Chapter 55- Terra Coppersmith
My eyes open; where am I? Where am I in the arena? I've overslept; where's Fletcher? Where's Fletcher?
I look around in confusion for a minute before I realize. Fletcher's dead, and I'm the victor. I also notice that I'm strapped into a bed and am unable to move my arms.
"Hello? Somebody? Hello?" I call, but my voice seems weak. Where am I? I'm able to turn my head from side to side, thankfully, and that helps me figure out that I'm in some sort of hospital room. The surgery! What did they do to me? Did they put gems above my eyes or whiskers in my cheeks?
Before I can check, something cold goes into my arm and I black out again.
I come to later, but I don't know how much later. There're no windows in here. I think this might be a different room. I'm not sure if it's the shock or the drugs that they have pumping into my arm, but I feel numb still. I'm the victor, shouldn't I feel something?
But I don't feel anything.
Then I black out again.
I come to properly, finally, but I don't know how long has passed. Hours? Days? I think it might be days. Nothing hurts anymore, which is nice. The tubes have been taken out of my arm, and I'm no longer restrained.
Can it be real that I won the Hunger Games? Me, Terra Coppersmith? And after hardly killing anyone? Two people, it was two tributes. Their blood is on my hands, and I can't shake it off. I killed them so I could be here; the guilt is overwhelming. I can't think about it right now.
I shakily start checking myself over, to see what's different. I hold my hands up to my eyes and get my first shock. I'm missing my fourth finger on my right hand, and the pinky finger of my left. There're just stumps left of those two fingers; like they were never there. The skin turns lighter and slightly pink at the scarred tips.
I guess the frostbite got them. My other fingers look okay, but it's going to take some getting used to, missing two fingers. I have a sick feeling in my stomach from looking at my hands. There's nothing I can do, though. Who would have thought at the beginning of the Games that I would get frostbite?
With my newly mutilated hands, I feel the rest of me, starting with my face. My nose and ears are still intact, which is a relief at least. I feel my forehead, where the girl from 4 slashed me, and it's smooth. Like there was no cut.
How many days have passed since I won? Two? Three? Maybe even four? There's usually a break of a few days between the end of the Games and the interviews, but I never really knew why before now. I guess every tribute has to recover in the hospital.
I should get up and look around, maybe find Shuttle if she's around, or if she's not, an attendant or something. I need to get home to Iry, and I'm feeling fine. I throw off the light covers, and pause, looking at my feet.
Replacing my flesh and bone are two metal contraptions.
I don't move for a minute, just take in what I'm seeing and try to process it. From just below my knees, my legs and feet are gone. In their place, there are two high tech legs and feet; silver and black. The lights overhead shine off the metal.
My legs are gone.
I shouldn't have walked on them when I knew they were frostbitten, but what choice did I have? I throw the covers back over them, hiding what I can't bring myself to understand yet. I bury my face in my hands and sob. I'm no longer whole. I will never be able to distance myself from the Games now, now that every step I take will be a reminder of them.
What was the point of winning? I didn't win. Does anyone ever win? I survived, I survived the longest, but I had to kill and lose parts of myself, body and soul, to do so. That's a heavy price to pay for a game nobody wanted to play.
It finally sinks in now that the twenty-three other tributes I went in with, who I saw at Training and heard at their interviews, are dead. All dead. And Fletcher…
I'm still sobbing when the door opens. I look up to see a woman in a white lab coat come in with a clipboard; she appears shocked at my state.
"Ah, you've seen them," she says, suddenly understanding. I nod.
"It could have been much worse. We were able to save your face and most of your extremities, and only two of your fingers were too damaged to save. But your feet were turning gangrenous when you won, and we had no choice," she says, and she sounds sympathetic. An assistant who came in after her offers me a tissue.
"What's going to happen now?" I ask in a small voice, taking the tissue and wiping my eyes. "When can I get out of here?"
"Now. You can get dressed and go to meet your team," the doctor says, smiling.
"Will they hold?" I ask, referring to my new legs. I hate them, but what choice do I have but to use them?
"Yes. It might take some getting used to, but you'll be alright walking for today."
After they leave, I carefully swing my legs off of the bed, averting my eyes from the metal that used to be my skin. Slowly, I put weight on them. I wobble a little, but they hold me up, like the doctor said. I walk back and forth beside my bed a few times, getting the feel of these new legs; at the end of the bed on a table is an outfit; the very same outfit that I wore in the arena.
I don't want to, but I put it on. I hate it.
I walk to the wall where the doctor came in, knowing there's a door there; in a few seconds it opens and I escape my hospital room. Outside the door is a long hallway with no other doors, just a dead end on my right. So I go left, and walk along the corridor, keeping one hand on the wall. Every once in a while, my legs buckle and I have to hold on to the wall for dear life.
