AN: Trigger Warning - rape


I make it to the old shack; my damp feet leave fat prints on the wooden stairs as I stumble to the back door. I take my jacket off and leave it on the chair in the corner, another old habit. The dust covered remains of furniture are all that greet me in the silence.

Typically at this time of night, you would have to paw your way through the total darkness. Since the reaping, power surges through every street, fence, and television in the district. A dim light seeps in through the windows accompanied by sounds from a nearby work crew, frantically working to make up for lost time.

There had been a delay in getting men and equipment out to 12; three weeks ago, there was another cave-in at the mines. It sent an earthquake through the District, creating a rockslide over the main rail line that is nestled against a steep ridge. I wonder if the contractors have a boss who thrives on stress and last minute results like Effie. "Big, big day!" The sound of her voice in my head reminds me that in one day's time, I will be back in the Capitol and in a month's time, dead.

I take a deep breath and let the dust and dry wood fill my senses, sobering me for a moment while I remember what I came for. Now I know why Haymitch drinks this stuff; I can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning.

I turn in a slow circle, peering through the long shadows, looking for a clue. I rub my eyes, breathe again and let out a slight chuckle once I remember this predawn excursion is for a silly piece of brass.

Cinna will kill me before I see another tribute if I forget it. I quickly step into the other room where one of my father's many hidden compartments is. Wrapped in a small cloth, I find my pin along with other keepsakes too risky to keep out in the open: a rabbit's foot, my fathers ID tag from the mines, the first arrowhead I had ever made, and the tiny container of medicine that healed Peeta.

They're silly keepsakes, really. Ever since my father took me beyond the fence line, I made a habit of hiding everything; burrowing anything with any kind of value away like a squirrel.

I carefully wrap everything back up and seal the false panel. I make my way back to the front room, examining my pin, letting the feathers flicker in the low light.

Suddenly, I hear voices, but not from the crew I heard earlier. Instead, they are quieter, closer, and more – military. I clench my pin in my right hand and duck into the shadows. I go to the back entrance to make my escape, but through the cracked windowpane, I can make out their white uniforms. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," I spit the words through my teeth. I turn back to find another escape. Two steps into the other room, I come face to face with Head Peacekeeper Romulus Thread. I stumble backwards against the kitchen table and catch myself with my free hand.

"Commander Th-Thread," I manage shakely. "What brings you here?" He stands in front of me like a statue you would see in one of our school books; all in white – his uniform, his hair, his pale skin.

"I'm sorry, if there is something wro-"

"Quiet!" he barks, cutting my inquiry and making me flinch. I can feel my face grow hot from the sudden anxiety of being cornered. My head is still swimming in white liquor. "You are out after curfew, young lady."

"Curfew? But this is my-"

"House?" He cuts me off again. "This shit hole? We have reason to believe you might be attempting to escape. You know the laws, Miss Everdeen, if you refuse to attend the Reaping, your family will face grave consequences." I don't understand where was he coming up with this. I know the laws, and even the new set of rules Snow had conjured in our last meeting.

I straighten up at the accusation and give a stern look. "I don't think you know the consequences you'll face when you fuck with a Victor." I lift a cocky eyebrow. Not only has the white liquor made me forgetful, it has made me careless. And slow.

Thread steps forward and grabs me by the back of my head, wrapping his gloved fingers tightly around my braid. His face is inches from mine and a growl emits from his lips, coated in a coffee stench.

"I said, quiet," he barks again, shaking me to the core. I try to turn my face away, but my head is pulled back. "What's that in your hand?" Thread demands. I reluctantly raise my closed fist, and with his free hand, he yanks my wrist upwards and gives it a hard twist. I present him my pin, which teeters in my open palm. His small eyes dart back to mine, and I can see the corners crease as he smiles. "Contraband, even better." I feel the rough cloth of his gloves scratch over my palm as he confiscates my pin. I try to watch his hand to see if he pockets my pin, but yet again, Thread controls me like a puppet by my braid.

