VII
…
I didn't say I word. I was silent, speechless, mute. I was too mad to speak nor did I have anything to say, not a word… nice that was, if there was anything to be said which there wasn't, but at the same time if there was...
I - I - I -
Who the hell did Haymitch think he was? Who, beside my mentor and "guardian" was he? Really, who the hell did he think he was? Some almighty power? The president?
First doping me up with alcohol to create a cover that would shelter us from the wrath of Snow and then having Aurelius drug me with some relaxants so I would act exactly as the Capitol would like me to, so I would be their puppet.
I mean, what the - what the hell!?
He had no right to do that to me.
No right.
He - he - he -
With the drugs and the alcohol I wasn't - the same.
I wasn't me and the thing was I didn't want to be me. I didn't want to be broken and torn, everything and anything I felt. I didn't what it, none of it. I wanted to be someone entirely else. I didn't want to be me. Yet at the same time I couldn't put that horror, the disaster I had become on anyone else. I couldn't even do that to someone else in theory.
That's why I was mad at Haymitch - he given me exactly what I wanted and at the same time exactly what I didn't.
I was doing pretty well too… as well as I could be. I was avoiding and keeping to myself after Effie left loose that Haymitch had me drugged instead of losing it. I was calm. But then he came…
Cato Battenberg.
The 72nd Victor of the Hunger Games.
The Brute from 2.
Mister Muscle, Buff, & Stuff.
First, he was just in the room with me. Then he was talking to me, acting concern. Next he was sitting down right beside me, as if it was okay.
I couldn't - I couldn't deal with it. It was as if there was some sort of tension between us. But it was a good yet unwanting, unwelcoming sort of attention between us. I don't know what it was, but I did know that I didn't like it. I wouldn't let myself like it either.
Plus, I didn't, don't know if it was just me though that felt it or if he felt it too.
Was it communal? private? imagine? shared? individual? hallucinated?
It was sort of - tautness? fascination? connection? - something that pulled at… something I didn't want it to. It brought upon some foreign familiarity of a feeling that sent a chill down my spine.
To add to it, it was there all the time. All the time.
The day before, even in my hallucinated and drugged state I felt it.
And today… we were seated there for a while too, a long while.
We sat there till it dark and till it was well after dark. Lunch passed and dinner and dessert and even Haymitch's late night drink. It wasn't till Cato left, Haymitch had taken a bottle to bed, and Effie had given up that I moved.
I tried to go to sleep, I did, but it was no use. I couldn't bare with them, the nightmares. And so some point well past midnight, but not that early in the morning I moved. I felt my feet carrying me into the elevator, through the halls, and into the training center.
It was like before, but different at the same time… like everything else.
Different yet familiar.
It was the same, just different in the way I viewed the room now.
The trainers weren't there watching and guiding and correcting at their designated stations. The Peacekeepers weren't there watching and protecting and guarding. The Gamemakers and the Head Gamemaker weren't watching down on every move, judging and laughing and monitoring. And there weren't twenty-four of us; there were twenty-three less of us…
I was the only one now.
Katniss Everdeen.
District 12.
Female.
Victor.
Walking through the center, I take it all in…
How everything was in order to the point. How now as I looked at the room, I realized it was arranged like the Cornucopia, the most important items in the center and the basics on the outskirts. How there was not one speck of dust anywhere, anywhere. How everything looked less lethal now on a second glanced compared to how it all was in the arena. How the lights flicker off the metallic of the weapons, making them shine.
It was all so right and all so wrong.
As I walk through the center, I take it all in, walking through each station, remembering.
The weights - where Thresh displayed his physical strengths and vigor
The bars - where the boy from 7, Firr, lost his grip before hr could reach the second bar
The platform - where Glimmer for the most part just stood and looked pretty
The camouflage - where Peeta blended himself perfectly in with the tree's bark
The ropes - where Rue hid high up in the mesh from Ramsey with his knife in hand
The gauntlet - where the boy from 4, Cap, struggled to act fast on his feet were to go
The spears - where Ramsey's shots were always dead on, right to the heart
The knots - where the girl from 3, Inala, tied and untied the ropes flawlessly
The knives - where Clove pierced every targets' heart with a swift flick of the wrist
The vegetation - where Foxface matched every flower and bush with its better half
The shelter - where the girl from 8, Orchid, had built a fire with a single twig
The bow and arrow - where I shot straight at the apple in the pigs' mouth… and sentenced myself
It was all there.
