A/N: Wait I actually don't have anything to say here.. That's a first. Hm, well I still want to hear thoughts because I wasn't sure how to set up these last two chapters :)
It's been a long time since I've looked at my reflection in the mirror. I stare into the small plane of glass that Marilla holds before me, too stunned to react right away. I knew I would look different, but I still expected to see traces of the face I remember. The woman staring back at me is barely human. Grief doesn't only consume; it transforms.
I blink and open my mouth slowly, testing to see if the reflection does the same. It's me in that mirror, but at the same time, it's not. These hollow cheeks aren't mine. I'm supposed to be thin in a healthy way. Now my skin is barely concealing a skeleton. That skin is supposed to have the golden tint of a District Four tan. Instead, I see pale gray with a tinge of green that frames sunken eyes.
Once the initial shock has faded, the face in the mirror becomes frightening. It reminds me how far into the darkness I've fallen, and I can't look without reliving exactly what brought me to this point.
I drop my gaze. Looking down, I can see how bones jut out from underneath the clothes that stick to my skin. These clothes! How had I not noticed the dirty, fraying fabric glue itself to me? How many weeks has it been since I put them on?
Suddenly I feel sick. This is horrifying, and I've been blind to it all until now. I'm not so sure I want to start dealing with it either. There are too many broken pieces to attempt rebuilding what has been destroyed. Even if it is possible, I will never be the same as I was before.
What would Alec say if he saw me like this? I wonder if he would be as ashamed and embarrassed as I feel. I'm sure Destan would run away from me because I look anything but motherly.
"What do you think?" Marilla asks carefully. I remember a time when people used to say we look alike. That couldn't be less true now.
I shake my head. My throat is closing up and I know that means a breakdown can't be far behind. I try to think of something to say, but there are no words.
While Marilla runs the mirror back, I replay last night's dream in my head. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced. With a degree of irrationality, I wonder what would happen if I found a way to hang onto the dreams indefinitely. I would rather live out my life there even if I knew it was fake.
I'm interrupted from my thoughts by the sight of Marilla carrying a plastic plate. "You know I suck at cooking, so I brought you some crackers. We'll get you some better food in a few hours but I figured you should eat."
She sets the plate next to me and hands me a glass of water. I reach for it with difficulty, and as soon as I think I have it, it slips trough my shaking hand and half of it spills. Marilla grabs for the glass with quick reflexes and saves it before it shatters. She tries to give it to me by raising the cup to my mouth instead, and I do my best to comply. I choke as some falls into my windpipe. "Sorry, I'm no good at this," Marilla groans.
"You're doing fine," I tell her. It's not much, but it's the most I can do to cheer her up.
She doesn't look convinced. "The family's on their way right now. I just called them a few minutes ago. We're all going to the doctor after they get here," she says.
As much as I would like to see them, I'm horrified by the thought of them seeing me like this. I'm going to see the look of dismay on their faces as they take in my corpse-like appearance, no matter how hard they try to hide it. Maybe that I can take, but if they all try to talk to me about Alec and Destan at once, I might lose it.
There are plenty of answers I need to get from Marilla, and I might not be able to get them when the others are here.
"I have some questions," I say hoarsely. My speaking ability has more or less recovered, though I still need to keep my voice low and take breaks between sentences.
"I'll try to answer some," Marilla says reluctantly, "but I don't think you're ready for the whole story of what you missed."
I frown but decide not to say anything that will change her mind about answering some. I try to start out with something simple, really nothing more than a confirmation of what I think I know. "It's been three months, right? That's why the peacekeepers left?" I ask.
"Three months? Not quite. Around two and a half." A crease forms between her brows as she puts together where I got three months. I forgot that she doesn't know the entire story, either.
"I don't know why the peacekeepers left," she continues. "At least one of us has checked every day and they've always been here. Yesterday, Hallie said she thought she saw a hovercraft, so of course I told her she was losing it. But then I thought maybe it was them leaving, so I ran over here last night and the front door was open and everything."
She breathes deeply, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I have a question, too. Did those men hurt you? Did they torture you or touch you in any way?"
