Chapter 71- Astrid Clearwater
When I think about Elowyn, I see her in that green dress she wore to the interviews, saying that she was going to win for her sister, who died before her in the arena. Then I remember her in the clearing, looking up at the stars with Tilling and me while mourning her district partner, Kiril.
Other moments come to mind; her clutching the pedestal after the Cornucopia went down; being silent on the beach; asleep in a tree; running and pulling me along, away from the mutts.
Then in the early morning light, with her hands limp on her chest and on the moss beside her; the silver knife in her neck and the sound of the cannon accompanying her last moments.
All of these memories are linked; in every single one I was ready to kill her; I knew that one of us had to die in the end, and that it was going to be her. But now that she's been dead half a year, I don't know what to think about her. I killed Dominicus because of her; I won because of her.
I won because she's dead, and District 7 is going to hate me for it. But I don't care. It doesn't matter in the end, does it? She's still going to be dead even if they hate me, so it doesn't matter.
Lifting my head off of my arms that are resting on the windowsill, I look out at the blur of green and white trees going by so fast I can't focus on just one. The last time I saw trees like this they were only green, and the ground wasn't white either.
For a moment, I let myself imagine disappearing into those woods, where the districts and the Capitol would never find me.
No. Running away is weak, and I won't let myself be weak. I have to get through this last week on the train, and then I can go back home to live in District 3's eternal arena. The island arena was almost easier. I had an ally there at least; an ally whose home I'm going to be visiting in just under two hours. I'd rather disappear into the trees than face her family, but I will. I will face them, because that's what a Career victor would do. And that's what I am.
I'm going to be a victor over and over, no matter what arena I'm in. Every other Career victor stared down their allies' families without blinking, without any remorse. That's how you win the Hunger Games; you go in, you use your allies to win, and then you come out and move on.
My head drops back down onto my arms and I close my eyes against the green and white trees outside. I'm still happy to be away from District 3, no matter who I have to face. I miss my mother and Axel, but at the same time, I don't. Everything's changed, and I can't go back. Nothing was right to begin with, but there's too much unsaid now. I've hidden my concussion, the attack, the arena, and everything else from my mother, and she hasn't brought it up either.
Not my fault. Not her fault. Nobody's fault.
Sparkle's going to be looking for me soon to get my makeup done, my hair put up, and to dress me in her Capitol clothes. I've been poked and prodded so many times that I'm about to snap. I feel Agrippina's knife, Circuit's wire, every time they touch me. I might just kill them before this Tour is over, but I don't have any weapons; no axes or knives. Just my uncloudy head that's propelling me forward.
But I still feel that twitching in my fingers that appears when they touch me; that twitching that tells me that if I did have a weapon, I would use it to kill them. I'm not scared of it. It's just unnerving to know that I would kill again without a second thought.
"I've always found the view pulling into District 7 to be appealing."
My head knocks against the window as I spring up and spin to see Beetee Latier, looking thoughtfully out the window with his hands behind his back. "Of course, this is only my second visit."
"The view isn't bad," I say. This beginning of a conversation I don't want to have reminds me of the last time I talked to Beetee on the train. Except then I vaguely wanted to talk to him, and now I don't. I don't think so. No.
"District 7 is a remarkable district," he continues, like he's beginning to give me a lecture that I don't want to hear. "Lumber, you know. They also make books, paper, and even board games for the Capitol."
"Isn't that nice of them," I say, letting sarcasm edge into my words. I could care less about what District 7 gives the Capitol; I'm going to be facing Elowyn's whole family in less than two hours, and by whole family I mean her two parents who have no daughters because both of them died in the Games.
"Yes, the factories here are very clever, ingenious even."
"Did you design them?" I ask, trying for an uncaring tone, because I don't care if he designed them or not. Why is he even talking to me? We haven't had a proper conversation since the end of the Games; the only time I've seen him since is out my window as he walks home.
