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"Maxwood?" I question, meeting Dom's gaze. "But that's Ronen's name."
"It is." he replies shortly.
"Are you-?"
"Yes, I am."
I fall silent, battling with the revelation that my new stylist is related to Ronen and the unbearable grief that came with it. Too much is happening and my head feels crowded with far too many emotions. I grip the edge of the seat and look down, trying to control my shaking.
Dom doesn't move and remains in silence beside me. Knowing who he is, I wish for his comfort and at the same time I reject it. No else can be put in danger because of me.
"I'm sorry." I murmur, slowly standing and taking the dress from him.
"I know."
Stepping behind a screen set up to the side, I begin dressing quickly. Tears fall to the satin and I wipe them from my cheeks, surprised that I am able to shed them. Controlling my emotions will be harder than I initially thought. I press my hands to my chest, an unbearable pressure building. It threatens to cripple me and I feel the weight of everything that has passed in the last twenty four hours. Struggling to take in a steady breath, I reach out and grab the top of the screen for support.
"It should have been me." I whisper, my voice cracking. "I should be the one who is dead."
The screen gently pulls to the side and Dom stands before me. He takes both my hands in one of his and then cups my face. A thumb drags along my cheek, wiping away a stream of tears.
"If Ronen believed this he would not have taken your place." he tells me softly. "Please don't waste the chance he has given you."
My trembling is apparent now and all I want to do his run. I have been doing it for the past few days, why can't I just continue?
"How?" I ask. "How can I pretend to be like them? I'm not strong; I can't hide what I feel for long."
"Sometimes strength is shown when you allow yourself to feel and when you accept help from others." he pauses, looking towards a camera mounted above the door. "Come, you must get ready. They will be waiting."
Leading me back to the mirror, Dom stands me before it and buttons the back of my dress. He unties the band in my hair and lets the soft curls billow across exposed shoulders. I stare at my ivory skin. It is unmarked and even the scar I had gained from my "evaluation" accident is gone. My collarbone stands out more than it used to and features of my face are sharper, but there is muscle in my arms. I am strong in that respect at least, but physical strength will do nothing if I can't play the part.
Dom quietly circles around and paints my face, taking only a few brief minutes. When he steps back I am transformed. My lips are darker, almost red and my gaze smoulders amidst charcoal drawn eyes. He cleans up beside me as I inspect my reflection and then Dom takes my hands once more.
Turning my attention away from the mirror, I flinch. Briefly I am staring up at Ronen and the image brings a new wave of agonizing grief. In the next moment Dom's features return, but he continues to watch me in the same way Ronen had.
"Our time is short. They will take you soon and you will be presented as the eighth victor. Your life outside this room will never be the same. Are you ready for this, Emma?"
I shake my head.
Dom's smile is sad and he again cups my face. The touch is comforting and familiar to Ronen's
"You have to be ready, love. Too many lives rest with you and we have yet to find a way to remove this burden. Remember, they will be watching."
His fingers graze the electric band around my wrist as he pulls away and my pulse jumps. I want to go and follow him, but I am frozen to the spot as a thought strikes me. Dom is at the door, about to leave, and I see my moment slipping away.
"Dom," I gasp, trembling with terror and excitement at what I am about to ask. "Do you know? Do you know who I am?"
He doesn't reply, glancing towards the camera now above his head. Shifting to the side, in the middle of the door's frame, Dom looks directly at me. In one fluid movement he raises a finger to his lips and leaves.
The door slides shut and I can barely breathe, but no time is left for me to recuperate. To the side, a panel in the wall opens and two guards step out. Wordlessly they take me by my arms and lead me into the hidden elevator. The elevator rises the moment we pass through the doors and I am held between the guards, their grips never loosening. My heart beat drums the faster we climb and skips when we come to a stop and the doors open.
I am persuaded to leave, entering a single hall, and to my relief the guards stay behind. Scowling, I shake out the skirt of my dress and search for a camera to deliver a rude gesture. Unfortunately one cannot be found, even though I am positive they are somewhere. Staring up at the ceiling, I prepare to demonstrate my disgust.
"My dear Emma Price," observes Emmet, standing in front of me, "Looking as sullen as usual."
Slowly I lower my hands and bunch them in my skirt, eyeing him warily.
"Emmet. Probably never expected to see me, did you?"
"I had my doubts, but I must admit…You have impressed me, Sweetie."
"It's what I live for." I respond darkly.
It is the first time I see Emmet smile at me, for me. With a sweeping bow, he offers his arm and I grudgingly accept it. He straightens and we walk down the long hallway, neither one of us looking at the other. My focus is on the red double doors at the end of the hall. They are the ones that will lead me to the stage. I will have to face the public; I will have to face the Capitol and pretend to be proud that survived the slaughter.
