Chapter Forty-Four - "Trudging On"
Auntie Paris pulls me closer to her, gently smoothing down my cheek. "Oh Em, you have no idea how proud we are of you. All of us."
I say nothing. In return, I cling to her so hard we would fuse together if logic didn't exist. I get a nosefull of her perfume. It smells so much of Mother which causes me to conclude that Auntie's use of the fragrance is her way of mourning Mother's passing. Her smell, as well as the red wool overcoat she wears is also throwing me for a loop. If I keep my eyes to the floor or even go as far as to close them, it would be just like having Mother walk with me. I go as far as trying it, closing my eyes and breathing in Auntie's scent. It brings comfort.
That is, until I hear Lieutenant DeWynter's harsh tone. I open my eyes to see Pluto up ahead with Zenobia's entourage - his sister, Zenobia herself, her prep team and collection of Peacekeepers. Pluto quickly falls back as I catch a glimpse of DeWynter's pointed glare before she faces to her front.
"What was that about, Pluto?"
"Nothing, nothing..." he replies. "Just Viondra being Viondra..."
"She seems rather upset-"
"She's a perfectionist, is all." he says. "We should've maxed the dosage…" Pluto groans with a sigh, fumbling with his greatcoat. "Silly me to have not brought more."
Auntie Paris frowns. "Is that really necessary?"
Pluto then gently, but forcefully, wedges himself between us, ignoring Auntie's protestations. He then goes ahead and pries my arms away from my middle and places them to my front, cupping one hand over the other. I can't help but feel annoyed, fixing him a harsh glare as he stops the both of us, smack dab in the middle of the Training Center's circular lobby.
"Emery, you're a victor," Pluto hisses harshly, firmly gripping my shoulders. His face softens with hesitance as he adds, "...Not a victim."
My body flushes with annoyance. Pluto might've been my 'guardian angel', but he has no idea what it's like to have been in there - none! Seeing it first hand, doing it! Let alone surviving the prison camp in Two. Judging by the softness in his features, he knows this. This isn't the first time he's given me that look. The look of realization. The realization that what happened to me was wrong. That Clancy and I should not have been in that arena in the first place.
The entire entourage has stopped now. Zenobia's group talks among themselves while sparing occasional glances towards Pluto and I. A Peacekeeper eases his way past my prep team.
"Lieutenant, we have a schedule to keep."
Pluto nods toward the soldier, shifting his focus back to me. "Remember what I said. We need you." he quickly stands up, moving me so that I stand a respectable distance away from Auntie Paris. "Everything, I mean everything will be televised from now until the evening. You don't have to smile your teeth off, just look presentable."
With a huff, I continue to trudge along. What's the point of looking 'presentable' when all eyes will be on Zenobia and her team? Still, I listen to Pluto's directions and hold my head up high as we emerge through the sliding doors and bound down the Center's grand staircase. The way down as well as the landing are choked full of cameramen and reporters. Even the surrounding buildings are filled with spectators, waving banners and the like. Despite Pluto's stern advice, Auntie Paris links arms with me.
"You're thirteen, for Panem's sake. At the end of the day, you're our responsibility and ours alone." she gives my arm a gentle pat. "Light smiles, Em. Surely your mother taught you a thing or two about keeping up appearances, right?"
I quickly recall a more simpler time where Mother would bring me along to a social call.
"I thought you didn't like 'so and so'...?" I would sometimes say to her. Her job in law would always have her butting heads with all sorts of characters. Sometimes I would catch her ranting on the phone to her friends from work about them.
"Sometimes, my Darling, one has to bite their tongue even though they loathe their situation." Mother would say back. "Fake it till you make it. It's better than the alternative."
Fake it till you make it.
So, with my arm linked with Auntie's and her free hand entwined with Uncle Roman's, I maintain a smile as the cameras start flashing and the cheers reach fever pitch. I think the planners intentionally made it so that we walk squarely in the middle of the velvet-lined staircase, far away enough so that questions from the press can't be easily allowed - which I'm thankful for. Given the ravenous crowds, it's not like a conversation can be had anyway. They chant her name of course. "Zeno-bi-a! Zeno-bi-a!" while I pick out my name sometimes.
My mind is immediately occupied by other things. Like the openness. The streets are way too open. I quickly start to pick up on other flaws around me. We could easily be shot, exposed like this. There's too many rooftops, too many angles. It makes me wish for a tighter spot to hide away in. Like the apartment. And if I thought the theater was loud, then being out here with all these people causes my brain to throb. The 'other city', meaning the arena, was so quiet. I find myself wishing for a similar quietness again.
A squeeze from Auntie Paris is enough to stir me, a reminder that I'm in public. Be presentable. It causes me to wave this way and that, all the way until we reach the landing and enter two separate limousines by the curb - one for Zenobia's team and one for mine.
Inside, I rest my head against the leather seating and blow out a half sigh, half whine. "I'd like to go home. Can we please go home now?"
Auntie helps by removing my beret and unbuttoning my coat. On the far end of the car, towards the driver's cabin, Pluto sends a weary expression my way. Even Horatio and my preps look off, with each of them exchanging concerned looks towards one another.
"Are you okay?" Asks Horatio with a tone usually reserved for babies, pups and kittens. I offer a shrug in reply, prompting him to place a comforting hand over my knee. "Poor thing. It's a lot, I know."
"We all know," says Deja, one of the preps, earning nods of agreement all around. Pluto remains antsy, his lips pursed.
"That was the hard part, Emery," says Uncle Roman. "Pluto filled Paris and I in. All we need to do now is see you crowned and watch the festivities. No fuss, no muss."
"All you need to do is sit down and relax, Dear." Auntie Paris adds, caressing my knuckles. "It's all for you."
I breathe out a sigh. Not true. Regardless, their words serve as some relief as we're driven through the jubilant streets towards the Presidential Palace. Just like the Training Center, the perch entering the Palace as well as the various expansive hallways are lined with velvet carpeting. Zenobia and I are made to walk to our destination together, our team following dutifully behind us. Soldiers representing each branch of the military dot either side of the hallway, presenting their arms upon command. As we proceed down the hall, I watch them as they seemingly watch us, each of their heads slowly swiveling from left to right. A quick glance at Zenobia tells me she's in awe.
