05 - PURPLE
The incessant whirring of the conveyor belts slows and eventually ceases as the assembly line comes to a halt. Indigo's eyes flicker to the clock positioned on the far factory wall which tells her that it's 9 at night. It's time for the night shift to come in and take over the work. The other men and women around her sigh in relief as they step away from the assembly line, pulling off the thick padded gloves and metal face shields that protect them from any injuries while they assemble parts for the Peacekeeper jeeps. Indigo follows them all out, saying nothing as she peels the sweat-soaked steel mask from her face and tucks it under her arm. Around her, a few of her coworkers chat and crack jokes, but she doesn't. They're relieved to head home, another day of work officially over. They're ready to return home to husbands and wives, children and parents. They have homes, maybe small and rundown, but their homes are full of love, comfort, and trust.
There's nothing in Indigo's house but a drunk man and broken bottles, but she decides not to think about that fact until she has to.
Once she checks out, she strides out of the factory, not even bothering to change out of her gray factory uniform. The sun's already set by the time she makes it outside, and the gravel path back to the heart of the city is illuminated by shoddy lanterns. Her grip tightens around her metal face shield as she speeds through the patches of path covered in shadow between the lanterns' reach. She's heard too many stories of young girls scooped away in the night by gang members or Peacekeepers or monsters, and she knows most of them are true. No one comes for her, however, and soon the streets are better lit as she makes her way into the city proper of District Six.
The place doesn't have a name, which doesn't surprise her. No one cares about much around here besides survival, and they wouldn't bother to come up with a clever name for the slums. They encompass most of the District anyway, so the people just call the rundown miles of city "Six" and leave it at that. The rich neighborhood is called something fancy and enchanting by its residents, but everyone in the rest of Six just calls it the Carousel. She knows it's because of how they paid to have their children's carousel rebuilt immediately after the war while the rest of the city was starving to death, but the name makes sense to her. The rich people there ride in sleek black cars and their kids are dressed like dolls in frilly skirts and powdery makeup. They never go hungry, not even once, and they always are laughing or smiling when she sees one of them, as if they're riding on a carousel at all times. Their children never go into the Hunger Games, and a few of the ones with Capitolite ancestry even have the audacity to host viewing parties for them. She hates the Carousel like everyone else in Six. They get everything they want, and they're guarded by fleets of Peacekeepers, so tightly secured that even the gangs can't touch it. She admits it sounds like a splendid life compared to hers, but she doesn't even dare to dream that she'll ever have a life anything like that.
The people in the Carousel eat three meals a day of decadent food, Indigo's sure of it, but she usually eats only one, and it's never enough to satisfy her. Her dad gets three meals a day, and some days it tastes half-good, but that's only because she gives up anything worth eating to avoid his punishment. She refuses to think about it, what he'll do if his dinner isn't satisfactory, as she strides towards the market. She fingers the meager amount of denarii zipped securely in the pocket of her factory uniform, hoping it'll be enough to buy some kind of meat so her father is happy tonight.
The market is still open, as everyone on the day shift comes in at this time of day to buy food and other supplies. She walks into the giant warehouse and through the sea of tightly packed stalls. No one screams their wares; they all just stare with half-lidded eyes and blades on hand, ready to fight anyone who tries to swipe things from their stands. A few people barter quietly, but the place is eeriely silent. It always makes Indigo uncomfortable, but it's better than home so she always takes her sweet time shopping. She lets herself stare at the new pajamas and spice racks from a distance before walking over to one of the larger food stalls. The owner's a woman who refuses to barter but often has cheaper meat, and Indigo knows she just needs some type of meat to make it through the night. She steps up to the counter and taps the little bell there once to get the woman's attention.
"Any meat?" Indigo whispers, her voice hoarse from...she won't think about it, not now, not here.
"You're spoiled, buying so much meat," the woman sneers, shaking her head. "No meat today. It's almost winter, there's not going to be much around girl. I have a bag of radishes, fresh from Eleven, if that suits your fancy meat-girl."
"I...I'll take it," Indigo chokes out, the tears already starting to collect in her eyes as she takes the bag of purple radishes for about half of the money in her pocket. The woman shows no sympathy as a tear snakes its way down her cheek, and Indigo knows why. Everyone has a sob story in Six, and this woman needs to make a living. That doesn't change the fact that she has no meat, and that she's going to have to tell that father that fact when she gets back to their apartment.
