I do not own the Hunger Games, but the plot of this story and original characters are mine.

Chapter 21

When I get back to my apartment, I am exhausted. I feel like I have run six miles and afterward someone has beaten my body into a pulp. I drop Dimitri's keys and my purse on the counter. My kittens mew loudly for attention. I pick them up and carry them into the bedroom. There, I crash on the bed and sob, the days events replay endlessly in my head; Epona's death, President Snow's grip, Dimitri's episode, Graham's violence. Dimitri's memories.

Dimitri. Graham. The scene plays over and over in my head. I remember the hard grasp of President Snow and the deaths of the tributes flash through my mind. I cry for them too.

Eventually, I manage to cry myself to sleep. My sleep is garbled and uneasy and I wake up feel even more tired than when I went to sleep. The shadows are lengthening on my bedroom wall. I've slept most of the afternoon. My clothes are rumpled. My mouth feels gross. The clock tells me that it's four-thirty. As I brush my teeth, I wonder what Dimitri's doing, if he's even at his apartment. I never did give him back his keys and he might want to be able to lock his door when he leaves. He may not even be back yet.

I check my email on my Gamemaker work computer. According to Plutarch in an email, at six o'clock, they are reshowing the highlights from the beginning of the Hunger Games. The stations are most likely not showing them again in the Districts due to scheduled blackout hours to conserve energy. Neither Dimitri or I need to report to the arena tomorrow. That's one blessing of this whole thing, at least. I don't have to face him yet.

I make my way into the kitchen, the two kittens following behind me. On the way, I contemplate excuses if he gets angry that I've come to his apartment. I'm lonely? Well, yes, that's true. The apartment seems so big. I open the door to my refrigerator. The knife hiding with the eggs rattles loudly. He doesn't want to hear my sob stories as much as I want to have him relive his Games and mentoring. I'm already causing him enough pain.

The cold hand of the knife rests in my hand. It is neither now or never. I dig the keys out of my purse and close the door behind me. My bare feet pad on the carpet as I hesitantly approach his door. The door is unlocked. What if he's laying on the floor unconscious, what do I do?

I raise my hand to the door to knock and then lose my nerve. If he wants his keys, he can come find me. I can't handle another drunken outburst. I can't handle any more emotions. I just want to close my eyes and for this to be over.

I turn on the television. Nothing is interesting is on except for the local Capitol gossip show airs the famous citizens' dirty laundry. My mother's made a few appearances on it when she had certain victors over to our house for one of her "parties." There were rumors of my parents' divorce, but nothing ever came of it.

Zeus Flamus, the host of the TDZ, the resident gossip column, points excitedly to Robin Alexander's Bistro. The camera zooms on Graham and Dimitri having an exchange and me looking onwards with a look of sheer horror on my face. Funny, I never noticed the cameras there.

"Gamemaker and Victor, Dimitri Kral stepped in what looked to be what an ugly breakup between Carmen Hyde and her now ex-Graham Swingline. Friends of the couple say that things between the couple had been strained after Ms. Hyde's appointment as Gamemaker. There has been some speculation by some that she may be romantically involved with Dimitri after she and Dimitri were spotted kissing and dancing together at President Snow's mansion following the parade of tributes. Comments from other Gamemakers say that the two are not romantically involved and that the kiss was probably a gesture of affection. One Gamemaker commented that they have a close relationship with each other as Dimitri is her mentor. Friends of Graham have commented that he has not been faithful to Carmen on many occasions."

The cameral zooms up to the part where Graham is grabbing me out of my chair and shoving me against the table. Zeus continues, "Bystanders at Robin Alexander's say that Dimitri was very adamant defending her in this confrontation with Graham, who see is seen here roughly grabbing her and shoving her towards a table." Apparently things go so ugly that Dimitri pulled a knife." Zeus's eyebrows flash up dramatically. Then it cuts to Dimitri and I sitting at the table holding hands. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair or a tear off my face, I can't tell. "We'll have to keep an eye on this relationship now that Graham is out of the picture. There are some major parties that will be thrown during this Hunger Game season; it'll be interesting if the two step out together. Dimitri is known for…"

I change the channel. I quickly change it back, but I've missed it. They've moved on to other elite citizens of the Capitol. A movie is playing. I think it's the same one I watched at Dimitri's the other night.

