The music slowed down, turning the lively ballroom into an only couples' dance. At the sidelines, twirling the same glass of wine with her fingers for the past twenty minutes, Olive watched the dance. Johanna stood beside her, helping herself to some pastries from the Capitol's vast display of food.
Their eyes were stuck on the new victors, escaping from an uncomfortable conversation with Capitol people with the excuse of dancing. Somehow, at different points, Peeta and Katniss glanced back at Olive. Each had particular looks on their faces — Peeta's was sympathetic, while Katniss's was empathetic — neither of which she liked.
"I want to go home," Olive mumbled.
"Be thankful that you just have three days this time," said Johanna. "At least It's not like last year."
"Last year is exactly why I miss Haymitch so much right now." Olive left the glass on the table behind her, her hands re-adjusting the ornaments on her hair. "He could mess up as much as he wanted, and no one could actually do anything to him."
"The advantages of having nobody we love left alive," Johanna said in a low tone.
"You have me," Olive pointed out. "And Haymitch has those two now."
"That's dangerous."
"Yes. Yes, it is."
With a confident smile, a Capitol man approached them, asking Olive to have a dance. She knew she couldn't say no. However, Johanna's confused look almost made Olive turn to interrogate her friend. First, Piscia acted weird, and now, Johanna. What would be next?
"You didn't ask for my name before accepting the dance," said the man as they moved along with the music. "Plutarch Heavensbee. Head Gamemaker."
"I'd introduce myself, but I suppose you already know all about me," Olive said, her eyes rising to analyse the man in front of her. "It's the first time I've ever seen you before. Might there be a reason for you to honour us with your presence this time, Mr Head Gamemaker?"
Plutarch laughed softly, his head moving up and down slightly, as if nodding. "There might be."
"May I know?" she asked.
"The chance to make the Games mean something," he said, causing Olive to stop dancing.
"Sorry," she said immediately, trying to come up with a decent excuse for her sudden change of behaviour. "The twirling… I need to sit down."
"Of course."
Plutarch guided her to a chair, away from Johanna, Piscia, and almost everyone at the party. Her eyes kept glancing around the room, wanting nothing more than for President Snow to make his appearance, so she could at least use it as an excuse to find her escort.
"I must admit, Katniss Everdeen inspired me to come back," said Plutarch, though Olive hardly heard a word of what he was saying. "She's an encouraging young woman, just like you were in your Games. It's a shame things didn't work out for you and your lover like it did for them, but I assure you, from this point on, things will change."
Like her mind had suddenly found a quick shortcut back to reality, Olive turned her head in Plutarch's direction, her eyes narrowing harshly as she snapped. "Things don't change, Mr Heavensbee. They never do."
"They do," he insisted. "But change seems like a difficult thing to obtain, doesn't it? Sometimes, it's not. It just takes one person — a reason to hope or feel inspired — to set everything off."
"What—"
Before Olive could finish her sentence, Effie, District Twelve's escort, appeared out of nowhere, asking for the Head Gamemaker to come with her. Apparently, he had asked her beforehand to introduce him to the new victors once they got to the party.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. We'll see each other again, Miss Cresta," said Plutarch, before disappearing to the dance floor with Effie.
What just happened? Olive thought, her hand clenching her skirt while her eyes searched for Katniss. He meant her, didn't he? But how can Katniss even change anything? Poor thing is only sixteen.
Minutes later, President Snow's appearance on his balcony stopped all chatter and music. Only Panem's anthem was played as he stepped out, a wineglass in one hand, while the other motioned for the people to stop clapping. He proceeded to say his usual speech, only adding bits about the inspiring new victor couple and his congratulation on their engagement.
Fireworks overthrew the claps, and, finally, most victors could go back to their rooms back at the Tribute Centre. Piscia appeared out of nowhere, her long-lost cherry tone back, but more forced than ever. She explained how a car was waiting for them and Johanna. As usual, Finnick would get back later, since he had supposedly found a new lover.
Piscia accompanied Olive and Johanna until the lifts of the Tribute Centre, where they assured her for the hundredth time in five minutes that she could go back home to her niece. They watched her go, waving goodbye right before the doors to the lift dinged and opened. Exchanging quick goodbyes, Olive stepped out the moment they reached Four's floor, taking a seat on the sofa by herself.
It didn't matter where she went; she had the entire floor all to herself. At least, until Finnick got back, which wouldn't be until the early morning. She turned on the television, needing an excuse to stare blankly at something while not moving. The audio helped. With the dim lights and the uneasy silence, Olive wanted nothing more than to feel accompanied. She didn't exactly fear ghosts, nor was she much of a believer in that aspect, but any wide and silent place — moreover in the Capitol — made her feel observed, almost like being analysed.
She needed a distraction. The last thing she needed was yet another riddle added to her chaotic mind. With her heart pounding in her chest, Olive's mind kept replaying her chat with Plutarch Heavensbee.
