XIX

…

Note:

This is a violent and gory on some level.

…

Two weeks and all Cinna wanted to do was be shown around 12 and all I wanted to do was the exact opposite. I didn't want to show him the horrors of the District that lurked around every corner, hunger and starvation, poverty and sadness. I didn't want him to see how flawed my district was to the glorious Capitol even though I knew he would think more highly of 12 than the Capitol. And yet, here we were, the Sunday a week from the Tour walking through the Seam.

Cato and I, Haymitch opting out of coming along on the tour to spend time drinking with Buttercup, were showing him around. We had already shown him the Merchants' side of town, the shops and store fronts, and the mines. Now, we were making our way out of the Seam back to the Village.

It was as we grew closer and closer to town that I noticed the people. So many people. It reminded me of when I had returned from the Game. So many people. More people than you would expect living in a place like 12.

And as we got closer, closer to the town, to the crowd of people, to the Justice Building me instincts kicked in and everything came together, rushing and then I knew. It was right there in front of me, so obvious and obnoxious I questioned myself as my feet picked up pace why I didn't figure it out sooner. It was Sunday.

I don't say a word, I think even have the chance nor even bother to make the chance as when I hear the first cry I run. I run straight for the crowd, pushing through the people. Cato and Cinna no doubt behind me, contemplating my actions.

It's Gale.

He's the one strapped to the whipping post. It was Sunday. A Peacekeeper I don't know stands behind him. His jacket is aside his body and his gray shirt only torn in two places, the redness of blood blending in with the fabric at places. There were no more than maybe three lashes across his back, but there was no doubt that the pain felt like thirty.

I don't know what I was thinking, I don't think I was thinking, but as I saw the Peacekeeper pull back his hand, ready to deliver another lashing I ran. I ran. I ran and before the Peacekeeper could whip his arm forward my fist connected with his jaw.

Shit.

Everything went still or extremely fast or frozen or slowed down or something. The Peacekeeper stumbled, eyes looking for his attacker. Gale turned his head to see what the commotion was. The crowd of people stepped away in fear. Cato and Cinna came to a halt just after breaking free of the crowd, contemplating what's happening and what to do.

The Peacekeeper stands up tall, running his fingers along his, not showing the slightest bit of pain like the robot he is.

I stand in front of Gale. "I volunteer to take his lashing."

"Catnip," Gale half pleads with me from behind.

The Peacekeeper straightens his jaw.

I lock my eyes with him. "I volunteer to take his lashing."

"Don't do this." Gale tells me.

"He has thirty lashings for illegal hunting and trade." The Peacekeeper informs me.

I stand tall, setting my jaw. "I volunteer to take his lashing."

"Catnip." Gale pleads, begs as if it was my life at risk.

"And you have fifteen lashings for the assault on a Peacekeeper."

I say in all seriousness. "I volunteer to take his lashing."

"I'll take hers." Gale shouts from behind me, but is overlooked, his words going unnoticed.

He looks me up and down.

I repeat, pushing the Peacekeeper to agree with me. "I volunteer to take his lashing."

The people in the crowd whisper to one another and Gale continues to mumbles behind me to step down. In the corner of my eye I see Cinna whispering something to Cato that I can't hear, but know Cato is unsure of my actions, standing tall and unease on his feet. Peacekeepers seem to seep through the crowd, making a wall around us, taking precautions as if a riot were to break out break out any second now.

I don't listen to the whispers or the worried eyes. I don't step down.

It's a long moment before a vicious smile creeps across the Peacekeepers face. He cracks his knuckles, pleased.

"Darius." The Peacekeeper says.

And Darius appears beside him in a matter of seconds.

"Uncuff the boy."

He nods, stepping to Gale keys in hand.

"And cuff the girl in his places."

He looks to me with sad eyes, but unwillingly nods.

Gale mumbles protest to let him take the lashings, to keep me out of, but no one listens. Bloody and pained and halfway through the first stages of hyperthermia he is taken off the whipping post and passed to someone in the crowd whose face I don't catch. And before I can turn to see who it is, my jacket is ripped from my shoulders and I pushed down on my knees. My cheek slams against the bitter coldness of the post, my knees sink in the mudded snow, and my wrists are cuffed above my head.

Darius gives me a sad look as he locks the cuffs. "I'm sorry," he whispers before pulling away.

There's a moment of silence, complete and utter stillness. It's like the silence before a storm in a way, knowing that what comes next is unpredictable and unstoppable. And then the Peacekeeper I had punched speaks from somewhere not so far behind me.

"Let's see if you scream as much as the last girl."

Prim, I think.

And then it hits me, like a million boulders.

Romulus Thread.

That was it. That was who this man was.

Oh…

But before I can mind can journey any further upon the subject the whip connects with my back and a horrific sting courses through my body.

I grit my teeth awaiting the next lashing.

…

I'm there, but I'm not. It's like that feeling of when you're half asleep.

After the final strike there's yelling, there's a lot of yelling.

There's a clink and my hands fall free of the cuffs, my body slumping forward.

I don't hit the ground. I'm caught by something, someone.

My knees are pulled up off the mudded snow along with the rest of me.

There are more voices, I don't know who, but they're there.

Whatever, whoever is holding me begins to move and I hold back tears, failing.

"Lay her down – table!"

