little angry. It's nothing like how he's sounded in the past few months.
"You don't have to patronize me. You think I don't know that I'm not always okay?" I spit out. "I get it from everyone else, I don't need it from you too."
Soren sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He stares out the living room window, eyes on the clouds darkening in the sky. I don't even know when he got here. One minute I was sitting on the couch and the next he was plopped down next to me.
A roll of thunder from outside breaks the silence.
I flinch without meaning to.
The few times it's stormed I've been alone. And it has to be pathetic, tensing because of the rain and the wind and the noise but I can't help it. Every time a storm comes it just reminds me of what I went through, everything that reappears in my head eerily vivid. Like I'm still in there.
Soren's staring at me now. A flash of lightning illuminates the room, for a brief second. I squeeze my eyes shut, putting a hand over them. It's easier than watching his reaction.
His weight leaves the couch. I think he's leaving, until I feel him sit down directly in front of me, just on the edge of the table. He pulls my free hand off of my knee, holding it between both of his own. I refuse to look at him. Somewhere in the back of my mind it strikes me that I'm being about as mature as a five year old, but I can't find the energy to care.
"I know it'd be easier for you to just get through it yourself," he says quietly. "But we're not gonna let you. So get that through your thick ass skull and stop complaining."
I choke out a laugh. Something in me still doesn't want to look up, so I just lean forward until my forehead is brushing lightly against his shoulder. He doesn't tense like I expected him to, like he usually does.
It doesn't just feel like a step in the right direction. It feels like a lot.
Everyone always seems to end up in my house.
I have to leave on the Victory Tour tomorrow afternoon, so it makes sense that everyone's here. Well, my parents and Vero, because they live here, and my friends because they just invite themselves over.
I still don't know why Mia's here, or why Della and Aravis are here, or why Rayon keeps fighting off a smile whenever I look around in exasperation.
He's doing better. Della thinks it's because of me, because he's finally seen a success. I don't know if I want to give myself that much credit, but it's good to see him something other than sad. Everyone just seems so at ease, so comfortable, even with the impending tour. I'm not looking forward to it, but I think it might be easier with everyone around me.
"Did Soren get lost? I swear, I need to put him on a backpack leash," Marylaw complains.
"I'd pay to see that," Vero says. I can't help but shake my head.
Rayon smiles again.
"I'll go get him," I sigh, hopping off the edge of the couch. Mia pauses, letting out a low whistle. I'm tempted to smack my head off the nearest wall.
"This is ridiculous," Vinsley states.
"Right. I'm getting tired of this no-relationship bullshit," Vero grumbles. Dad flicks her lightly in the side of the head. "What? It's true. I mean, he's gotta kiss him sometime—"
Her rambling is cut off by Mom's hand, though it's still slightly audible underneath it. I practically sprint to the doorway, grabbing my coat. I think better of closing the door behind me right away, leaving it open the slightest bit to peak my head back in.
"You know, maybe I'll go do it right now!" I yell back at them. The last thing I see is Vero's wide, shocked eyes. Marylaw's scream that sounds like something between elation and horror is loud as day even through the door, once I slam it shut.
It's bitterly cold out, and I didn't bring any gloves, but it's definitely not worth going back in the house. Soren's house isn't far by any means anyway. I still walk faster than usual, noting the lack of people on the streets and the barely-there flurries in the sky. The ground's already covered in the stuff anyway.
I rap my knuckles against the front door of his house, practically jumping up and down to keep some of the feeling in my toes. If he doesn't open the door in the next three seconds they're going to fall off.
It only takes two seconds. Soren pokes his head out the front door, one single eyebrow raised, retreats, and shuts it again. It only takes another minute before he comes back out, shrugging on his coat and yanking the hood up.
"What's up?" He asks.
"Mar' said you were supposed to be right behind them to do .. whatever everyone in my living room thinks they're doing. The words backpack leash and lost were involved," I inform him. Soren grimaces, but I notice he's barely looking me in the eye.
"Okay, what?" I demand. "You're never this awkward unless something's up."
Soren's lips are pressed so tightly together I'm convinced he's trying to will the words back down his throat.
"Is it weird that I don't want you to go? I know you're coming back and all, which is why this makes zero sense, and so instead of saying goodbye or being a nice person I'm hiding in my house like a goddamn hermit."
"You are a hermit."
