Author's Note:
I meant to note this in my last chapter and didn't, so I am doing it now…. It has come to my attention that there are now fanarts floating around out there along with the recommendations for my story. SrpiaEahn has a rather lovely one on Tumblr (under the name of-spectacles-witnessed, I believe), and I have since found a few others (but I can't really tell who the original creators are because I really don't understand how social network stuff works, so I won't list them – but if one of them belongs to you, let me know) and I want to say THAT'S JUST ACES! It's great that people are recommending me, but it's even more amazing to think that my writing has inspired such wonderful work! Thank you a million times, and then a million more!
And a disclaimer: A few lines are lifted directly from The Hunger Games. You'll know it's not mine; just minding my Ps and Qs as usual.
I don't get any sleep the night the mutts are released into the Arena. I sit on the couch and hold my trembling mother all afternoon while she forces herself to watch the horrific scene out of a sense of duty. Her sister had been killed by mutts in the Quarter Quell, and though the wolves are a far cry from the tall, elegant birds that sliced my aunt to ribbons with razor-edged beaks, it still hits devastatingly close to home. And it worsens when it becomes clear that the creatures had been created from this year's fallen Tributes – other people's sisters, brothers, children, friends. This time, it was more than just a fancy show of Capitol engineering. Once she cries herself into another crippling headache after watching the creatures catch Cato and then make a game of dissecting him, I help her stumble up the stairs so she can collapse into bed.
After making sure that she is settled a little, I return to the couch in the parlor to watch the rest of it. I really don't want to, much like my mother had said, but I feel like I have to do it. I do not want to miss the moment that Cato dies – not because I am looking forward to his death, exactly, but because I want to be there when two Victors are declared, and the Head Gamemaker's fate is sealed. As cruel and deranged as Cato was, it is the Capitol that made him into a monster – perhaps not as literally as they did the other Tributes, but a monster just the same. He was from one of the favored Districts, where the Capitol nurtures a culture that enjoys the Hunger Games and encourages their children to volunteer. As much as I have to be honest about being glad for his death, I cannot not deny that he doesn't deserve to die like this, even if being flayed alive is strikingly similar to the way his ally had promised to murder Katniss. The only ones who deserve it are Seneca Crane and President Snow.
But Cato doesn't die during the night. Instead, he lingers on in agony while Katniss and Peeta huddle in small, shivering balls atop the Cornucopia waiting for morning. I have to look away each time they pan over what is left of his still-living body. I get away from it for a few moments at a time and keep myself awake when I go to check on my mother, who is sleeping fitfully with the help of a morphling injection. Each time sleep threatens to overtake me, the images that materialize behind my eyes reawaken me like a splash of cold water.
The propos started onscreen not long after the wolf mutts hamstrung their victim and he could no longer walk; Panem citizens were to go to their designated public viewing areas (the town square for those of us in Twelve, of course) at dawn for the finale of the Games. Cato clearly was not going to survive for long, so everything would draw to a close within the day. If he had happened to perish before dawn, the mandatory event would just be a replay of the declaration of Victory, but since he didn't, we all get to watch him get eaten alive for a while longer first and see the announcement live. So when the sun starts to lighten the sky outside, I change my clothes in hopes that it's not quite so obvious that I'm a wreck, and head into town.
As I walk to the square, I know I should be pleased – excited, even – but the nights' horrors have left a bitter taste in my mouth. When I get there I look immediately for Gale. Because, I guess… that's what we do now. We find each other.
I don't see him as I make my way to the front of the growing crowd, but I see Prim and her mother chatting with Lima Bean and the Bitch while a cameraman hovers nearby. As I get closer, I hear Prim gushing tearfully that she can't wait to see her beloved sister again. The Bitch seems impatient with her answers – Prim's response must be too verbose for her taste this morning, and she thanks her curtly almost before she is finished speaking and barks to the rest of her crew to locate the Mellarks. Everyone may adore Primrose Everdeen, but she's no match for the parents of a boy who may yet not survive. Peeta is slowly bleeding to death again, and that will make for a far better interview. Katniss won't let that happen, though, she'll make sure he outlasts Cato… we'll win this.
