XII
But life moves on.
I lived with Mags in the Victor's Village. I think my Games were an overall disappointment in the Capitol: not very exciting, hence the flood. Then, they got a crazy girl for a Victor and all they wanted was to put the 70th Games behind them. I wished it was that simple for me.
But I didn't think I was as mad as the others thought I was. The first night I was home, before the Victory Tour began, I was alone. Finnick had to stay in the Capitol and Mags was still there. Mags's house was on a wharf, so I could still hear and smell and taste the ocean. But I didn't like to sit on the rough wood. I wanted the sand and the tide and the crashing of the waves against the rocks. So, I went to the dunes. But I didn't go to my house; I walked right past it with my eyes closed and my ears covered.
I didn't go back to Mags's house for days, until she came home and came looking for me and found me. Mags was mad: 'You're kind and gentle, and pretty,' she mumbled, taking my hand. 'Why does no one want to help you?' Finnick was furious: He was close to strangling the "friends" he had asked to check on me.
'It's all right,' I told them. 'Don't be mad at them. They're scared, too.'
And I wasn't a very good mentor, but not how you might think. I got too attached. The first year, I tried to mentor the girl tribute, a little thing barely turned 12. I didn't know how to tell them how to kill. I didn't know how to show them ways to survive. She was so frightened. She was blond, too, just like that other little girl. I just wanted her to know that she was loved.
Her name was Shelly. She died first in the arena. Right out of the blocks. Trampled, cut to pieces.
It was no problem to explain how unfit I was for mentoring, and I was left in relative peace.