Attending many of my Father's ceremonies from his being an officer, I used to be in awe. Used to.
From the inside, two Peacekeepers open a pair of grand oak doors to reveal a ballroom choked full of people who break out into applause upon seeing us. At the end of the room is President Choudhury, who motions with a singular hand towards two velvet rostrums. With a gentle coax from Zenobia we press on, the both of us grinning and waving until we mount our rostrums and about turn to face the audience. I immediately find relief in seeing the familiar faces of my extended family. My grandparents from both Mother and Father's side as well as my various cousins and other relatives.
The crowd hushes as the President turns to face us. Joining and flanking her on either side are a little boy and girl, each holding a velvet cushion. No splitting of a crown this time around. Instead, our headdresses are removed by the president and two shimmering laurel wreath crowns made of gold are put on top of our heads. She talks at length with Zenobia, which I find obvious but grating. But soon, the person who more than likely allowed me to live is standing in front of me, pumping my hand after I offer a curtsey.
"I am very pleased to have you with us, Ms. Smithson," says the President. "How does it feel to be the first Capitol-born victor?"
"It's…Interesting," I say evenly. "Thank you, Your Excellency, for saving me."
I can't help but inwardly cringe at my choice of words. Saving me from what, exactly? Remove me, and everything would be the same without the additional body to split the spoils. Would Clancy feel the same way I am now if it were me that took the bullet? Probably not, he'd be stronger, but I imagine he would still think of this as wrong in a way.
Her rose-tinted lips curling into a soft grin, President Choudhury runs a gloved hand over my cheek. "You lie, Ms. Smithson. I see it in your eyes…and the reports. I'm sorry for your losses, truly. But with the Capitol's unwavering support you will heal in due time and things will get better. I'm expecting great things from you in the future."
I smile and wave as the President declares us victors once more before a cheering audience. My internal cringing becomes internal shrieking. How do things get better after your entire immediate family dies off? As we're escorted to our front row seats, the President takes her place in front of a lectern bearing her seal. Two Peacekeepers wheel in a case containing a dozen or so gold medals with crimson and gold ribboning. Once the case is set in place, she begins to speak of the day in question.
Heroes, according to the President during ordinary times, rise to the occasion when it arises and can take the form of anyone. However during times of strife, like we've seen recently, it takes people of 'exceptional character' and 'unwavering devotion', to become a hero.
More specifically, a Hero of Panem.
"Which is why I call Officer Cadet Zenobia Rivendell, Victor of the Seventy-Sixth Games, before me."
The room quickly becomes abuzz with murmurs. Confused, my eyes snap onto my co victor, who seems just as shocked as I am. Zenobia holds eyes with Lieutenant DeWynter who motions towards the stage with a grin. Smoothing her skirts, Zenobia makes her way up as a Peacekeeper reads her citation.
"For extraordinary devotion to the preservation of Capitol and State at the certain risk of her life: Zenobia Rivendell distinguished herself by answering the call of duty that was not given to her by the State, but by her own conviction…"
I tune out the rest of the citation, watching with astonishment and clapping along sloppily as the President pins the medal onto her chest. As Zenobia stands there beaming from cheek to cheek, three words circle around my brain like water to a drain. What's the point? What's the point? What's the point? A dozen more Peacekeepers, airmen, sailors and ordinary people are denoted heroes or given similar medals but I continue to think about what Zenobia's status means for me.
Not only is she a record-breaking, historic victor that will go down in history for those exploits alone, but she's now a national hero. Schools will be named in her honor no doubt. Streets, other buildings as well. A hundred years would go by and her name will still be on people's lips.
Why am I here? Ah yes, right. I'm 'Little Emery'.
"Emery Smithson." I glance up towards the front where the President and a familiar-looking high-ranking Peacekeeper are standing. I quickly recognize him as the chief pioneer, Colonel Marinus Robart, an always-beaming man who always penned greetings in the quarterly pioneer newspaper. Curious, I arise and make my way before the two adults who deftly replace my old sash with one that every Pioneer aspired to achieve; the sash of a master pioneer. A crimson band with smaller golden bars on either side with gold diamond stars in between. I'm then given a presentation kit filled with decorations fitting for the title.
"I will not be long," grins Colonel Robart, looking down at me. "I speak for the entire One Panem Young Pioneer movement when I say that your promotion, Emery, to the rank of master pioneer is much deserved. Your exploits during the crucible of our nation's most sacred event, the Hunger Games, serves as a prime example of the Pioneer Spirit. That being…"
I immediately tune out his words, instead choosing to focus on the kit and sash. Ever since its establishment, only a sliver of Pioneers ever attain this rank by the time they reach the age limit of nineteen. Projects need to be done, merit badges (challenge badges even) need to be earned yet I got it at thirteen - a toddler in Pioneer years.
I think back fifteen minutes to Zenobia's awarding and I immediately think of one word: consolation. This is a consolation prize and I very much don't like consolation prizes. I did not earn this award so it might as well be rubbish in my eyes.
The chief pioneer finishes his speech and the audience applauds. Fake it till you make it. I smile from ear to ear as I pump the hands of the Chief and the President before returning to my seat. I weigh the two titles in my head.
Hero of Panem? Everyone regards that as something noteworthy. Master Pioneer? I'm not stupid. I'll grow up and the older I get, the more irrelevant Pioneering will be to other things in life. Like being a Hero.
Despite mentally checking out, the festivities drag on and on and on. A march past outside the Presidential Palace with twenty Peacekeepers side-by-side, wreath laying ceremonies, speeches honoring the fallen. If it weren't for the afternoon luncheon hosted by the President, I would've broken down entirely. I quickly realize that it's the drugs that's making me feel this way, sapping my energy until there's nothing in the tank. Now I sit inside a limousine, my presentation kit tossed to the wayside as Auntie Paris insists I hold Octavia. With my cousin in my arms, I can safely say it's the first time I've felt at ease since morning.