"Thanks, I—"
When I left the house, I wasn't entirely serious. Which is why when I lean up and kiss him, he's not the only one that's immensely surprised.
He goes perfectly still. I don't remember putting my hands on the side of his face, but they're definitely there, his fingers just barely brushing against my wrists. The kiss is nothing more than the barest press of lips on lips, because we're both completely shit at it and half-frozen and I'm almost certain Soren's two seconds from a panic attack.
When I pull back his hands are fully wrapped around my wrists, like he's finally processed what's happening and doesn't want to let go. He settles for leaning his forehead against mine, eyes still closed.
"You ever gonna look at me?" I ask carefully. A ghost of a smile makes its way across his face.
"Nope."
I can't help the laugh that escapes me. Soren hunches over and buries his face against my neck, releasing my wrists in favor of wrapping his arms around my back. His face is freezing. It's like the action is on purpose - he knows how cold it is and I'd bet on him doing it purely to be an asshole.
"I can't feel my hands," he says suddenly.
"How romantic."
He snorts, shaking his hands frantically against my back. "I'm serious."
"Then go back inside. Nothing's stopping you."
Finally, he pulls back to look at me. His eyes are half-concerned and half-something completely unreadable. Maybe he'll always be like that, even to me. Maybe I just have to learn to accept it.
"I'll be back in two weeks," I tell him softly. "Not that long."
Soren nods, ducking his head, and finally releases me. He takes a few huge, full steps back. It's not hard to tell that he's distancing himself because he'll stay out here forever, if he doesn't at least try. It takes him a long moment to shut the door behind him, a careful, nervous smile on his face. It's a weird expression to see from him, but not entirely unwelcome.
I take a moment for myself, after he's gone, just standing there in the cold with my arms wrapped around myself. Something in me, whether it's my heart, or my bones, or just everything entirely, feels lighter.
That's not unwelcome, either.
Of course it's ruined, because the Victory Tour is infinitely worse than I thought.
Boarding the train almost makes my heart leap into my throat, even with Della and Mia and Rayon all there with me. It feels too much like when I got reaped, like they're shipping me back to the Capitol and finishing what they started. I know they're not, which is the worst part. I know I'm going to be okay and it still doesn't feel like it. Suddenly, everything Soren said last night makes complete sense.
The first three pass without incident. Twelve is just as I had imagined it, so dark and dreary that it feels like I'll be followed around by it if I take a wrong turn. There's a stage with Gera's parents and no one else, and another for Cassia with a father that looks so devastated that it's hard to look at, surrounded by all three of her brothers. They all have varying degrees of murder in their eyes, like she's dead because of me.
She might as well be.
Eleven is barely in mourning. It's like they're so used to losing everything that it barely phases them anymore. Mulberry's parents are grieving, but part of them's moved on. Only part, though. It's one of the most uneventful things I've seen in my life, until one of his sisters peels away from the crowd just after the speeches end. Some of the Peacekeepers move to grab her, but most don't look like they have the energy to care.
Mia leans down and grabs the girl's hand, helping her to the stage. She looks hesitant, for a second, huge brown eyes uncertain, and then she steps forward and wraps her arms around me, shaking.
Her name's Juniper, and she's eight years old, and she knows more than most of them do.
Falco's girlfriend won't look me in the eyes in Ten and neither will Abigail's brothers. Covered in snow, the District looks completely barren, like it's lost something it won't ever get back. I guess it did.
They look used to it though, too.
Falco's best friend comes up to me, like people have been trying to in every District. He tells me good luck, with everything, in the most emotionless tone I've heard all day. For some reason, I say it back.
Less than two years later he volunteers for the Hunger Games, and wins.
District Nine is a different kind of hell than I've ever experienced.
Arlo doesn't have anyone even there for him. I put an arrow in Quill's chest when he was one person from victory. And looking at Elora's brother, his eyes so haunted it's almost hard to, there's that twinge where I want to take it all back, take back what I said about it being worth it.
I can't just stay here and spit out what I've been told and then leave.
Della organizes something for me to meet people before I even ask her to, or come up with the idea myself. It's nice, knowing that she's looking out for me. That they all are.
The kid's from Arlo's orphanage are wide-eyed and innocent, barely even noticing his absence. There's so many of them it's not surprising, but there's really no one to talk to, no one who knew him well enough to really care. Someone without a brain tries to make Willow Grove talk to me. I get a nearly un-matchable death-glare and eyes that are too teary to be truly threatening before she leaves without a word, a Peacekeeper at her heels.