The Bitch ignores me altogether as she passes me by (which doesn't bother me a bit), but Lima Bean at least offers a polite "Good morning" in my general direction. I just nod courteously in return, hoping not to invite conversation, and once they move along I turn to Prim.
She smiles excitedly and throws her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug. The gesture eases a little of the bitterness in me, but I still can't help but think with a touch of sorrow, shouldn't she be doing this with her mother? Mrs. Everdeen smiles faintly at the two of us, but doesn't show any interest in participating. How do you become so broken that you let your twelve-year-old child face this alone?
"She's winning," Prim says with guarded relief.
I smile back at her. "It's almost over."
She takes a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself before her head snaps around at the sound of her name. Rory Hawthorne shoves his way past a group of people and she starts into joyful tears again as they embrace. "She's comin' home, Prim!"
Hazelle follows close behind, her youngest son in tow so he doesn't get separated from her, and gingerly squeezes Mrs. Everdeen's hand with quiet words of congratulations. Gale trails a few paces behind her, carrying his sister as usual. Posy sees me and waves happily before her brother sets her down. "Go give Prim a hug, too. She's earned it," he tells her, fatigue evident in his voice, and she darts immediately to her cousin. When he stands again, his steel-colored eyes come to my face and I can see the dark circles beneath them. He sidles up next to me to stand as we have for so many of these events, and looks at me closely for a second longer before saying dryly, "You, too?"
My first reaction is to bristle at the comment; there's no doubt that I probably look every bit as exhausted as he, but I certainly don't like hearing it. I soften after a beat, though, when I realize that he means it not as an insult but more like a statement of solidarity. "Yeah," I admit with a sigh.
….
Posy comes back and throws her arms around Madge with a giggle as the screens above us flicker to life, and my first thought is to snatch up my sister. I hadn't been as lucky as I was the last time we gathered in the square so early; Vick let it slip that Katniss was sure to be declared Victor today, so she has been wide awake and eager to watch the Games all morning. Madge must notice the look on my face because she immediately nudges Posy toward me. I crouch down so I can look my sister levelly in the eye and take her gently by the shoulders, deciding that today I can't take my chances playing more games with her. And besides, she's going to have to start learning sooner or later.
"Pose, I need you to listen to me, okay?" I say, and she nods to tell me that I have her full attention. I'll have to make it quick, because I know that never lasts long. "You cannot watch until I say it's okay, alright? This is serious. It's gonna be really bad, so you need to stand right here with me, cover your ears, and don't turn around until I say so."
She eyes me critically for a second, and says "But I thought Catnip was going to win."
How do I explain to a five-year-old that that won't happen until the wolves finally strip enough flesh from Cato's mangled body that it can no longer sustain life? "She is," I tell her, "but it's gonna be scary first. So please, just do what I say."
I half expect some amount of protest – she is a Hawthorne, too, after all – but Posy decides not to argue. Maybe it was the pleading tone in my voice that convinced her. When I stand back up, she dutifully cups her hands over her ears and leans into the side of my leg facing behind us. I'm glad not to have to fight with her, because I have more than enough fighting to do on my own. Figuring out whether I was in love with Katniss never changed the fact that I love her, and loving her doesn't change the anger and resentment and disappointment, and all of those things don't change how much I still want this to end and for her to come home safe.
When the broadcast comes on, Madge catches my eye and gives me a faint, sad smile as if to say that the horror of the Hunger Games is nearly done, and I am glad to have her here beside me again. Even when she is exhausted, the glowing embers never quite die out.
We watch Cato try to die for nearly an hour, but it would seem that in the end, his strength is his curse. The only blessing is that now his shrill cries of pain have weakened to pitiful, wet gurgling noises – still awful, but less likely for my sister to overhear. Peeta and Katniss both flinch each time the plaintive sounds echo below them. I look to Madge to see how she is faring, and beneath the evident nausea there is the hot flicker of ire in her narrowed, darkened eyes. Posy is becoming fidgety, and is only covering her ears half the time, but she doesn't turn around. Prim's face is streaked with tears, but she keeps her eyes focused carefully on Rory's shoulder next to her so she won't have to watch the scene.
