Epilogue
Ashara pulls her arm away as one of the technicians tries again to dress the wound on her shoulder. She's not critical, that's what everyone keeps saying but she can't process what that means right now. Most of the people have already been shuffled from the room, but everything still moving around her is overwhelming. Her eyes dart over the walls trying to follow the few people remaining. The pulsing headache in the back of her skull protests every glance.
"I'm fine," Ashara breathes as another one comes to hold her arm still. She tenses as the woman's fingers brush against her wrist. Nails piercing through her skin. Ashara shoves them both away from her and pulls at the seatbelt strapping her to the bed.
"You're bleeding, dear," one of the women tells her as if maybe Ashara hadn't noticed.
She knows where she is, the nurses have told her more than a dozen times now, but her body doesn't believe it. Her heart still races like she's two steps away from death. Her eyes still search for an exit against the lights that feel so impossibly bright. The hovercraft is nothing like the arena, but the blood she won't let them get close enough to wash away is all the reminder she needs.
"Don't touch me," Ashara warns. Her hands fumble at her waist but both of her knives are already gone. She doesn't know what she would do if she found them. You're not there anymore.
Except she is. The darkness waiting when she blinks is enough to send her back to the moment those dog creatures attacked through the trees. The brightness of the hovercraft lights plunges her mind against the Cornucopia, where everything began and ended. She's still there even if she isn't. She's still there.
"Get the doctor in here," the other woman calls to whoever's standing guard at the door. "We're going to give you something to calm the nerves."
"No," Ashara whispers, but her resolve is thinned by the salty tears clawing at her eyes. No one reacts to her voice; it's like she's not even there. It's because you're still there.
"Quick pinch."
Ashara doesn't feel anything but slick gloves grabbing her bloodied hands and coating them in alcohol. Tingles radiate from her arm until they mask every ache pulling at her body. She doesn't realize how badly it all hurt until it's stripped away so quickly. It feels like she's floating, like the only thing holding her in this room is the seatbelt strapped across her chest. Ashara leans back against the stiff sheets but there is no comfort in their clinical coldness.
"Help." Her voice sounds ten years younger, but she knows it's still hers.
"We're trying to help you, dear."
Is the waiting darkness really any worse than the light? As Ashara's eyelids fall shut to usher in the shadows, she knows the answer.
Yes.
There was nothing that the hospital could do to fix her. It only took a couple of days for them to heal her injuries, because that's all they really cared about. Injections and fluids and more bandage changes than she could keep track of. They could give her medicine to make her sleep, more pills to wake her up, another to bring her appetite back. They could do all of this, but nothing more. Nothing that really mattered.
Ashara would have kept the steady bleeding of her shoulder, the punctures on her wrist, and even the deep ache in her skull if it took the nightmares away. The pills couldn't pull the images from her sleeping mind, all it could do was trap her within them and prevent the escape of waking up. She hated the blurry nights in the hospital. She hated the cocktails of drugs and injections that they tried once and never again. More than anything, Ashara hated how powerless she felt laying on those bleached sheets as everyone spoke around her.
We have another combination to try. This one's more promising.
The side effects won't be so bad this time.
This is perfectly normal; everything will fade with time.
The last one was spoken that very morning, when they abruptly decided that she was well enough to be sent back to District 1. It felt like a betrayal coming from the young doctor's lips which for a week had promised they'd try everything they could for her. All of it was a lie. Her wounds were healed and Ashara didn't look quite so broken anymore so they stopped caring. Everyone looked at her like she had no excuse when everything inside her mind was still being torn apart. They told her she should be thankful, for she would wear no scars from her time in the arena. She got to leave looking just as perfect as when she arrived in the Capitol.
"We're almost home."
Ashara flinches at the voice, no matter that she knows exactly where it came from. The train ride has been largely silent, but Ashara hasn't been able to sit still at the table like Isa or Cedric. She's as exhausted as ever, her dreams not allowing her more than a few hours sleep at a time, but her legs need to move. If she focused on it, she would know that they were watching her as she weaved through the furniture. She's just chosen not to do that. There are too many thoughts pulsing through her mind to consider their opinions right now.
"Okay," Ashara replies.
"We haven't had a chance to talk." Ashara knows this. She's the reason why; too unstable for visitors yet not too unstable to be sent home today. The doctors said it would be easier to not be around too many people, so Cedric was allowed just two short visits both of which she hardly remembered. Ashara had been beyond caring who was there; she just felt so sick.
"Then talk," Ashara shrugs. It's such a simple movement, like she doesn't have a care in the world about what's happening to her. That couldn't be further from the truth.
