I do not own the Hunger Games, but this story and the original characters are mine.
Chapter 17
To my surprise, he kisses me back. Dimitri's lips are warm and gentle against mine. They taste like the spicy scent of cloves and chocolate. I shift my position so that I am able to wrap my arm around his neck. My fingers twist around tendrils of his wild red hair. His hand slides up my cheek and into my hair and pulls me closer. There are no ulterior motives in this kiss. It is simply a kiss of affirmation that, yes, you are liked. The idea that I find him extremely attractive is something that I can never tell him, because it would make things entirely too awkward. Nor is it appropriate at this time.
As the kiss comes to a natural end, a sigh escapes his lips. I brush a stray tendril away from his face.
"Carmen." He whispers. "Why did you do that?"
"Well, I'm not paying for your affections, at least as far as I know. I don't pity you. My grandmother said that you should never pity a victor. I have no right because I have no idea what they went through." I tick each excuse off on my hand.
"Your grandmother is a smart woman," He replies, cupping my cheek. For an instant, I think we're going to kiss again.
"So that just leaves the last option." I whisper.
"You like me?" He says skeptically. "I find that very hard to believe."
"You're not giving yourself enough credit."
"You don't know how I…"
You survived the fucking Hunger Games." I interrupt. "You're my mentor. That's enough for me."
"My tributes despised me," He says softly. "Once they were in the arena, I couldn't help them. Out of the six I mentored, only one came out alive and even then it was a fluke."
"You have a better track record than Haymitch Abernarthy. He's had none. You could be him."
"Haymitch may be a bumbling drunk, but he's very smart. He did his tributes a favor. He let them die so they wouldn't have to face the aftermath and guilt of being a victor." Dimitri unscrews the top of his flask and takes a long drink.
"I couldn't." I say. "I'd at least have to try to get them out."
"Sometimes it's not that simple. Some of the kids see it as a death sentence, particularly in some Districts like 11 or 12 so they just give up. There's nothing you can do."
"Most people in the Capitol think that being a victor is glamorous because of the attention and endorsements."
"Yeah, well, it's not." He taps the bottom of the carton on the palm of his hand to pack the tobacco. "The families of dead tributes spit at you when they see you because you let their child die. Then there's the issue of food and money. When you go home, everyone hates you because they're starving and you and your family are not."
"I don't understand. District 5 has the lowest amount of tesserae."
"Well, we have a small population than the rest of the Districts, thanks to a huge tornado that ripped through our district and killed a bunch of people at least ten years ago. The Capitol often doesn't mention that during the reapings. Also, because of where the District is located, we can grow some of our own crops to supplement what is shipped in. The wide open spaces are good for cows."
"A lot of people starved in District 8. I remember sharing my lunch with some of the other girls because they didn't have anything to eat." I lean back on my hands.
"Also, you are not a hero. You symbolize every single thing they hate. It's worse when you become a Gamemaker. Then you are responsible for creating the environment in which their children die. So basically, what I'm saying is that you can never go back to District 8. Once you're a Gamemaker, you play by their rules We are puppets of the Capitol, designed to keep the Districts in check." Dimitri lights another cigarette and takes a long drag; the embers burn brightly at the end of the small stick. Fire scares me.
"And if we don't?"
He draws a line across his neck with his lit cigarette. "That'll be the end of you or someone you know. It can be anyone. Your mother, father, sister, dog. It doesn't matter to them, as long as they find some means of control. But enough about that. Let's talk about you. Tell me about this fire that killed your sister."
"Her name was Kari. She was twelve. There's not much to tell. They never found the source of the fire, or so they say."
"Of course not," Dimitri scoffs. "Just like no one dies of starvation in District 12 or there was no natural disaster in District 5."
"Fires were frequent there. There were scraps of cloth and lint lying around along side, canisters of oil to grease the machines." My voice cracks and I have to turn away from him.
"Carmen." His voice is a whisper as he grips my shoulder. The way he says my name gives me chills.
"There was so much smoke and the flames spread quickly like spilled water. It had to be planned. The majority of the people that worked in this plant were children. She was engulfed in flames. A beam fell down from the ceiling and separated us." I whisper. "Someone had barred the door and we couldn't get it open." I can't stop the tears that flow freely down my cheeks. I can't breathe. The memory of smoke chokes me. I smell my flesh and that of the other children.
Dimitri pulls me into his lap and I bury my face in his shirt. He rocks me from side to side and strokes my hair as if I am a child. Indeed, it feels like I have regressed back to one. He is no stranger to tragedy and he has no room to judge. I know this, but I still feel guilty.
"I'm sorry for dumping this on you, again," I say. "I know that it's nothing compared to what you've endured."
"That's the funny thing about scars. You really can't measure how deeply they cut you." He kisses my forehead. "It's almost impossible to compare your scars to other people's. In more happy news, I think we're even on kisses now."
"Uh… no. You just kissed me again. I think I have one more," I say.
"That doesn't count."
"A kiss is a kiss."
"You're cute." He laughs and squeezes my shoulder. "We should probably make our way back to civilization. Tomorrow this place will belong to the tributes."
I stand up and stretch and then I help Dimitri pick up our few items. It almost feels like a date; first dinner and then gazing semi-romantic under the stars in the 74th Hunger Games arena. I wonder if anyone has proposed in a past arena. Probably so, though most likely not under the stars. Most Capitol residents are too dense to truly appreciate their beauty. To propose here seems like sacrilege. To even care about someone here, is sacrilege.
My mind goes back to what Dimitri said about how the Capitol picks you off if you don't play their games. After the fire, I remember my grandmother acting odd. She would stand in the kitchen in her green polka dotted house dress staring at the window clutching a knife. I remember that day. It was two days after the fire. It was hot and the heat of the fire had not left my skin.
