Chapter 72- Astrid Clearwater
For some reason, as the train's starting to pull into District 6, that afternoon after the private sessions is coming to mind; the afternoon when I thought I had destroyed all of my chances of getting a good score; before I entered the arena, before the interviews, before everything. That one afternoon where I jumped on the furniture and dressed in green.
I don't know why I'm thinking about it; maybe because it's occurring to me that it might have been the last good afternoon before they put me in the arena, and everything that came after it. Maybe the Capitol will give me more days like that; those shallow idiots can't think of anything but good times. I doubt they even think we're human in the districts. If they did, they wouldn't enjoy seeing us die every year.
"We're almost there!" Delia sings out, patting her wig into place. I don't move from the window; I just keep looking out at District 6 coming into view. So far all I can see are grey concrete buildings, chain-link fences, and some smokestacks jutting up above the rest of the city. District 6 is the biggest district, I know that, but I didn't realize how big until it's right outside my window.
I didn't care about the tributes from here. I don't care about any of the tributes from the districts coming up; not 6, not 5, not 4. Not 1 either. The only district that's going to have any sort of meaning for me is District 2, and I'm not ready to think about it yet.
"Their specialty is Transportation," Beetee says, coming up to watch out the window next to me. "It's been a few years since I've seen it, however."
"Does it live up to your memories?" I ask, not looking at him.
"No," he says, and I almost laugh. From what I can see, District 6 doesn't live up to any expectations, and I almost feel sorry for the people living here. "The Capitol does enjoy their hovercrafts and automobiles that they produce, however."
"And they love your holograms," I add, and Beetee nods.
"We're all indispensable in some way or another."
"Aren't we lucky," I say, just as Delia starts patting my hair down.
"Astrid, don't muss your hair!"
"I didn't! I didn't touch it!" I'm fighting the urge to slap her hand away, because if I won't even let my own mother touch me, why would I let Delia Charm? She's been poking, touching, touching, touching this whole trip, and it hurts. I can't show it, but it hurts just as much as the concussion did.
"Well, somebody did. And you must get into position; we don't want to be late when the doors open!" she says, and pulls me backwards and towards the door.
Let go, let go, let go.
I'm not going to be weak, I'm not going to show them how much it hurts, because I won't be that weak. Career victors don't care if they're touched, because they don't care. I have to not care.
"Chin up, Astrid!" Delia says, raising my head up with one hand, and I choke.
That wire, that wire wrapping around my throat; I've had enough, I have had enough-
"Don't touch me!" I half shout, shoving Delia away from me just enough that she almost topples over; Sparkle catches her before she falls. "Don't you dare touch me again, none of you! I've had enough of your touching me, and I swear I'll kill you; I'll kill you if you grab me again."
My hands are shaking, and those stabbing pains are shooting through my head, but I don't care; I've lost control, and I've shown them all how weak I really am. Even though I'm not; I shouldn't have let them know how much it hurts. But I want to vomit, and it's taking everything I have not to break down and cry, and I can't cry. Victors don't cry, and I can't.
I straighten myself back up and try to keep my voice from shaking too. "I can walk by myself; I'm not incompetent. If I could win, I can get myself to my positions without you pulling me all over the place. So don't touch me again."
Delia looks like I've already hit her, and Sparkle standing next to her looks just as shocked. Whatever etiquette I've breached, it's worse than eating with my hands or snapping at the dinner table. I don't even know if I've even broken etiquette, or if I've just acted insanely instead. But both of them look almost scared, and I don't know how to feel about that.
I lost control. I can't lose control again. I'm not weak, I'm not weak; I'm unbreakable. I'm not broken, I've just had enough of her pulling me around. Touching my throat wasn't the problem; it was just the catalyst to everything else. But while my escort and stylist are still both silent, I chance a look at Beetee; Beetee who is still standing by the window.
He's looking at me too, and he has an expression on his face that I can't quite read. I don't know; I need to know what he's thinking because if he thinks I'm unstable, it's going to unravel everything else. If he thinks I'm unstable, he'll never tell me what he's hiding.
The train slows under my feet, and they're all still looking at me. "We should get into position," I say, patting my hair down with a hand I'm trying to stop from shaking. "District 6 is expecting us."
"After you," Beetee says, gesturing towards the door, and the spell is broken. Delia shuts her mouth and starts flipping through her clipboard again.
"We will be arriving in District 6 in exactly-" Delia's cut off by the doors opening onto the train platform swarming with cameras and officials waiting to greet us and escort me into the car that's going to take me to the Justice Building.
I don't look back; I just follow Beetee out of the train, holding my head high like the victor I'm supposed to be, like the victor I am, and I am unbreakable. No weakness.