"You're supposed to stay with me for a few weeks," Cedric announces. They both look at her like they're expecting a reaction, like maybe the doctors had talked to them after all. Ashara wouldn't be surprised; everyone but her seems to know what's going on. Every time she'd tried to demand answers all she'd gotten was more medication.
You need to control your emotions. That's what the doctors would tell her as they stuck another needle into her blood speckled arm. They didn't know how hard she was trying to do just that. Ashara had never had an issue holding in what she felt, having perfect control over whatever she decided to show to other people. Now, as soon as she lets even a little bit through it all comes cascading down on her like the arena fog- encompassing and suffocating.
She shudders, another memory she wishes could be wiped from her dreams.
"Okay," Ashara replies.
"I know you'd rather go home," Isa adds. "But believe us when we say this is the best option right now."
"I said okay!" She yells, turning around with both fists clenched despite neither of them having made a move towards her. They both stare at her like she's a child throwing a fit in the middle of the market, eyes unblinking and expectant. For a moment, that only makes her anger flare brighter; then, it's gone just as quickly as the tiredness returns.
All she wants to do is sleep, yet that's the one thing she's too terrified to attempt. The second Ashara's eyes close, it's like giving into whatever torment's still lurking in her memories. None of the sleeping pills from the hospital help, all they do is prevent her from waking up to escape the images. Still, she was given a full prescription she'll likely never use along with at least three more bottles she doesn't remember the names of.
"Isa," Cedric whispers, handing her a tissue that the Victor then holds to her lip. Ashara shivers again when she sees it come away streaked with blood. Cedric turns back to Ashara, but a hand stays on Isa's shoulder. "Anything you need, we want to help."
Ashara tries to force herself to remember the train station as she steps out of the car. She concentrates on the stone dividers that fade into the platforms and the signs indicating in which direction she'd find the office. She's been here dozens of times to pick up shipments for the perfume shop, yet the mesh fencing is unfamiliar.
How can she not remember? It wasn't that long ago and nothing's changed. Home shouldn't look so foreign yet that's the only way she could think to describe it.
"Ashara!"
Strong arms start to pull around her, but Ashara ducks underneath them and shoves the body away as hard as her exhausted muscles will allow. She flails back against the train car, its cool metal feeling immediately familiar as it sends static up her skin. Her heart thrusts up into her throat as another familiar body runs into her line of sight.
"It's okay." It's Cedric. He holds his palms out to face her but doesn't come any closer than a few feet away. Ashara holds tight against the train car, her fingernails digging into her hip as if that will make her weapons reappear. It only takes a few breaths before she remembers, but the damage has already been done.
Her father stares at her in disbelief as he presses himself up from the platform floor. Behind him, her mother has already taken a couple more steps back. They're scared¸ Ashara realizes. I could have hurt him. She looks down at her hands, expecting to see the bloodstains she remembers from the hovercraft. Nothing but pale skin gazes up at her, but that's not enough to stop the tears.
"I'm sorry," she whispers as the headache builds once more at the back of her skull.
You're not there anymore.
Except Ashara keeps forgetting that.
Ashara can hear the two of them talking from the top of the stairs. A few weeks staying with Cedric quickly turned into months, and now it's been almost half a year since she moved in. The doctors said she was ready to leave two months ago after her medications stabilized, but Cedric said she can stay as long as she wants to. She wonders if he knows how much that simple invitation means to her.
Even six months later, Ashara doesn't feel ready to be alone but she would never say so. Thankfully, Cedric doesn't make her say it, he just knows. Just like he knows when she's forgotten to take her medications or when she needs something stronger. A year ago, that might have bothered Ashara; she's never been open to other people, especially not ones that pretended to know what was best for her. Things have changed a lot since then.
"The lights are still on?" It's Isa whispering, and her voice travels up from the entryway. Ashara doesn't have to see Cedric to guess his reply.
She knows the lights must bother him. On the first few nights in the Victor's Village, every single light bulb had to be on for Ashara to feel even some semblance of safety. Cedric ordered more night lights without asking and plugged them into corners that the main ones didn't reach. The house hasn't been dark in all the months she's lived there. He hasn't said a word about it, but she still feels guilty.
It's been six months and nothing seems to be getting that much better. It feels like she's been settling into a routine she never wanted, of avoiding mirrors and failing to do any of the things Isa's suggested to ease her nerves. If she's lucky she doesn't sleep at all because the nightmares are less powerful when she's awake. More often, though, exhaustion forces her eyes shut only for them to open again just a couple hours later.
It's like you don't even want to get better. That's the newest one her thoughts have conjured up to taunt her with. You're not even trying.
Except she is. It's just that none of it's working.
