Chapter 5: In the Dark


The first thing Cashmere said to him when he got out of his hospital room was, "Well, you didn't get yourself killed. Impressive."

"I'm sure your brother is furious."

"Of course." She gave him a couple awkward shoulder pats, then said, "Time for lunch."

"I see the obsession with getting me to eat hasn't gone away."

"Shut up and be grateful, you utter child."

It was nice to eat without worrying about rationing.

Miriam would sometimes go on about how lucky I was to always have food.

He'd spent years keeping most memories of her locked away, keeping his focus on things that didn't hurt so much. Like hating his parents. That was much easier than missing Miriam.

I assumed what I thought about during those last couple days of the Games was an aberration in that regard.

But now that he was out, Miriam wouldn't leave his thoughts, not matter how much he wanted her to.

I don't want the guilt.

"Are you okay?" Portia asked several hours later, while helping him into a dark-green, gold-accented suit for the Games recap and Victory Ceremony.

I don't fucking know. "I'm fine. Do I have to wear a tie?"

Avoiding her gaze, he heard her let out a slight huff. "Yes, you do. I won't make you wear one for the interview tomorrow, promise."

He nodded in acknowledgment and focused on putting any uncomfortable feelings out of his mind. Almost time to wave and smile to the crowd.

Which he did, feeling more than a little elated when it sunk in that he'd done it.

He'd done something only eighty-two people had ever done before. He'd won.

My parents must be seething by now.

As Caesar invited him to take a seat for the recap, the Capitol crowd roared as loudly as they always did.

Bloodthirsty, Miriam's voice seemed to whisper in his head.

He managed to force it to the back of his mind as the recap commenced, but the elation was gone.

Excitement over the typical bloodshed aside, the commentators had said a lot of complimentary things about his strategy and archery aim. While the pack hunted and tortured and slaughtered as they always did, he kept out of sight and...mostly...out of harm's way. He "played it smart" as Claudia Templesmith herself exclaimed more than once.

Yet he felt almost removed from it all, except for when he watched himself shoot the boy from District Six. For several moments, as the camera focused on the dying child, he felt nauseated. Guilty.

Why? Why for him and not the others? Because he was the youngest? Because he's the only one who didn't see it coming?

He told himself that those were the best explanations he'd find and tried to focus on the remainder of the recap.

As part of the Games "storyline", the editors had done a fantastic job of exaggerating the rivalry between Helvius and Gossamer, so much so that the final moments of the finale almost seemed anticlimactic. That one arrow had been enough.

"Don't give them what they want."

Except he had, despite the lackluster final showdown. He hadn't changed the formula all that much. The outliers had still died first. The Arena's mutts had been there, caused some damage; they'd killed the boy from Ten . The Careers had still fought it out in the end.

And if something does ever change , the Capitol tries to erase it.

Just look at what happened to Katniss Everdeen.

Once the recap ended to more thunderous applause , the next ceremony went forward as always . President Snow's eyes were piercing as he crowned Helvius, but his hands were shaking and his breath smelled like blood. Even the pungent white rose on his lapel couldn't mask the stench.

Afterwards , as Helvius headed for the Training Center elevator, he heard Gloss shouting somewhere nearby. Cashmere was shouting back.

He barely slept that night.

I suppose nothing's changed there.


Portia kept her word and didn't make Helvius wear a tie during his final post-Games interview, just a casual dark blue suit.

It went well. Miriam invaded his thoughts less in the absence of shrieking Capitolites, and Caesar Flickerman was a legendary interviewer for a reason. Having a conversation with him was tolerable, and the interview didn't seem all that long.

"What are you looking forward to most when you get home?"

"Getting my own house. Sharing a room with three people gets old real fast, you know?"

"Oh, I can imagine! There will be no room for your parents, I take it?"

"Hell no! They'd better not even try to get close; I think I've proved I can and will defend myself when needed."

"Most certainly! And we must discuss that! Five kills in nine days, with relatively few injuries...Your skills are indisputable, Helvius!

Has he said a variation of that to every Victor?


He and Cashmere rode alone in the car to the train station. They had almost arrived when he had the urge to say, "I'm sorry that your brother is so pissed off."

She shrugged and looked out the window. "He'll forgive me eventually. But you'd better keep your head down for a while."

" No shit . Socializing with a whole lot of people who hate my guts sounds like the last thing I would ever want to do."

"Most will get over it in time. At least over it enough to tolerate you at parties." She glanced at him, her expression almost a grimace. "You...you can visit me, though. If you want."

"Yeah." He looked away. "Thanks."Whatever.

Her offer sounded much more appealing after he'd spent a few days in his new Victor's Village home. It was as luxurious and as lavishly furnished as his parent's home was, yet felt so empty.

A few times, he caught himself wishing Miriam were there with him.

She'd hate it, though. Because of how I earned it.

He'd once found her crying the night after the Games had ended; he didn't remember which year it had been. "What is it all for?" she'd sobbed. "It never ends!"

Not having answers, he'd just hugged her.

Then she'd calmed down , dried her tears, and told Helvius that he needed a bath. "How did you get that much dirt in your hair climbing trees? Don't tell me you fell!"

I miss her.


Bit by bit, he did put those memories away as he dragged himself through day after day so dull and pointless than he wished his parents would show up so he could fight them. No bow and arrows, but I have lots of kitchen knives… He felt too detached from everything to even spread rumors about them as he'd planned. Maybe when I actually get invited anywhere. Maybe when I got back to the Capitol for my Victory Tour and the Games after that. Maybe some other time.

As much as he'd hated the Academy, there had been goals to work toward there, goals much more interesting than trying to decide on some trite "talent ."

Now, there just...this. The "life of a Victor."

"What's the fucking point?" he demanded one night at Cashmere's place, words slurring due to copious amount of wine she'd provided.

"There is no goddamn point, kid. Get used to it." She snorted loudly and refilled their glasses. "Now, unless you want an extra terrible hangover, eat some of this cheese."