CHAPTER 48
She, You, Navin
Whoever sat at the hospital bed, which was meant for Olive, raised her head to have a glimpse of her surroundings—grey, lifeless, and dull. Finnick stared long enough to drill holes in the woman's face. She seemed as frail as a leaf, capable of breaking apart at the lightest of touches. Her fair skin glowed under the light along with her white hair, like an out-worldly creature venturing onto earth for the first time, so pale and fragile that even a hunter would doubt twice before pulling the trigger.
That appearance had been a great shock for all. At first glance, it was hard to tell that the woman in front of them had once been Olive at all. Even Annie had almost walked past her twin's bed upon arriving at the hospital wing. She had been so engrossed in searching for dark skin and black hair that she hadn't even considered the Capitol's mercilessness. It didn't help her that when she finally came to the realisation of her sister's exhaustive torture, the only words the woman who stood in her twin's stead could utter were, "Who are you? Who am I?"
Annie had soon to be stopped from rambling about the past. It was of no help. The woman was at a loss in many aspects. She was rather baffled at the names that she heard being directed at her, and some that belonged to people that she could never meet, as Annie let on wordlessly that they were dead.
"We'll tell you everything at its due time," said Finnick, surprising the woman, who had only seen him on the outskirts of the crowd, watching but not participating in the effortless family reunion. "But this doesn't mean we're expecting you to remember anything. We just don't want to lose you. So, whenever you're ready, ask whatever question that comes to your mind and I promise we'll answer the best we can. Until then, we'll just tell you enough so you can wander around here without getting in trouble."
The woman frowned at that, looking at Finnick up and down as if trying to figure out something through his clothing, which would serve of nothing since he wore the same mandatory grey jumpsuit everyone in Thirteen was issued. "Who are you? You look like you know me… well, knew me, in any case."
"My name's Finnick Odair," he replied, wondering whether to leave it at that or keep introducing himself.
"Alright," she shrugged, like his name was of no use to her, "but what were you to me, well, the past me?"
He swallowed the lump in his throat as he said, "I was your husband."
She remained quiet for the rest of the day. Even when Peeta almost attacked Katniss and the entire hospital wing got thrown into chaos, she didn't move. Her eyes were stuck on Finnick's, her mind lost somewhere in the bits and ruins she was forced to call memories. Eyes like that—a sea green deeper than the ocean and brighter than the sun—were not ones that could simply be seen about any day, and yet she had no picture of them, no recollection at all. Her supposed husband, Finnick Odair, was no better than a stranger.
The commotion had hardly ceased when the doctors swarmed the room, asking with no proper manners for everyone to leave. After Peeta's outburst, they couldn't simply risk having another, much less if it could be from 'Miss Cresta', of all people. Their mistake, of course, wasn't only to say her last name without any tact when they had outright refused to answer any of her questions upon waking up, but to mention Peeta in front of her. She could be overall quiet and still, but she had not turned a deaf ear to the world, and, despite everything she heard that 'Peeta' had gone through, she could only feel relieved that, at the very least, there was someone as lost as she was.
Before being rashly escorted out of the medical room, the youngest, Theo—if her memory didn't fail at remembering her supposed family's introductions—left a golden chain with a locket in her hands. There was nothing too significant about it; no engraved words or initials, just a simple golden necklace. That seemed to be a theme in her supposed family. Apart from the locket, she had spotted two earrings—one which Annie wore and the other which Finnick fidgeted with—and a bracelet that the eldest, Gianna, wore with pride. Whatever such accessories meant for them, she could only wait and see.
It took an entire day for her to be left alone. Doctors visited frequently, checking her memories of the past hours or so to determine how far the Capitol's torture had unbalanced her brain. Her supposed family did not fall behind either. They were quite the loud group, dropping amounts of information about Thirteen, the Capitol, and their presidents, Coin and Snow, that she could hardly grasp as they carried on talking. The doctors and nurses, however, walked on eggshells around her, avoiding anything Capitol-related to assure no outbursts could happen before they found a way to restore her memories, which Finnick was in no way pleased with, contrary to the majority of her supposed family.
At 18:00, everyone banished. Before leaving her room, Gianna—the oldest, if she remembered correctly—assured her they would be back before the hour was over and would stay until the doctors kicked them out just in time for supper. Minutes past 18:00, she was well prepared to enjoy her hour of freedom from the intense pitiful stares and useless anecdotes that she could never remember nor share. However, the more time passed, the emptier the hospital felt. Before she knew it, there was nobody roaming the halls. No nurses, or doctors, and, in fact, there were hardly any patients left in their rooms.