She mills around the market for longer than she should, knowing her father is just going to be angrier when his dinner has no meat and is served later than usual. It takes her too long to bring herself back onto the streets, the bag of radishes and her metal mask gripped tight. She won't let anyone steal from her, not tonight. If she comes home with nothing...she won't think about it, she won't think about how bad that will be. About how she won't be able to walk in the morn-
No, she won't think about the cracked ribs and the purple bruises blossoming along her arms and shoulders. No, no, no, she won't. She won't.
She's a strong young woman, almost old enough to live on her own, but when she turns the knob of her apartment, she feels her body start to shake. She feels six years old, when her mother overdosed. He didn't have her to beat up on anymore, so he turned to Indigo instead and started-
No, no, no, no, she won't think about it, she won't, but she's home and there's no hiding from it now because he's there.
Her father staggers to his feet from his lumpy cushioned chair. He's across the room, but he's swaying as he walks and she can smell the booze on his breath from that far away. A bottle of cheap gin is in one of his hands, while the other one waves around tiredly as he gestures at her angrily.
"Past ten, you dumb little girl," her father sneers, shaking his fist again. He brings the bottle of gin to his lips, taking a large gulp before shaking his head slowly. "Slow, late, stupid, you're so stupid, you're barely worth the money you bring home."
He brings home no money, and she supports them on her wages and her tesserae. He'd be dead without her. She doesn't say it, she just closes her eyes and wills away the tears as they start to collect in her eyes. She won't cry, it's happened so many times before, why does she want to cry every time? Why can't she just be tough and hold in her tears and be smarter and better and nicer? She keeps the tears at bay, she's strong, she's trying so hard to be strong, as he asks the dreaded question.
"Did you get any meat, dumb bitch?" her father drawls.
"N-no, I didn't," she mutters, her eyes locked on his swaying form. "They didn't have any we could afford."
"BULLSHIT!" her father screams, and she screams too as she tosses the bag of radishes to the ground. She bounds to her room in a panic as the purple vegetables spill across the dusty floor of their apartment. Her father follows her, tossing his half full bottle of gin at her. It crashes against the far wall, shattering into a thousand glittering shards as Indigo dives under her tiny bed and curls up with sobs wracking her body.
"YOU TAKE MY MONEY! YOU WASTE IT, YOU LITTLE WHORE!" her father roars, his hands sweeping sluggishly under the bed frame in an attempt to grab her. She evades his grasp, hoping against hope that he'll pass out or get too tired and she'll get to avoid it tonight.
His hand closes around her ankle, and he pulls her out from under her bed with a sharp tug. The scream is already leaving her throat before she feels the first punch against her ribs, and she screams as loud and long as she can in hopes someone will hear and come help her. They never do though. She screams and screams and screams and then sometime later, much too later, he tires himself out and collapses in his chair in the other room.
Once she's sure he's asleep and the kicking and hitting is done, she slowly moves. She drags herself into the kitchen, sobbing uncontrollably as she feels the bruises spreading across her body. She's thankful the factory uniform covers her entire form because it hides every mark he leaves on her. It covers every unsightly purple-green bruise and aching bone so she doesn't have to feel everyone's pitying eyes on her when she comes into the factory walking stiffly every morning.
She sits on the cold floor of her kitchen, and with a shuddering sigh she wipes her tears away and opens the bag of radishes, gnawing at them raw. They don't taste good at all, but they fill her stomach, and she gorges on half the bag before stopping herself. Once she's had her fill, she crawls back into her room and tries to fall asleep on the floor, too bruised and tired to pull herself into the bed. She stares at the ceiling, praying for help and wishing that the end would come sooner. The moment she turns eighteen, she can leave all of this behind and start her own life, one without sneers and bruises and tearful nights.
As she lays there, dreaming of a future without her father, she realizes what day it is today, how far away that special eighteenth birthday is. The thought makes more sobs wrack her body, and she weeps for what feels like hours in her tiny twin bed as her body aches and her heart dies a little more.
"Happy sixteenth birthday," she gasps to herself in between sobs as her father's gifts appear on her arms and legs, turning a putrid shade of purple.
Her mind wanders into places it shouldn't as her prep teamers do the finishing touches on her hair and makeup. She stands in front of a floor length mirror, polished so clear and clean she swears she can see every pore in her skin. The dress her stylist Attila has put her in is stunning, to the say the least. It's much more than she expected, since he's shown little kindness or interest in her since she arrived in the Capitol. The gown is dark purple, so dark it's almost black, with little silver beads threaded throughout the fabric that twinkle and gleam in the light prettily. The dress reaches the ground and barely brushes it, and it has thin midnight purple straps and isn't too revealing. Silvery, strappy heels wind their way around her ankles, but Mercedes coached her enough so that she wouldn't twist an ankle walking across the stage to meet Caesar. Her dark hair has been pulled into a series of intricate braids, as is the fashion in the Capitol at the moment apparently, and her makeup application has been minimal. Her prep teamers make sure to spend extra time patting pastes and powders on the ugly bruises that cover her arms and legs, however. She's been away from her father for almost a week now, but his marks are still there. They're always there. The thought of him makes her stomach turn, and she bites her lip to keep herself in the present. She must focus on her interview. She cannot think about him, about everything crushing her.