"Oh no, they were built before my time." Beetee gives another smile and adjusts his glasses. He's waiting for me to say something, looking at me like I'm a student listening to his lecture. Fine. I'll give him a question, and it's one that I've been wondering about for months.
"What do you do in the Technology Center all day then?"
Beetee looks like I just offered him a piece of candy. "The project I am currently working on is creating a hologram device that will produce a better picture, as well as adding sound. It is remarkable that they didn't think to program sound in before, but that is what I'm there for," he says. "The hologram video quality is in need of an upgrade, and I am the person they have decided to ask to improve it. The project is an interesting one, and I naturally had no objections."
It occurs to me that he looks like the last person in Panem to win the Hunger Games. Really, he looks harmless, and I'm fairly sure that he's locked in his own head almost all the time. The only way he could have won was by separating himself from the other tributes; setting them aside in his mind as experiments, projects just like his hologram, and then he was able to electrocute them all.
They were hypotheses and experiments like what Circuit and I were, except he wasn't in danger of dying with us. We were projects to be watched, like rats in a cage, and I still don't know if he really cared if we lived or died. A hypothesis would have been proved or disproven either way. Does he do this to every tribute he mentors?
I won't. I won't play those mind games with the tributes I'm going to have to mentor. I won't.
"Sounds fascinating," I say drily.
"You have said you were good at math in school. Perhaps you would be interested in attending the university," he continues, looking at me, and I know he's reading me just like I'm reading him back. He thinks I'm unstable, I know he does. I'm not. I just don't want to talk to him, but at the same time, I do.
Again, he might be the only person on this train, or even in Panem, besides my family, who is solidly on my side. But then again, I don't know. He's hidden things from me, and until he tells me what they are, I'm not trusting him. I'm not trusting anyone, and that includes my family. I can't.
"And start to make myself indispensable?" I say, still looking at him. His eyes are calculating me, and I'm calculating him. Does he know what happened that night? Does he even just suspect it? He told me that District 3 wouldn't give me a warm welcome, and I wonder if he knew what would happen. And if he did, I should attack him, scream at him for keeping that from me.
I can't, I can't. I won't let myself show any weakness to him, because then he's won, he's vindicated that I'm unstable and damaged from the arena, when I'm not. I'm still Astrid Clearwater, hated by everyone. The only difference is that they hate me more now.
"As I've said before, you will find your own way of becoming indispensable," Beetee says, and it seems to have some sort of double meaning to it that I can't place.
Why won't you tell me everything? What are you hiding, Beetee?
"Let's hope so," I say, just as Delia clacks into the room on her seven-inch heels, her blue cloud wig perched on her head. Before the Tour is over, I'm going to find some way of poking it; I want to know what it's made of. I have no idea why it's so fascinating. Her chalk white skin is still startling, but I'm not given a chance to think about it before Sparkle prances into the room beside her.
"We will be arriving in District 7 in exactly one hour and a half," Delia declares, looking at the clipboard she's eternally holding.
"We have to get you ready!" Sparkle chirps. For once, nobody grabs me to drag me down the hall, so I throw a last look at Beetee, who's watching me with faint amusement, then follow Sparkle, who's almost skipping towards my room.
The Capitolites are all such idiots. No wonder the President's still holding the power; the rest of them are too stupid to even question it. Give them feathers, parties, and people to gossip about and they'll be happy for the rest of their lives. Simple existences for simple people.
Maybe a simple life would be better, covered in gold feathers and silk, and nobody bright enough to hate me.
"And you're gorgeous!" Sparkle trills, standing back and clasping her hands together in delight.
"I think we've outdone ourselves this time!" Lara says, fairly ecstatic. Maybe a simple existence wouldn't be better, if I had to be as shallow and idiotic as my prep team are. I have wits, and I'm going to use them on keeping alive, not on deciding my next tattoo.