Her mind cleared at the second turn that led to a hallway identical to the one she had come from. Perhaps that was exactly why nobody dared to leave her alone. She had ventured further into the hospital wing for no good reason. There could be better things to do than roam the hospital's hallways, but no such things were available to her in the grey dullness of her medical room. Ron had brought her a book earlier that day, which had a backstory of its own as he told her all about Minerva, Piscia's—who she had to be reminded was a 'friend' of theirs—niece, and how she had smuggled it from Thirteen's school. The poor Capitol girl had no idea how to do it correctly, prompting her to nearly be found out, and eventually grounded from visiting the hospital if she were to keep smuggling things. Piscia was clearly not pleased with Ron and Librae and the things they taught her niece, who, in fact, seemed too alike to be nothing other than her daughter. Although, of course, she herself was supposed to be Annie's twin, and they were nothing alike.
The most mundane, though foreign, of thoughts echoed in her mind as she meandered through the halls; some worse to keep thinking about than others. If it hadn't been for the oddest of sights, perhaps she could have honoured her fame. Hadn't it been for unknowingly getting into Peeta's medical room, which resembled a torture room far more, she could have been found hours later rocking away at some far corner of the hospital. Instead of that, she stood in front of a glass wall, wide enough to see the inside clearly. The boy she had been curious about for their unstable similarities was stranded in a bed at the centre of a locked white room. If she hardly had anything to distract herself with, he had nothing. Besides the bed, there wasn't much else, neither to do nor to watch. Even a sane person could go mad in such a place.
She placed her hand against the glass, locking eyes with Peeta a few times, but ultimately being ignored, or perhaps not seen at all. "Get better, Peeta. We crazies have to stick together."
Peeta jerked harder, trying to fight the restraints with his strength alone. Judging by the general thickness and extra steps the doctors in Thirteen had taken to make sure he wouldn't escape, it seemed as if the possibility of him ripping them to shreds wasn't impossible.
"I wonder how you were before this," she continued, talking to the air as if Peeta would ever come to his senses and hear her words through the window. "Are we too different from what we were? Is that why everyone suffers? Because of us?"
The bed shuddered with Peeta's every attempt to free himself, which was as futile as the last. He waved his arms around and kicked his feet, but he would never reach far enough to rip them out, nor did it seem as if he had the strength to do so. It took him a minute to reduce his force, then five to completely give up. She watched it all patiently and quietly, feeling oddly responsible for Peeta and his state.
"You still have some memories, don't you, Peeta? Is the old you still in there?" Her hand slid down on the glass when she leaned on it. "I wonder if you're scared. You must be… I am too. This prison is not easy to take in, is it? You at least know who you are, your name, your family… I got nothing, Peeta. When I woke up here… not even knowing who I was… So many people showed up out of the blue, you wouldn't believe it. Well, maybe you would, since you might know them… But the thing is… they tried so hard to tell me everything, our 'good old times', you know?"
There was silence. Peeta had completely lied down, accepting defeat when the restraints had only just started to give in. She doubted he had noticed, though. He was much too tired to know anything beyond his own confusion and fear.
"I want to remember them, and I want to remember you, too." Her shoulder slipped down the glass, knocking her down to her knees in the middle of the cold and grey room, just before the named mirror; Peeta. "Honestly, Peeta, I hate it. I hate the Capitol, I hate whatever they fucking did to us, I hate those eyes that stare at me with pity, I hate every sign that I once was someone else—someone with a caring family and a doting husband—, but, more than anything, I hate myself. It's the second day and I'm already giving up! If Annie knew… Annie—" A bitter chuckle tore her throat open as it left her lips—"I don't remember her at all and look at me, so concerned for her well-being. Aren't I a great twin?"
When she was about to get up to leave, Peeta rolled to his side, glaring at the closed metallic door as he mumbled. "Liv… Where are you? What have they done to you?"
"Peeta…" She was up and back again at the glass wall, hand over it as if Peeta could see it any better by pressing it with all her might. "Liv, is that my real name? Peeta, tell me. Please… please say something!"
Despite her begs, her yells and her cries, Peeta didn't mutter another word for hours to come. Thirteen doctors found her much later, rocking back and forth at the corner of the room, never detaching her eyes from Peeta as if he was the only string connecting her to reality. They grabbed her by the arms and brought her back to her room, where chaos had run amok. Apart from the people she was used to dealing with, a few more had been added to the list of pity stares. Only one had something more than pity. Johanna, as she introduced herself without being asked first, had anger in her eyes, and though she didn't think it was directed at her, the flame was so bright it made it difficult to look away.
Finnick sat down beside her on the bed, though he was mindful of keeping some distance. "Liv, are you OK? Why did you leave your room?"
She could only respond, "Peeta called me Liv, too. But you all called me Olive yesterday, and I'm sure I overheard the nurses calling me Livia. So which one is it?"