Everything.
Everything I didn't want to remember, happy or sad or down right horrible, was right there in front of me in this room. This place was like the back of my mind, filled with dust covered memories. Everything building up to that day, the day I entered the arena took place in this room for the most part: my training, my judgment, my score took place here. This room held power, no matter how great I thought its power to be once, it was something greater than my mind could even imagine. Everything in a way was decided in this room, life and death. This place held the unwanted answers to one's fate, it was the Reaping's bowl, would you live or would you die.
I take in everything.
Everything.
And when I come to it, I find myself with the bow in hand and arrow notched.
And when I come to realize the human outline in front of I feel something snap.
…
He came.
Of course he fucking came, of course.
I don't know why it didn't cross my mind that he would show up.
He always seemed to be there when I didn't want him to be, but when I needed someone to be.
He came in silently, but I knew he was there. My mind worked that way, my hunter instincts just kicked in liked they always did. I knew the moment he stepped foot through the entrance it was even him, even in the numbing silence.
He came in quietly. He moved fast and agilely. He took the bow from my grasp and pried the arrow from my fingers. He detached them from one another and then pushed them far away from me as possible. He rolled me over, brushing the hair from my eyes. He grasped my shaking hands in one of his and used the other to wipe away the few remaining tears on my cheeks. He gave me a sad looked that I knew he was trying to mask, but I could see it in his eyes. He then scooped his arms underneath me and picked me up into the air. He cradled me close to his chest and took me out of the training center. He took me through the halls and up the elevator and back to the penthouse.
He came and took me away from it all and I allowed it.
I cried and he let me.
…
I didn't say I word. I was silent, speechless, wordless, mute. I was too embarrassed to speak nor did I have anything to say, not a word… nice that was, if there was anything to be said which there wasn't, but that the same time if there was...
I - I - I -
I don't know. I just - It was a first, a - thee first time I couldn't reason with the world. I couldn't explain it.
It just was.
He just was.
He was still there when I came around to it.
We were in the penthouse. We were in my room to be exact, my bedroom. We were on my bed, on top of the covers, not underneath. He was propped up against the headboard in a not so seemingly comfortable position. I was lying on top of him. He was still holding me close to his chest as he did when he carried me from the training center. I was curled into myself. He had a blanket wrapped around me, keeping me warm.
I was a mess.
My hair felt tangled. My forehead felt hot. My eyes felt red. My cheeks felt hallow. My ear felts shot. My nose felt stuffed. My lips felt chapped. My tongue felt numb. My throat felt dry. My joints felt achy. My skin felt slick. My frame felt thin.
I felt broken.
Taking in a breath, I looked up at him. And he looked down at me as he did before, back in the training center. The sad look that I knew he was trying to mask still remained, but I could see it in his eyes, his pure blue eyes.
But when he looked at me this time it seemed change.
Not only was it sad, there was still sadness in his eyes, but there was more…
Sympathy.
Appreciation.
Understanding.
He looked to me as if he knew exactly what I was going through, as if he had experienced what I had before. And inside, somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought maybe he did. There was the chance. We were similar in ways… He had his Games and I had mine. He had been played like just I had. He had killed as I had. He had been, was one of the Capitol's attention worthy personnel like I was. He was a Victor like me.
We were alike, but…
I knew were different, there was no doubt in my mind that we weren't.
Yet our differences didn't matter right then and there. In that moment, I didn't care how different we were. I only cared that we shared, might as well share many similarities.
And so like the day before we sat there in silence, for a long time.
There was the tension between us as the day before, too.
But I didn't care. I couldn't afford to care in the moment. None of that mattered: how different we were, how much he bothered me, how much emotions killed me to have, how much I felt weak. No matter how great my dislike for the tension between us or fear inside of me of our differences or the promiscuity of our uneasy similarities, I needed this.
I needed.
I needed the closeness.
I need the feeling.
I needed the warmth.
I needed the embracement.
I needed Cato.
And it scared me. The feeling scared me. The feeling of the need, the want like the tension, tautness from the days before between us caused a sort of fear begin to build within me… again.
I didn't need, I didn't rely on others, I didn't live without regulations.
I didn't like it, but at the same time I needed this.
So I allowed it.
I allowed myself to stay curled into him.
I allowed myself to cry, be weak in front of him.
I allowed him to comfort me, rubbing circle on my back.
I allowed myself not to be myself, to give in.
I allowed myself to be human, normal.
I allowed it.