I shake my head and watch as her features relax slightly. Now that I think about it, they easily could have tortured me if they wanted to. I might look like I've been through physical abuse, but my state of being is all my doing.
"I only saw them when they gave me my shots," I say.
"Good," Marilla says. "I'm glad, cause I wouldn't put it past those low lives to do something like that. They're just as bad as the president."
I can't agree with that for two reasons. In my eyes, no one can ever be nearly as criminal as Coriolanus Snow. Not after what he did. Secondly, the peacekeeper I spoke to briefly made me realize that many of them do it only to preserve the safety of their families. It's probably better they keep on living that way, because if one of them decides to stand up for what is right, they might end up having to watch their loved ones die.
I stop myself right there, because the images are already creeping back into my mind. I'm about to ask another question when the front door flies open.
The first ones I see are my parents. They start rushing over to me, but once they get close enough to get a good look at me, they slow down and approach carefully. I can tell the past couple of months have been rough on them as well. My mother has gotten very thin again, as she usually does when she's under stress. I've been on her case about it for years, but I have no room to talk now. She is the epitome of health compared to me.
They bend down in front of me and embrace me the best they can. I watch their eyes travel over me, from my matted clump of hair to my sickly skin and sticky clothes.
"Oh, Mags," my mother says as tears stream down her face. She sits down next to me and puts her arms around me gently. She doesn't promise that things will get better, or that I will move on, and I appreciate that.
When I was young, I thought she was too attached and clingy. Now that I've had my own child, I know that's just how being a mother works. When your child is in pain, you feel every ounce of it. What hurts them hurts you.
I don't mind her holding onto me, either, because I know from my dreams that it's exactly what I would do if Alec or Destan walked through the door right now. When you put your arms around someone, it feels like you're shielding them by casting a wall of protection that will stop them from disappearing again.
No one seems to want to open conversation. It's not hard to figure out the reason why. They're scared the slightest comment with break me. I can understand why, but it makes me a bit uncomfortable to be treated like I'm something fragile.
I hadn't noticed Hallie come in, but she's the first to speak. She leans her head into her fiancé's shoulder and whimpers, "What are we going to do?"
I wish I could sink away; escape from the spotlight I hate so much. I don't mind caring for a victim, but I don't enjoy being one.
"Already called the hospital," Marilla says. "They're going to send a vehicle to bring her there. It costs more but I figured money wasn't an issue."
The stress is building inside of my chest already, but I keep my poker face.
"Did we ever figure out why the peacekeepers were here?" Hallie's fiancé, Noiv, asks. I don't know him very well at all, having only met him officially once before. He looks to be in his mid twenties, and the way he holds Hallie against him leads me to believe he would do anything to protect her.
Automatically, my thoughts shift to Alec, and I'm left longing for what I no longer have. Seeing happy couples is nothing short of pure torture.
I see Marilla shoot him a very calculated look, one that says we're not discussing that right now. It's only then that I actually process the question Noiv asked.
"I think we all need to get our story straight," I say, taking a deep breath after I watch my family react in shock that I'm capable of rational speech.
"Did you already tell her about the memorial service they had?" Hallie asks her sister from across the room. My heart drops.
I'm barely aware of what Marilla says next. Suddenly, I am finding it almost impossible to breathe. There was a memorial service. I missed it. All these strangers who didn't even know Alec and Destan got to pay their respects, while I was curled up on a bathroom floor!
Marilla was right; I can't handle this. I need to know what happened, but I can see now that every truth is like a separate poisoned blade just waiting to stab me.
I don't realize I'm shaking until a pair of hands grips my shoulders to hold me in place.
"It's fine that you don't want to know right now," a soothing voice tells me, and I recognize it as my father.
"No, I do," I say without thinking. I thought I had just decided that it's too much to handle, but I'm too stubborn to accept only a tiny piece of the story.
With my eyes squeezed shut and arms holding me together, I'm able to attempt focusing on each breath. Even as I count each inhale, I'm still berating myself for missing the services.