Tears streaming down my face continue especially as whoever is carrying shifts my body, doing their best to gracefully set me down front first on the table.

I let out a whimper when the arms slip out from under me and my cheek rest against the cool wood.

There's a lot more commotion. A few sets of feet rushing around the area around me. There's yelling and whispers. There are people, enough, at least four. There's confusion, everyone rushing and half-processing what's happening, there's panic, I can hear whoever had just laid me still standing beside me breathing heavy and heart beating obnoxiously loud. There's a lot of commotion.

"Don't just stand there, Cato." I hear a voice I recognize as Haymitch's say, "Get that fabric out of her wounds."

I hear the person beside me let out a deep breath - Cato - and then I feel it, his fingers prying a shredded piece of my shirt from my back. I grit my teeth the best I can, but that does no work. Cato pauses for a moment no doubt thinking of what he can say to make it all better, but nothing comes out and he continues to work, hesitating each time before he goes to pull a piece of fabric from my back.

Sometime later I hear Haymitch's voice again this time asking if my back was clear. Cato says not yet and Haymitch words rush him to pick up the pace. And so he moves faster, hesitating less and picking quicker.

It's as the last piece is pulled from my back that I unclench my teeth and Cato speaks up.

"Haymitch."

"Good." I hear Haymitch say from behind me.

Then there's some shuffling and the slam of a door.

"Boy?" Haymitch calls.

"Where you want this snow?" The voice responses.

"Right next to her."

There's more shuffling and something is set down not so far from me.

"Okay," I hear Haymitch say, growing closer to me. "You with us, sweetheart."

I open my eye, barely, to see Haymitch in front of me and Cato beside him. And then there's someone I didn't expect, but know I should have. Hell, I was the one that stepped up. It was Gale that stood on Haymitch's other side and a man behind him who I had met before a handful of times, he worked with Gale in the mines his name was - was Thom. Beside Thom was Cinna.

Haymitch nods. "Were gone to shoot you up," he tells me, holding a vile in hand.

"No." I mumble.

"Sweetheart." Haymitch warns.

"No." I repeat.

"Catnip." Gale pleads with me as he did at the post.

"No." I repeat again.

Haymitch lets out a breath. "It gonna hurt."

I smile the slightest bit and let out a laugh of sorts, maybe more or less a breath. "It already does."

He continues to hold the vile as if he was thinking of going against my will.

"No." I tell him again for a fourth time.

He shakes his head, setting the vile aside. Then looking behind him at the guys he starts ranting off orders.

"Thom, hold her legs."

"Cinna, bandages upstairs."

"Gale, you get her arms."

"Cato, snow and towels."

And when everyone is in place Gale looks me in the eyes.

"This is going to hurt, Catnip. You sure?"

I nod.

He lets out a breath, giving me a sad smile. "Let the Games begin."

And they did.

Haymitch pour who-knows how much ice cold water across my back, "flushing out my wounds" as he put it to Gale who asked if he could do something else. Then he sloppily dried it all with a towel before telling me to grit my teeth. And hell I was glad I did because next thing I knew fighting back a scream as the white liquor cleansed the cuts and lashes. It, the burn, lasted long. Soon I wasn't just fighting back scream, but tear which I passively let escape.

And it didn't end soon enough.

The liquor wasn't the last of it. There was more water and next soap and then water again. Finally there were bandages and a towel laid over top of me with a heavy and ice chilling amount of snow that burned and sent chills down my spine. And wasn't till then, the snow, that Haymitch told Thom and Gale they were okay to let go of me.

"Sweetheart," I hear Haymitch say causing me to open my eyes, "You still there."

I nod.

"You still opting out?" He asks, holding up the vile.

I nod again.

"You ain't in the Game anymore, no need to act strong."

I barely shake my head. "I don't want any of it."

"Sweetheart." Haymitch ask, pleadingly.

"No."

"Catnip." Gale pleads for the hundredth time.

And before I talk Cato cuts me off.

"She said no."

Haymitch shakes his head, putting the vile away and Gale shoots him a glare.

Haymitch and Cinna clean up, disappearing into the house. Thom leaves, telling me to get better. Cato goes to get more snow and Gale comes to my side.

"You shouldn't have done that, Catnip?"

I smile, slightly. "And I should have been there."

"Where?"

"Hunting, the woods."

"That's not what got me there." He tells me.

"Then what?"

"Trading with Cray only to find it wasn't Cray."

"And I should have been there," I tell him for a second time.

"Hunting or trading?"

"Both."

"Catnip-"

"I trade with Cray, not you." I tell him, fighting back tears as the pain continues to build and build as my lungs rise willingly me to talk. "I would have been on that post."

"Catnip-"

"You know it's true."

He shakes his breath. And then, after a deep breath he stands up. "I gotta go home."

I nod and as he walks away I call him man, "Gale?"

"Yeah?"

"How's your back?"

"Just a scratch."

I nod, knowing it's a lie.

"I'll be by tomorrow."

And by the way he walks I know it's more than a scratch. Even though there was no more than a quarter of the wounds I had on my back I knew the ones on his were pained.

They take shifts.

Haymitch supposedly and then Cinna and then Cato.

It's Cato when I wake.

He makes me drink and tries to get me to eat.

Then it's back to sleep.

Next its Cinna when I wake up, he adds snow my back.

And it goes on and on.