"Good news," says Pluto as he shifts into the limousine cabin. "I've received authorization to take you home. The press will understand, given the…parameters."
"Zenobia will keep them occupied, surely," says Uncle Roman, peering through the window.
I also find myself glancing through the window, watching as distinguished guests and officials casually chat amongst the graves, the part of the Capitol Necropolis that houses our nation's veterans, leaders and the like. Now that I'm here (alive), Uncle tells me that we'll be back at the Necropolis soon enough to see to it that Mother, Father and my Brother are laid to rest at our family plot.
"But how?" I wondered. Father was executed during the war, Mother passed in prison and Clancy I would understand but for our parents I would imagine that they were just…discarded.
"Your father hashed out a deal, remember?" explained Uncle Roman. "Divulge all your information in exchange for fair treatment of your family. I guess the state kept their promise."
"They were fixing to deport all of us," Auntie Paris continued. "But then the reaping happened, and you weren't like the others. Things could've been worse for the entire family."
They went silent after that, but I was left to wonder why exactly were our names chosen anyway? But then I quickly remember that Father was partly responsible for collapsing our lines and letting the Rebels into the city anyway. I suppose being the first Capitol-born winner has made everyone forget why I was there in the first place. As we drive through the streets, I quickly realize we're still within the central blocks and not the sleepy fringes of Bountiful. I also can't help but notice that Pluto has been watching me since we drove off, grinning like a fool all the while.
It seems Auntie Paris is confused as well. "Why aren't we going home?"
"We are!" Pluto answers playfully, reclining against the leather.
I exchange weary glances with my Aunt and Uncle, wondering to myself about what Pluto has up his sleeve. It's not until we pull up to a curb that I realize what he's done. I almost forgot that the winners of the Games are entitled to mansions within their respective district. I guess I'm no exception to this. Handing off Octavia to my Aunt, Pluto ushers me out of the limousine first, allowing me to be the first to see the limestone townhouse that will apparently be my home for the next little while.
My eyes immediately lock onto the tall oak doors and then steadily rise upward. One, two, three…seven, seven whole floors. More than the neighboring houses at a rough glance of four or three floors. Turning , barely acknowledging my relatives, I also quickly realize that we're in the Capitol Park neighborhood, the location of many family outings for events like Panem Day as well being my dream locale to eventually live in. Here I am now.
But then something begins to feel…off. Not only was Capitol Park familiar due to my childhood, but familiar in a different way as well. The stone fencing with iron spikes are no longer pristine, but rusted and crumbling. Spinning around towards the townhouses, they're now dilapidated and bombed out, just like…
"Emery, tell us how you're feeling!"
I blink slowly, mentally reminding myself that what I just saw was not true. I'm safe now. I blink a few more times. A gaggle of reporters are here as well, across the street as well as a crew a few feet away from me, headed up by a woman who asked the question. Eyes bright, she tilts her microphone towards me.
"I…I don't know what to say," I reply sheepishly, adjusting my glasses. "I've always loved Capitol Park, so…"
Pluto comes in for the rescue, placing a hand on my shoulder as he pivots me towards the grand oak doors. "As you can see, Emery is still overwhelmed by all the developments. We'll be sure to catch up with you all soon, but right now we're going to let Emery and the family settle in!"
If we thought the outside was grand, the inside of the townhouse is something different entirely. With its high-walled, oak-lined rooms, checkered tiles and leather upholstery, it's a manor fit for people like my grandfathers, Ennius and Melvin Sr., accomplished men who sit around puffing on premium cigars and fine wine from District 1. They seem the most excited, admiring the various art pieces as well as spending most of their time in the study.
"Emmy dear," croons Grandpa Ennius. "With a study like this, you're going to see a lot more of Grandpa from here on out."
"That goes the same for your other half." adds Grandpa Melvin, joining Grandpa Ennius in a round of soft chuckling.
I hold my tongue and move on to the next room. You two just lost your daughter, son and grandson respectively. How can you be in the mood for ribbing? How can any of us frolic around this place with glee?
Apparently there's a government department that takes care of victors. The Ministry of Victors Affairs. According to Pluto, I'll be given a car, driver and Peacekeepers whenever needed and two Avoxes who do everything from cleaning to cooking. I can't help but gawk at the two tongueless women and their dark skin. I immediately think of my former servants, Mamie and Peony. Like them, they could be a part of our family if the situation were any different.
As one of them offers me a tumbler of lime soda, the thought of replacing the both of them passes my mind. At least then they wouldn't look like me and better yet after everything that's happened why bother having them at all?
"How are you liking your new abode, Emery?" asks Pluto. Behind him, Nana Marie plays Maple Leaf Rag on the grand piano. Grandma Berenice and my elder cousins look on. "Of course it's rather…stately for a teenage girl, but the VA will gladly help you remodel in due time."
Cradling my glass, I give the drawing room a lookover. "How did you guys put it all together so quickly?"
"It took no time at all, really." Pluto takes a sip of wine. "This is a Heavensbee estate."
Nana Marie's joyful playing is cut short as all eyes quickly fall on my Escort. Even Pluto knows he struck a nerve, his blue eyes swiveling from one face to another before lowering his glass. "Something wrong?"
Uncle Roman's eyes narrow into fine slits. "A Heavensbee estate?"
"With them gone, what else are we going to do with his assets?" replies Pluto, glowering as he adds, "It's not just them. A lot of people have been…removed."
The realization hits me like a slap. "Like we were, almost."
Like Syndra. Maximus. Cicero and Daphne. It seems a lot of Capitolites rebelled against their city. I want to believe I know 'why'. I've seen many things that would explain why people would rebel but my brain hurts too much to think about it further.
"Yes, well," Grandpa Ennius says, adjusting himself. "Thanks to Emery, we might as well be Heavensbees, hm?"
"Here, here!" Pluto chimes in reply, raising his glass as the rest of the family mutters in approval. As soon as his eyes catch mine, he falls into that look again. That look of concern. At least he knows that beneath all the fanfare, something is very very wrong.