The Head Gamemaker was right. Even without her memories of the prior two months, it was clear that a silent change had sprung around Panem; all with the survival of the new victors. Katniss Everdeen had created that change — that reason to hope — when she defied the rules. It didn't matter the reason why. There was no denying what she had done, and how much turmoil had that created at least in District Four.
Something's going to happen. They can't let her keep getting away with this. Olive thought, her mind jumping from one possibility to another as her hands raised to cover her ears. How can they? How could they? … The Quarter Quell … no, the notes have already been written, they can't change them to punish one person.
With her hands pressing her ears against her skull, Olive closed her eyes. She was losing control. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she was starting to forget how she had made it to the floor, or what she had done right after President Snow's speech.
No, no, no. I can't forget. Not without writing everything down. She thought, her hands leaving her head to propel herself up and run to her room.
The diary was playing hide and seek with her. That or she was starting to forget things at random. Olive couldn't remember where she had left it, much less the last time she had had it in her hands. She could have left it at home, or worse, on the train. Her hands rummaged around the drawers desperately, knocking down many things in the way and soon creating a mess. It didn't matter, though. She had found it. It was lying peacefully in the last drawer, under a pile of pyjamas. If she had done it to hide it from people, she had done an outstanding job.
"I forgot. Two months," she read out loud. "When did I write this?"
Olive scanned the page time and time again, trying to recollect what had happened. Some things came back to her, like her chat with Piscia, or what she had been watching on the television. Others, she didn't know if she couldn't remember, or if simply there was nothing else to recall. Although there were a couple blanks in her mind. From one point of the night to another, there were moments she had no idea what had happened. Like meeting Katniss and Peeta at the party, and suddenly telling them she was joking about something.
"Write," she reminded herself, stumbling around the messy room to get a pen.
'Something's going on. I don't know what it is, or who exactly is involved, but I don't think it'll be good. I hope I'm wrong, but, whatever happens, it'll most likely be during the Quarter Quell.'
The pen stopped, the ink slowly tainting the paper into a big blue stain. Olive's eyes retraced what she had just written, wondering what else to add. She knew of Katniss's importance in whatever was happening, but, if someone found the diary, the young girl could get punished or even killed for supposedly enticing a rebellion.
'Tree girl will probably be in danger. Protect her.'
It could be too vague of a nickname, but Mockingjay or side-braid was something everyone knew her by. If she used it, it would be just like calling her name, more so while she was one of the most talked about topics in the Capitol. However, as she stared at the last phrase, a sense of guilt crept up in her, forcing her to add,
'And dandelion boy, too.'
She closed her eyes for a second, reminding herself to breathe in and out calmly before closing the diary. Watching the television before hadn't worked to keep her thoughts controlled, but she had to try again. It almost seemed like an eternity had passed since the last time she had dealt successfully with a panic attack by herself. Finnick, or someone from her family, was always around, caring for her and telling her that everything would be alright.
Now that she was alone, Olive realised she had no idea what to do. Memories had slipped away with every thought that appeared rampant in her mind, and she couldn't keep control of either. After so long letting others take care of the situation, being by herself reminded her of reality; her loved ones wouldn't be with her forever. There would be a moment — a day, or week — where she would be completely alone with only her thoughts and diary as her only companions. Like the disastrous prior's day morning in the bathroom, or her slip-off moments before. Two months and some hours, that was what she had forgotten in forty-eight hours. What would be next if she didn't change?
What if I forgot my family? Or Finnick and Johanna? I can't. No, I won't. Olive thought, collecting herself as she rubbed her eyes.
After hiding her diary back where she had found it, she walked out of the room, not minding the mess she was leaving behind. She came back to a lively broadcast all about Katniss's and Peeta's engagement and how everyone was so sad that the engagement ceremony hadn't been held in the Capitol, or at least properly celebrated.
She lay down on the sofa, not needing to act proper for Piscia, nor leaving room for anybody. The television and the probable cameras around the living room were the only witnesses of the couple of tears that left her eyes. Crying was not a solution, nor did it help in any way, but it made her feel better; it reminded her that she was human, more than the wounded girl everyone treated her like.
I need a break. Olive thought, her eyes closing to let more tears fall, and exhaustion taking over the rest of her body and mind.
"What are a few hours apart compared to an eternity together?" someone said, their voice echoing in a vast white space.
"No, not so soon. Come on, please, Jack," her own voice appeared, somewhat younger, but way more desperate than what the other sounded like. "You don't just kiss someone and then drop-dead, you idiot!"
There was a moment of silence, in which a strange coldness on her fingertips extended to her entire body. Her arms were shivering or trembling, she didn't know. Many emotions clouded her mind at the moment, not letting her see or feel them all as they flashed by.
"Jack, say something! Please! Come on, anything!" She continued shouting. "Jack… please."