"Grandmother," I say. "When is Father coming to get me?"
"Soon, darling." She keeps her eyes focused on the window. "He is supposed to arrive on the train tonight. Then you will leave in the morning."
"Are you coming with us?"
"It's not safe for me to leave with you."
"Nothing is ever safe enough for you," I complain. "It's always something. Someone is out to get you, me or Kari. Well, you know what, you were right. It's your fault she's dead."
The knife clatters to the floor. My ears ring as she slaps me across the face. "Don't you ever say that to me again. I have tried my damnedest to try to protect you kids. Why do you think you're here instead of rotting in the Capitol summer heat?"
"I hate it here, and I hate you," I spit. Tears well up in my eyes. "I wish I that I had died in the fire."
"Carmen," My grandmother says firmly.
"I want to go home. "I run away from her and slam the door to the small room that my sister and I shared. I don't know how long I slept, except that when my grandmother woke me up for dinner it was dark. When I woke up, the burns on my arms throbbed. The fire had stolen my appetite along with my sister.
Downstairs, my father waited at the table. He looks tired and deep circles are etched under his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, an unusual occurrence for him. His Gamemaker badge hung loosely around his neck and his tie was crooked.
"Father," I cry and run into his arms. He hugs me tightly and starts crying softly.
"This is all my fault," he whispers. "I shouldn't have…"
My grandmother gives him a warning look.
"Well, no matter. At least, you're still alive. That's all that counts." He hugs me again. The next morning when he put me on the train was one of the last times I saw my father. He wasn't the strong man who watched movies with me
It is a rock that brings me back to the arena. Back to Dimitri who grabs my arm to steady me as I stumble over the invisible object in the dark. We stop at the babbling brook and Dimitri rinses out the thermos.
"This is your last chance at arena water until the Games end," he teases.
We both kneel down and take long drinks and wash our faces. I try to wash away the unease. What if that fire was somehow connected to my father being a Gamemaker? I shake my head. Now, I'm just being paranoid. Dimitri probably did more to anger the government than my father. My father tried to keep a clean record in the Capitol and he always encouraged his children to do the same. Surely it was a coincidence. Nothing bad has happened since then.
"You're awfully quiet, Capitol girl," Dimitri says.
"I was just thinking about the fire," I say quietly. "And one of the last times I saw my father. He wasn't himself."
He throws an arm around my shoulders. "You shouldn't let the past bring you down. You couldn't save her. I'm sorry I even made you talk about it."
"A few nights ago, you said something about a database and my father."
Dimitri shrugs. "Just that you could look him up in the Panem phonebook, that's all. Have you ever tried that?"
"But the President's advisors probably aren't listed. I've looked. I've been looking since I was sixteen."
"Well, maybe there's another reason. Maybe he secretly divorced your mother and has a secret second family."
"That's cruel." I shrug of his embrace.
"That's Capitol life, sweetheart. You know that. No one gives a flying fuck about anyone outside of themselves."
"He'd never leave us. He's not like that." I hug myself. Even in Dimitri's jacket, I'm cold. The temperature in the arena must be dropping. It makes me feel paranoid that someone could be watching us here, even though I know that arena is probably deserted at this time at night.
"Grief can do terrible things to a person," Dimitri answers.
"The grief was so bad for my mother that she had that surgery that deletes your memories," I say. "They wanted me to get it too."
We don't speak again until we exit the arena. Dimitri groans as we step into the artificial light of the holding room. He closes the door behind us and we are no longer just Carmen and Dimitri, we are Gamemakers.
"Come on, let's go home," he says. He picks our helmets from the bench and hands one to me. "We have to be back here in a few hours anyway, for the little kiddies."
"You know that my father was a Gamemaker before he was one of Snow's advisors, right?"
"I didn't, but I'm not surprised. Most people appointed by Snow were Gamemakers or high-ranking Peacemakers. He picks people he knows that he has under his thumb. Why?" He wraps his arm around my shoulders. I lean into him, grateful that he's here.
"I want to find him."
"You're better off leaving that pile of snakes lie," Dimitri snorts. "If he's in with Snow, you're not even going to be able to even get close. He might not even remember who you are."
"He won't forget his own kid."
Dimitri turns on his bike before we even get on it. The motor's roar echoes off the surrounding concrete walls. He leans close to me. "Trust me. Snow will do whatever it takes to get complete loyalty from those around him."
"You think….?"
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I know he's already made the connection of what I'm trying to tell him. "Just forget it, Carmen. You're going to get hurt if you dabble in this anymore."
"But—"
"Trust me. If there's some big conspiracy between your parents and President Snow, you don't want to be in the middle of it." His voice is harsh in the microphone.
Tears stream down my face. I actually had hope that maybe, just maybe, after all these years, I could find my father. When Dimitri had mentioned something about a database containing records, I was hopeful. After all these years, I know that something deeper is going on. Everyone gets holidays and time off, even high government officials like Emily's uncle.
"Maybe he's dead." I sniff. "Or exiled."
"I don't know, baby."
"Can we look?"
We speed the away from the arena and I cling to him like a child. I can never stay strong in front of him. My hands find their way into his front pockets again.
"We can try. Though you might not like what you find." Dimitri's voice becomes stern. "We're playing with fire."
"I know," I whisper.
"When I tell you that you shouldn't look any further, you have to listen to me. It's my duty as your mentor and your friend, to protect you."
"I promise." I don't have any choice. I need him and his knowledge of the Capitol. Maybe some of the other victors know where my father is.
Suddenly, he lets out a hoarse laugh. "I can't believe this, on the eve of the fucking Hunger Games. You're really something, Capitol Girl."
A/N: Please Review.