Finally, Katniss agrees to take her arrow from Peeta's tourniquet since it has become abundantly clear that the Capitol's mutts have been carefully trained not to finish their job too quickly. She hangs over the top of the Cornucopia while he holds her feet to keep her from slipping, nocks her last arrow, and mercifully puts it through Cato's throat. Soft mumblings ripple through the crowd around us; seconds later, the cannon fires and the wolf-creatures disappear into a hole in the Arena floor.
And nothing happens.
My first reflex is to turn to Madge again – I still can't believe how easily that always happens – and she meets my gaze immediately. Her brow furrows in confusion, a perfect mirror of my thoughts, and we both look back at the screen waiting for the moment to come. The whispers in the crowd evaporate, no one speaks or moves, waiting, waiting….
The Tributes from Twelve decide that they must still be too close for the hovercraft to retrieve the last corpse. The whispering begins anew, tentatively, and I see Madge nod her head faintly as if encouraging the would-be Victors to move away from the Cornucopia. I mean to look to Prim again, but I get stuck on the way Madge bites her lip impatiently and the sense of guilt returns but differently this time; it's less that I'm looking at her this way, and more that it's now of all times that I'm doing it. My friend is about to be declared Victor of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games, and I'm standing here wondering what it would taste like if it were my teeth leaving a mark on Madge Undersee's lips….
"Gale!" I receive a bony elbow to my knee and remember that Posy is standing next to me. "Will you listen?" she says with annoyance that only a four-year-old can adequately express. "Everybody's talking! Can I look yet?"
Look at what? "Just – yeah, it's okay…." My sister turns around and pulls me back into the square while I remind myself to keep a better handle on focusing my attention. I look back up just in time to hear Claudius Templesmith's announcement.
"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the Rule Book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
My willpower vanishes almost before I realize it, and I lock eyes with Madge again.
….
"No!" The exclamation spills out before I can stop it, and I feel my composure slipping away. "They can't – they can't do that!" I bite my tongue until it hurts to keep anything more from passing my lips, anything to indicate that I'm after more than just a happy ending. The crowd picks up the chatter again, and this time there is a sharp edge to it that thankfully drowns out the better part of my outburst.
"They can do whatever they want," Gale says bitterly, an angry hint of I-told-you-so in his voice.
He's right. They can. But he doesn't know how much is riding on this outcome. In the space of a ten-second announcement, Seneca Crane went from the man who weakened the Hunger Games to the greatest Gamemaker in history, we went from undermining the Capitol to strengthening its grip on its districts, and worst of all, the two remaining Tributes who were actually allowed to trust each other are being forced to kill each other. Whether or not they are really lovers (as the Games had progressed it became harder to tell how much of the romance was real and how much was strategic) there is no denying that the friendship between them is genuine. Katniss and Peeta both care for each other, have fought hard for each other, and now the Capitol is tearing it all apart for the sake of entertainment.
"They can't make them kill each other!" I say stupidly, because I know they can. Or at least make one let the other die. From the looks of it, it'll probably be Peeta; he's in bad shape still, and no matter what Katniss does to try to help him, he won't survive for long without a doctor.
I cast my eyes around frantically, as if there was something I could actually do to fix the situation. I spare a glance for Prim, who is sobbing again, and it only makes me angrier because I'm so sick of seeing the poor, sweet girl cry. I find my father standing up in front of the crowd with his secretary, Peacekeeper Cray and a few other officials but he pointedly ignores me, which is also infuriating but rather wise on his part – if I'd actually caught his eye I might have started screaming things I shouldn't. Gale looks at me as if puzzled that I am so surprised by this turn of events. I look back over my shoulder to see everyone else' reaction, and only invite scowls and hateful stares.
I hear the girl standing behind us just as I start to turn back to the screens. "'Best Hunger Games ever,'" she sneers icily. "You bet."
The pinprick of tears behind my eyes is immediate, and I'm so ashamed of it that I cannot speak because of all people I am the last one to have the right to cry. The most that I can manage is a weak shake of my head in a silent and rather ineffective combination of protest and explanation.