"Thank you," Marley Farro tells me, and I can tell it's taking everything in him not to fall apart. "For protecting her."
It doesn't make any sense.
"I didn't," I tell him. It hurts to admit it. "Not well enough. I should have."
Marley smiles wryly, ducking his head. He wipes it off his face just as quickly.
"Can't protect people forever. Elora ... you did what you could. And I'm grateful for it."
I nod, pressing my lips together. Now it's me who's having trouble looking him in the eyes. Marley clasps my shoulder, just for a second, but it's warm.
When he leaves, I know I shouldn't feel better. But something in me does.
There are seven siblings in Seven.
Which, to some people, is probably ironic. Funny, even. Seeing it only shows me how much some people had to come back to.
All four of Porter's are younger. 13, 12, 8 and 5, I find out later. The oldest one has the same look of defiance in her eyes that he did, in every moment of footage that's available.
Acacia's twin looks so much like her I almost panic, for a moment. It's dumb. Of course she looks exactly like her, they're twins for a reason, but I don't remember speaking two words to her and it still startles me. It's the same thing with Finnea's. They all have the same eyes, but there's something in them that gives me hope. Resilience. Maybe it's because they're Mason's and they're used to it.
It might be because they have nothing left to cling to.
Six, in a weird sort of way, is also the best and one of the worst.
There's no one to see. I knew, of course. His parents disappeared off the face of the earth, his grandmother died while he was in there. I give the typical speech to a crowd that does nothing but stare blankly, not daring to react.
They're angry. They have every right to be. They finally had a volunteer, had a solid shot at winning and proving everyone wrong, the Capitol the first on the list.
Spens gave himself up for me. He destroyed every shot he had to protect everyone else but himself.
There's no one to see, afterwards. The train isn't scheduled to leave for another 3 hours. I don't want to sit here for that long. There's other things I could be doing, something else.
Mia finds me, sitting in a chair in the Justice Building, leg fidgeting anxiously. She glances down each hallway, avoiding my curious look, before dragging me up and out of the chair.
"Um," is all I can get out, but her grip isn't too hard and she clearly isn't being too forceful about it. I look around her, further down the next hall. There's a window.
"Am I going out of that?" I ask her. She snorts.
"Be careful. Don't get mugged, or Dells will kill me. Among other people."
Fair enough.
The window's on the ground floor, so all I really have to do is grab the sill and hop out. Mia still grabs my arm, holding onto me steadily until she makes sure my feet are safely on the other side.
"Thanks," I say earnestly, turning back towards the window just as Mia makes to shut it.
"No problem, kid."
The window slams shut and I watch as she retreats, leaving nothing but me standing in the back-alley between the Justice Building and some random shop or other. It's freezing, but there's not much snow. There are a few people in the Square a block over - I can still hear them disassembling the stage.
I haven't been left alone in what feels like forever, but it can't have been more than a week at most.
I yank my hood up and shove my hands in my pockets. It's not going to be anywhere close. The Factory District is the complete other way, taking up over half of the District itself. There are trees off in the other direction. I don't really have any idea of where to go. Guess I'll have to wing it.
I only pass a few people. Guarantee most went back to their jobs, like it was any other day. The ones that are still roaming the streets look like they're slowly trickling back to their homes.
"Hey."
I freeze, hands going tense in the pockets of my jackets.
"Just wonderin' where you're going. Probably shouldn't be wandering here alone."
I turn, slowly, knowing I probably should've just kept walking. That, or doubled back. It's nothing but an older man, jacket practically swallowing his entire frame. It's a miracle he's still standing, with his skinny frame holding up the weight of numerous bags over his shoulders.
"Go down this street until it ends. There's an alley at the end. First left. Next right."
I don't know where he's directing me. I barely know where I even want to go, only the vaguest idea in my head. I nod though, trying to remain as discreet as possible. The man gives me a small smile, raises his hand in what must be a farewell, and continues on his way. I remain still, for a moment, watching his retreating figure until it disappears around the next corner.
The world's a weird place.
I could ignore his directions. Maybe I'm stupid not to. But something in me listens, tells me that I might as well, because if I can survive the Games nothing here will compare. I'm completely aware that somewhere in the world that must be an idiotic decision, but I've thrown every sense of rationale I had in me to the wind. There was a lot of it.
