Chester could remember crying.
He could remember sobbing violently, relentlessly until they drugged him with something and he passed out. He cried when he woke up. They drugged him again. It went on like this for a while—he didn't know how long. Eventually he was freed to meet with his stylists. They scolded him for crying so much, which only made him cry more. He wanted to feel bad for being hard on Dragonfly and Yellow but he couldn't find space for any emotion other than sorrow. Besides, it wouldn't matter even if they did manage to fix his puffy eyes. He knew he'd just burst into tears again during the interview.
Watching her on screen was heartbreaking. Much of the three hour program was devoted to him, the Victor, and by extension she was on screen a lot, too. Before long Chester was bawling unattractively. Livia passed him a handkerchief and he thanked her quietly, blowing his nose and wiping at his eyes. Makeup streaked the white fabric and he sighed. His stylists would throw a fit.
"How does it feel being the Victor of the 238th Hunger Games?" Livia asked, her tone gentle. Her hair was still a periwinkle color, though she now wore a poofy white strapless dress that fell to her knees. She wore high heels the same color as her hair. She looked so innocent, so trustworthy, but Chester could feel nothing but hate for her.
"I didn't really win."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you saw the recap. I didn't do anything. Sure, I killed Ash and Tessa, but completely on accident. I won on sheer dumb luck. And then it came down to me and her and I only won because I was too stupid to kill myself. And it's bullshit, you know, that it had to end like this. I loved her. I love her. Except she's dead because the Capitol," he spat the word, "is full of sick-minded idiots. Why couldn't we both win? Why couldn't we all be alive? Why even have the Hunger Games? You think it's funny? You murder twenty-three children every year. How is that right? We didn't do anything. I didn't rebel against the Capitol. I don't understand why I have to pay for the actions of my ancestors. Why she had to pay."
The audience wasn't very fond of that speech. Chester didn't blame them, not really. It wasn't their fault. They were raised to think the Games were okay. They were stupid and brainwashed. They couldn't help it.
His parents understood. They kept their distance. When he arrived home they hugged him and kissed him for the cameras, but inside their home in Victor's Village they didn't try to talk to him. He appreciated it. He mostly laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling. He slept often, but not for long periods of time. He'd dream of her and wake up with fresh tears in his eyes.
It was nice to see everyone with enough food to eat. At least there was one good thing that had come out of the Arena. But every smiling child he saw made him worry about her sisters. Were they still alive? Did their father pull through? Were they taking care of each other? He wanted desperately to scoop them up and bring them to live with him, but he knew the Capitol would never allow it. They'd kill him.
But, then again, he was better off dead.
There was no reason for him to live, none that he could think of. He didn't want to mentor tributes. He didn't want to do photoshoots. He didn't want to go on the Victory Tour. He missed his old life. Back when he didn't have any cares. His family had been fairly well off before he became a Victor. But no, he didn't want a life where he had never met her. At least he had had a short time with her. Wasn't that enough?
No, no it wasn't. It would never be enough. He missed her. God, he missed her. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. He had fallen for and lost his first love.
His last love, he vowed.
AN: I want to thank everyone for reading! :3 (I know you're out there, even if you don't review xD)