I should feel embarrassed about not stepping in and having Dimitri defend me, but I feel numb. Any emotions that I have been already cried out. And a part of me doesn't care that I've been TDZ-ed and I have the paparazzi following us both. Dimitri might. After his stint in Victory Circle, attention from any kind of media must not be a good thing. I try to think how I could have prevented a scene, but I know it's impossible to change. Graham intended to make a scene and he got what he wanted.

I watch television mindlessly, trying to waste time to until they show the highlights of the Games events. I know that they are probably monitoring us. An hour before, they re-air the tributes' interviews. Eleven of those tributes are no longer alive and will be sent back to their families in a wooden box. There is no homage to the fallen tributes or even acknowledgement of their deaths.

Caesar Flickerman and Zeus banter a bit about the tributes. "Katniss really took off running after the gong sounded. Her speed must have really impressed the judges to give her an eleven," Zeus says.

Caesar chuckles. "Let's take a peek into what the Gamemakers were experiencing this morning."

It cuts the scene in the conference room. President Snow sits at the head of the table, his hands folded neatly. He smiles, but his eyes stay cruel. The camera pans to Plutarch who smiles and gives the camera a thumbs up. Contessa is putting on lipstick. Elmo and Sixten are talking. Finally, the camera rests on Dimitri and I. Dimitri scowls at the camera.

"I always wonder how he got his appointment," Caesar says.

"He must be so dedicated to the Games," Zeus says. "I bet President Snow wishes that more Victors were as dedicated as he is."

"He's forgoing his traditional makeup today. I'm sure all of the other Gamemakers were relieved," Caesar replies. "It's very unnerving."

The camera pans over to me. "This is Vivian Hyde's daughter. She looks a little nervous," Caesar chuckles. "You can see she keeps looking over to Dimitri for reassurance."

"Is that a black eye?" Zeus asks. "Do you she got that in an altercation with Graham?" From the footage earlier it looks…"

I press the mute button. I've heard enough.

They only show those who are still alive. Suddenly, I have an idea. I pick the kittens up off my lap and walk over to my grand piano. I open the lid of the piano and prop it up with the longest arm. This way, the sound will carry. If I were really brave and didn't have cats, I'd open the door to my apartment so that the sound could carry down the hall and to Sixten, Contessa and Dimitri.

Dimitri.

I'll play for him too, and all the other victors. In the last seventy-four years close to two thousand tributes have died for the sake of our entertainment. The sheer number makes me sick. I wonder if Dimitri realizes this. He must. Then why is he a Gamemaker?

I turn the volume back up so I'll know exactly when the gong goes off.

It's been a few days since I've played and my fingers are stiff. I rest my finger on my keys and look over at the television waiting for the Games to begin. I mentally prepare a list of pieces that I'll play for the tributes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice booms through the speakers. The gong sounds.

I play the first chords of the third movement of Chopin's Sonata No. 2 in b-flat minor. The movement is called Marche Funèbre: Lento. A slow march. A dirge. It's a familiar piece that most people will recognize. The piece by Chopin makes them uncomfortable and vulnerable. The rumbling tone of the bass adds to the uncomfortabliness. My teacher described it as gut-wrenching like all of your entrails are on display. The motif never seems to resolve and stays in a minor key. I know this because I played this for several of my mother's Gamemaker friends. She liked to show me off. "Look at what my little Carmen can do." As retaliation, I'd play my most depressing pieces I knew. The Gamemakers would shift in their seats uncomfortable, until my mother would break in with. "Can't you play something happier?"

If the Capitol is watching me, they'll know exactly what I'm doing. I don't care.