"I've heard two different stories," my father begins. "Quite frankly, I'm still a little confused. The last we saw you was during the president's speech right after the hurricane. Your mother and I picked up a few supplies and then we went home to fix some minor damage to the shutters. My brother was with us too, and everything seemed normal until Marilla came running up, really shaken about something."
"There was a note carved into the outside of my house," Marilla jumps in. "It said 'Be lucky you dodged the bullet this time; you're the only one who did.' Well at first I thought it was some dumb thing about my house avoiding storm damage. Then I showed Hallie and she pointed out something I had missed. Right under it, there was a really tiny signature from Snow."
My eyes are open now, and I'm looking forward anxiously. I'm grateful Marilla wasn't punished in any way, but she was the only one of three, meaning Raini wasn't spared. Raini. I think about the young girl with the red hair and an equally fiery temper. The girl who begged me to help her with this plan because she was being forced into what was basically voluntary rape.
For the millionth time today, I'm horrified at myself. I know I've had my own grief to deal with, but it is inexcusable that I haven't even worried about what may have happened to her. Has she been locked away and meant to suffer her own personal hell as I have the past two months? Did she even survive her confrontation with Snow?
"Raini," I gasp, unintentionally interrupting my father, who had begun talking again. Has anyone even checked on her? It was supposed to be my responsibility to help her through this life, no matter how much she resists my efforts. She's only seventeen. I'm just a few years short of being twice her age, and I can't even care for myself. How many people have I failed while I've been trapped in my own darkness?
"I'll get to that later," Marilla says quickly.
I find it harder to listen now as my father continues the story. "Anyway, she got to the house and started talking really fast. She said she was scared something had happened to you. We couldn't get her to share why, but we rushed to your house and it was locked. We kept banging on the doors but eventually some peacekeepers came out and forced us home at gunpoint.
"None of it made any sense. We were all terrified, and the only one who seemed to know what was going on was Marilla. Eventually we had to force information out of her. She told us about the plan you two were involved with, that it was you guys who had started all the commotion with the rumors. I still don't know all the details on that, but it's my understanding that as a victor, you know more about Snow than the rest of us," he stops there, his face growing pale.
"It made some of the things I had heard the weeks before make a lot more sense, but that's not what we were worried about. That…that was one of the worst nights of my life. We had no clue where you or your family were, or if you were even alive, and peacekeepers wouldn't let us near the house. It was that night the TV came on automatically, saying there had been a horrible accident in District Four that resulted in the death of a victor. Then we saw that it was Alec," he pauses to wince, "and we started to panic."
He checks on me to make sure I'm okay with him continuing. What he doesn't know is that I had to watch the murders. I'm forced back into the memory, and I cannot understand how I am still sitting here in one piece. My heart is split and it feels like the rest of me is, too.
When he continues, his voice is careful and laced with uncertainty. "They said he had gone out to his boat that afternoon when the waves were still pretty choppy. The boat presumably capsized while him and Destan were on it. They didn't call Destan by name. They just said there was a child with him, and it was assumed that it was his child. Not many people knew about Destan, so there was some talk…" he trails off.
"We were crushed. Our son-in-law, our little grandson. There are no words," he sighs. "The worst part was knowing that it wasn't an accident at all. We didn't know where you were, but it made it seem that you were alive. The story was that you were too depressed to leave the house, but we saw the peacekeepers every day. Until now," he ends shakily. He rests his wrinkled face into his rough hands and sighs.
As I look at the wrinkles, I think back to something Destan had said. Pawpaw's are supposed to have wrinkles, Mom. My dad loved being a grandpa, and it stings knowing I will never see him playing with my son again.
"They had a memorial in the Capitol for Alec, since he is a fallen victor. It wasn't an actual service or burial, just a bunch of Capitol citizens claiming to know him personally. It was obvious they didn't," Hallie says in distaste.
I guess I should feel a tiny bit better knowing that I didn't actually miss a memorial service after all, but I feel no ounce of relief. In fact, the thoughts and emotions are weighing me down so much that I would like nothing more than to shut down now.