"That's difficult to answer," said Finnick, though he kept going. "Your given name was Navin. I'm pretty sure you stopped using that name not long after your brother was born. Then, you named yourself Olive—"
"That's not entirely true," interrupted Joe, the father as far as her memory could recall from yesterday's introductions. "She did pick the name Olive, but it's because that was the name Magnolia thought of in case we had two girls." He stopped, but thankfully, Gianna and Muscida pressed him into continuing the story. This time, his eyes locked with hers. "Theo had only turned two years old when you asked about what names your mother had thought before you and Annie were born, and I told you that, if you had been born a girl, we would have named you 'Olive'." A smile spread across his face, so brilliant and relaxed it was hard to tell that he was talking about his dead wife. "You loved that name so much… For an entire year, there was not a day you wouldn't remind me how awful I was at picking names."
"Somehow that was even more confusing," she mumbled, rubbing her forehead tiredly while she sat up on the bed properly. "You named me Navin, but I chose to name myself Olive… I don't get it. Why would I do that? And then there's that whole 'if you had been born a girl'. I might have lost my memories, but I still know what a woman is, and I am one."
"No one's saying you aren't," said Johanna, folding her arms with a smirk. "That doesn't mean your body was always, let's say, similar to the standard. The Capitol really did you dirty with that one. You only wanted something simple, enough to feel like your body fitted into how you saw yourself, but they just destroyed it all and gave you those nasty scars. And now they've done just enough, so there's nothing really left of who you were. Might as well start from scratch."
"Johanna, don't—" Muscida attempted to reprimand the younger girl, but it was useless as she was cut off.
"Why not? What can she do now? Wait idly for her memories to come back to her? Is that really what you want? Do you really think it is even possible? She's had six years of this crap, she's suffered enough!" Somehow, Johanna's anger pleased her all too much, though it was her suggestion that she truly liked. "I know you don't want to lose Olive, but come on, look at her. Does she look like Olive to you? Olive is dead! Get it through your heads! She was gone the moment that fucking scorpion attacked her in the Arena the first time, and she's done nothing but make up for it these past six years. You've read the diary. Every entry is just her not knowing what's happening and still trying to pull herself together for you—for us!"
"What's that about a diary?" she asked, feeling rather intimidated over the 'dead Olive' subject.
Finnick showed her the book that he had been carrying since she had met him, but, contrary to her initial thoughts, it wasn't some incredible book he could simply not put down, but Olive's diary. She had to control herself from snatching it right out of his hands. The answers to her questions were surely right in front of her in the simplest form they could, but she had silently agreed to Johanna's plan, and that would mean she would give up on her memories as well. She couldn't simply start from scratch while reading Olive's diary in an earnest search for her own past. Either she ventured herself to the stressing and more than likely fruitless path of her past self, or she forgot it all and became a new person, which in itself meant every relationship—either friends, her lover, or family—would need to start again.
The easiest option would be for her to choose a new life, come up with a name and begin from scratch, no matter which ties could be cut for good from her life. She knew it was for the better and yet her hand had reached out to the diary. Finnick had his eyes on her, but they didn't hold the same pity they had carried for the past two days. There was something stronger. His gaze was soft and sweet, flowing with warmth as if she had walked into the cosiest of forest fires.
"I fancy the idea of starting from scratch. Really, I do," she said, her hand grazing against Finnick's as he handed her the diary without a word, "but I don't want to give up so soon. I want to remember you. And, if I never do…"
"We'll be here to create new memories," Finnick concluded for her, refraining from any further contact despite desiring to wrap his arms around her and never letting go. "Trust me, you'll have a hard time getting rid of us."
"Somehow, that doesn't sound half bad." She chuckled and opened the diary, meeting the only readable phrase in the sea of ink stains, 'Forgetting is shit, isn't it?', an appropriate start, in her most humble opinion. "I had quite a good sense of humour."
"Seems like you still do," said Finnick.
"Yeah… I guess forgetting all the torture I went through in the Capitol had to serve for something." She shrugged her shoulders with a smile, but the joke didn't land on the people around her as she would have liked to. "Sorry, touchy subject. I'll try to remember that."
Johanna sniggered and leaned on the bed next to Finnick. "First, remember to pick one of the three names you have. We can't keep calling you 'you' as if that was one, now, can we?"
"I guess." She shrugged. "What were the options again?"
There were some who darted their sights down at her questions, others who let their pity overcome them, too engrossed in the past to notice that she had only intended to joke around, though it seemed she would have to be more careful with her jokes around certain people. Two of them weren't Johanna or Finnick, clearly. While Johanna glanced at her with a playful smile, Finnick listed the possibilities, though he purposely left out mentioning her most recent name, 'Livia'.
"Maybe if I want to remember I should follow in the same footsteps as my past self, shouldn't I?" she suggested, unsure if her theory could ever work at all, though not trying would be the only certain lead to failure. "Navin is a nice name. I, in the name of my past self, take back what I said about you being awful at picking names… Joe."
Joe smiled kindly. "Thank you, Navin. That means a lot."