This time however, will be different than my last interview. This time I know that the world is watching; that my parents will see my face. How can I act like a monster knowing this? There isn't a choice though. I need to in order to keep them safe. Suddenly I see the years President Snow had described to me and my stomach churns. I will lose myself. The moment I step out through those doors, despite Dom's promise, I will lose myself.
"No." I whisper, stopping short of the doors.
I pull out of Emmet's arm and double over, clutching my chest as I fight for air. Flashes of memories from the arena overwhelm me in burst of colours and blaring screams. Even the days from before I was captured, from when the Hunger Games never existed, find me. I am drowning…No; I am collapsing under the weight of my reality. This isn't real. This can't be real.
Strong hands grip me by my shoulders and in the back of my mind I hear Emmet speaking fiercely into my ear. He shakes me when I don't respond. I refuse to look at him, staring into the distance as an image of Justin watches me from the side. Justin stands still, dressed in the uniform for the Hunger Games.
"Focus, Em." he says. "The games aren't over yet. You still need to survive."
"I can't." I reply and suddenly the bubble bursts.
"You have to." Emmet tells me hotly. "They're expecting you too and we can't afford finding out what happens if you don't. Now play the pretty pageant girl, Sweetie."
He lifts me up from where I fell to the floor and pushes me towards the opening doors. Bright lights blaze down a red ramp and I hear the call of the Capitol's crowds. I hear their music and feel the vibrations of their voices. Desperately I look towards Emmet and clutch his hand.
"Please don't make me do this." I beg. "I'm not who they want me to be. I can't do this. I can't face them after what I've done. I am not a victor."
His expression is impassive, but I see the corners of his eyes twitch and the depths of his gaze glisten. Emmet is struggling to keep a steady appearance, but why? What did he have to hide? Frowning deeply, he presses a hand on the small of my back and pushes me forward.
"It's time to meet the Capitol."
I stumble forward to the edge of the ramp. The doors close behind me and my breathing hitches. It is like I have returned to the arena and in a way I have. A new arena and new competitors, but this was still the Hunger Games. I am still fighting for my life.
My feet begin moving almost of their own accord and I climb steadily up the ramp. The light turns into a wall that separates me from their world. I hear them becoming louder and my posture stiffens in response. My expression hardens and I grip the skirt of my dress in the absence of weapons.
I see their lives. In the wall of light I see the ones I lost…and the ones I have taken. They watch me and I wonder if this is a trick the Capitol's technicians are playing on me. Or is this the guilt I feel manifesting itself before me?
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Capitol!" cries the manufactured Flickerman. "You fell in love with her from the beginning."
One by the one the tributes' faces fade away until only two remain. I stare up at Justin and Ronen, swallowing hard against the sobs crawling up from my chest. My pace picks up and even their images vanish.
"You watched as she fought against nearly unsurmountable odds! Her journey through the games has inspired tears, joy, and excitement." His voice lowers dramatically. "And when she stood atop the mountain to meet death Panem held its breath."
President Snow takes their place as the lights begin to clear and my eyes grow accustomed. Soon I see the crowd in a haze of light and atmospheric smoke. Flickerman stands in the centre of the stage, his hair dark blue to match my dress.
"But like a phoenix she rose from the flames and conquered death!" crows Flickerman.
I am about to step out. Every inch of me is humming and my pulse drums from the tips of my ears to my toes. Flickerman reaches towards me, sweeping a hand out to my dramatic entrance.
"Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen." he has nearly gone hoarse now, screaming to be heard over the manic audience. "May I present to you the victor of Panem's eight annual Hunger Games, the girl who cannot be stopped, District 12's tribute…EMMA PRICE, THE RISING PHOENIX!"
I breach the wall of light and stand just a few feet past it, taking in my surroundings coolly. My lip curls at their enthusiasm and it is an effort not to scowl. An airborne camera zips around me, filming my face and projecting it on monster screens surrounding the stage. I watch my face and fake a smile, but it comes out forced and looks more like I am smirking.
Gazing up to tiered balconies on either side, I meet the eyes of the gamemakers. They don't seem pleased to see me, refusing to join the rest in their applause. In a section completely set apart from them is President Snow. His hands are folded in his lap and a rose is pressed into his lapel. Resting on a table beside him is the remote for the electric bracelet. The stage disappears as we lock eyes.
He mouths something to me and his hand lingers beside the remote. The message is clear and gradually my surroundings return. It is time to make my move.
Approaching Flickerman, I allow him to take my hand and thrust it into the air. The flamboyant man twirls me around to the joyous cheers of the Capitol. They lift me up and the adrenaline begins pumping again. Everything is drawn in sharp focus, the colours are brighter, and the air somehow thinner.
I am led to a seat off to the side and Flickerman sinks into a chair beside mine. His hand is still clasped around mine.
"It's good to see you again, Emma." he tells me and I have to work to look at him.