The first chords that are the main theme are played pianissimo, but as the piece progresses, it increases in volume. When I reach the Sforzandos, it is in time with the Careers killing the eleven tributes that stood no chance.

Next, I play Beethoven's Pathetique, followed by Debussy's Clare de Lune. These pieces are moody, but yet, I feel like they offer a glimmer of hope; a hope that the afterlife of these tributes will be better than their last moments. Clare de Lune is for Dimitri and I. A tribute to last night. The notes fill the apartment, echoing off the walls. I wonder if the people above me and below me can hear it. I guess it doesn't matter. They're all Gamemakers, anyway.

Dimitri stands in my foyer. Dark circles are cut deeply under his eyes, both of which are bloodshot. He's been drinking again. His lips are pale and his skin has a green sickly tinge to it.

"I thought we weren't going to see each other for three days," I say.

He doesn't say anything, but shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. "I need my guns back, Carmen."

"No," I say firmly. "You've been drinking."

"You stole them from me. You went through my stuff. That's not right. Surely, someone in you family taught you that it was wrong? What if I came in and stole all of your music?"

"I would be angry." I play a jarring chord on the piano. He flinches. "I know what I did wasn't right, and I feel guilty. I know you're angry and I don't blame you, but I felt you were a danger to yourself.

"Carmen." He holds up a slip of paper. "Let's make a deal. You have something I want and I have something you want.

"What is that?"

"What did we talk about last night in arena?"

My father.

"You found it? How?" I try to take the piece of paper from him. Dimitri plucks it just out of my reach. "Ah. Ah. Ah. The guns first."

Suddenly, I remember where I put one of his guns. A smile breaks out on my face. "You want your guns back?"

"I don't feel safe without them."

"I don't feel safe with you having them, particularly when you are drunk," I say.

"Well, I'm completely sober now so that's not a concern. I'm pretty sure I've puked up all of the contents of my stomach and part of my spleen."

"That was too much information."

Dimitri follows me into the master bathroom. "I suppose you want me to close your eyes so I don't see your secret hiding spot?"

"I don't care." I open the door to the cupboard under the sink. The gun rests in the pink box that holds my tampons. The handle sticks out of the box. I lift the box out and present it to Dimitri. His eyes widen and then his face turns into an expression of disgust. "Seriously?"

I offer him the box. "You said you wanted it back."

"Yeah, but now I'm going to have to disinfect it. It has… girl germs." He picks it up gingerly between his forefinger and thumb.

"Mature." I answer. "You'll get the other one after if the number is real."

"You don't trust me?"

"Why should I?" I say.

"I saved your ass from Graham today."

"Earlier, you threw a bottle at my head today in your drunken rage," I remind him. "Oh and for the record, you were the one who told me not to trust anyone. You're not an exception."

"Ouch. Well, I would like to remind you that Katniss Everdeen could have shot an arrow through your skull if I hadn't pushed you out of the way," He sneers.

"You pinned me up against the wall in the Training Center. What the hell is wrong with you?"

He chuckles. "Do you have any ideas, because I'd like to know that myself."

"The Capitol thinks we're an item, by the way. We were on TDZ."

He rolls his eyes. "Lovely. Stupid, inane..."

"Did you know they were there?"

Dimitri shrugs. "They're everywhere. There used to be a song with the line, 'I'll follow you until you love me.' That's basically their philosophy."

"Lovely." I roll my eyes.

"Isn't it though? Welcome to being famous."

"I don't love them."

"Trust me, I feel the same feeling."

Even though I am angry at him, I can't help by chuckle. "At least we agree on something."

He leans against the doorframe and gives me a half smile. "Yeah, that's something, I guess. It's a start. But it's not enough."

I stare at him hard and try to understand what he's implying. What does he want from me? I am not going to sleep with him. My face burns. He probably knows what I said to Contessa earlier. That's why he offered his… services.