It is a pretty dress, however; thick satiny material with the skirt painted to look like a winter forest scene, complete with birds and foxes and squirrels; the top is blue and designed to look like a snowy sky. A collar of brown fur completes it, with my hair half braided and draped across my shoulder.
I look half Capitol, half district, and it leaves a queer feeling in my stomach that's accompanied by a stabbing pain in my head. Finally, I turn to Sparkle and say, "It's beautiful, thank you." Because it really is beautiful, and I do love looking pretty. Sparkle may be insanely manic, but she does create lovely clothes for me. Even though I haven't forgiven her completely for the robot costumes in the Parade.
"Everybody is going to love you!" Spila says, beaming at me.
I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment more before I ask, "What happened to the blue and gold silk dress that I wore to the first interview and recap, and then at the party?"
"Oh, I have it packed away somewhere," Sparkle says dismissively.
"Can I have it?" I want that dress so badly; I want to sit in blue silk again and forget about the world outside this train, outside my house. I want to lie on my bed in blue silk and stare at my ceiling and think about everything except what's happened to me.
I want to lie on my bed in blue silk and think of stars.
Sparkle looks surprised. "I might be able to find it for you before the Tour ends."
"Please."
"We will be arriving in District 7 in nine minutes!" Delia calls, or more accurately, shouts, clacking her way into my room. "Astrid, you look lovely. Just like a winter morning!"
I surprise myself by being curious about the Capitol for a moment. "Do you get snow in the Capitol?"
"It's always so snowy in the winter!" Lara says. "We have to wear a thousand layers, but I don't mind. I love my furs!"
That sets the others off on talking about furs, and I tune out, but I might be actually looking forward to seeing the Capitol again. This time, they don't want to kill me. This time, they'll love me, dressed in their insane fashions amongst their candy-colored buildings.
And they're high in the mountains, as far away from the districts as I can get.
"We are slowing down!" Delia says, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me out the door again.
"Don't touch me!" I snap, but as usual, she doesn't listen.
"Everyone in their places!" she shouts, finally letting me go as we reach the doors. "Beetee, just in front of her, you know where you stand." Delia moves Beetee into place, an act that is absolutely amusing to me. Grab Beetee and drag him around all you like, Delia. Just make sure you don't touch me.
The train slows to a halt, an act that would have had me falling over five months ago. This time, I'm steady on my feet, with fur around my neck instead of a bloody wire, and I fix my brightest smile on my face as the doors open, the platform already crowded with cameras.
This is the district where it matters most. Here and District 2, because I'm not giving anyone the satisfaction of me being frail and unstable, because I'm not either of those things. I'm Astrid Clearwater, the Career victor who made history by winning for District 3.
Love me or hate me, I'll always be remembered for winning the Forty-first Hunger Games.
As I step out onto the stage, the anthem playing loudly and echoing around the square, I'm hit with another stabbing pain in my head. That anthem, it played every time we saw the faces in the sky, but it never played for Elowyn. Elowyn's face was never in the sky, but she's on the banner in front of me, and I can't look away.
I haven't seen her since the recap in the Capitol; I thought I would feel something, but I just feel numb; hollow, when I look at her. My ally. Elowyn Applering. She could have been my friend if we weren't from different districts, and not in the Games, but I don't know. If she lived in District 3, she would have hated me along with the rest of them.
The mayor, a short woman with tightly pulled back brown hair, gestures to the microphone set directly in the center of the stage. Below me, the crowd is so silent I can hear every dull footstep I take until I reach the silver microphone; my notes gripped in my hand so tight I'm close to ripping them.
I can't look them in the eyes. Not yet.
"District 7, I cannot thank you enough for welcoming me into your district today. Today, we are a united Panem; today, we celebrate the coming together of a nation. I stand before you as a victor, but I was also a tribute just a few short months ago. We were twenty-four of Panem's generous offerings, and I thank you for having me here as your victor."