Looking at Cedric and Isa, Ashara wonders if anything will ever go back to how it was. Cedric's been out of the arena for almost a decade, but she still hears him gasp awake in the middle of the night. She still smells alcohol in the kitchen and sees powder-coated bags in the bathroom garbage. Isa still sleeps on their couch sometimes and bites her lip hard enough to make it bleed when the memories creep up again. None of them have forgotten, maybe they never will.
"Ashara?" Isa calls.
"I'm here."
Ashara's still dressed in her nightclothes even though it's nearly time to leave for the Victory Tour. Isa smiles at her as she takes the last couple steps down to the front door, but she doesn't make a move towards her. Like Cedric, Isa just knows.
"I'll come help you pack," she says, nodding back up the stairs.
"Thanks," Ashara breathes. She hasn't done much of that and there's only a few hours left before they board the train.
The only thing Ashara's actually done will matter for the next few days and then probably never again. Somehow, it still feels more than worth it. Cedric was worried when she requested all the tapes, but this isn't his choice to make. In fact, it doesn't feel like a choice at all.
Isa doesn't bat an eye at the state of her bedroom. There are clothes strewn over every surface and at least a dozen empty water glasses, but it's not nearly as bad as it's been in past months. Besides, Isa seems to know not to mention it. Ashara feels ashamed enough just looking at the mess herself. Still, that's not enough to motivate her to clean up; she wouldn't even know where to start.
"You ready?" Isa asks, moving a couple sweatshirts out of the way to uncover a place to sit.
Ashara considers lying, but there's no point. Instead, she plucks the notebook from her desk and nervously flips through the pages. She isn't reading anything really, more just making sure her notes are still inside. "No."
"You don't have to say much," Isa reminds her. "A short speech in each district is fine. They'll understand."
"I know," Ashara says and it's true. She was given access to past Victory Tour speeches months ago along with the itinerary. That was when she decided she needed the tapes, because she couldn't remember a damn thing about half the names she was given. If all of them are dead because of her, they at least deserve to be known. It feels wrong to let the faces fade away no matter how many times Ashara has been told that it's for the best.
Ashara's watched everything she could get her hands on, though it wasn't as much as she'd hoped it would be. On the many nights she didn't sleep, she spent hours pouring over her notebook just for something to do. Some of it was actually more terrifying than what she remembered; there were creatures in that arena that Ashara had thankfully never seen. Most of it made its way into her dreams later on, when exhaustion wouldn't let her avoid sleep any longer.
Jordan searching through the darkness, but this time it was Ashara who was hiding. Her knives were gone, replaced with two dull rocks, while Jordan's spear shone from every angle. His face wasn't the hardened frown he'd worn in the Capitol. No, he bared his teeth like the dog-creatures and smiled through the darkness.
It still felt worth it.
More tributes joined the cast of her nightmares the longer she watched. Ashara didn't care. The nights were never going to get easier and this was too important. She would deliver speeches in all of the districts within the next few days. She's determined to know what their names mean even if she's not allowed to say any of it. It feels like the one thing she can actually control right now no matter how much it hurts.
"Ready?" Ashara shakes herself out of her thoughts as Isa places the packed bag down beside her. Some of her surroundings have been picked over and organized. She doesn't know how long she wasn't paying attention.
"Did you watch?" Ashara asks, ignoring Isa's question. She hasn't talked about the arena with either of them, even though more questions than answers float through her mind.
Isa looks back at her from the desk chair. "Mentors are required to."
Ashara can hear the sadness in her voice, but she doesn't ask about it. None of them ever do. If they decided to talk about every emotion that crawled through their veins, they'd never be able to stop. "There are parts missing from the tapes."
Almost every death is shown in gruesome detail, but too many other scenes have been cut short. She watched Sadira die beside Delias, but still has no idea how he got there. She got to see the start of Levi's conversation with Florian, but never how it ended. They showed the end of her fight with Chiara and Doran, but it cut off as soon as they started talking again. It feels like she missed so much, but Cedric told her there was no more footage.
And then there's Levi, the only death they never showed; cameras fading out almost as soon as the gunshot faded from the arena wall.
"They don't keep everything," Isa says finally. "No one knows why."
Another thought slides through Ashara's lips before she can stop it. "Did you look-"
"For Asher?" Isa finishes. "Yeah. They only kept the end and a couple clips of us together."
Ashara nods because she doesn't think she'll be able to say more without losing control again. She'd watched a lot of last year's Hunger Games, more than she ever would have liked, but at least she has those memories of him. She got to see him surviving, talking, resting. It's hard to think that those moments are gone, leaving behind little more than his last breath.