I glance around the room as Nana Marie starts up playing piano again. Typical adults. Just like Mother said, they all just fake it until they make it. It's almost as if it were just me who were taken to the arena all while Clancy, Mother and Father never existed. Aren't they as mad as I am? Don't they feel any sense of sadness for the three person hole in our family?
It seems they don't.
With National Heroes Day coming to a close as the evening arrives, Pluto tells me to freshen up in anticipation for Zenobia's arrival. Vice President DeWynter is to be here as well, which means that Victoria DeWynter may tag along as well. Wonderful. The last thing I need is Victoria going on and on about me as if I were the next Finnick Odair. Part of me is surprised that Zenobia and her team still kept me in mind. You think she and Lieutenant DeWynter would be up all night adoring their public.
"You would be there with them, but they cut you loose due to 'health concerns'." Pluto's face lights up as he retrieves a black suitcase. I can't help but cringe when he produces the orange container. "Speaking of health…"
Auntie Paris is quick to swipe the vial away, all while swaddling Octavia. "You're not giving her any more of those pills, Pluto. Two a day is more than enough."
"I was simply asking if she was up to endure the night without them." Pluto raises his hands in surrender, shrugging. "Believe it or not, I understand that things are…tense right now and-"
"Can you stop talking about it, Pluto?" I ask, removing my glasses and massaging my temples. "I'm uncomfortable."
"Of course, Em." Lips tucked, he nods, catching the medicine from Auntie Paris and returning it back into its paper package, offering it to me. "They're prescription and less potent than what we gave you in the hospital. They still want us to monitor you, so if you feel a little down…"
Wordlessly, I take the package from Pluto's hand and head up to my new bedroom. As I wash up and change into a different shirtdress, I spend a good time staring at the orange container, debating if it'd be better going through the evening medicated and dull or not medicated and still be all there. I quickly 'snap out of it' and forget I even considered taking more.
Kat joins me, pouncing onto my lap as she kneads my dress and settles. As I go through the motions of massaging her head and back, my hands crave something else. Like a pen and paper.
So many feelings, so many thoughts and no way to truly voice them without exploding.
I wish I had my journal.
It doesn't take long for Zenobia and the other officials to arrive. As I peer out my window, the street below is as active as a tracker jacker nest. Pluto tells me to stay in my bedroom until he collects me for my 'welcome', which consists of him escorting me downstairs to the dining room as a small ensemble of hired musicians play a snippet of the national anthem.
"A custom for victors and other officials attending official events," he says.
As I'm received to applause, I can't help but lock eyes with Zenobia on the way down, feeling uneasy, but as soon as I touch the checkered tiles, the party is in full swing.
I'm not sure, maybe because of the newness of it all, but I immediately feel as if my new home isn't my own, given how many odd faces I see walking about, wanting my photo or a signed autograph. When I talk to them, some say they're officials from the Victors Affairs Department, some worked with Mother at the Justice Department. Some in uniform say they're comrades of Father and Grandpa Melvin. They all congratulate me but I don't feel any better. I don't know these people and just like my extended family, the absence of Mother, Father and Clancy seems to be lost on all my 'guests'. Not once have they apologized.
Some 'friends' they are.
Speaking of friends, Victoria DeWynter and her parents find their way over to me and for the first time in our friendship it is me who seems to be the center of focus, talking on and on about how shocking it was seeing me navigate the Games.
"...And the kills!" she gushes, gripping both my hands while bouncing. "Quite honestly Emmy, I didn't know you had that in you!"
My grip isn't nearly as tight, comparable to a limp noodle. Fake it till you make it. "Thank you, Victoria."
"Need I heap more praise on you?" Her father adds, clasping my hand in a firm handshake. "Congratulations, Miss Smithson. That was the first time a Capitolite entered the Games and you performed with aplomb."
"Thank you, Mr. Vice President," I reply politely.
Mrs. DeWynter offers a soft congratulations. No mention of my dead family at all (considering she had lost her own son, you think she would at least care) but just by looking at her, I can tell her head is still in the clouds of mourning for her own son. After insisting that we take a photo with her and her parents, Victoria splits me away from the other adults as she goes on and on about life in the city following my disappearance.
"They only just started allowing us back into class off of video calls," she explains. "As you could imagine, everyone is still shaken from the Rebellion. Ration coupons, Peacekeepers flushing out stragglers…I figured you and Dawn were in a tough way like most, but when I saw you in District 12 of all places, my mother and I had a fit!"
"Dawn..." I breathe out, my heart aching in remembrance. With everything going on, I'd simply forgotten about her.
"Yes. You might've heard, of course you've heard you're neighbors," she replies softly. "mother and father have sworn off Avoxes completely until they can vet more tame ones. I don't blame them one bit."
Victoria prattles on, but I pay no mind to it. I'm immediately brought back to that evening when Clancy and I stormed Dawn's house to find her mourning her dead, bloodied parents. Through the horrible times there were spots of joy too, like her and I sitting side by side, mugs of cocoa in our hands, gazing out into the winter day despite everything going on around us.
A chortle of laughter pulls me out of my thoughts, causing me to glance over toward Zenobia. She's surrounded by guests, naturally, including most of my family.
"I should probably save it for a toast, but let me simply say thank you for your allyship with Emery," says Uncle Roman. "Tonight would be a lot different if you had other thoughts in mind."
Zenobia bows her head. "S'not a problem, Mr. Philips."
"Oh, and that accent," croons Nana Marie, laying a gentle hand on Zenobia's shoulder. "So rugged! No wonder you licked those pathetic rebels!"
I find myself gnashing my teeth at their comments. Is Uncle Roman right? Sort of, but not exactly. It wasn't all about Zenobia. I tried and almost won on my own, killing all the remaining competition except her!
As if that's something to be proud of. Wasn't that long ago when I thought it was.
"To be fair, I was mainly rooting for her, but I was so happy to see that they allowed both of you to win," says Victoria. "What would we do if you had killed her? That would've made for a bittersweet ending."