Last night I swore I would be the perfect victor, and I can't lose control again.
I can't.
"Lexa Icewing," the victor standing in front of me says, shaking my hand with two quick movements.
"Astrid," I say, pulling my hand away as soon as I can without her noticing.
"Welcome to the victor's circle then," she continues. "You'll be seeing a lot more of us over the next few years."
"I'm looking forward to it." Delia has been absolutely silent, leaving the introductions to the victors themselves. Beetee's standing a little off to the side, like he doesn't really want to talk to the victor right by him.
"You're the violin player," Lexa says, but she doesn't smile. After talking to her for only a few minutes, I've figured out that she doesn't smile much, and I like her because of it. She's not going to try to deceive me with a false smile. "Not many people choose that talent."
"I like to stand out," I say, pushing my hair over my shoulder. I don't have a choice in standing out; I never have. And I won't tell her that I chose the violin at random and didn't even know what I was getting until it was delivered. She doesn't need to know that no matter how hard I try, I can't get any real music out except for the scratching I showed the cameras.
It doesn't matter anyway; after this Tour, I'll go back home and nobody will film me playing it again. My violin is good enough for the ears of District 3, and I'll make sure I'll stand inside the gates of Victor's Village and play at midnight, so everyone can hear it.
"You'll be singing a different tune by next year." The man that's been standing near Beetee finally stumbles forward and points a finger at me.
"Fabian, shut up," Lexa says, and Fabian laughs.
"What? She's an idiot if she thinks that she's going to like standing out."
"You stand out because you're drunk and an ass."
Lexa isn't wrong; Fabian seems to be slightly more functional than Arla Reaper was, but I can see the flask sticking out of his pocket under his rumpled shirt. He makes the third drunk that I've known personally; one other being Arla, and the third being Saul. I didn't waste any tears on my stepfather when he got hit by a train blind drunk, and I wouldn't be surprised if Lexa wouldn't cry either if Fabian wandered onto the tracks at midnight.
Now that I've seen Fabian, I'm starting to understand how Trestle got away with being such a reckless idiot, if this was his mentor.
"Jass, Orna, over here," Lexa says, turning to two people I didn't even notice until she called them. They're making swirling motions on each others' arms, but jerk as soon as Lexa calls them. "Over here."
I've seen people like them before, but they're few and far between in District 3. As soon as they reach Lexa and look at me, it's even more apparent. The woman has limp and thin black hair that falls to her shoulders; the man has the same but cut short. But it's their emaciated bodies, yellow skin, and large hollow eyes that define them as morphling addicts. Living corpses that might as well have died in their arenas.
"Orna Ocler, Jass Willbring," Lexa says, pointing to each in turn. Jass just stares ahead of him, but Orna smiles and steps forward to take my hand. I can feel myself freeze as she starts to make the same swirling motions on my palm that she was making on Jass.
"Stop it, Orna," Lexa says, pulling her away from me. Don't touch me; why does everyone want to touch me?
Delia clears her throat behind us, and everybody but Jass and Fabian looks at her. "We do have a schedule to keep to," she says, squeakier than usual.
"And Sparkle is expecting me, I'm guessing?" I ask, and she nods. Her eyes are still too wide when she looks at me, and I can see a hint of fear in them. If she is scared of me, I'm not going to waste any tears over it either. Maybe she won't touch me again after this.
"I'll see you tonight, then," I say to the other victors. Lexa gives me a nod, but as I turn away, I can feel their eyes on me. All the Justice Buildings are the same, so I know exactly where I'm going, but Delia isn't following me this time. Once I'm halfway up the stairs, I look back briefly; Lexa is talking to Beetee, Orna and Jass are swirling on each others' arms again, Delia is looking at her notes, and Fabian is drinking from his flask.
These are the people I'm going to have to see every year; every year when I go to the Capitol.
I don't care. I don't. They don't want to kill me, and they don't openly hate me, so I don't care. And even if they did, I'd kill them first.
No weakness. No weakness.
"I am sorry for your tributes," I say, holding a half full glass of water. Delia hasn't insisted that I mingle tonight, so I've stuck by Lexa for most of the party, while the others dance and drink, and the officials and higher ups of District 6 talk to Beetee. Even Delia's found a few people to be friendly with, namely the mayor's wife.
"Mariana wouldn't have won," Lexa says. "She wasn't the strongest tribute, just solidly in the middle. She was a sweet girl, though."
"And your boy?" I ask. I catch a glimpse of Fabian over Lexa's shoulder; he's leaning against the wall with a bottle in his hand. It's obvious that Lexa's the only functioning victor in District 6.
"He was an ass, and Fabian encouraged him."