"We should go," Isa says finally, walking towards the door without looking back. Ashara has no reason to argue and nothing more to ask.
Ashara gasps as the ringing telephone pulls her from sleep. Her heart is racing as she looks around, bright lights filling every corner of her bedroom yet it still takes a moment before she remembers to breathe. Her neck aches as she lifts her head from the desk which is still overtaken with the remains of last night's dinner. The room smells like stale bread but even that is tempting to her growling stomach.
She doesn't have to ask who's calling. At this point only one person ever does. "Yes?"
"Breakfast?" Isa asks, the note of impatience clear in her voice. Ashara glances over at the clock and only then does she realize how late in the morning it is.
"Sorry," Ashara says, rubbing the knots from her neck as she gets up. "I'll be right over."
It's been a month now since she moved out of Cedric's house and into her own, but everything still feels so new. The layout is exactly the same as his had been, with two upstairs bedrooms and a generous main area. It feels too big to be just for her, but that's the way it is right now. She figured that when she got her own house, her parents would move in with her. However, it's been weeks since she's been here and she still rarely sees them. Even talking to Sabine is a distant memory now. She's called a few times, but it's nothing like what they had before Ashara left.
After what happened at the train station, her parents didn't reach out for almost two days. Ashara sat in Cedric's living room, her body dropping into a shaking mess every few minutes for no goddamn reason, and they didn't so much as call. She doubts that they know how much that still hurts even nearly ten months later. They've never been great at reading anyone's feelings. To their credit they did come and visit her eventually, even stayed over a few times to see how that would go but left before morning every time.
They couldn't handle the lights staying on. The one thing that made Ashara feel safe was too much for them to deal with and she still doesn't know what to think about that. Maybe the distance is better for all of them. They don't understand and she can't explain, so now everyone's just stopped trying. She shouldn't feel this bad about it, but it's yet another reminder that she's not in control of anything anymore.
"Don't worry about it," Isa tells her, the tone of her voice dropping off with each word. "You remember that Cedric and I are going to the Capitol tonight?"
"Yeah," Ashara says softly. They've gone twice this month already, but she's been trying not to think about it. Those lonely nights are some of the only ones she wishes her parents would try harder to stay through. It's not that she's afraid of being alone, it's more that she needs someone around to attribute the night noises to.
When the village is empty, she never sleeps. Every sound reads like a threat, something waiting around the corner until she falls once again into her nightmares.
"They want you to come too," Isa whispers. She could swear that she heard Isa's voice crack but that doesn't make sense. Still, Ashara is convinced that she wouldn't mistake the sound. "I'll come help you get ready."
Tears are already dripping down her chin as Ashara closes the door behind her. This is the first time she's seeing the mentor suite, but her blurred vision doesn't allow her to take any of it in. It's been a year since she was last here, sitting on the other side of this door trying to pretend like her world hadn't just shattered at her feet. It feels like only yesterday that she left, yet at the same time like decades have passed. There are two new tributes sitting at the dining table, but Ashara feels so helpless she might as well be one of them again.
"Please pick up," Ashara pleads as she stares at her reflection on the dialling screen. "Please."
"Ara!" The tears fall faster when she hears Isa's voice. Ashara melts into the chair opposite the screen just at the sound of her nickname. She might still have Cedric just behind the closed door but leaving Isa in District 1 is still too much to handle. "How are you holding up?"
It's almost impossible to form words through the sobs growing in her chest. "I can't do it."
"You can," Isa says almost immediately.
"I can't," she breathes. Ashara had been able to keep it together for most of their time on the train, but now that they've arrived in the Capitol she's beyond exhausted. It feels like she hasn't slept in a week, maybe because she barely has. As the reaping grew closer, it was like all of the progress she's made over the past months just vanished. None of the medications could even try to bring her back. "I don't know how to talk to them. They want to be here."
"So did I," Isa reminds her. "They don't know better."
"They should," Ashara snaps, but the anger in her tone doesn't last. In seconds, she's back to trembling against the cushions once again, her tears dribbling down the dark fabric. "I don't know how to help them."
"Cedric does," Isa says. "I have to go, but I know you can get through this, Ara."
Except she's barely said a word to either tribute and she already feels like a failure. All Ashara can see when she looks at them are Romello and Aristona, Delias and Jordan, Asher. Dead tributes that refuse to stay dead because she can't stop thinking about them. People that chose this yet couldn't possibly deserve what they've volunteered for. Two more bodies to add to her growing list of nightmares and they're not even dead yet.
"I can't," Ashara whispers, but the call has already ended.