That pretty much proves me right. In response, my arms droop as I breathe out, "Gee, thanks Victoria…"
"No problem! People our age never win, so I assumed the worst." she links her arm in mine, beaming. "But here I am now, best friends with the Capitol's first ever victor while essentially being good friends with the regular victor-"
I blink. "'Regular'-?"
"-Also, good on you for redeeming your family name," she continues on, oblivious as usual. "I would absolutely dread being a Cardew or a Heavensbee right now. W-Where are you going?"
My back towards her, I grip the knob of the banister. "Upstairs."
"Oooh, I wonder if your room is as big as mine," she replies in all her smartness. "Probably not, but probably just as nice-"
She takes a step forward, only for me to wave her off.
"Stay," I say as politely as possible, not even bothering to face her. "Save me a seat beside you for dinner."
"Well okay…Maybe afterwards I can come up and you can give me the grand tour!"
Without replying, I continue to trudge up the stairs.
December in the Capitol can be rough. With the area surrounded by mountains, this only makes the winters harsher, despite the weather alteration they apparently do to lessen the harsher effects. As I lean against the seventh floor balcony, wearing my overcoat unbuttoned, I glance out towards Capitol Park without a care of the flurries peppering my face or the coolness nipping at my nose, cheeks and ears.
My mind is preoccupied with other things.
"Nice house."
The owner of that voice is so telltale to me that I don't bother turning to greet her. Instead, I watch from the corner of my eye as Zenobia settles in next to me, placing both her hands onto the stone railing. I can feel her eyes on me but opt to keep my gaze towards the park.
"With all these random people in it, it doesn't very much feel like my house," I grouse.
"I get ya. I've been to 'bout a dozen other parties in my name today," Zenobia replies. "I'm pretty sick of people too."
"What's one more?" I shrug.
"I thought this one was for you?" says Zenobia. "Hells, all of the ones I attended were for you too. I mean, we are in this together, after all."
I gnash my teeth. "Could've fooled me."
"Right…I'd heard - and seen - that things ain't goin' your way," she says. "It'll get better, Emery-"
"See! See!" I cry, spinning to face my co-victor. "You people all think the same! This house could burn down right now and I would still be told to 'chin up'!" I turn back towards the park. "'Congratulations, Emery!' 'Congratulations, Emery!', not once have I heard a 'sorry' today! I essentially have to shut up and forget about what happened. That's not even including what I went through before I ever stepped foot in the arena!"
Zenobia blinks. "I don't think you understand how good you got it."
My body runs hot while images of muttated dogs, watchtowers and laughing Peacekeepers with mocking sneers flash through my mind. "How could you say that!?" I snap, stomping into her space. I jab a finger into her chest. "What about you?! Didn't you lose your parents and your brother!?"
"Yes-"
"Certainly you feel a way about it?!" I continue, jabbing another finger into her chest. "Or did all those kills wash away the pain?"
Zenobia's eyes narrow into slits. "What's that s'posed t'mean? Those people deserved what they got and I won't apologize for it-"
"Did Eunice deserve that?"
Zenobia exhales roughly through her nose. "I still feel their absence. I do," she replies, ignoring my question. "But I'm content in knowin' that they'd be proud of what I did. Just like how your folks would be proud that you stuck it out even though you lost Clancy and the odds weren't in your favor, right?"
"They're not here." I shrug. "How am I supposed to know?"
"But they said it to you beforehand-"
"I'd rather them here with me!" I shriek. "I shouldn't be in this mess. I shouldn't be a victor. I should've been at home, with them, alive! Just like Syndra, Cicero and the others." When Zenobia remains silent, I take the time to clear away my tears. "Yes sure, Mother, Clancy and the others would rather me live but they don't know the end result! The end result is me, the 'spare wheel' to the main character all while surrounded by people who barely seem to understand. Maybe because they're too busy with you."
Zenobia gives her head a shake. "You're not a spare-"
"If I were to fling myself off this balcony, would there be a difference in how things are?" I ask her. "If you say anything else but 'no', you're a bold-faced liar." Zenobia doesn't verbally confirm my thoughts but her pursed lower lip confirms everything. "Exactly. Panem has their hero while 'Little Emery' follows along as per usual, alone. Aunts, uncles and relatives don't mean much when they simply do not have a clue as to how I feel and only see my victory as saving the wider family from being seen as traitors."
Zenobia's face falters further. There's nothing she can say back because what I say is nothing but the truth. "Um…I was s'posed to collect you for dinner, so…"
I brush past her and make my way back down. Entering the dining room, I pay zero attention to the eyes that follow me to my seat. I'm sure my eyes are red from the crying but I don't care.
"Emery, is everything all right?" Auntie Paris asks. Zenobia takes her seat, her expression nonchalant.
"Yes," I reply. No.
I don't pay much attention to the conversation or toasts in my honor. It's all empty words. One ear, out the other. By the time the desserts are served I slip away to my room undetected, which only serves my point of being nothing but an add-on to Zenobia's historical success.
I spend the day after the dinner locked away in my bedroom, with the occasional visit from Auntie Paris who made sure I ate something. I'm sure they didn't pester me due to the fact that now, two days after my crowning, is the day that we put Mother, Father and Clancy to rest at the Necropolis.
We're not a 'patriarch family' by any means, like the Snows, Ravinstills, DeWynters and Heavensbees. But our family has had a lengthy history with the Capitol region stemming from the fall of Old America until now, with many members serving as modest government officials, teachers and so on. Because of this, our ancestors now rest in a columbarium reserved for Smithsons alone. We all gather around what is essentially a garden of shrubbery blanketed with snow, a singular marble pillar with the names of various relatives of the past etched onto it.
As well as three new additions.
It seems now that the public isn't watching our every move that everyone begins expressing their true feelings about what's happened to us over the past two years. When they unveil the three degradable urns, each with the names of Mother, Father and of course Clancy, there are audible expressions of shock in the air. Not too long ago, those urns were our family. Walking, talking, laughing.
I'm thankful that Uncle Roman pulls me close to him. Otherwise I would be laid out on the floor. Clinging onto his coat, My eyes flicker through those in attendance.