Gale whips around. "Oh, can it, Cherry," he snaps, eyes like daggers. "She was getting them sponsors and you know it." He faces forward again while I stare blankly at him, disbelieving that he might come to my defense in this circumstance. The tears are still there but I keep them from falling, if only just, while I try to appreciate the gravity of what he has done. I can't do it, though, because the enormity of everything else that is crashing down around us will not allow me such a selfish indulgence. I feel a twinge of resentment about that, but I push it aside and save it for a time when I don't have to pray that our Tributes find a way to defy the odds one more time.
….
When Katniss and Peeta stand back to back with matching handfuls of not-blueberries, it is as if none of it makes sense. The entire scenario is unreal. She can't really be meaning to do what it looks like. No. She wouldn't. They're up to something else. Something that will get them home – get her home. She wouldn't. She would not abandon her family.
Peeta Mellark had even done the noble thing, untied the bandage on his leg so the wound could bleed out freely, handed her a ticket out of the Arena. I have to give him that. She was Victor. But Katniss turned him down, and pulled out the berries. She wouldn't….
The hushed crowd watches dumbstruck as they lift their hands to their mouths in one last show of devotion.
I am left dangling by a thread, alone, my promise to survive rendered worthless by his offer to die. She is leaving me here with the shattered remnants of her family, and a meaningless but unbreakable vow to keep them safe. She is leaving her sister, her own flesh and blood, who begged her to try to win. I glance at Prim, see her shaking her head frantically in heartbroken disbelief, then at her mother, hollow and pale. They're my family, too, and I don't break promises, still won't, don't even want to… It's just that if one of use ever ended up in this position it was supposed to be because the other went down fighting. Not because one of us just chose to fucking walk away from it. She wouldn't…. But she is.
Then, suddenly, Claudius Templesmith booms frantically over the loudspeakers again. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you – the Tributes of District Twelve!"
Katniss and Peeta both spit out the poisonous berries at once, bending over to rinse their mouths with lake water. It still doesn't quite seem real. Probably because I wish it wasn't. I wish she hadn't made it quite so clear that she'd rather not come home at all than come home without him. That she is no longer the Katniss that I know. The relief that I feel as the crowd starts to cheer and the new Victors are lifted into the hovercraft is flat, colorless, cold. She is only coming home because some soulless bastard in the Capitol decided that it was better to have two Victors than none.
Next to me, Madge's shoulders slump as the stress seeps back out of her, her hands cover her face as she takes a moment to gather herself, and when her eyes finally come back up to mine the look of unbridled joy on her features hits me like an arrow. I just stare blankly back at her, struck by the sight of something so unabashedly beautiful in the midst of the world that is crumbling around me. She looks vaguely confused for a split second when she takes me in, and then with startling ease her eyes take me apart in an instant and the joy fades into something more heartsick yet no less lovely. Her lips part as if to speak but she seems to think better of it as her eyes flicker briefly over our surroundings.
"Do you want to be alone?" she asks at last, fixing me firmly with liquid blue eyes.
Yes. No. Both. Neither. You. What? I force a weak shake of my head, because it's the only thing I can manage. She nods with strength and resolve for both of us, and pushes one hand gently into my shoulder. "Go. Before somebody catches you leaving. No one will see with all this. I'll make sure your mom doesn't need help with the kids."
In a haze, I work my way calmly through the crowd, reminding myself not to run, wondering if I ought to be pulling Madge along behind me. It's better that I don't. If I did, that would just make her a distraction. She's more than just a pretty girl. She's the one holding the pieces together. The one who wouldn't go away, who hasn't changed, even after I've given her a hundred good reasons to. The one who, by letting me be alone when I most need it, makes me know that I am not alone.
As I walk along the road back to the Seam, I think of the way she always looks at me now, always really seeing me, and how she never demands explanations, because she already seems to know – and I wish that there was a way for me to escape the bedlam that is the square with her that wouldn't make her question why I want her here. I am escaping, but I'm still perfectly and utterly ensnared.
And a footnote at the end, so I didn't spoil the chapter at the beginning – for those of you who thought "not far away" in the last AN meant "Next chapter" and were rather disappointed this go-round….Apologies. But it does mean "not far away." I promise :)