As I switch the first card to the back, another sharp pain shoots through my head. These cards are just going to make them hate me more; I don't believe any of the words I'm saying. Nobody is, except the idiots in the Capitol. For some reason, the District 11 girl, Nell, comes to mind, and how she acted through the entire Games. She was unruly and a troublemaker, and she was rewarded for it again and again until the Capitol and Circuit killed her.
I'm not her; I can't afford to be her, because it was her recklessness that got her killed. She was her own weakness, but I don't have any weaknesses. No broken legs, no concussions, nothing. I'm the smartest here, I was the smartest in the arena and that's why I'm alive today.
"The tributes that you gave to the Hunger Games fought valiantly and bravely, and their lives will always be appreciated by the Capitol and the whole of Panem itself. The Capitol has given generously in return, and for that, we must all be grateful as well."
Given generously. They haven't given anything except Panem's children dead in boxes.
"Our world will always live on, thanks to the Capitol. With the Capitol, we can appreciate Panem today, Panem tomorrow, and Panem forever."
I look to the left first and see Kiril's family under his banner, two short parents and two small boys standing by them. Elowyn said he liked to read. He was what, fourteen?
"I never knew Kiril Lombard well, but what I knew of him, I liked. He was a bright young man, and I respected his love of books," I start, leaving the words on the cards in my hands. "And I am sorry for your loss, District 7."
Finally, I look at Elowyn's parents standing under her banner, and that same sharp pain shoots through my head. Now it hurts to see her face; the same face that helped me for seven days through the jungle, who was my ally that I was prepared to kill, but who ultimately died by my side.
And I'm sorry, I'm sorry that she's dead. I thanked her before the finale, and told her that I was sorry, and we both agreed to keep the alliance until we couldn't any longer. We didn't want to kill each other, but we were both prepared to. We both wanted to go home, and it was me who left alive. Maybe it should have been her; District 7 wouldn't have hated her for what she did.
Her parents, a tall blonde woman with braided hair, and a slightly shorter man with a dark beard and brown hair, hold each other up while they're weighed down with grief. They have no daughters left to stand with them.
I lose my words for a moment, looking at them, because I see Elowyn in her father's face, and her hair in her mother's. And for that brief moment when I meet their eyes, I don't see any hate in them. They're too broken to hate me, and that more than anything hurts me. I'm used to being hated by now, but this is different. If I had died, they wouldn't be alone.
I'm sorry. But it wasn't my fault. I never killed her, but I put an axe in the head of the boy who did.
My head clicks back into place and I start speaking again. "Elowyn was my ally, and I owe her my victory, because she helped me throughout the entire Games, from the moment the gong sounded, to her last breath. She saved my life more than once, and that is a debt I cannot repay. District 7, thank you for giving Elowyn up, because without her, I would not be standing on this stage today."
I don't sound weak, I don't think I sound weak, because I'm not, but I had to give Elowyn the credit she deserves. I can't let her fade into the distant memory of the Capitol, forgotten by next year when they see their new shiny toys in the Parade.
She was my ally, and I owe her that much before I let her go.
"Thank you, District 7, for welcoming me to your district today, and may the Capitol be everlasting." I nod my head and step back as the mayor takes the microphone again and starts her speech about my victory and the Capitol's benevolence.
While she talks, I avoid looking at Elowyn's family; instead, I look out over the buildings towards the snow-covered trees in the distance. Trees so different from the tall and warm creations inside the arena, but loved equally by Elowyn.
I snap back to reality when the whole square erupts in applause, and I fix my brightest smile on my face as I wave to them. A tall girl in a thin coat, with blonde braids hanging down her back, holds out a bouquet of sweet-smelling branches, both green and feathery, and bare sticks with red berries.
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it.
After another round of applause, I'm escorted back into the Justice Building, through the doors with the eagle and two axes engraved into them. I don't look back; I just keep smiling and grip my bouquet as tight as I can while still holding the cards in my right hand.
