Heyo! We have our victor! I'm so happy that I get to continue Lillith's story, which is what I'll be doing the next few chapters. For those of you who aren't aware, I started a new SYOT, called Of The Same Cloth, a quarter quell idea I thought of s little whole ago. I'm still giving most of my attention to TBITW, but I'd really appreciate it if any of you checked it out. Shameless self promo aside, here we are, the hunger games far behind us. Or is it?
Chapter 39
Where am I? When I first opened my eyes, I'm blinded by harsh fluorescents overhead. Unnatural. Bad. They sear into my retinas, making my vision go spotty. In times of confusion and dysphoria, I've found looking at the scars on my arm, my scar, a comfort. Well, not comfort. It's grounding. So I look down, only to find smooth, even, pale skin. It's gone. The harsh word is gone. I can't understand. Just to be safe, I look at my other arm. It's not their
"Mine". It's gone.
That nightmare is now nothing but a memory. Everything comes rushing back then. The reaping, the capitol, the games. The murders I've committed. Everything. That dark night in district five. I'm sent under a new wave of awful memories and night terrors.
"Mine"
The boy's hands on my shoulders, the threat of death. The betrayal of someone I called a friend. Athena, Acer, Drake, Winstead Dale. They're all dead. Why are they all dead?
I'm screaming now, crying and sobbing and wanting this to stop. There's slight pressure on my arms. An avox, a pretty young woman with a set expression comforts me, two hands holding me down as I writhe. It doesn't work. If anything, I feel worse. Swiftly and silently, she takes a syringe and sticks it in my arm. It stings, as she presses the plunger and the cool sedative enters my blood stream, I feel myself slip into unconsciousness.
I'm floating in and out of dreams who who knows how long. Some are pleasant, some aren't, some I can't tell. But when I'm solidly awake, I find myself in the same room I was in when I woke up the first tome. However long ago that was. I'm alone, a tray of food beside my bed, a delicate glass filled with water and ice, a small straw. This is all wrong. It's too easy, too suspicious. It has to be poisoned. They have to be trying to kill me. They have been trying to for the past 2 weeks. But then I understood. They don't care anymore. I've played their game, and I won. That means it's over. Right?
I get to my feet, or try to. I feel too weak to stand. So I settle for sitting up, reaching for the tray of food. I wasn't this weak, this fragile inside the arena, was I? Oh my god… I'm out of the arena. Those two weeks in hell are over. Yet it seems I myself was only brought to the cusp of death before it let go of me. I feel like hell, all my bones aching with misuse. The walls surrounding me on all sides are mirrored. Somethings wrong. The three scars that cross my cheek are still there. Why?
I didn't notice my head stylist walk in until I heard his voice. Brome Helicon.
"Lillith Sparks, congratulations on your victory," I remember just how uncomfortable he made me before, but I don't care anymore. I can't care about anything now. I'm a killer. I'm a killer. I'm a freak.
"What did you do to me?"
"Me?" He laughed, sitting beside me on the hospital bed, "I didn't do anything to you. You should be happy. Now you look perfect. Every bad thing that's ever happened to you has disappeared. Like it never existed." Mine. He's still there. In my mind.
I point to my face, "Except this."
"Oh, that," he meets my eyes in the mirrored wall, "That's your trade mark. They couldn't get rid of it." But they had no issue getting rid of the word that haunts my memories. Because that's all it is now. A memory. Mine.
"Well, now that you've woken up, we need to look… better. For the interviews tomorrow."
I roll my eyes, still feeling unsafe and awful and just wanting all this to end, "Sure. Whatever."
…
After hours and hours of my team making me look better, I'm sick of being poked and prodded. Can they just get this over with? My prep team, three very emotional women, are working away what the arena did to my body, the little things they couldn't fix while I was unconscious. First that went was my hair. They cut and trimmed until I found myself with a foot of hair on the ground, brushed off my shoulder.
"There you dear, you almost look human again." they all laugh, but I can't, because I know exactly what the comment implies.
Because I know those people don't want me until I'm one of them. In the arena I was an animal, their precious murderous pet, but out here? I have to be a proper citizen. And clearly, I have to look the part. Even if I don't feel it.
"Smile," I give a small smile, and the woman applies colour to my cheeks. The moment she turns away it turns into a sneer. With a little more work, she says I'm done. My hair is styled, curled and braided, pulled away from my face. A face that isn't mine. It's made up perfectly and wonderful All three scars are highlighted and defined, light bouncing off each and every one. I was already zipped into my dress, an elegant cream coloured number with long sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.
I haven't been eating enough since I got back. Or at all. I feel like I simply just can't handle the food. What I did get down only came back up last night. I'm hollow and empty inside. We just need to get this over with, then I can go home and try to forget everything. But I know that I'll never forget. These games will haunt me even more than the scars. Mine. It's all memory now. But it feels so real.
"Miss Sparks, are you ready for your interview?" I look up to see one of my stylists. I nod, unable to speak. Then I am left alone, under the stage on a platform that will raise at any moment.
This is sick. These people praise a lie. I'm a lie. Sitting on this throne with my crown. They worship and reward murder. Death. It's sick and twisted. They are sick and twisted. Monsters who praise other monsters, and so the vicious cycle repeats itself. Every year they have a new monster, a new pageant of death and party favours.
I hear it all. The fan fare and applause for my mentor, the for Helicon and the prep team. It's as the platform underneath my feet behind to rise do I know it's my time. I had to be careful now. Even if I'm the capitol's little toy, if I do anything wrong they could take it out on my entire family. My entire district. I'll never be out of the spotlight. I know it now.
It's showtime.
