Chapter 23

The cannon's boom startles me awake. My eyes flutter open and my vision is blurry as I try to find my bearings. Distantly, I hear the sounds of crowds cheering over the loudspeakers. The trumpets blare as the voice of announcer Claudius Templesmith echoes out. "Congratulations! Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to announce our Victor…"

I am still delirious so it takes me a moment to comprehend what is happening. I hear my name announced as the new Victor.

I won the Hunger Games. I am still alive.

I stare up at the sky in disbelief. When I entered the Games, I thought this arena would be the last thing I ever saw. I was supposed to die here. Yet, somehow, I am still here.

I attempt to sit up but the pain in my abdomen is too great. I gasp and fall back, flicking my eyes down to see the knife still burrowed into my side. Slowly, I regain my senses and recognize the presence beside me.

If I'm still alive, that means Foster is dead.

This all feels so wrong. I can still feel his hand entwined with mine. I can still feel the warmth of his body heat. He can't be dead.

But he is dead. Because I killed him.

I use all my strength to lift my head and gaze over at Foster beside me. His face is still so close to mine, not having moved a muscle since we closed our eyes. A small, stupid part of me hopes his eyes will open again. Laying with our heads side to side like this, I can almost forget how tall he is. He really is the tallest person I have ever met.

Or was. He was the tallest person I have ever met.

I forcefully turn my head away and blink back tears. I want to get away from all of this but I can't bring myself to let go of his hand. I can't focus on anything around me except for his hand, like I am in a dream and it is the only thing tethering me to reality.

Above me I can see a hovercraft fly into view. I am still so tired and I slowly pass out again as the ladder is being lowered.

In the darkness, no sounds are clear and all of my senses are numb. Yet I still feel them pry Foster and mine hands apart.

There is a very loud, annoying beeping noise right in my ear.

I grunt as I gradually wake up. I am in a hospital bed, situated in the center of a large room with big, empty spaces. Its white walls are piercingly bright under the fluorescent lights and I groan as my eyes adjust. I have IV drips in my arms attached to a monitor, which is the source of the beeping.

Haymitch is lounging by a window. He sits up, looking at me wide-eyed.

"Hi," I greet him, my voice hoarse.

"Hey there."

"They let you in here?" I ask confusedly. "I thought they would want to film our reunion."

"They want to film your reunion with your mentor." Haymitch gives me a cheeky smirk. "But I'm not your mentor, sweetheart."

I chuckle, the noise dramatically loud in the cavernous room. Haymitch comes over to my bedside. He helps me sit up, cupping the back of my head to support me. As I scoot up, I notice my hands are fixed up. I have a splint on my broken wrist and a cast on my other hand, supported by a real sling. I can't feel anything through my pain medication but they look almost healed.

I hold my right hand out in front of me in awe. "How long have I been out?"

"About a week. They were starting to get impatient and wanted to force you to wake up. Don't worry though, I stood guard for you." He puffs his chest dramatically, which makes me smile.

Haymitch gives me a long look and his grin drops as he asks, "How're you feeling? Really?"

I sigh, the action uncomfortable with my dry throat. "I don't know, Haymitch. I honestly have no idea how to feel right now."

Haymitch nods as if I make perfect sense. He looks like he wants to say more but we are interrupted by a nurse entering the room. The nurse beams at us and claps his hands. "I thought I saw on the camera that you were awake. Fantastic!"

I glance at Haymitch out of the corner of my eye. He is scowling at the nurse as he jauntily calls out for someone to join him. This nurse has bright purple hair that matches her hospital scrubs, giving her an unsettling monochromatic appearance. It is a blunt reminder that while I am out of the arena, I am still stuck in the Capitol.

Everything becomes hectic after that as doctors and nurses rush in and out of my room. Haymitch stays with me throughout and his presence is surprisingly comforting against the frenzy of Capitol visitors in the room. They crowd around my bed and begin asking me dozens of questions, only about half of which are actually about my health. The others start asking about the Games or my costumes for the pre-game week. One of them even asks for an autograph, to which I merely raise my bandaged hands, silently pointing out that I can't really hold a pen right now.

After about an hour, an avox drops off some food for me to eat. I blink at the strange dish of brown mush. I am told that I have been served a nut-based paste with a glass of enriched milk. Another nurse explains to me that I need to eat specialized meals to ease myself back into proper eating habits. Unfortunately, I gorge myself too quickly and almost immediately vomit it back up. Then I am told I have to eat again to ensure I receive the nutrition. Each bite is nauseating as I slowly force the food down.

After my disgusting dinner, I am given an injection to put me back to sleep. I recognize the medicine as morphling and a spike of irrational fear comes over me as I am given it. It reminds me of my mother, lounging in her bed days at a time after her morphling.

It is just one dose, I tell myself firmly. I am not going to get hooked after one dose.

I still feel worried. I turn to Haymitch.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" I ask him, my tongue heavy in my mouth.

Haymitch blinks at me, a strange look in his eye. But he tells me, "Of course. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Sure enough, Haymitch is there the next day. He helps distract me while I struggle to keep down my breakfast and stays close by when the doctors examine me and give me a full physical.