"Do you feel up to sharing your side of the story?" my mother asks, barely comprehensible through her tears. I should be crying too, but I can't anymore. I only shake my head slightly. There's no way I can talk about what I saw that day, or explain the visions that have haunted me since. The easiest thing to discuss would be the dreams, and I can't do that without presenting myself as mentally unstable.
"Just in time," Marilla says quietly. At first I have no idea what she's talking about, but then I hear the slam of a door outside, and a knocking sound comes seconds later.
A young, muscular man comes in and it isn't long before I'm hoisted onto a stretcher and placed in the back of the vehicle. It isn't one of the grandiose cars that I've seen in the Capitol, but they keep a few vehicles around Four for purposes such as these.
Without paved roads, the ride to the hospital is very bumpy. Each shallow hole in the road rattles me inside the car, and I start to question why it is taking so long for us to get there. I feel sick, claustrophobic, and just plain drained from the day already. I've had plenty of distractions from my own grief, but they've only briefly separated me from my mourning and added on new levels of guilt as well.
The car stops abruptly and I'm jolted forward, my heart racing. I'm removed from the car and carried into a room. The hospital itself is bland and unremarkable, having only plain white walls and "rooms" separated by plain curtains. Four is one of the few districts that can afford a hospital, but I'm quickly reminded that it is no Capitol.
Over the next few hours, I'm poked and prodded as tests are run on me. People look at me with wide eyes, but none make an effort to talk to me except the doctor himself. Even he tries to stay away from the personal details, instead focusing only on my physical symptoms. A pair of people have to cut my clothes off to remove them and proceed to wash me. After years of prep work, I am unfazed by this.
It's only when one on them tries to wiggle the ring off my finger that I instinctively pull back. The sudden movement makes my muscles throb, but there is no way they are taking my wedding ring from me. The thin band topped by a pearl carries precious memories of my husband. He's already been taken from me; I'm not giving up any connection I have left.
Thankfully, they don't push the issue any further. Later, I'm put into an uncomfortable hospital bed and my family crowds the tiny room. The doctor speaks in a very calm and emotionally removed tone as he lists off my problems: malnutrition, dehydration, low blood pressure, decreased circulation, mottled veins…the list goes on and on, and eventually I tune it out.
He ends his speech by declaring it severe depression and possibly post traumatic stress disorder. I doubt anyone is shocked by that. I know I'm not.
I have nothing to do but lean back in the bed and try not to think. Of course, that doesn't go so well, and I remember that I never found out what Marilla knew about Raini. I call her over to the bed and she leans by the side, resting her chin on the metal bar.
"What's going on with Raini?" I ask quietly.
Marilla's voice is equally low when she responds. "She's alive. I don't think her father is…She isn't Panem's favorite person at the moment. A lot of crap about her came up after everything went down. There was this whole story about how she may or may not have been involved in an accidental murder at the Career School a few years back. The main thing though was they kind of pinned the District Four unrest on her. Lots of gossip," she says with a frown.
I frown, too. "Has anyone been checking on her?"
Marilla's lips press into a flat line. "We never really got along, but I felt so bad for the kid that I would have felt horrible not going check. There was a peacekeeper there, looking miserable, let me tell you. She was there too, apparently healthy enough to open the door and scream at me to leave her the hell alone. She was bruised up pretty bad and I could tell she was probably too embarrassed to talk, but I don't think she's going down without a fight. I'm more worried about you, honestly."
I know Raini has a thicker skin than I do, but I still feel awful about what happened to her. I don't know how close she was to her dad, but if she experienced even a fraction of the grief I have, it's not good enough to just assume she'll work it out herself.
I have to wonder what will happen the next time we are called to the Capitol for the Games. Will she still be forced into the appointments? I would hope that the poor public opinion would at least save her from that. Maybe since she's lost so much already, Snow won't have anything on her to force her to. When I realize what I'm thinking, I automatically feel sick. How wrong it is to try to justify any of this. Getting out of Snow's prostitution program would hardly be a victory after the price we have all paid, and I know in the end, we did nothing to stop it from happening to the other kids.
All of this was for nothing. It seems like that sentence can drain the entire world of meaning. What is the point of any of this suffering, if it hasn't helped a single soul?