"It's not contraband. It's my token for the games-" My head is pulled backwards in a swift jerk and the pin is shoved into my gaping mouth and Thread clamps my jaw closed. I inhale deeply through my nose in utter shock, and stare into Thread's eyes with bewilderment. In protest of the taste of brass, my mouth starts to water.

The coffee stench is now mixed with old leather and grease from his scratchy gloves. The adrenaline must be pushing out whatever alcohol is left, because my senses are finally awake. The statue of a man now towers over me as I'm forced to lean backwards over the table. The only things keeping me up are his hands around my head.

"You've caused me nothing but trouble, young lady. In the square, that stunt you pulled jumping the fence, and now sneaking around after curfew. You Victors think you are above the law, above me. Not anymore!" His coffee stained breath splatters on my face.

I clench my eyes closed and hold my breath. I can't fight this man. I can't scream. I can't even swallow.

All I can do is question this man with my eyes.

"You Victors are all the same. You didn't win your freedom; you just won some extra food and a fancy house. You didn't win any rights." His eyes move from mine and sweep downwards. "I've had Victors before. 4 and 7, but a 'Mockingjay,' now that sounds even better."

Wait, what did he call me? Had? Oh no.

My eyes widen at the realization, wider than his stained smile. And in an instant, I am flat on my back on the dusty hard wood floor, which knocks the wind out of me. Thread knees are tucked between my legs and he leans over me, still holding my mouth shut.

I take one hand and push against his white Kevlar vest as I try to pry his hand away from my face with the other. I kick until my heels grow numb. Saliva starts to pool in the back of my throat and I start to gag. The dust that falls into my eyes burns, making me clamp them shut.

The heat from Thread has enveloped me making my heart race.

Somehow, I am transported into the arena and I hear explosions as I claw through the hot smoke. Crackling trees are screaming from the fire. My heart is pounding, and I start to run.

The sound of Thread's voice snaps me back to the dark kitchen floor. "Is this the kind of Victor the Capitol is making now? You're pathetic."

I manage to swallow without letting the pin slip past my tongue. I open my eyes and see Thread look down as he is fumbling with something. A moment later, I feel a tug on the drawstring of my pants. I kick again, harder in protest, and turn my hips away. Motivated by instinct, my free hand cracks him across the jaw. This stops him for a moment and his hand releases my pants. Before I can feel a sense of victory, he returns with a blade against my cheek.

"Don't you get it, you little cunt?" Thread spits his words in my face. I stare him down, reminding him this isn't the first time I have had a knife pulled on me. "You really fucked up. President Snow wasn't too pleased with your Tour. He said you should be punished, but not like your cousin. We don't want to mark up that pretty little face of yours again, now do we? Or would you rather your sister, Primrose, take your place?" My eyes start to burn, but this time not from the dust.

My hands fall back in defeat. I feel the knife slide down my throat, between my breasts, over my belly and under the drawstring of my pants. A quick flip, and they hang loose across my waist. Thread tucks his knife away his and plucks his glove off with his teeth. After he tosses the glove aside, he tugs at my pants again. My refusal to cooperate earns me a threatening look from Thread. I swallow hard and relax my hips so he can lower my pants.

The heat I felt turns ice cold. The belt and clasps of Thread's uniform graze my naked thighs and sends a shock to my core – it causes me to shake and my teeth start to chatter.

I roll my head to the side and look away, trying to find something in the darkness that I can use against him, even if it isn't physically tangible. The house was stripped, just as I was. The only things left are the memories that it holds. My mind frantically searches for something to hold on to, but is torn away when I feel the tip of his member graze my flesh.

Sobs erupt from my throat and bubble out into his glove. I shake my head and my eyes plead for him to stop. He rocks forward, pressing against me harder. Thread groans in dissatisfaction and then spits into the palm of his hand, I snap my eyes shut and hold my breath when I feel his fingers slide between my legs, wiping his saliva against me. His cock presses against me a second time, stopping just inside my entrance.