I laugh, actually laugh, because she's not wrong. "Now, the Games are always more fun with those two around," Lexa says, pointing at one of the dining tables where Orna and Jass are still making those swirling movements on the tablecloth. "Painters, both of them; once they get their hands on paint, they'll paint flowers for hours. We don't let them down into the Hall; they stay up in the apartment until the Games are over. Not fit for mentoring."
"I could have guessed," I say. Neither of them can take care of themselves, let alone another tribute in the arena.
"So it's you and Beetee now," Lexa says, turning her attention back to me. "Station 3's been a solo seat since Lights died. What's it been, ten years?"
"Around that."
"It's about time we got somebody new in the Hall. Don't expect much; you usually go out the first day, and no offense meant."
"I know." I know that Circuit and I are the anomaly; that only a handful of District 3 tributes have lasted more than two days in the arena. "Maybe we'll get lucky again."
"Let someone else have a turn, won't you?" Lexa says, but I can tell she's joking. "Beetee, finally broken away from your admirers?"
"I wouldn't call them my admirers. They are simply interested in my latest projects."
"Admirers," Lexa says, and Beetee adjusts his glasses.
"Delia has sent me over to tell you that we will be leaving in five minutes."
"One already?" Lexa asks, checking the clock hanging on the wall. "I won't bother calling Fabian and the painters over for a fond goodbye. You'll see enough of them in July."
"The time will pass by just like that," I say, and Lexa smiles almost grimly.
"You're looking well, Beetee."
"Thank you. Your night seems to be going well."
"The idiot is over there, so it's perfect," Lexa says, and Beetee smiles.
"You might get lucky this summer."
"One of these years," Lexa says, shrugging. "Someone competent will come along, and they'll stay competent after the Games. I can't handle another Fabian or Orna, not when she sees those snakes dancing around the room."
I can see Delia standing by the door, patting her wig and checking her clipboard again and again. The mayor's wife is off somewhere else, and Sparkle is actually being productive for once and reining in Spila and Lara. "I think Delia's going to explode if we don't leave," I say.
"And what a disaster that would be," Beetee says.
"See you in July, both of you," Lexa says, but she doesn't shake my hand or pat me on the arm. She just nods at me and lets me go, and my respect for her goes up again.
"See you in July," I say, then I follow Beetee to Delia, and then out into the waiting car where I keep my eyes firmly focused on the seat ahead of me until they let us off at the train station.
It's so dark outside, lit only by an occasional light hanging over the tracks, but I can hear the rain falling on the roof, see the streaks on the window when the light does flash through. I'm warm and comfortable, though, wrapped up in that same grey blanket, with the comforter from my bed under me, and a pillow behind my back to prop me up.
There's no point to sleeping on the hard ground when I know I'm not going to stay in my bed, so this nest that I've made is my safe place, away from the rest of them. A basket of fruit and bread is next to me, and my bouquet is up by my pillow, and it almost feels like it's keeping the nightmares away.
My last gift from Elowyn and her district.
How could I have lost control today? I shouldn't have yelled; I shouldn't have let them know that it hurts when they touch me. I should have just let them do it, then I could have hidden in my bed at home for the rest of my life where nobody can get to me. They shouldn't have been able to see me like that.
I'm not weak. I'm not. I'm unbreakable, even while Delia is terrified because I threatened to kill her. I'm a victor, and before that I was a tribute, and that's what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to kill the others.
And, even after all these months being out of the jungle, I can't shake that feeling that I'm trapped and the only way out is to murder all of my opponents. I can't. Because I'm the victor and I'm supposed to be safe. I'm supposed to be safe. Safe.
But those feelings of being trapped and strangled keep coming back, even while Tilling still ends up drowning me every night. I want it all to go away, to go back to the way it was before I was reaped, but I don't want that life either. I don't want any of my lives; I just want to get out of District 3 and go somewhere else, anywhere else.
I'm being weak, and I can't be weak. But I can feel that brittle place in me that I've tried to make unbreakable starting to crack, and I have to put myself back together again so that I don't fall apart completely. Four more districts, and then the Capitol; I can do this. I'm okay.
Somewhere out there in the dark is District 3, where my mother is asleep. Is she thinking about me and missing me while I'm on this train, or is she happy that I'm gone again? That her daughter that only sleeps and plays the violin badly, who never leaves the house, is away from her for another two weeks?
Mama, I'm sorry. For everything.
Nothing can ever be the same now, and I can't make it go back no matter how hard I try, so I have to try not to care. Tomorrow, I'll be that perfect victor again for District 5, and I won't let them see me crack. I'm unbreakable.
And when I pull the blanket around my ears and listen to the train under me and the rain beside me, I don't even let myself cry, because victors don't cry.
I am unbreakable. I am.