The area becomes more and more deserted the longer I walk. It's only been about ten minutes when I turn off into the alley. Maybe five more minutes until the last direction. I haven't seen anyone in a few minutes. It's creeping me out, and the smog isn't helping, the clouds providing a layer of dreariness that still manages to set me on edge.
I emerge from the next road into an open area, trees just infringing into the clearing on my right. I can just make out the fence that marks the end of the District in the distance.
It takes my eyes a few second to settle on the headstones hidden among the trees, some creeping up along the edge of the muddy road.
There's no one around. I glance down the roads again, just to make sure.
The steps I take towards the graveyard are slow, hesitant, like I'm certain someone's going to stop me. No one shows up. The first one I come up to is close to the road, the lettering so faded I can barely read it. The date's from over a hundred years ago. I don't recognize the name, but somehow I know. Age fourteen. And the one next to it is marked with a seventeen.
They're tributes.
Something settles in me, a weird feeling that puts me entirely off-kilter. My heart's racing. I shouldn't be here. Do I have a right to be here, or not?
It takes a lot to remind myself that he didn't have anyone. That every family he's ever had has vanished or died and left him alone. There was no one in this world but him. Elora and I probably knew him better than anyone else ever did.
The newer ones are towards the trees, some of them almost impossible to see. The headstone's are paler, not yet weathered by the sun and rain. And if I crane my neck, stretching to look further into the distance, I can see the newest, sparse grass just barely grown over the heap of dirt before winter stopped it.
He might as well have been your brother, a voice in my head whispers. Just walk.
I can't make myself move.
I can't look at a grave and pretend that it's the Spens I knew. It's not. Talking to a headstone won't do anything for me. I've spent enough nights lying awake wondering if there's something I should've said, could've said that I didn't. To both of them. Sitting down will only confirm that he's in the ground because of me, that I put him there even if it wasn't my weapon that killed him. And I can't make myself move. My legs won't carry me any further than this.
I shove my hands back in my pockets and turn around, ready to set off back down the road.
Just before I turn around fully my eyes catch on something, bright against the dreary background, previously obscured by the other headstones in the way.
They're flowers. Splashes of orange and red and purple against the gray. They have to be fresh, just put there this morning. They'd be dead otherwise.
A smile fights it's way onto my face before I can stop it.
He's remembered. They all are.
Five blends into everything else I've seen. Audessa's mother looks the perfect picture of stoicism. Her little brother's crying. Her older brother doesn't even show up.
I didn't know her, didn't speak one word to her, and that's the worst part.
I feel bad. I know I should feel worse, because she's dead and she was a daughter and a sister and a friend and I doesn't know anything else about her other than the looks on the faces of her family. How was I any different? I wasn't standout. Why me over her? Why me over any of them?
It doesn't make any sense.
I don't think it ever will.
If I had to describe Four it would be this: it looks like someone tried to rebuild ruins and just barely managed to disguise it.
The cracks aren't all that noticeable, but they're there. There's more Peacekeepers than usual. People don't converse openly on the streets, instead speeding along quickly to wherever they need to go. Maybe it's because of the colder air, something they're unused to, but I know there has to be something more.
I know what happened during the interviews. Della told me everything so I wouldn't get any surprises. But it still doesn't fit together like it should.
Astrid's father is half-drunk out of his mind. The only real look I get is from one of her closest friends, who looks like he didn't just lose her but some limbs along with it. Like something's missing and he doesn't know how to work without it. I get it. I just don't think he would understand that.
Sheridan's mother looks the spitting image of her daughter, even doing to the calm, level-headed manner, until she starts spitting accusations at me. Things along the lines of how Sheridan had trained for this, how she was prepared for it, how could she die and how could I be here instead. I don't know what to do. I know my death isn't on her hands. But I also know that getting it out is better than bottling up. So I let her scream, let her yell until her voice grows raw, watching as she breaks down in tears in her husband's arms and gets escorted out of the room.
I need a break after that. I feel like crying. I thought I'd been getting rid of that feeling.
It turns out I needed the break more than I thought, because it gets worse after that.
I think Ross' mother has cried herself out, but she looks bad even six months later. But it's who's trailing after her that gets me, because all I've been able to remember about Hariwin Saylor has been a grin full of blood and the glint of weapons barely-there in the dark and I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't had at least one nightmare about him ripping me apart. His brothers look the same as he does.