Grandma Berenice, so upbeat and bubbly just the other day, clings to Father's elder brother while Grandpa Melvin remains stoic. My Father's side of the family were military men. Because of this, I've been to a few military funerals. In a normal world, there would be honor guards and trumpeters. But Father is a traitor, and us even having this funeral is a miracle given what they had told us.
The same I see in Grandma Berenice can be said for Nana Marie. Grandpa Ennius isn't in a joking mood anymore, instead looking as dejected as ever while linking arms with both Nana and Auntie Paris. I can barely look Auntie Paris in the face without seeing Mother, so I don't. Even their crying sounds alike. Where none of Father's associates can be found, I notice a few of Mother's. Mother wasn't a traitor, so it makes sense to see more of her friends than Father's.
To my left stands Zenobia of all people, looking as tense as my grandfathers. I can't help but wonder to myself what the funeral for her family was like? We're the same in so many ways, yet so different. I'm surprised when after the officiant speaks, it's her that takes to the podium.
"Hello, thank you for having me," Zenobia begins, glancing at me for the briefest of moments. "It wasn't that long ago that the tables were turned and it was me who had to bury my brother, mother and father. It's funny how that works, huh? I s'pose fate works in mysterious ways. I uh…I didn't know Mr. or Mrs. Smithson, but I did see the impact it had on Emery while we were in the arena. I couldn't help but notice that headband of hers, the way she would keep taking it off and sniffing it." from her neck she retrieves some ID discs. "Wish it smelled like m'folks, but I do find myself gripping these tags every now and then, as back in Two, your tags mean everything.
"I did know Clancy for a little bit. Sure, you could say that I fought my way out of that arena single handedly, but like most victors, typically the last person standing has multiple people to thank for getting them to that point. Clancy is one of those people. He cooled my hot head on multiple occasions and saved my hide when it counted. If it weren't for the likes of him, chances are one of the other tributes would've gotten lucky.
"Trust me, given the brief moments he and I had together, he would be content with the outcome of the Games, as would Gloria and Melvin. The best thing we can do for them now is try to live life for them. Panem knows I'm trying to live for my folks, s'why I'm here before you right now. I know today and the coming days and months and years will be a time of grief. It ain't gonna be easy, but knowing what we know about our loved ones, it's what they'd want for us. Though they're no longer with us, you still have each other to lean on. I'll be with you every step of the way.
Zenobia gazes at me again, and I hold it.
"I always wondered what it'd be like to have a lil' sis…Our time in the arena, the…quieter times at least…was a nice taste. I'm glad we'll have the opportunity to grow further."
While the crowd gently applauds her, I continue to watch my co-victor quietly return to her spot and begin listening to the next speaker. Although the faces of Mother, Father and Clancy are permanently etched into my mind and my heart still aches tremendously, when hearing Zenobia's words I feel a sense of clarity. My flowing tears now just well in my eyes and I no longer need Uncle Roman's support to stand.
I won't say I feel entirely better, but her words helped. Mother and Clancy may not know how draining these past few days have been, but they would definitely want me to keep trying so keep trying I will.
The funeral concludes with the entire family clutching each urn and gently lowering it into the ground, where they will hopefully continue to keep the shrubbery of the Smithson plot thriving. Naturally, being the last surviving member of my branch of the family tree, everyone flocks towards me to offer condolences. During this, my mind can only think about Zenobia. Through the cluster of people I spot her, saying parting words to Uncle Roman before making her way towards an awaiting limousine. We lock eyes for the briefest of moments before a guard closes the door and the car drives off, probably to Central Station where the train will take her back to District 2 until the victory tour…whenever that will be.
"Hello, Emery."
I spin around. It seems the first grin of the day goes to Dawn's aunt, Iberia and her wife, Tera. They embrace me jointly, something I welcome with open arms.
"Hello Ms. Iberia," I say, inclining my head to the other woman. " Ms. Tera."
"Pardon me, perhaps I should be addressing you as Ms. Smithson," says Iberia with a nervous giggle. "You are a victor now-
"Panem's youngest," Tera adds. "Capitol born of all places."
"Gods…" Iberia breathes.
I grin politely. "Emery is fine."
"We're very, very sorry for…everything." Tera straightens up, cupping one hand over the other. "You're so incredibly brave, I don't have many other words to say."
"You're being here is very much deserved, let it be known," Iberia says.
"Thank you." to be honest, as nice as it is to see these two again, where there's Dawn's family, Dawn must be nearby. I even make sure to glance around, frowning as I ask, "Where's Dawn?"
Both of their faces immediately fall into a frown, which compels me to do the same. My heart is aching with an uncomfortable warmth as I shake my head. "Please don't tell me something bad happened-"
"No, no…" Iberia soothes, exchanging weary glances with her wife. "It's not as bad as it would be if you didn't make it out."
"But it's still bad," says Tera.
"Tell me," I say pleadingly.
The car barely pulls into the hospital loop before I'm out of it, though the sliding doors and at the receptionist's desk with Ms. Iberia and Ms. Tara right behind me. The woman manning the counter is surprised to see me, offering her congratulations, but is quickly put back on task by yours truly.
"Where is Dawn Fong?" I ask firmly. "Take me to her."
Maybe it's the fact that she sees the familiar face of Dawn's guardians. Maybe it's my new status as Panem's youngest victor. Either way, they take me to see Dawn immediately.
After that night we discovered her among her dead mother and father, we'd nearly lost her. Now that I truly recall the days that followed, I'm surprised she was even willing to speak after what she had seen. It only makes sense that as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months since the horrible event, that Dawn wouldn't truly get over it. According to Ms. Iberia, her health was poor enough. It was when she saw me on stage in District 12 that she snapped, screaming and crying and mashing her head against surfaces. The hospital was the only option. Being put on a strict regimen, Dawn hasn't watched television since. Neither has her aunt told her about the results of the Games.
"You were there for her at her lowest," Ms. Iberia explains. "She sees you as her savior, her closest friend. Now that friend is somehow a tribute in the Hunger Games? It destroyed her."