The thoughts come leaking in anyways as her prep team guides her to the backstage area for the interviews. Outside, hundreds of thousands of Capitolites are cramming into the massive auditorium that's hosted the interviews since their inception. However, things are eeriely calm behind the stage. There are no flustered assistants running this way and that; everything is clean and organized, and no one is late. The other tributes are arriving at the same time as her, and they all line up in a hallway that leads out to the stage. Indigo once again finds herself a little amazed at how great at planning the Capitol is, but she keeps her disbelief to herself. She knows she should be thinking about what to say, what her and Mercedes reviewed for hours earlier today, but her mind keeps going back to one conversation they had.
It was about what to do if Caesar asked about her family. Indigo knows it's a thing that he asks about often, especially for Outliers. Everyone loves to hear about a tribute fighting to go home to little siblings or loving parents or an attractive partner. It's also an easy question to ask when a lot of the Outliers struggle to talk about anything interesting during their interviews. Yet Indigo fears this question, because she doesn't know what she'll say if he asks her about them. What is there to say? Is she going to announce on live television that her mother was a drug addict and her father hits her even though he'd starve without her?
She can't talk about them. She never has had to before. Six is full of tragic stories; broken families, orphans, abuse, it's all much too common. No one peers into each other's personal lives or judges based on your ancestry. Here in the Capitol, though, she knows status and prestige are all the rage. She doubts anyone will sponsor her anyway, but will they give their money to a girl who comes from lines of addiction and physical abuse? She wouldn't, if she were them, rich and mighty and living in the clouds. She'd sniff at herself and wait eagerly for her blood to spill across the Cornucopia field.
Mercedes told her to pretend, told her to say that her mother passed away in her sleep and that her father kisses her on the head every morning before school. Some bullshit, any bullshit that sounds sweeter and better than the truth. She just has to be unremarkable, she just has to fly under the radar and not make waves by becoming the object of scorn or pity. It's so much harder than it sounds; her heart is pounding in her chest at the sounds of the thousands of people packed into the auditorium outside, and the other tributes don't help calm her nerves.
Most of the Careers stand at the front of the line with eager smiles, reciting lines under their breath. The glittering girl from One practices her smile over and over into a handheld mirror, popping out her hip seductively each time. The boy from Two practices a booming laugh and flexes his thick biceps dangerously. Even the girl from Three joins in on the fun even though she isn't a Career, muttering something about wires and microchips with a focused look on her face. She doesn't look intimidated to be standing near bloodthirsty killers, even while Indigo's own District partner does nothing but stare at the Careers with utter fear in his eyes. Indigo wants to pat Hans on the shoulder and tell him it'll be alright, but she knows it's a lie so she stays silent. She's scared too. She's so, so scared.
A screen on the wall above the entrance to the stage has been black so far, but it flickers to life to show the stage outside. Caesar Flickerman, still ravishingly handsome in his late twenties, is welcoming the audience to the interviews of the 41st Annual Hunger Games. His color this year must be lavender; his hair is tall, coiffed, and pale purple in color as it gleams in the stage lights. He wears a lilac colored suit embroidered with darker purple thread that depicts hummingbirds and flowers in intricate patterns. Indigo admits to herself that he looks astounding, and the cheers from the crowd are defeaning as he wraps up his introduction.
"Now, let's welcome our first tribute to the stage, Cordial Coventry of District One!" Caesar yells. Indigo watches, her heart fluttering, as the One girl strides out onto the stage. The moment Caesar takes her hand, she flashes the same smile she was practicing backstage, her hip popping out just like planned. The audience claps excitedly for her, and Indigo watches with bated breath as she flirts with Caesar for three minutes so unabashedly that she sees some of the Capitolites even blushing. Before the buzzer can ring, however, Caesar asks her one final question that makes Indigo's stomach curl.
"Now, who are you fighting to go back home to, Cordial?" Caesar asks with interest dripping from his voice as he clutches Cordial's smooth, slender hand in his own.
"I'm single, so you don't have to worry about offending any burly boyfriends back home, Caesar," Cordial giggles with a seductive smile, making the audience laugh and whoop. "I do have my parents, however, who are both loving Peacekeepers helping to keep our nation in perfect balance, and a younger sister who aspires to follow in my footsteps in serving our great country in the Games. They are my world, and I wouldn't be here without them. I couldn't have a better family."