"That's it," he whispers.

Thread wraps his sticky right hand around my left knee, forcing my hips up to meet his, and gives a hard thrust, driving the rest of himself inside. I let out a jagged scream when he strikes deep inside my core. The small amount of spit Thread wiped down there did nothing to ease the friction of his complete penetration.

He pulls back and rocks forward again, slowly and deliberately. I can feel him growing harder with every entry, with every scream. I try to tilt my hips to a different angle to avoid the painful internal blows. Even with both of my hands pushing against Thread's vest, his weight is too much for me.

He plunges deeper and deeper, sending shockwaves through my body. Until now, I never realized how fragile I really was.

I spit into his glove, cry out, and curse his life as Thread pushes me back and forth on the dusty wooden floor. Tears and spit rolls down my face and into my ears. Eventually, Thread's hand moves from my mouth and I gulp in the cold air, keeping the pin between my teeth. However, his hand doesn't stray far, it soon finds my throat. In a panic, training and instinct kick in and my hands start to move; they frantically claw and swing at Thread's face.

I am not dying on this kitchen floor. Not for his stupid rules.

His grip tightens and my head starts to pound. My body begins to ache and my arms grow heavy. Red flashes across my vision in rhythm with Thread's rocking, his white hair and uniform pulse crimson. Thread's breath and actions quicken and slowly, the room starts to fade into darkness. His growls are not at all human.

The smell of wet grass, blood and mutts fill my senses. Feasting grunts and growls echo in my ears as something tears apart a body just below my feet. I look over the edge of the chilled metal of the Cornucopia, and see myself, being mauled by mutts. The mutts of my slain fellow tributes start to change into Peacekeepers as they tear at my naked flesh. Curiosity keeps me from running away from these monsters. Instead, I sit down and let my legs dangle over the edge of the Cornucopia and continue to watch myself get torn apart.

"You shouldn't give up that easily." Prim quietly says as she sits besides me and lets her feet dangle along with mine.

"But there are too many of them. No matter what I do, I'm dead." To further illustrate my point, I nock an arrow and loose it into the back of one of the Mutt Peacekeeper's neck. It violently reacts, spewing a greenish blood from its wound and its mouth. When it collapses, it melts into the ground with a hiss. Seconds later, a blue halo appears and another mutation is extracted, taking the other's place in consuming my flesh.

We watch in silence while the other me begs for death. I nock another arrow, and send it into my throat. It's not the way I would have liked, but it silences my screams and the mutts' retreat.

I turn to my sister to gauge her reaction. "See, when I die, it will be better," I tell Prim. She turns and points back to my body. Flowers have begun to grow outwards like an aura. I am no longer a pile of torn, naked flesh, but I am now dressed in an odd black uniform, covered in feathers. Peeta appears under my dangling feet and kneels next to my dead self. Then Gale, Haymitch, my mother, Hazel, Cinna, and even Effie gather around my corpse. Townsfolk fill in the gaps and I can no longer see myself through the shuffling bodies. Suddenly I reappear as they lift me up above their heads and walk away.

I let out a sigh of affirmation, but it quickly turns into a startled gasp as firebombs explode on us. Hovercrafts and Peacekeepers fill in, destroying everyone I know, everyone I love.

"You should wake up now."

Blood rushes back to my head and I come-to as Thread's grip loosens from around my throat. I take another deep breath, slipping my pin inside my cheek. I gag and cough, my head pounds even harder. I am relieved when he stops and pulls his hips away, no longer abusing my insides.

Did he stop because I passed out? Thought he killed me? Maybe he has had his fill. I soon figure out he hasn't, and I silently curse my sister for waking me for the finale.

Thread sits back on his heels, allowing his cock jut proudly in front of him. His right hand releases my thigh and slides down to my raw flesh making me shake again. Thread's small eyes crease again he watches his two fingers slide between the folds of my sex, and looks back at me as he thrusts them in as far as he can. Both my hands grab wrap around his wrist, but he is impossible to move.

