I do not own the Hunger Games, but this story and the original characters are mine. This story will stay in Carmen's point of view. It's too hard to keep who knows what straight with two people.
Chapter 11
On my door is a note from my grandmother. She left to buy carrots and celery, and so it is just my furballs and I for the time being. I breathe deeply to try to relieve my anxiety. My two furballs are playing on the couch. There are a few pictures leaning against the wall behind the piano. One painting is of the ocean. That would look great on the wall behind my piano. I set the tools, careful not to spill the nails.
After a few minutes of rummaging around, I find a small ladder in my coat closet. I drag it awkwardly towards the wall and open it. I gather my tools and put them on the top of the ladder. Then I use the stud finder like Dimitri showed me. A few moments later after I drag it across my wall, I find a stud. After what Dimitri told me about what could happen to the painting, I am nervous of missing the stud and so I climb down from my perch. There is a pen lying on the counter. I grab it and go back on my ladder. I mark the spot. Carefully, I center my nail in the middle of the X.
The first two taps make the nail slide a little. I adjust my grip on the nail. Maybe I'm not hitting it hard enough. I put a little more power behind the hammer. The hammer slips off the nail head and on to my thumb.
"SHIT!" I yell, clutching my thumb. The hammer falls to the floor with a loud bang and the box of nails falls off the top step of the ladder and all over the floor.
I stumble down the ladder, clutching my thumb.
"GODDAMMIT MOTHER…!" Tears spring to my eyes. "AUUUUGGGGHHH!"
"Hammer got your thumb?" Dimitri smirks, leaning in the doorway. He crosses his arms across his chest. In that pose he looks attractive.
"Very punny," I say through gritted teeth.
"You've never touched a hammer in your life," He says.
"I don't need your help." My thumb is throbbing and part of me prays that it's not broken. "It just needs to stop throbbing and then I can…"
Dmitri takes my wrist. "Let me see it."
"No." I try to pull away from him, but he holds fast. My eyes meet his. There is no malice in them. His eyes are dark brown. He must have taken out his colored contacts. Nothing is safe from alterations in the Capitol. We all hide behind some sort of mask.
"Let me see. Please." His voice is soft, yet firm. "Carmen."
The way he says my name gives me chills. Reluctantly I uncurl my other hand from my thumb. It doesn't seem swollen, but there is a growing patch of blood underneath my nail. He looks it over. "Can you bend it?"
"I think it's broken?" I say. Tears are streaming down my face. My first stroke of bad luck was becoming a Gamemaker and now this.
"Just try."
With excruciating pain, I am able to bend it.
He leads me over to the couch. "Wait here."
My kittens have tired themselves out by playing and sleep in a pile on the couch. Dimitri comes back a few minutes later holding a shot glass with a clear liquid in it. Alcohol seems to be his answer for everything. "Put your thumb in this. It'll take away the swelling and reduce the chances of you having a black nail.
"What is it?" I ask as I put my thumb in the foul-smelling liquid. "Vodka?"
"Vinegar. Vodka tastes decent when you drink it. Vinegar tastes like someone took a piss in your mouth."
"Thank you," I say. I feel guilty for being cross to him earlier. "The odds are not in my favor."
He sits next to me and rubs my shoulder affectionately. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, the odds have not been in my favor for the last eight years."
"You survived," I say. "That has to count for something."
He runs a hand through his curly red hair. I want to touch it to feel its silky texture in between my fingers. I wonder if it's really soft or if he uses the chemicals to make it look like that. "Yeah, but at what price?" He opens his mouth then closes it again. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it."
The pain is beginning to subside. And I am able to move my thumb inside the shot glass. We sit there in silence until Dimitri reaches over and flips on the television. "The movie was starting to be interesting," he explains. "Unless you want me to hang those pictures…"
"I can do it," I insist.
Chuckling, Dimitri reaches over and pets Oliver. "That seems to be your answer for everything, Capitol girl."
"Do I look like helpless to you?"
He sidesteps the question, by changing the subject. "I see you have kittens. They're cute."
"To keep me company," I say.
"Have you looked at the tributes yet?"
"No, I haven't been home. I really don't know what to look for. Have you?"
"No, I don't really look at them until the day they show us their strengths and then the interviews with Caesar. The Opening Ceremonies are more for the stylists than for us. It's the "Who's Who." He shrugs. "I mean, you can look at their postures, eyes, facial expressions etcetera. Really, it's just a big party for everyone except for the tributes."
"The mentors come too?"
He nods. "It's their time to gather sponsors, based on their tributes first impressions. You always have some of the same people who support certain districts every year. For example, Finnick Odair always gathers certain sponsors because of who he is."