I ignore the gawking eyes of the staff while making my way towards my friend. Don't worry Dawn, I'm back. I'm here. It's odd, so very odd that the most important people in my life all share the same tragic happenings; dead parents ripped away from us too soon.
After a fair warning to introduce myself gently, the doctor, Ms. Iberia and her wife pull back, allowing me to enter deeper into the open suite where Dawn resides. With its warm wood paneling and earthy tones, it's no surprise that she is out of bed, doing what she does so well, drawing the Capitol's cityscape that lies beyond the wide window.
"Dawn…" I breathe out.
Hearing my voice, the pencil in her hand takes a harsh dive downward, tarnishing the canvas as she jumps quickly to her feet, turning over the chair she was sitting on. She sees me now, her face like a deer in headlights before quickly switching to one of sadness? Joy? Given the wail she lets out as we meet each other halfway, moving towards each other as we embrace. From what I imagine is from sheer emotion, Dawn sinks to the ground, bringing me down with her, onto our knees. She's crying. I'm crying. Her head pressing against mine, we cling to each other for what feels like forever before finally holding each other's eyes.
Her eyes…There's only one other time I remember us being so close like this.
As I recall the night back in her basement, I feel a terrible urge to kiss her again. I decide against it, pulling her in for a proper hug before breaking away. Inwardly I wonder why I'm so breathless, so full of warmth.
She caresses my cheeks. "...I..I thought you di-"
"No, no," I murmur, caressing her shoulders. "I made it. Someway, somehow, I made it."
"How-?!"
"I don't know-"
"I never watched, I was sick…I-Is C-Clancy…?" my breath hitches immediately and she pulls me in for another hug just as I bawl out. It only lasts a few seconds before I find myself being soothed by her caressing my back and her hair. Her hair. It's like Mother's finest silk garments that I want for myself. She's crying now too. "Gods, I'm so sorry!"
"I should be sorry," I whine back. "I got you sick, I got you put in here!"
"It's okay," she sniffles, prompting us to rise onto our feet. I do. "I'm not okay…but I'm okay enough. Enough now that I know you're okay."
We embrace one more time before Dawn guides me by the hand towards a dresser and a box of tissues. We each take our time dabbing away the wetness and blowing our noses. I notice that the door to Dawn's room is closed, her Aunt nowhere in sight. Dawn takes me to her bed, easing onto one side while I take the other. Our hands never disconnect during the minutes of silence.
She cranes her head towards me, caressing a knuckle. "Tell me about it."
I meet her eyes. "I didn't come back alone, as a victor I mean." I tell her about Zenobia, Panem's 'judge, jury and executioner'. I tell her about Zenobia's experience during the Rebellion.
"I saw Two's reaping before I whited out," she says. "We were shocked about how she went about forcing her way into the Games like that . I'm glad her intentions were good. A loyalist you said? How many kills did she get?"
"W-Wha-?"
I feel her grip on my hand getting tighter. "How many kills?"
"...Twenty-three?" I answer, confused in more ways than one. Why is she so angry? Why does she want an answer so badly? "A Games record."
"Good." her grip on my hand slackens. "Good. They deserved it, the tributes this year. Once I get better I need to watch it for myself."
I glance up at the ceiling, concerned at her sudden shift in tone. I've never seen Dawn this angry before. Ever. I manage to ignore her response, telling her everything from my experience as a tribute, to the arena, to linking up with Zenobia. I can't help but tear up again as I recite the experience all over again.
She traces the scar on my cheek. "You killed too, right? You would've had to..."
I nod. "More than I ever thought I ever would."
"You did what you needed." Dawn's face turns rough again. "I wish I could have done the same thing." she begins to thrash, beating into the mattress. "If I were as brave as you, my mother and father would be here!"
"Dawn." I place a hand on her chest to calm her, immediately shifting it to her collarbone once I notice the awkward placement. "It's okay. It's okay-"
She lets out a ragged sigh. "The Peacekeepers said they got him but I wish I did-"
"Dawn. I'm here for you," I continue. "We both lost so much. I may not look the part but I'm also quite sad. They had me in a place just like this a few days ago. They force fed me pill after pill."
"The blue ones?" I nod. She nods back. "They're weird. They take away how I want to feel. Now most times I feel…neutral, with today being the first time I felt…something in a while."
"I feel the same way," I reply. " I only barely started with my regimen. We're both going through similar things, it seems. At least we can get through it together, right?"
Relief washes over me when her breathing stills and she replies with a nod. I ease onto my back and slip my hand back into hers. My thumb caresses the back of her hand, causing her to turn her head back my way so I can see her face once more. She has the most lovely eyes.
"I'm glad I get to see you again," I say. "Despite everything going on, I thought about you a lot in the arena."
The grip I get back in response is much gentler. "Along with my mother and father, I thought a lot about you, too. I'm glad you survived."
I spend the remainder of the evening in my bedroom, making up for lost time between Kat and I in the form of treats, tricks and cuddles - although Kat seems to lean towards the first and last of those. She serves as a distraction for what's playing on my holovision - a replay of a Capitol TV report on Zenobia's return to her District. It looks like an exact repeat of what happened here in the Capitol, banners, red carpets, masses of adorers and all. I could just turn it off, but I find myself wanting to keep tabs, if only to know how Zenobia is getting on despite it all.
Yes, despite the dark cloud that hangs over the day for obvious reasons, I find myself feeling…fine. I still feel a sense of hurt and confusion about life going forward, but I feel that speaking to Dawn helped tremendously. The Doctors thought so too.
"This is the most expressive I've seen her in a month," I overheard one of them say. "Besides the art, of course."
They've even set up dates for the two of us to reconnect again and I wait eagerly until our next hangout. I think that's the only thing that separates me and the orange container of pills that sit on my chiffonier - having a friend who experienced the same things I did. Frowning, I move from the bed and stuff the pills in the drawer. I wonder if Dawn's doctors forced her to ingest it the same way they forced me to?
A gentle rap on my door has me turning to face it. "Come in," I say.