I round the corner, and there's my team standing there; Shuttle, Woven, Postumius, and Damius. My mentors are beaming, Postumius is bouncing and dressed in a bedazzled orange suit. Damius is smiling calmly at me, hands behind his back.
I stumble, then move as quickly as I can towards them; I know that I'm being filmed right now. I'm a victor, and I need to keep looking like one.
I throw myself into Shuttle's arms first, and she hugs me tight. "Well done, Terra," she whispers. Woven hugs me next, even though she was Fletcher's mentor. She's still District 8, though, and I'm her victor too.
I refrain from hugging Postumius, opting for a handshake instead. "Wonderful job, Terra!" he says. "You're the talk of Panem!"
"Thank you, Postumius," I say. Damius hugs me, though, and pats me on the back.
"I'm sorry about Fletcher," he whispers in my ear. I nod.
"Me too."
Damius takes me then, away from the cameras that are pressing in too closely. Nobody's said anything about my injuries yet, but it will come, and I don't know how I'm going to react to that. Everything is too much right now; I really just want to go to bed and stay there for the rest of my life. No, I have to be strong for Iry. And missing fingers aren't a big deal in District 8, are they? Lots of people have lost fingers in the factories.
We don't talk until we reach the elevator, Damius pressing the button for the eighth floor. He doesn't look at me, but he says, "I've designed the dress so that it comes to the floor, if that makes you feel better."
"Thank you," I say.
When the doors of the elevator open, my prep team from before the Games swarm around me, chattering in their high-pitched accents about what a hit I am, and how exciting the finale was. All I can think about is how bloody and horrifying that last scene was, how I slashed the girl from 4's neck open by accident. How I stood in pools of blood, still warm from the tributes lying on the ground.
"Terra?" Damius asks, concerned. I must have blanked. The prep team doesn't notice; one of the women, who has pink feathered hair and eyelashes in the shapes of birds, takes me by the arm and leads me to a table full of food.
An attendant places a plate in front of me with chicken, rice, and potatoes. My portion is small but delicious. My stomach's shrunk since the last time I was in the Capitol, and I can barely finish the food in front of me. I was so hungry in the arena, though, that I can't bear the thought of letting it go to waste.
"How many days has it been since the Games ended?" I ask, holding my fork awkwardly with my four fingered hand.
"Three," Damius says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "This is the third day."
How long has it been since I was at home? I add it up in my head. Six days in the arena, plus three days unconscious, then the six days in the Capitol- fifteen? Can it really just be over two weeks since I was at home? And I spent just as long in the arena as I did in Training and preparing?
Time has warped in confusing and unfamiliar ways.
After the meal, my prep team takes me back to my room to prepare me for tonight. Physically, at least. I don't think I'm going to ever be mentally ready to re-watch the Games, but that's what they're going to make me do tonight. The recap of the Games is mandatory watching for everyone in Panem.
My prep team chatters as they get me ready; I avoid looking at myself in the mirror. They must have orders to not mention my new additions, because nobody talks about my injuries.
I learn their names for the first time, since I bother to actually listen to them; the woman with pink hair is Sappho, the man with the blue wig and pale white skin is Lem; the woman with orange braids and the overlarge eyes is Tiffany. They're cheerful, but not very bright if you ask me.
I sit while they do my makeup and my nails- all eight of them now, and wait for Damius to come back. He finally does, holding a dress across his arm.
"Done?" he asks Sappho. She nods.
"You look lovely, Terra," Damius says, indicating for me to rise. I stand up, wobbling a little, and take off the robe I've been wearing all this time, after I took off the arena uniform earlier.
Damius slips the dress over my head, but won't let me see it until he's adjusted it.
"Alright, go ahead and look," he says, and I turn to see myself in the full-length mirror. The dress is dark gold and blue, falling in waves over my feet. My hair is tied up on top of my head very elegantly. My makeup is subtle, but attractive. All in all, I look like a victor. A girl who is whole and not broken.
"It's lovely," I say, turning to my whole prep team. "Thank you."
"Oh, one last thing," Damius says, pulling something gold out of his pocket. "Before I forget, here's your token."
My hand goes to my throat, feeling for my necklace. I didn't even know that it was missing. Damius clasps my mother's ring around my neck, and I hold it tightly. It's like a piece of her is here with me. I miss her, and I miss my father too. I wonder if they'd be proud of me.
Postumis pokes his head in the door; he's even more orange than when I last saw him. In addition to the sparkling orange suit, he's put on orange lipstick and eyeshadow.
"Time to go!" he says, beaming from ear to ear. I suppose this is his first year as a successful escort, so he's extra happy.
"Ready?" Damius asks, and I nod. My prep team scurries out the door first, then Damius. I pause in the doorway and look Postumius dead in the eyes.
"Postumius?" I ask.
"Yes?"
"Orange really isn't your color." Then I sweep as elegantly as I can after Damius, tripping over my long skirt in the process.