Chapter 38

I get in the limousine. Nahla's about as pale as a Polynesian girl can be. I look at her with sympathy and give a sad shake of my head. She opens her mouth to say something to me but nothing comes out. I give her a small pat on the shoulder. It's the only thing of comfort I can think to do.

We go pick up Thresh who doesn't look changed at all. Sure he looks like he's seen a rough night but it looks like he was the one being rough, not the one being roughed up. Weird. He stares straight ahead, as always, and has the faintest tilt upward on one corner of his mouth. He's smiling? Suddenly I grow afraid for what ever Capitol woman he was supposed to entertain last night.

We drive on and pick up Prim. She enters the car and catches sight of me. She huddles herself in my arms and rests her head on my shoulder. I press my nose in her hair to catch the faintest trace of gingerbread scent I know she's been using repeatedly from the fancy Capitol showers. I kiss the crown of her head and she gives a long sigh. I tighten my arms around her, "You all right?" I whisper in her ear.

She lets her head drop down to my chest, "I'll be fine. I'm just…processing."

I frown, my poor Prim. As we pull away from Josh's house I see the garden gnome laughing at me.

We take the ride in silence. Finally we return to the training/living quarters.

Tonight is the opening ceremonies out in the streets of Panem. We are immediately rushed back to our district floors so our stylists can get to work on us. My prep team pokes and prods and puts strange smelling stuff on my face so I don't get a stubbly beard when the games begin. After I'm at what they keep calling a Beauty Base Zero, my stylist comes in and introduces herself to me, "Hello Finnick I am Paulette and it is my pleasure to be your stylist in these games."

I sit in silence resisting the urge to correct her on my going by Nick. Like I said before, I've taken a new fondness to being named after my father and am actually liking when people call me this. It's something of pride I suppose or maybe just a good luck charm. My father survived the games, why can't I? Of course I can't survive I correct myself, if I survive Prim doesn't and I'm making sure Prim goes home. "Very nice to meet you Paulette. Any hints on what I'm to be wearing tonight?" I actually don't care but I thought I'd make polite conversation.

"No hints. It's a surprise!"

Paulette instantly gets to work on my make up. She spends hours 'highlighting my features' as she calls it. Turns out I'm not that into makeovers. Go figure right?

"And this is what you'll be wearing." She leaves the room and returns with a net. A net? She explains how it is the exact outfit my father had worn in the 75th Hunger Games for his opening ceremonies. She helps me dress and claps her hands in delight. "Oh you just look wonderful! It's like a flash from the past. You look wonderful Finnick! Truly wonderful!"

I try to smile at her compliment but I hear a scuffle happening outside the doors. I feel my eyebrows knit together in concern. I hear a whining and some incoherent speech. Suddenly a woman bursts through the doors into my room. Her hair falls limply around her face, her skin is considerably pale, and she is much thinner than the last time I'd seen her.

My stylist smacks herself in the forehead, "Oh shoot. They warned me not to say your full name."

My mother runs to me. She holds my face in both her arms and kisses me on the crown of my head, on my cheeks, I have to push her back when I realize she thinks I'm her husband. "Mom, Mom, it's me Nick. Nick, Nick," I repeat over and over but I'm not sure if it's for me or for her.

My mom opens her mouth like she wants to say something but nothing comes out. She gives me a strange smile and goes back to hugging me. I can hear her voice but only inside my head, I've heard too many of her rants before, "Oh Finnick, Finnick it's you! You're here! Please Finnick, never leave me again. Say my name Finnick, say my name!"

"Annie," I say granting her unspoken wish, "Annie, calm down. It's me, your son."

"Oh Finnick, Finnick! You have a son! Where is he? You must see him! He's a beautiful baby boy Finnick, you must see," that's what she should have said. But she's not. Why not? I grow confused. Why isn't she saying anything? Everything is in my head. I can tell by the expression on her face that she wants to say it but she physically cannot.

My mouth forms around the strange foreign word, "Avox. You're an avox." I say it more of to myself than to anyone. I feel my stare go blank and my mouth hang slack. My mother is an avox. Why? She's crazy. She's a crazy, frail, mentally disturbed Hunger Games survivor. Why is she an avox? I quickly come to the conclusion that it's more of my punishment than hers.

I don't even know if my mother knows the difference between freedom and this sort of imprisonment. When she's lucid I'm sure she does but most of the time she's this disturbed, broken woman.

I'm rushed out the door to be led to my chariot. I look behind me to see my mom paralyzed to the spot I left her. She's sobbing silently but violently. Her whole body convulses with each cry of pain. She thinks her husband is leaving her again. She's watching her husband leave her and is in pain over her abandonment.

I've heard of people dying by broken heart and I'm sure if my mom wasn't only half crazy she would have already done it. No one would be able to bare the pain of repeatedly watching what you think to be your husband leave you, push you away in disgust, watch him die. Anyone who is constantly bombarded with such sorrows would drop dead in a second.

Suddenly I don't see my mom as some fragile mentally disoriented figure but as somebody strong enough to fight her way through the pains of this world. She is someone who can take a hit, even an emotional one and still function in society…well half of the time. She is someone to admire.

My stare goes blank and my jaw goes slack but this time it's not in shock, it's in amazement. The corners of my mouth twitch until they reach a smile. I hold said expression through the rest of the night, through the chariot rides and all the way to bed. My mom really is a remarkable woman. She's a true fighter and I'm proud to say I'm related to her.

Crazy writer's block on this story! It's so hard to write for it! So give me some reviews to make it a little easier. Hehehehe