The knocker is Pluto, who offers a meek wave while closing the door part way behind him. I wave back, meeting him halfway by occupying the other seat on the cushioned trunk at the foot of my bed. I feel so mixed with him. These past couple of weeks have been horrible, but then I remember the days leading up to the Games themselves, as well as his recent conduct. He's gone out of his way to make Clancy and I comfortable at the expense of the other tributes. He's even slept over to help aid in the funeral and anything else Auntie Paris and Uncle Roman needed despite us having Avoxes.
Like I've realized with Mother, Pluto may be harsh at times but he only wants the best even if I get cross with him.
"How's my victor doing?" he asks. "Everything okay? Well, okay as it can be?"
"I'm…fine." I reply, jutting my chin towards his dress uniform. "Are you always going to wear that?"
Pluto gives Kat a chin scritch. "I thought ladies loved a man in uniform?" he chuckles tiredly. "I miss my District 1-made apparel every day. Here's hoping better times come so I can put this uniform to pasture. Should be soon enough."
"What do you even do in the Corps?" I know that a group of Peacekeepers were made to be escorts because the military has some control over the government, but I know that looking pretty isn't all they do. Pluto directs my attention to his sleeve, where a black and red crest depicting a sword and two crossed thunderbolts is sown on.
"Electronic warfare," he explains. "I spent much of my time during the rebellion in the Citadel attempting to block hijacking attempts on our transmission systems." his lips twist into a lopsided grin. "…With mixed results. But we won, that's all that matters."
I remember Mother being upset with Clancy when discussing job opportunities with the Corps. She didn't want him to do infantry like Father but rather something safe and close to home like signals. Clancy, as burly as he was, was offended.
I grin slightly. "Signalers are eggheads. You're handsome." Blond hair, blue eyes and baby-faced, I wouldn't peg someone like Pluto to be a computer geek, let alone a member of the military, to be honest. Then again, the War forced a lot of people to do things.
In response, Pluto laughs aloud. "I'm a handsome egghead. Some officer from Political Affairs was browsing the office and picked me out, so I said yes. The rest is history."
A comfortable silence fills the room as the news interviews District 1's last remaining victors. Serene and Kaiser. They look forward to having their district in the spotlight next go around. I wonder what that means for me. As a Capitolite, who do I mentor? I don't bother asking Pluto and keep the silence as is.
Well…I came here to say, you made it," says Pluto. "Your schedule is free until the new year, that's when they're putting together your Victory Tour. I'll speak with your Aunt and Uncle regarding schoolwork. Until then, you deserve the rest."
"Oh right, school…" The post-Games recap and Victoria reminded me as much, but with everything else going on, school's the last thing on my mind.
"Are you nervous?"
"I'm curious as to what they think. My classmates." They've seen me at my most emotional, my most violent. It going to be odd heading into class the next time I do.
"Nothing negative, I can tell you that." Pluto gently grasps my shoulders. "I couldn't help but notice the way my half-sister was attached to your hip on National Heroes Day."
"Victoria is Victoria's number one fan," I say with an eyeroll. "I was kind of surprised."
"And now she is yours , as is everyone else in Panem." Pluto's grip intensifies ever so gently. "Own it, Emery. The next couple of years - perhaps forever - but the next couple of years especially, are going to be all yours. You'll see. Own it. Enjoy it as best you can despite the woes."
An odd feeling bubbles in my chest, leaving me confused. Right now things are stressful but I have to admit that my thoughts have been firmly 'in the now' instead of the future. Could things get better? Could my thoughts change? Maybe, but what happened with the Rebellion, with the Games…I don't think I will ever not think about them.
I watch Pluto now as he moves toward my dresser, more specifically the family portrait perched on top of it. He quirks a brow, his way of asking to inspect it. I say yes, and he lifts it into his hands.
"I didn't know your parents," he says. "You take after your mother, though."
I feel my mood dim at her mention. "I wish I'd gotten a proper goodbye with her," I sigh. "In a way, it was…I guess."
Holding me close while passing in her sleep is better than dying at the hands of Peacekeepers or backbreaking work. There was so much more Mother and I could have experienced together. Meeting my first beau, attending my graduations…But now…
"I'll miss your brother, though," says Pluto. "So firm, despite everything. The both of you were."
"I'll miss all of them."
"At least you have your aunt, uncle and everyone else…right?" he grins, pointing to himself. "Including me, of course. Anytime, anywhere."
"Right." I'm starting to feel a little woozy as the more we talk about them in full, the clearer my memories are. Pluto seems to notice, sitting back down while pulling me into a comforting side hug.
"We'll take it one day at a time. Remember, victor not victim," he continues. "That reminds me. Speaking of 'one day at a time'…" From his briefcase he hands me back my journal and all of a sudden my unease melts away. "I'm sorry for confiscating it. We needed you present and healthy. Now that the worst is seemingly over, maybe it wouldn't hurt to make up for lost time."
"Thank you, Pluto," I say, watching him now as he rises to his feet.
He grins. "Thank you, Emery. They're right when they say you're one of the bravest gals out there. I should know, right? I escorted you. Maybe I'll see you on the twenty-fifth? Or New Year's perhaps?"
I nod and he's gone, leaving me and Kat alone once again. And my journal. I inspect the booklet in my hands, running a finger along the spine. I'm surprised that, despite all the happenings, you're still with me. Part of me wonders if I should even continue writing. The Games are done and everything I do will be saved for future viewing. But then I quickly dismiss those thoughts.
I'm a victor now. That obviously comes with a lot of experiences to ponder about, to make sense about.
Switching off the holovision, Kat and I relocate to the mansion's office. They're right when they say the décor of the home is comical to me, the thirteen-year-old female occupier. I will change it soon. For now, I will focus on today - tonight - on my journal.
I take a seat on the far-too-large leather armchair, Kat pouncing onto and occupying a portion of the mahogany bureau to my left. With a deep sigh, I plant my journal onto the desk's mat and open it to the most recent blank page.
DECEMBER 17th, HG 76
I am back, admittedly in a slightly better state than I was a little over a week ago. With absences there are happenings and I have a lot of them…