"They probably call in favors too," I say. "Victors seem to have a lot of sway in the Capitol."
Althea seems to have gotten jealous of the attention Oliver is getting and she tries to crawl into Dimitri's lap. I scoop her up and put her in mine.
Dimitri hesitates. "That can be…dangerous. As a mentor, you can get in roped in to certain circles… Some people call it whoring."
"But it happens?"
"Oh yeah, it happens. I would bet money that Finnick Odair whores himself if he believes one of his tributes has a chance. I never did it. It's better to let a tribute earn their sponsors on their own merit." He licks his lips. Oliver attacks his hand and chews on his finger. Dimitri seems not to notice. "The Capitol… is a dangerous place when you're a victor."
"How so?"
Dimitri grips my shoulder tightly. "Promise me you'll stay away from the mentors. Do not allow them to try to sell you their tributes."
"But I'm a Gamemaker, I don't understand…"
He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. You're Vivian and Hugo's daughter. If they even think they have a chance of influencing you in their favor, they will. Since you've never done this, they'll think you don't know any better."
I am insulted that he thinks that I am unable to take care of myself, but I know he's right. At least about this. I have no idea what to expect. "They'll think I'm like my mother."
"Not necessarily. They know that you've spent a fair amount of time with your grandmother, who is a victor in the 14th Games and from District 8." His grip relaxes on my shoulder, "But your mother has spent a fair amount of time in different… Victors' company. Basically, you're fucked either way."
"Great. Are you going to the party?"
"At Snow's mansion after the Opening Ceremonies? Yeah, are you?"
"Do I have much of a choice?"
"Well, considering that your mother is one of his favorites, it would probably be a bad move not to go. Everyone's watching you. These Games have a potential… of being… different."
He slouches in my couch and picks up flips through the different channels through the television. "When the Games are in session, you can watch your favorite tributes on the different cameras." The arena comes into view. Right now we are in the forest and it is dark. Through night vision on the cameras, the trackerjacker's nest swings lightly in the breeze.
Dimitri shows me how to select the different channels and even track the tributes. "Consider this an all access pass."
"What happens when they die?"
"Game over," he chuckles. "Do not pass go or collect two hundred dollars."
I glare at him.
"The camera's that follow them go dark and their picture show." He nods to my thumb. "How's it feeling?"
"Better, thank you."
He focuses his attention on the television. His arm is still draped over my shoulder. "So, who's your date? Is it that Graham guy again?"
"Why are you warning me about tomorrow?" I ask. I wonder if my mother has put him up to it.
His eyes lock with mine. "When you are picked for the Games you are given a mentor whose job it is to keep you alive. They provide you with the necessary training in for the interviews, how to impress the Gamemakers and survive in the arena." He cups my face in his hand. His lips are inches from mine. I can smell the mixture of alcohol on his breath and his cologne. "Sweetheart, they will eat you alive."
Before I can answer Dimitri pulls away and removes my thumb from the shot glass and sets it on the table. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and dries it.
"Now, it'll stink," I say. "But—"
"Vinegar never hurt anyone," He says quietly. "In fact, our ancestors used to use it as a cleaning agent."
"You seem to know a lot about the country before Pandem," I say.
Dimitri gives me a half smile. "I had a…friend whose passion was the old days; mostly the odd trivia."
"My grandmother and I are having dinner tonight. We don't have any carrots; she went out to get some. I was supposed to be unpacking, and instead I bash my thumb in with a hammer." I am rambling.
"I'm back," my grandmother calls. She is carrying a bag of vegetables. "Carmen, are you here?"
"I'm here." I call.
"It happens to best of us," Dimitri chuckles. He removes a playful kitten from his lap.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" I ask.
"No, you should…. Enjoy your free time before the Games start. Just don't try to break any more of your fingers and bring back my hammer when you're done." He stands and nods to my grandmother. "Nice seeing you again."
"Could you give me a ride to the party and back tomorrow? I don't really want to drive, and since you are my mentor and I don't recall you telling me you had a date."
An impish grin plays around the corner of his mouth. "You never asked."
"Well do you?" I put my hand on my hip.
He blushes. "I'll pick you up at five-thirty."
"No garish makeup."
"Fine." He rolls his eyes and opens the door to leave. I'm surprised at how willing he is to forgo the garish white mask. Then he stops. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble." He exchanges glances with my grandmother, then he closes the door firmly behind him. His touch lingers on my cheek. I don't know if I can trust him, but I don't have much choice. I wonder if this is how the tributes feel when they are thrust into a mentor's care.
Please Review!
Copyright Finding Tobias 2012