"Astrid, that was beautiful!" Delia says, rushing towards me to take my bouquet like all the others; I've never seen them again after she's taken them.
"No. This one is mine," I say, pulling back from her grasp and holding onto the branches even tighter. "District 7 gave me these, and I want to keep them."
"Oh, well, isn't that lovely!" Delia says, but I can tell she's flustered by my breach in etiquette or whatever it is. I don't care. District 7 gave me these branches and berries, and for some reason they mean more than any of the other bouquets I've been given.
I won't cry. Victors don't cry, but I don't know why I want to.
"Ah, here you are!" Delia says, recovering nicely. I like making her scramble to pull herself together, just like when she was praying that I wouldn't eat with my hands in District 9. From the moment I met her, I horrified her with my table manners, and I can't say that I don't enjoy it.
Two people walk into the room; a man and a woman, and I smile even more brightly at them. These are District 7's victors, and if I remember what the victor from 8, Shuttle, said, the woman must be Corinna.
Shuttle said I could trust her, but I didn't trust Shuttle. I didn't trust any of them, not the girl whose sister died, not the older man or the older woman. None of them, because I can only trust myself on this Tour. To trust anyone else would to be more vulnerable than I ever want to be.
"Hello, Astrid!" Corinna says, beaming at me as she crosses the room in just a few bounds, and takes my hand in hers, shaking it vigorously. "I'm happy to meet you; we had to leave before your interviews, like we do every year. But I saw you win anyway."
I keep smiling, but I look at her closely. If I'm reading her correctly, she's sincere, but I still don't trust her. I don't trust this woman with curly hair and an eager smile on her face, but before I can lie, the man speaks up first.
"She doesn't want to hear all that, so calm down."
Delia clears her throat in a high-pitched way, and smiles at us all. The number of smiles in this room is staggering, and I'm sure that every single one is false. Mine is, and I'm very certain that Delia's is too. "Astrid, this is Corinna Jaywing, victor of the Twenty-fourth Games, and Elm Grovenight, victor of the Second."
"You're an antique, aren't you?" I ask, and Elm cracks a brief smile.
"One of the originals."
He has grey-streaked brown hair, and a general air about him that says he doesn't care anymore. That's alright. I know how he feels, and I've only been a victor for six months.
"Long time no see, Beetee," Elm continues, holding out his hand to my mentor. Beetee grips it and shakes it once, before fiddling with his hands.
"Yes, it has been quite a while."
"What, six months?"
"Around that," Beetee says, looking amused as he adjusts his glasses.
Corinna turns to me; she acts more like a fifteen-year-old than a woman in her thirties. "We have a tour prepared for you, Astrid. Elm, Katherine Hauser, who is the head of lumber cutting, and I are going to take you around through the forest and for a brief visit to the paper mill."
"That sounds exciting," I say, trying to keep an upbeat tone. The forest. Maybe I can disappear when I get into the trees, but I won't. I have to carry on through this tour and leave the snowy forest behind me.
The doors behind me open again with a dull thud, and we all turn together to see the mayor, or Mayor Acer like Corinna said she was, coming through with a serious look on her face. I'm glad to see someone having an expression other than maniacal happiness, like the rest of us, besides Beetee and Elm, are pretending to have.
Before Mayor Acer can say anything, Delia taps her clipboard. "I understand that we will be undertaking this tour shortly?"
"Yes. But perhaps Miss Clearwater would prefer to wear something warmer to enter the woods in?"
"Oh yes, yes of course," Delia says, patting her wig. She's uncharacteristically scattered today, and I love it. Seeing her flustered makes my day, because it shows me that even a shallow woman from the Capitol can be irritated just like the rest of us in the districts.
Sparkle appears at Delia's elbow with that same fervent energy she's been keeping up all Tour. "I have her clothes all laid out!"