Then, the sound of a cannon stopped it all.
Olive sat bolt upright on the sofa, a hand pressing against her mouth to not scream. The dried tears made her eyes feel dry and heavy, almost as if they were begging her to go back to sleep. The television, which she had left on, helped her regain a sense of reality as Caesar appeared fuming about some considered outrageous suggestions for Katniss's wedding dress.
Jackson—Jack, that was my ally. I remember him. I remember. She thought, the hand clasping her mouth now controlling her surprise.
She couldn't let President Snow find out in any way, and her paranoia was starting to lead her to believe that having cameras watching her was more possible than what she had initially thought. He had just found a way to make her forget. Who knew to what extent he could go if he realised that she had also got back memories?
"That's ridiculous!" shouted Caesar. "The dress cannot have curtains, right folks? That's so old-fashioned!"
"Right, 'cause feathers are so much better," Olive muttered to herself, her hand leaving her mouth to rub her eyes.
She stayed up all night to watch the show, dozing off at times, only to wake up through screams due to her nightmares. There were no new memories, nor did she need more things to worry about at the moment. Her last interactions with Jackson, her feelings for him, were as vivid as she had lived them. There was something strange about it, though. Her feelings for Jackson were clearly not friend-like, but neither were they like what she felt for Finnick. Could it simply be her confusion, or was there something she was forgetting?
"No, no, no! It can't—"
Without wanting to keep listening to the same Capitol rambling, Olive turned off the television and went to her room. The mess she had left behind welcoming her back. It took her a second to ponder what to do. She could clean it up, so the Avox that would appear wouldn't have to do it for her even if she insisted a hundred times to let it be, or she could lie in bed and ignore it for a few more minutes.
The temptation won over her sympathy, and soon she was lying in bed, welcoming what seemed like her tenth nightmare that night. Only, that time, waking up was slightly different.
"Nightmares?" Finnick asked, taking a seat on the bed next to her.
"Yeah," she replied while sitting up.
"It's OK, everything will be fine," he said, his hand caressing her cheek softly.
Something in his eyes made her judgement over his words split in two. In a way, he seemed sure of what he was saying, but the other showed fear. It could just be her imagination, of course. Many things were happening that could set off that look in Finnick, just like there were many reasons that she could be imagining it. However, the doubt never left her mind.
"Why are you all so weird today?" Olive wondered out loud, chuckling softly to excuse her question by playing it as if it were a joke.
"It's been a weird week," Finnick replied, his eyes travelling around the room, not particularly minding the mess, nor really noticing it.
"Aha," she said, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Finnick, are you alright?"
"Tired," he answered, finally looking back at her with a soft smile. "I'll go have a shower. Get changed into something more comfortable—" he pointed at the Capitol dress she was still wearing — "and then we can watch the latest and finest Capitol news."
"That would be great," said Olive, trying to locate with her eyes her pyjamas around the room.
"Perfect. I'll be back in five minutes." Just as Finnick was about to kiss her, he stopped and raised his head slightly, so he would kiss her forehead. "Don't start without me."
"Mm–hmm."
The room was now clean; no clothes or objects were still on the floor. Her mind and the boredom had forced Olive to clean up, something she knew that she would have to do sooner or later. She lay in bed with the television on, waiting for Finnick to come back before actually paying attention to anything they were talking about in the show.
"Hey, I said don't start without me," Finnick said, closing the door to the bathroom behind him. "What are you watching?"
Olive patted the spot next to her on the bed, where Finnick sat, still trying to dry his hair with a towel. "Something about Katniss's and Peeta's future wedding. People are already going crazy guessing what she'll wear or how the cake will be."
His eyes stared at the images of the different wedding cakes for a second before travelling back to Olive's eyes. "Would you want one of those?"
"A slice of cake? Hell yeah, I love sweet things," she said, smiling genuinely as she looked back at the appetising Capitol fancy cakes.
"I know you do." He chuckled while his hand gently pushed her chin in his direction, making her face him. "But I meant a fancy wedding."
"Oh. Oh."Olive's eyes widened before she relaxed her expression to fake a serious tone. "You did not just ask like that."
"I didn't ask. I was just curious." Finnick rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "But, let's say I asked. What would you say?"
"How would I know? You did not ask after all," she teased, approaching to give him a soft kiss. "Is that an answer to your non-question?"
"I—" He doubted, but quickly kissed her back. "What kind of wedding do you want?"
Olive didn't need to think about it. She already knew exactly what she wanted. "By the sea. Just family and friends around. No one else."
"You're still afraid of the sea," Finnick said in a playful tone.
"I am not afraid. I have a deep respect for it…" Olive corrected him, laughing softly as she watched Finnick raise an eyebrow at her mockingly. "What about you? What would you want your probable wedding to be?"
"As long as you're the bride, I don't care."