He turns to leave, and then he hesitates. "I heard you playing earlier. It was…very powerful and moving. I…"

"I'm mourning." I whisper. My eyes fill up with tears. I want to tell him about Epona in her final moments. I want to tell him about my sister, who was trapped in the building when it collapsed in a fiery pile.

"I know," he whispers. Dimitri hands me the slip of paper. "Let me know how it turns out."

"Wait!" I call. He doesn't hear me. The door slams and he's gone. "I want to talk to you, you idiot."

I look down at the piece of paper in my hands. Scrawled in Dimitri's messy handwriting are ten numbers; the area code for the Capitol followed by the seven digits that make up the number. This is what I've been looking for for all of these years. Yet I am afraid of what I'll find when I finally dial that number.

The clock reads eight-thirty. The television is giving an update on what is going on in the arena. There have been no more deaths since this morning. Is it too late to call? With shaking hands, I dial the number.

It rings twice. "Hello, Hugo Hyde speaking."

My breath catches in my throat.

"Hello, Father?" I say timidly. "It's me, Carmen."

There's silence on the other end. I am afraid that he's hung up. My heart is pounding. In the background I can hear talking. "Hello?" I say again.

My heart pounds as I wait for a response on the other end. What if he's erased his memory of me just as my mother did with Kari? Before she had the procedure done, we had to get rid of all the reminders of my younger sister. If she saw a picture or saw something that belonged to her, she could be triggered into remembering and it would be a waste. Or my mother could be sent into an uncontrollable rage.

"Carmen?"

"Do you remember who I am?"

"How could I forget? Who gave you this number? Where are you?" My father says frantically.

I don't answer.

"Sweetheart, how did you get this number?" He repeats. He doesn't sound angry, but more afraid. This isn't how I expected my first conversation with my father to go. I'm not sure how I was expecting it, but this is not it.

"Someone gave it to me," I answer. "Dad, I miss you. When are you coming home?"

"Who is it, honey?" A woman asks.

Suddenly, it hits me that he's left us and possibly has another family. Tears well up in my eyes. I shouldn't have called. Dimitri was right.

"It's my daughter," My father replies. He sounds shocked. "Sweetheart, what happened? Where are you?"

"Nothing's happened. I'm fine. I'm at my apartment." I answer. "Where are you?"

My father doesn't answer right away. "We'll see each other soon. Until then, stay alive. Don't let them scare you. May the odds be in your favor."

"But…"

There's a click on the other end and the line is silent. I stare at the cell phone dumbfounded. My heart is pounding. I need to talk to Dimitri. I hurry over to his apartment. The door is locked. I ring the doorbell, but he doesn't answer. He's probably gloating.

It's still early in the evening, according to the Capitol. I go sit out on my balcony that overlooks the Capitol streets. Traffic is picking up. Everyone's going out to party and drink. I almost wish I had somewhere to go. The air is surprisingly warm and balmy for this time of year. I wonder what weather is like in the arena. Is it warm like it was last night? It seems so long ago that Dimitri and I sat on top of the Cornucopia and looked at the stars even though only one day has passed.

My doorbell rings pulling out of me out of my depressing thoughts. Maybe it is Dimitri. Maybe he changed his mind. However, when I open to the door, no one is there. The hallway is empty. A large manila envelop lays on my welcome mat with only my name in it. I pick it up gingerly.

It feels like it contains a large stack of papers. Maybe it contains music? It's not uncommon for music to come this way. Maybe someone heard me playing and wants me to learn a new piece? I drop the unknown envelope on the counter. There's something else in there. A tape? Do they not think I can sight read? Dread overcomes me. I don't know what this is, but y gut tells me that it's not music.

My father's words echo my ears. Don't let them scare you.

A/N: Sorry this chapter is short. This week has been awful. I've been dealing with the aftermath of something that happened on Sunday, and it's really screwed with my writing schedule and my ability to write. Thank you for the reviews and I'm glad you're enjoying it. Please leave more.