According to the doctors, while my shoulder was "set decently enough", I was too active using it and I had severe nerve damage they had to repair with surgery. I am ordered to "be more careful from now on", as if I hadn't been fighting for my life in an arena.

I received some cosmetic enhancements while I was dormant, including something called a full body polish that removed all of my scars and the bruising. My malnourishment had made my hair too thin and it had started to fall out so hair extensions were bonded to my head to make my hair appear more full and luxurious.

"We also added extensions to your eyelashes!" One of the cosmetic surgeons informs me. Once they point that out, I notice that I can now feel my lashes brushing against my skin when I blink.

None of these tricks can hide how frail I have become. Even with the body polish, there is something off about my skin, which feels dry and brittle. I am so thin that it looks like my bones jut out through my skin at odd angles. My cheeks are hollow and there are deep circles under my sunken eyes.

My main concern is how my hands have healed. They were able to reattach my ring finger but my pinky has been replaced with an artificial digit. Selfishly, all I can think about is whether or not I can still play the piano. I am reassured that I should be capable if I keep up with my physical therapy exercises.

I must not look convinced because one doctor adds in an attempt to cheer me up, "You are quite lucky it was only two fingers."

Someone else chimes in, "It's really fortunate that it happened to your left hand too, since you are right handed!"

"Yeah," Haymitch adds in a flat tone, "You are truly blessed you can still use your middle finger to flip people off."

That startles a laugh from me as the Capitol medics bristle in surprise. Haymitch just grins at me.

Haymitch stays with me through two days of questions and examinations. On the third day he informs me that I have been declared healthy enough to be discharged. I get scrambled eggs for breakfast and it is my first real meal in weeks. I still have to eat everything as slow as possible to avoid throwing it up again-eating it once is hard enough. Apparently, I had reached that point of hunger where a person starts to lose their appetite and returning to a normal diet is difficult.

After breakfast, Haymitch tells me that my ceremony will be held that evening and all of my previous excitement of leaving the hospital disappears. A night of smiling for cameras and recapping the Games sounds absolutely miserable.

"I'd rather eat more nut paste," I quip to Haymitch.

He just smirks as he rolls his eyes. "Trust me, you'll do fine. They all love you."

"Can't imagine why," I say self-deprecatingly.

I expect Haymitch to continue snarking at my expense but instead his expression goes blank. He clears his throat then says, "It goes quicker than you think."

I get my cast removed, though I have to keep the splint on my bad wrist. I will also need to keep my left arm in a sling to ensure my shoulder is okay, but the Gamemakers have decided that I won't wear the sling on camera. I'm not sure why since I was cradling my arm in a bloody jacket for half of the Games but this isn't a battle worth fighting.

I am given a pair of scrubs to wear instead of my hospital gown. Haymitch leads me to a room where everyone is waiting; Katniss, Peeta, Effie and Cinna. I know cameras must be recording this but I don't give them much thought as I greet everyone. I am happy to see them but I can't muster any enthusiasm beyond a light smile.

Peeta and Cinna each greet me first. They hug me cautiously, mindful of any lingering damage.

Effie's eyes are watery and she starts fanning her face with her hands. "Oh, I am so proud. I just knew you had it in you. I said you had star power, didn't I?" Effie turns to the others to back up her claim, which they do lukewarmly.

Katniss's face is blank as she hugs me.

"I wanted to thank you for the first aid kit," I say, gesturing to my hands.

Katniss nods stiffly. I don't know why, but things feel slightly awkward between us. I pretend not to notice.

"Well, you earned a lot of sponsors," Katniss responds. "You didn't really need my help most of the time."

I guess that is true since I only received two sponsor gifts during the Games. But I didn't need much because I spent a majority of my time dependent on my alliance.

Katniss leans in to hug me again. I am surprised but accept it. She pats my back and murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear, "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thank you."

"Really, I am. I know I was rude before but...I guess I was nervous about everything."

I nod. I remember Katniss the night before I went into the arena. She had been so distant the week before and things had been so strained between us.

"It was just easier to push you away. If you died and…"

I cut Katniss off by pulling out of the hug. I meet her eyes and nod again so she knows I understand. And I do get it. I watched her in the Games last year and I had to watch Rory-

I freeze at the thought Rory and a horrible, anguished feeling overwhelms me. I firmly tell myself not to think about him. I stubbornly push them away from my thoughts and focus instead on the others in the room with me.

Effie is rambling something about how popular I am with the Capitol, which has luckily distracted everyone away from me and Katniss. She spots me looking at her and rushes over to my side and pats the top of my head adoringly.

"But, oh, what a marvelous debut in the Games! Everyone loves you. Truly, you are everything we want a Victor to be."

After Effie's pronouncement, Katniss tenses up and she shoots a look over to Haymitch, who is frowning. I don't know what is going one with my mentors but, honestly, I cannot bring myself to care. I am still too focused on trying not to think about Rory or Foster or anything else about the Hunger Games.