The crowd has gone still almost immediately and the silence is ringing.
"I never thought I would be here." I breathe and the crowd murmurs.
"Yes," agrees Flickerman. "You have certainly kept us on edge of our seats. All those close encounters…I could barely survive watching."
Play the part, play the part. Make it seem effortless, make them want to see you.
"It doesn't seem that way when you're in it." I reply, hiding shaking hands in my skirt. "You just do what you need to and get through it. It's only afterwards that you question what you've done and think-"
"Did I really just jump a ten foot gap over a river?" finishes Flickerman with a tight smile.
I narrow my eyes, fully aware that he is steering the interview away from potentially dangerous phrases. We wouldn't want the Capitol feeling regret over past youths' lives, now would we? We want to forget them.
"Yes. It seems impossible when you think about it, but in the moment, when it's your only chance, there's nothing left to do."
"Is that what happened with the final fight?"
"No, I thought that one through fairly well." I say, glancing up towards Snow. "I knew what was going to happen and what I was going to do. It was the end and I was prepared for almost any outcome."
"Well, we are all wondering…What caused such a passionate speech? I mean, this was a pretty personal message to Engle. Was it to draw him out?"
"He took the ones I cared for from me."
"Ronen and Justin?"
I nod stiffly and a lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow. The audience murmurs quietly, expressing their sadness even though I know it is fake. They don't care; they don't know what they have done.
Flickerman leans forward in his chair and his grip tightens around my wrist. His gruesome smile stretches his face and shivers crawl along my spine.
"Let's talk about that shall we?" he says. "Before you told us that if any harm came to a sibling of yours you would make the wrong doer pay, am I right?"
I don't reply, but he doesn't need a response. He can see it my glare and I wish that for once looks could kill.
"Is that what happened with Justin? You two seemed fairly close in the beginning. At first some speculated that this was romantic, but a majority believed to be more of a brother and sister love. Perhaps his death is one reason why you faced Engle in such a way."
Tremors begin to wrack my body and I flush, the stage lights suddenly burning into me. I fight the instinct to break his neck, clenching my jaw against angry tears stinging my eyes.
"And then there is young Ronen." I jerk slightly and freeze, looking up at him. "You two truly were star-crossed lovers from the beginning."
"EMMA!"
I can't hold back the gasp, turning my attention to the many screens around us. It is a video of the arena, just after Clayton had been killed. An overhead shot shows Ronen running through the woods towards the field. My face appears, streaked with dirt, surprised to hear his voice. I watch myself turn and how my face brightens with relief.
Another shot takes its place and I am running to collide with Ronen. He takes me in his arms and I watch the scene feeling sick. Why are they doing this to me? To break you, Whispers a cruel voice.
"I thought it was you. When I heard the canon…I thought it was you."
"Ronen."
The audience sighs happily, cooing as Ronen kisses me in the rain. I try to get up, but Flickerman keeps me imprisoned in my seat.
"Young love." murmurs Flickerman and the image freezes on our locked kiss. "I believe this is a good time to show the highlights of the games. What does everyone say?"
Their agreement is tremendous and the lights dim. The Capitol anthem plays and I am forced to endure the recap of everything I had gone through. I can barely concentrate on it until it reaches the games. Caitlyn steps off the platform, Ronen saves me from the Careers, and Justin finds me. They linger on our reunion and then focus on our relationship until the moment I hold him in my arms, just after the canon sounds.
"You have to promise me, Emma," Justin gasps in the video and I flinch, "Promise that you won't kill them for what they did. Promise me that-you won't-let them-change you."
"I just can't make that promise."
The music darkens and I watch in horror at the person I become after his death. I hear the screams, see the bloodshed and it's like this is a video of a complete stranger, but it isn't. This is me. This is who I am. The more I accept it the more I feel my heart harden to it and the more I change. I can't fight it and I welcome the spread of darkness creeping over me. This is something I understand now. This is something they can't take from me. This is how they made me.
"Tell me, girl who can't be stopped. Tell me you're going to die. I want to hear the words leave your lips."
"You're going to die."
My image standing over Engle's dead body fades to black and the video ends. Instead of silence, instead of horror, the crowd rises to its feet with near deafening cheers. Flickerman stands me up and has me curtsey low. I feel like a puppet and President Snow is controlling my strings, but this isn't the end.
'A new arena ,'I remind myself, 'New competitors…Same fight.'
Straightening, I turn to glare up at Snow who is clapping slowly, thoughtfully. Again he mouths something to me and this time I catch it.
"Let the games begin Miss Price."
I dip a slow curtsey towards him, never breaking eye contact. My heart is drumming in my ears, drowning every other sound out. A pressure in my chest grows and I welcome it. No, this isn't the end.
"And may the odds be ever in my favour." I whisper.
END?