"Astrid, go with Sparkle," Delia says distractedly, looking down at her clipboard again and ruffling the papers on it. Sparkle reaches for my arm to pull me along, but I back away at the last moment, still holding my bouquet.
"I can walk by myself," I say, trying to keep that smile on my face. I don't want Corinna and Elm to think I'm weak, because then that means everyone else in Panem will think that too, and I'll never let them. I'll never be weak for anyone.
"Then let's go!" Sparkle chirps; I glance at Beetee and meet his eyes for just a moment, but I know exactly what he's thinking in that one moment; he's annoyed with Sparkle too; he can just keep a straight face longer. Beetee doesn't smile unless something really amuses him, which helps when he's talking to the other victors or officials. Nobody expects him to smile, while they're all expecting me to smile instead.
I'll smile until my face falls off if it means they won't think I'm weak. Because I'm not.
I'm not.
"We keep careful records of which trees were planted when; the old growth trees are further into the forest, and we rarely touch those. They're pieces of District 7 history; they've been there longer than Panem has been a country."
"Fascinating," I say, but I'm barely listening to Katherine. I'm too busy looking up at the green trees that are draped with thick white snow. When she pauses her constant flow of information, the forest is silent, and it's so beautiful.
I have to keep fighting down the urge to take off and run, like we ran in the arena, but this time I would run away from everything in my life. The Tour, the hatred, the new arena that I'm never going to escape. I won't run, I can't run. The Capitol won't let me run, but it doesn't stop me wanting to leave the districts behind.
"Our lumberjacks can take down upwards of 200 trees in one day, and these trees are turned into paper, furniture, and other wooden and paper products that Panem could not live without," Katherine continues, gesturing around us at the trees. She's a short woman with bright grey eyes that seem to shine when she looks at the trees.
We're a fair sized group standing here in a clearing, comprised of me, Katherine Hauser, Corinna and Elm, Beetee, and even Delia, who's taken off her heels in favor of thick soled boots. Sparkle refused to come, but not before putting me in a wool coat, boots, and fur lined pants that are keeping me warm right now. At the last minute she threw a hat and a pair of gloves at me, and I'm glad she did. The woods are cold and I can see my breath rise like smoke in front of me.
Katherine's next words don't register; I just look up at the white sky above me through the clearing, looking at the faint blue patches that shine through the silvery white. The last time I stood in a clearing like this, it was with Tilling and Elowyn, looking at the stars. District 7 must get a lot of stars, and I have a brief moment of envy before I push it away. No weakness.
Another picture comes to mind as well; spinning in a circle while watching a flock of brightly colored birds take off and fly upwards in the golden dawn light. For that brief moment, the arena was truly beautiful, and even though this forest is the opposite of the jungle in every way, I can see the parallels between the two of them.
"Oh, a cardinal! You don't see many of them this time of year," Corinna says, pointing upwards at a bird on a high up branch; startlingly red against the white snow and sky. Elowyn saw these things; one year ago, she must have been here looking up at the snowy sky and trees, and she didn't know she was going to die.
I have to let my ally go. It won't help me to keep remembering her, but it's difficult to forget when I'm in her district. I almost wish that I still had my concussion, with the parts that made me forget the arena, because that would make it easier.
No. I don't need it to be easier; I have to be the uncaring victor, no matter whose district I'm in, or what allies I lost.
It was the Hunger Games. Alliances don't count outside the arena.
Delia taps her clipboard and looks pointedly at Katherine, who clears her throat and says, "I am afraid we are on a tight schedule; we ought to be going if we are to tour the mill."
Elm and Beetee immediately start off, every footstep sinking into the snow up over their boots; Delia breathes a sigh of relief and follows after them, stepping like a Capitol woman who's never worn snow boots before in her life. She probably hasn't. That wig is still fascinating me; she couldn't get a hat over it, or even ear muffs.
"Coming, Astrid?" Corinna's smiling at me, half turned like she wants to follow the others, but thinking she should stay with me at the same time.