The older one looks like he's been punched a few times, or more, in the past couple of months. With all the tension here it can't be far off. The younger one scuffs his feet awkwardly across the floor, picking at a thread in his jeans without looking up. He's standing half-behind Ross' mother, doing a spectacularly terrible job at hiding behind her when he's a few inches taller.
I get told about the things that happened. The things they couldn't stop. The death of Hariwin's mother and the blood against the walls, the stains on the floors. Tyge Saylor might as well have been adopted into Ross' barely-there family. They're a rag-tag group of people trying to make sense of what happened and put it back together in whatever way they can.
Not one of them looks like they blame me.
"I need to do something," I tell Della after, quietly, after the three of them have left the room. "They're not — they can't be alright. If Ross volunteered because they were struggling it should be impossible for her to take care of both of them. She lost her son and they lost their family and she what, adopted them? They had nowhere else to go and she barely had an option. It's who she is, it's obvious."
Della is silent for a few, long moments.
"So. How much money do you want to give them?"
"What?"
"Don't give me that. I know you by now. Too selfless for your own good. Give me a number. I'll find a way to get it to them."
Reality comes crashing in. I can help them. It's just a matter of how much I should do.
"Not just them," I say suddenly. "Everyone else too."
Della sighs, but there's a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth.
"I'm going to be making a lot of phone calls."
Ross' mother and Hariwin's brothers. But not just them. Elora's brother. Quill's entire family. The family in Six who is still watching over Spens. Anyone else who needs it.
I did a lot of terrible things. Things that I might not ever be able to get over. But now I can help.
Lilith's mother looks just as lonely and solemn as she did, only it's in a worse-off way.
It strikes me that she must be alone. That's where Lilith got it from; the desire to be reclusive, to not want any allies or help. She didn't think she needed it. Her mother probably doesn't either, only the circles under her eyes are speaking volumes for what she won't say out-loud.
I don't know anything about her either, just like I couldn't figure Lilith out.
But I do know something. She's just someone else I can help.
It's hard to feel bad for anyone in District Two when they bred Terron Calvert.
Obviously it wasn't all of them, or even a large percentage, but somewhere along the line someone did something that fucked him over in an impossible way. His parents don't even look like they particularly care - his father is broad-shouldered and disinterested, glancing off into the distance more than paying attention. His mother is meek in his shadow.
They don't need my help. They're probably past helping, judging by the looks in both of their eyes.
Just like Terron was.
If this tour's proven anything, it's that the apple never falls from the tree.
Finding out Camilla was pregnant was something I've still barely spoken about.
She didn't even know, for a while there, and I can't imagine the feeling. It wasn't just her life. By winning I robbed District One not of one life, but two. Camilla could have come home and raised her child, been happy. Her family acted shocked, her sister dramatic and arrogant. She didn't seem to particularly care. I still think she would have been happy, though, winning and coming home and living the life she didn't ask for but got anyway.
The look in Perseus Vellere's eyes is certainly saying so, but I don't get to see much more than that.
Amara's friends are more caring than her family is. They're a group I didn't expect, kinder and nicer than what One is painted as, saddened but not blaming me in any way, shape or form. It almost reminds me of what's back home for me, only I think I've got more fixing to do than them.
I can't help Estelle's family. They're not past saving, but something else entirely.
They don't need the money. They don't want my forgiveness.
I still have to try.
Her brother Duke is quieter than I would have expected, and not just because she's dead, but there's something stronger in his eyes. It's obvious why - his frame may look wiry to some but there are calluses on his hands, a clenching to his fists that's bred, not born. He's thirteen and he looks leagues older, even older than me. It's impossible to comfort someone who could already be stronger than you, hard to console someone when you killed their sister.
Try. I have to try. To help him in whatever way I can.
"Don't volunteer," I plead, just as he's turning to leave the room. Duke pauses, hand on the doorknob, shoulders stiff.
"Don't ... don't let it happen again. I know it's what you're taught to do, it's all you know. I don't want you to end up like her."
The silence stretches. I don't know if I should say something else. He still isn't leaving, but he doesn't even turn around when he speaks.
"She wouldn't have ended up like that if you hadn't killed her."
He rips the door open without looking.
He's gone in the next second.
I block out the Capitol in favor of thinking about home.