"They sound beautiful!" Caesar replies, and the audience cheers in response. The buzzer goes off, and Cordial sashays off of the stage after a parting wink to the crowd. The flirtatious smile drops off of her face once she enters the tunnel where the rest of them wait, but Indigo can't stop thinking about her words. They are my world. I couldn't have a better family. Indigo sees how annoyed the girl looks at having to flirt with the nation for three minutes so seductively, but Indigo doesn't feel bad for her. She envies her, for having parents who are alive and supportive and for having a sibling at all.
The rest of the interviews before hers are full of jokes and threats and intrigue, but Indigo only really listens to the other tributes talking about their families. The boy from One, Gilt, talks extensively about his stunning girlfriend and their dream wedding. The tributes from Two are the most menacing of the night, but Indigo only hears Lorna talk about her parents who work in the quarries and Quintus joke about his older brothers who barely missed out on the Games. Iouna from Three was raised by a single mother and they're thick as thieves; it's the only thing besides mechanical gibberish that she talks about at all during her interview. Her District partner has a normal family and wishes to have plenty of children of his own. The attractive Thomas from Four has a twin brother, and Daria was an orphan but has so many friends rooting for her back home. Even the sniveling pair from Five talk at length about their large families who are waiting for them to return, stuttering through stories about loving brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers.
The boy from Five stumbles off of the stage, wiping snot from his nose after talking about how his mother insisted he never give up during the Games. Indigo realizes it is her cue to go onto the stage when the ground buzzes beneath her feet. She draws in a shaky breath, realizing she's spaced out and neglected to prepare herself for the interview. She feels her legs shaking as she wobbles out of the tunnel in her strappy silver heels; she was able to walk in them normally in the penthouse, but now she feels like her legs have turned to putty. The crowd cheers for her as she stumbles across the stage, almost rolling her ankle a half dozen times. She barely makes it to Caesar's side, and he catches her with both arms, guiding her down to the chair.
"Welcome, Indigo, welcome, I see that you're having difficulty tonight," Caesar jokes, making the crowd laugh as Indigo settles in her chair.
"I'm many things, but I've never been very balanced, Caesar," Indigo quips back, forcing a little smile onto her face despite the rampant nerves coursing through her every fiber. The crowd chuckles, and that makes Indigo's heart soar; maybe she won't be entirely terrible. "Thank you for helping me."
"Of course!" Caesar replies, and he draws back his hands from where they've been clutching her forearms to steady her. Indigo's stomach plummets as she suddenly realizes what has happened; the pastes that her prep team used to cover up her bruises have rubbed off onto Caesar's hands. They're now covered in makeup, and her ugly purple marks glisten underneath the blazing stagelights. Caesar's mouth drops open a little at the sight of the dark purple bruises, and Indigo instinctively tucks her arms into her lap to conceal them. She doesn't know what to do, her voice lodged in her throat as Caesar wipes the makeup on his handkerchief and puts his dazzling smile back on.
"How did you ever get those marks, dear? I'm so sorry if I hurt you, and I surely hope they weren't given to you by anyone in the gracious Capitol!" Caesar trills, and Indigo knows the look in his eyes is meant to tell her that she should keep quiet if the marks are from a Capitolite.
The words she wants to say tumble around her head and almost pour out. They were given to me by a monster, a monster that has haunted and hunted me for my entire life, a monster that is my father. She knows she can't say it though, and the crowd seems anxious as she hasn't responded quickly. She wants to tell them so badly, for some reason, to denounce her father for the monster he is, but she knows she can't. She doesn't want these painted little people to pity her or think of her as a piece of trash. She doesn't want them to cry for her or scorn her over the trauma she's faced her entire life. They don't deserve to know her private pain, especially not the day before they're about to throw her into an arena where she'll most likely die. She'd rather lie on this stage and die with her secrets held close to her chest. They can't take everything from her. But she also can't think of a plausible, mundane reason why her arms would be covered in splotchy purple bruises that had to be hidden by her stylist.
"I'd rather not talk about it," Indigo finally manages to squeak out after several long moments, and as it rings throughout the auditorium, she realizes it isn't a lie at all.
A/N: Sorry that this took a bit longer to come out, but I was just struggling with how to write the second half of this chapter, and this ended up being pretty long as well. I hope you still enjoyed it and I'd love to hear more feedback from you guys! Thank you for everyone who's dropped some compliments or criticism it means a lot and I take everything into consideration :)
Until Next Time,
Tracee