My feet scramble and try to push me away from his probing digits, but his other gloved hand takes hold of my hair again, pulling until I release his wrist. Thread roughly flexes his fingers against my inner wall, creating a new sharp pain, drawing out a garbled plea to stop from my mouth. My hands twist themselves into the fabric of my t-shirt when they cannot find anywhere else to go.

Two red and glossy fingers are presented above my face. The games haven't even started yet, and I'm already bleeding. My head is still fuzzy from coming-to, and I haven't had the chance to take into account what his tactile display means. For all I know, he is tearing me apart from the inside out.

Thread looks at his fingers in admiration, but then his smile fades away. Thread looks back at me with pouted lips and says, "I guess it won't be a white wedding after all."

The realization floods through my mind bringing a new wave of heavy sobs. He has already taken what little freedom I have earned by becoming a Victor, and now, he has destroyed the last shred of innocence I have left.

Before I can spit my pin in his face, he covers my mouth again, this time with the hand that no longer smells of leather and grease, but of blood. My blood. My body gives up trying to fight back as he dips back inside.

White wedding. White. I think of Cinna's beautiful drawings and the white fabrics thrown about my room as we talk on the phone of happier times. White, like snow. Like, Snow. The sent of blood finds its way into my memories –Blood and roses.

Thread starts to move faster, heavier and harder. He brings his entire body down onto mine, pinning my hands between us, pinching them against the hard clasps and buckles of his vest. His breath heaves into my ear, and soon it turns into a long growl. He gives three sporadic jerks and presses hard against me, stalling all movement except for what still flexes and throbs inside of me.

"Mockingjay…" Thread grumbles, "…more like a dead sparrow." He gets up and crosses the room to the chair that I laid my jacket on. I hear fabric ruffling, buckles being clasped, a cleared throat, and finally, "My men will escort you back home. I hope you have learned your lesson?"

I let me head fall to the side to look at the towering statue standing in my house, just the same as when I first saw him. I somehow manage to find myself and prop up on one elbow, lean over and spit the brass into my hand. I take a moment to look at it and think that this stupid pin, this stupid symbol, has been nothing but trouble.

I see his white boots approach, stop briefly, and step over me as he heads towards the front door. "I suggest you get yourself home. Tomorrow is a big, big day."

I hate him.

I lie back down and manage to slip my pants back on, feeling the dry cotton against my wet and bruised flesh. I tie a loose knot with the cut drawstring. My legs still shake making it almost impossible to stand. I shuffle to the chair and retrieve my father's jacket. When I put it on, I pretend not to notice a shimmer of red that graced its sleeve.

I make my way to the front door and before he allows me outside, Thread points up to a device at the top of the doorframe. I squint in the darkness and notice a small pulsing red light. "Miss Everdeen... President Snow sends his regards."

My heart stops and my knees buckle.

A strong, gloved hand grabs my arm before I can hit the floor. The door opens and I am pushed outside onto the cold damp grass. Several hands grab me at once and prop me back onto my feet.

I was wrong, the games have already begun, and Snow has front row seats. I should have known this wasn't just a power hungry prick of a Peacekeeper. I've seen those before.

"Ahem..." I look up at the dark visor closest to me. He tilts his head and releases one of my arms, and clears his throat again. When I look down, I see that my pants have slipped down, revealing my naked and bruised thighs. I synch them up and gather the waistband in one hand, holding it up, not trusting another knot. I don't dare look up again.

I hear Thread mumble some things to his men before he goes. On command, his men start walking, and push me into their formation. In my daze, the sound of boots crunching along the dirt is all I hear, no longer the work crews clanging away. I wipe my eyes and nose in attempts to clean my face of any humiliation as we walk through the town, back to the Victor's Village. By the time we reach the gateway, all but two of the men disappear, and I am left to walk the remaining fifty feet to my door alone. I look back to the men and realize they won't be leaving anytime soon.