I can't shake that dreary outlook on life for the rest of the time I spend cooped up in bed. Each day is the same. I lay. I try not to think. I think anyway. A tube in my arms feeds something into my veins that is meant to make me stronger. The effects work very slowly, but after a few days, there is a noticeable difference in my muscle strength and the tone of my skin.
Without the powerful sedative, my dreams are not as vivid and real as they once were, and that devastates me. For the most part, my moments of unconsciousness are still peaceful and kind, but the fleeting moments of happiness do not last nearly long enough. I'm told the withdrawal symptoms will go away, and that I'm better off without it. Truthfully, I don't believe the second part of that. As unhealthy as it is to live through fantasy, I know I'm better off being able to see Alec and Destan as much as possible.
There is always a family member in the room with me. Starting on the third day of my stay, Kallan begins dropping in periodically. He sits on the side of the room, looking monstrous in the tiny plastic chairs, and recounts different times he had with Alec. It hurts to hear, especially since I can hear the pain in his voice. Alec was like a brother to him, and Destan was a nephew.
Despite this, I find myself completely engrossed in the stories because he has a way of telling them that makes it seem like they are happening in the present; like they could walk through the door at any second and finish the story.
The only unexpected visitor comes at the very end of my stay, when I am almost physically healthy enough to move around on my own. When I awake from my doze, I am shocked to see the woman who delivered Destan standing at the foot of my bed.
"I didn't mean to startle you," she comments after I jump in surprise.
"It's fine. I just didn't expect to see you," I say.
She looks proper with her brown hair pulled back and a pair of glasses adorning her face. Her body is unmoving and her expression is sympathetic when she speaks next. "I know your pain."
I nod because she knows what it feels like to lose a child. I was one of the last ones to see her daughter, as I mentored her several years back. It pained me to see that innocent girl die, but now I understand the kind of unparalleled heartache her mother went through.
"It's the worst," I respond. "How have you- how is it possible to get through this?" I ask in desperation.
"You have to give yourself a reason," she says. I'm surprised by how fast she answered that. No consideration or hesitation went into her response.
"I know they wouldn't want me to suffer, and my family expects me to get better, but I'm still struggling to see the point to any of this," I admit.
"Life only has meaning if you give it one," she says after a minute. In the quiet that follows, I think about that. I had given my life meaning through trying to be a good wife and mother. Now that my reason is gone, I'm left rudderless.
"I find it helpful to set a life goal to work towards. Pain is a struggle, but it gives us meaning by helping point us in the right direction to bring change. There must be something you want to change about how the world works," she says.
"You have no idea," I say. What she doesn't know is that I've already tried, and that's what got me into this mess. I have strong beliefs about how this world should be. I wanted to make a difference and ease over the corruption. I wanted a world where wealth would be distributed equally, where thousands aren't forced to starve so a select few could gorge themselves. I wanted a world where teenagers aren't shipped off a death match that will ruin their lives even if they manage to survive.
I wanted a world where political leaders don't force children into consenting to rape and where people can express their honest opinion without risking their families.
I tried to get that world, and I failed.
"Well those kids need your help," the nurse says. I know she's talking about the kids I mentor each year, and how they will need advice and emotional encouragement. But the help they really need goes so much deeper. The only way they can truly be saved is by changing the way the world works.
"I have to go now. I hope I gave you something to think about, Mrs. Calder," she says.
It does give me a lot to think about. It just seems impossible that it could make any difference, and I've already paid the price for trying. Why work towards a life goal that is impossible anyway?
As my hospital stay comes to an end, I realize I'm going to have to go back and face the house. Even with family helping me along the way, I can't face those empty rooms knowing their deaths were for naught.
Maybe I can't bring change the way I wanted to, but I can take small steps and lay foundations. I don't want to risk the loved ones I have left, so anything major is out of the question.
Even if it takes years, I will think of a plan. I owe it to Alec and Destan to finish what I started so their deaths won't be in vain. It might take a while for the spark to be lit, but Snow will get what he deserves.
There will be a reason to endure this pain.