It's hard to, when there's constant strobe lights blinding you and screaming that's more high-pitched than I thought possible.
Vero still hugs me, tight and reassuring when I get off the train. Marylaw flails her arms around in the hopes of getting the last few straggling cameramen that still bother me as far away as possible. It takes me a few seconds to realize that out of everyone there, Soren's one of the few that isn't. All I need are those few seconds to imagine every horrible situation possible.
It's my Mom who senses the panic that I'm shoving down, because she's always been the same way. Her hand is on my back almost instantly, turning me towards her.
"He's fine. Don't worry. I promise."
"Yeah!" Vinsley pipes up from over my shoulder. "Has the plague, or whatever."
"He has the flu, Vi."
"Still. Don't want him anywhere near me. I thought he was dying a few days ago."
It's still my Mom who steers me back home and attempts to make me sleep before she lets me go see him, or do anything else, for that matter. I know I have to look about as hellish as I feel at this point. I've been running so much and I don't even feel like talking anymore, not to anyone.
It doesn't stop me from staring at my ceiling for three hours before I give up on sleeping, creeping down the stairs and out the front door without anyone noticing.
Soren's mother opens the door, enveloping me in a warm hug as soon as she realizes it's me. It startles me, for a moment. It took a while to realize that not all contact was inherently bad.
"He's gotten over the worst of it. He's still in and out, for the most part, but he'll be fine. Just being pig-headed. Which is no real surprise," she laughs lightly, opening his door a fraction. "Still asleep. But go ahead."
I don't know if Soren told her, or if someone else did, but there's a telling tone in her voice that says she knows. It might also be the fact that she closes the door with a barely audible click once I'm inside. Sure enough, he's out cold, sprawled under a layer of blankets three times his size. Only the top of his head is sticking out, or rather the nest that has become his hair. I sit down carefully on the edge of the bed, pull my legs up, and lay down next to him, not even bothering to attempt with the mound of blankets.
I can barely see his face, but he looks younger. Maybe we all do.
Maybe it's five minutes, maybe it's an hour. All I know is that somewhere along the line I fall asleep, curled in on myself, and when I wake up I'm facing towards the door but Soren's forehead is pressed between my shoulder-blades, one of his hands brushing against my side.
It feels safe. Something like home.
"I'm coming in."
"No."
Marylaw evidently doesn't listen. Five minutes ago it had been just me and Soren, my head resting somewhere along the vicinity of his stomach, and then we had heard two distinct voices from the bottom of the stairs. Both of us had groaned, almost simultaneously.
It took all of a heartbeat for Vinsley to end up sprawled out at the edge of my bed with us. And, now, evident by the elbows I'm getting hit with, Marylaw's decided that she wants in on whatever's going on. She settles half against my side, her head resting in the crook of Soren's knee.
"This is nice," Vinsley sighs. Soren kicks him, although there's barely any force behind it and definitely no malice.
It's true, though. The bitter chill of winter is still around the house, but it's starting to go away. And I have this. I have my life.
Vero appears in the doorway, cradling an armful of puppy. I don't know where she found it. All I know is that she showed up with it and the pair of them both gave me dead-on, literal puppy eyes. So now we have a dog.
"I was wondering what was going on in here," Vero starts. "But seeing it makes me not want to know."
"Personally, I am offended," Marylaw states. "Kiero, tell her were being appropriate."
I must stay silent for too long, because Vero laughs and disappears down the hall. I get two glares from both lumps at the end of the bed. I shift, draping my legs over at least one of them, and re-settle my head against Soren. He's drawing absentminded circles into my shoulder with the tip of his finger. I crane my head back, no doubt digging into his ribs. His eyes trail from his own hand to my face, slowly. He looks at ease. Happy. Probably happier than I've ever seen him, and I know I feel the same way.
It reminds me of the arena, but not in a bad way. Laughing with Elora and Spens. Knowing that they were always a step behind me, that I had them. That I still do, in whatever way exists.
Somewhere, the sun rises. Maybe not here, but it feels like it is.
Yeah.
I'm alright.
Should've titled this chapter Corny As Hell.
Well. That's the end. Figured everyone deserved at least some shred of happiness after what I put you and them through. Not much else to say. I'll see whoever makes it there in Mayday. Thank you guys for sticking around, if you have, and all in all being lovely, beautiful people that allowed me to hurt you in such ways. Love you guys.
Until next time.