By now, Ashara knows her way around every corner of the vast room. People draped in every colour and texture pass by in a blur as she tries to focus on the glass in her hand. The marble floors are slick beneath her heels, but the grips Isa glued to their bottoms prevent Ashara from slipping. The warmth flushing across her skin helps her to ignore the many eyes that peel over her bare legs.
Ashara can't remember how many times she's been here, only that this is not the first time. If she looked hard enough, she might be able to spot Isa or even Cedric in the changing crowd of Victors and politicians. It feels too early for anyone to have left though she has yet to find a clock to be sure. She's not certain why she should care what time it is. The night will simply end when it ends.
Ashara doesn't flinch when she feels the pressure on her waist; the alcohol has done enough to dull that reflex out of her. A sleepy smile pulls at her lips as the woman looks her over before grinning widely back. Every time Ashara has looked down, her glass has already been topped up; maybe that's why she finds it so easy to play along. A pill to calm her nerves and enough drinks to wash it down with. That's what Isa told her the first night Ashara came to the Capitol with them.
Except she doesn't need the pills anymore. In fact, she's begun to almost crave their stares as she steps across the main room. It makes her feel in control if she can direct their eyes for even a moment; it makes her feel wanted when they approach. It's a feeling she never gets anywhere but within these four decorated walls.
"You look lovely," the woman winks.
Ashara doesn't know who she is, but she must be important. That's the only reason she'd be here right now, at a party in the President's mansion surrounded by so many beautiful people. "It's an honour to meet you."
Everything's always an honour- another thing she's learned about the Capitol. Ashara and the other Victors may have been pulled from the upper districts to be here tonight, but they're nothing but decoration. Beautiful, talking decorations that exist solely to entertain. She should feel lucky to be here, even as the woman's touch makes her shiver through her stupor.
She chose me. The desperate thought is loud enough to drown out both her uncertainty and the woman's introduction.
"Let's dance," she says, taking Ashara's hand. It's not a question so she doesn't respond, she simply allows herself to be led to the dance floor and concentrates on every shaky step. She chuckles to herself as she watches her clumsy footfalls, a smile breaking through that she knows she doesn't mean.
"What's so funny?" The woman laughs and they share a quick grin as her thin arms wrap around Ashara's waist. She tenses but she doesn't break away, there's no point. Giving in is the only option, and it honestly doesn't feel as bad as it should. Powerful yet powerless- that's how she feels. Powerful when they want her, yet powerless when she realizes that she can't say no.
"Would you care for another drink?" Ashara offers, playing off the question with another light smile. As expected, the woman is drunk enough not to notice.
"I'd like to get going soon actually," she winks and Ashara can't stop her eyes from dropping to the marble floor.
They rise again without missing a beat. "Of course."
"I'll have someone get your coat," the woman tells her as they start towards the exit. The clock that passes them on the right tells her it's just past midnight.
Ashara's steps feel more solid beneath her as fear begins to slip through the cracks. Still, she follows dutifully behind the woman and tries again to remember her name. As the woman pauses in front of a mirror to examine her lipstick, Ashara finds her own sleepy eyes staring back at her.
Powerful. That's not what Ashara sees in her reflection.
Powerless. The glossy eyes and loose frown that greet her. The pinned blonde bun that has begun to come unravelled from the night. The slouch in her shoulders that she's never seen before on her own frame. It's enough to make her look away as she waits to leave.
"You look perfect," the woman tells her. She gently kisses her cheek as she moves a stray piece of hair behind Ashara's ear. Another weak smile pulls at Ashara's lips, and her eyes reach again for the mirror.
Powerful.
A/N: tothewolveshg . blogspot . com [graveyard epilogues now live!]
I can't believe it's over? Epilogues have always been some of my favourite chapters but finishing this one felt pretty bittersweet. I am proud to have been able to write these characters, this story, and this ending for my lovely Victor. I'm also incredibly sad to actually be saying goodbye not only to this story, but to my evolution series as a whole. It's been a crazy, sometimes stressful, journey and I hope you all enjoyed as much as I did.
In addition to this chapter, I have also written eulogies for all of the fallen tributes which can be found on the blog under 'Thinking of You'. They're basically a small glance into life for the family/friends/etc. of the tributes after they died. They're not necessary to read, but it's a bit of a tradition for me at this point and I find they're a good way to close the story. If you feel like it, check them out!
Finally, I want to thank everyone that was involved in any way with this story whether by reading, submitting, reviewing, or all of the above. I've never fallen in love with a cast of tributes quite like I did during this story, and I'm sad to see that it's come to an end. I hope you all enjoyed the ride as chaotic as it was at times.
And with that, I say goodbye to 'To The Wolves'!
~ Olive