"Yes, I'll follow you," I say, smiling back. Corinna nods, then starts plowing her way through the path that we already created on this tour out here. I keep my hand on a smooth, silver barked tree for a moment longer; this is probably the last time I'll see a tree for years. District 3 isn't going to pull another victor anytime soon.
The children that I'm going to have to mentor will probably hate me, and when they die in the arena, their parents will hate me more, and it's just going to go around in an endless circle until I'm dead, until we're all dead. I'm still waiting for that relief, and snow isn't suffocating the fire either.
There's nothing for me here. I pull my hand away from the tree and start to follow Corinna and the others towards the town again, but I'm stopped by a high-pitched chirping coming from the tree above me. The cardinal. It sings again, so I whistle the same tune back to it before it flies off.
There, Elowyn. I've said goodbye. Now I have to leave her behind with her birds and her snow and her forest, because I'm a city victor, and I have no place in a forest, or in the grain fields, or the orchards, or the black mines of District 12. I'm from District 3, and I can't be from anywhere else, because I'm their first female victor. Me.
I won, and I'm still proud I did. No matter who I killed to get here, or who died for me to win.
So I leave the trees behind me and go after Corinna, following her bouncing brown curls, and I try to forget the girl I've left behind.
It's too dark outside for me to see anything, but I'm still sitting by the window in my room, dressed in a soft blue nightgown, and wrapped in a thick grey blanket that I keep pulling tighter around me. District 6 tomorrow, that's Transportation. Same people as the ones who unloaded the Parcel Day supplies that one night, the last night that I went to see them take it off the train.
I wouldn't go back, even if District 3 left me alone; I don't want to see the things I won for the district and not get a word of thanks in return.
My feet are cold. Why is the train so cool at night; you would think that the Capitol would keep the heat on all the time. But the heat is not on, so I pull my knees up to my chest and tuck my feet in underneath the blanket.
I'm actually considering Beetee's words to me earlier, about attending the university. If I could be like Beetee and lock myself up in one of the centers, then District 3 wouldn't be able to attack me. If I made myself as indispensable as Beetee has, then they might leave me alone to come up with some insane invention and then go home and sleep. And forget about the violin, except to play it outside the gates of Victor's Village at night, so that everyone in the district could hear it.
He's hiding something, I know he's hiding something. He's been hiding things from me since the reaping, so I don't know why it matters so much to me now. I'm supposed to be his equal; I'm the one who made it out alive, but he's still treating me like the tribute I was before the Games. Nobody's talked to me about being a victor, and I don't need anyone to. I've been smart enough to figure it out on my own, but it doesn't help that Beetee's ignored me too.
He could have made an effort to come talk to me, but we've been dancing around each other for six months, without a single word in that whole time. I didn't want to talk to him, so why was I standing in front of the Technology Center that night, trying to decide whether to go in and find him?
I have no idea. And I have no idea what he's thinking, because he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking at the same time. Until he tells me what he's keeping from me, I'm not going to let him read me; I'll be the perfect victor; I'll lie when I have to; I'll be brutal, remorseless, witty. Because I'm all of those things already, just by winning.
Working my hand out of the blanket, I reach out and pull my bouquet of branches closer to me. I don't know why it's so important to me, but it is. It is. I can't regret anything that's happened, because I'm not weak. Never. I'll never be weak, because I won't let myself. Victors aren't weak, because weak tributes don't win. I won, so I'm not weak.
District 3's attacked me, the jungle and my fellow tributes tried to kill me, the Capitol itself wanted me to die for its entertainment. But I lived. I'm going to be better than all of them, and I have to make sure they know it; that I'm smarter and quicker, and more dangerous than they ever thought I would be.
It's so dark outside, and I haven't turned any lights on in my room either. I can't even see my hands in front of me, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I'm the victor, and that I have my gift from District 7 beside me.
I'm the one who lived, and I deserved it more than any of the others.
I did.