CHAPTER 50

A Toast To New Beginnings

Huddled in the meter-wide space between the hospital bed and the grey wall's freezing coldness, Navin kept her head down, the diary in her arms. Maybe if she stayed there for long enough, something would come to her, she repeated to herself, just a bit longer. But what started as 'a bit longer' became hours of staring into the nothingness of reality. She was stuck in a past she could not remember, and the diary had not been of any help. If anything, she felt sorry for her past self. None of her desires, her wishes and begs, had been fulfilled.

'REMEMBER TO BURN THE DIARY BEFORE THE REAPING', was the last entry about half into the notebook of ink-drenched and ripped-out pages. A madman's journal would be by far a better fit of a name than 'Olive Cresta's diary' at that point. Navin had yet to find a page that hadn't been tarnished in one way or another. Each and every one of them had crossed-out words or pools of ink and tears long since mixed into the thin layers of paper. A glimpse of it would convince any passerby that the old keeper of the notebook had been either in immense pain or gone insane while writing.

With such an appearance, it was difficult not to remember Johanna's words—Olive had been dead long before the Quarter Quell, the Reaping, or even the Victory Tour. Navin could see that much reflected in the diary. And the first page dated from the same Victory Tour which everyone except Finnick and Librae would deny to explain or at the very least answer questions related to it. Somehow, there was no 'real Olive' present anywhere. Or, at the very least, not an actual person. The entries, the crossed-out words, and the pools of ink had all the same purpose—to perfect an illusion.

Olive left herself notes, crossed them out when it no longer was necessary, and filled the corners of the pages with names, descriptions, and details. Each person Navin had met since waking up was somewhere written down; like Annie, who had tangled brown hair and loved to collect berries instead of hunting, or Finnick, whose sea-green eyes had been noted a few times as 'a beautiful danger' and liked to tease her for not knowing how to swim nor liking the water all that much, though he never got overboard with his teasing. There was, in fact, an entire page dedicated to the Magnolia Cresta, her supposed mother, and the clearest page one could find within the diary. It seemed as if, despite slowly marching down the path of insanity, memories of the far past would latch onto Olive and never let go. Even her boat incident with her grandparents had been described in detail for what someone should be able to remember from when they were five years old.

The diary fell onto the tiled floor, its bang at colliding echoing far and wide. Something else fell, something that made no noise. Perhaps her hand, or her hopes. Navin watched the diary pull itself apart on the ground, the pages dancing around until they decided where to settle.

"Navin?" Finnick couldn't have appeared at a better moment.

"I can't be her, Finnick," she mumbled. "I can't be someone that never existed."

"You got there already, huh?" He crouched down in front of her, his hands deeply intertwined as if that slight pressure was all that kept him from drifting away somewhere. "I hoped you would wait a bit. But I can't talk. I read it in less than three days."

"She didn't want you to," Navin replied.

"I know," Finnick assured, his grasp on his own hands growing strong. "It's not really an excuse, but when I thought I'd lost you… I couldn't simply put it down. I just… When you told me you felt like you were a replacement for 'the Olive that everyone knew'… I needed—I wanted to understand you better, help you somehow."

Navin stared long enough into Finnick's eyes to drill holes in them. In a way, she felt the most comfortable she had since waking up. His wavering gaze, twitching lips, and calm spirit had given her space to cry herself out cold, to yell and curse as much as she wanted, because she knew he would never retaliate. She could do close to anything to him, and he would take it, perhaps even blame himself for it, too. And that was when it landed on her—she was his diary.

"Leave," her voice came out low and trembling, resembling by far a beg rather than an order. "She wouldn't want this. Get out."

"Navin, what are you talking about?" Finnick asked, his hands finally detaching themselves from one another to reach out to her, though it was greatly rejected with a loud smack.

"You and Olive were married, weren't you? Then, go mourn her because she's dead!" Part of her didn't want to yell, while all of her didn't want to send Finnick away, but it was probably for the best. That was her mantra, 'for the best'. She repeated it over and over again until no other thought sprung to her. It was for the best. "She's dead… Finnick, she's not coming back. She never will. You have to move on. Please… please, I beg you. Leave."

Finnick doubted for a second, stunned at the pleading. "I won't leave you here all alone."

"Give up already! She's not coming back, Finnick. Olive's dead!" Navin snapped, but Finnick had not changed his calm upfront. "I don't want to hurt you like I've done with my family. Start mourning her already. It's for the best."

"Navin, you're not hurting anybody but yourself," he said, his voice as gentle as his eyes. "We love you—"

"You love Olive," all Finnick could do at her interruption was sigh, "and she's dead."

"She might be," said Finnick. "But you have her same worrying stubbornness."

Navin couldn't help but chuckle.

"And when you smile, a dimple appears on your left cheek, there and there alone. Your eyes are the same colour as the sky, and they turn into raging thunderstorms when you cry. There is not one day you'd put yourself over others, even if it kills you." His hand caressed her cheek, this time with arguable permission. She couldn't really refuse his touch while staring at him, frozen from head to toe, as if she couldn't believe a thing she was hearing. "And, through ups and downs, with and without memories, I had the luxury to gawk at you and fall madly in love with you time and time again… Navin, I don't need you to remember me, or copy the notes in the diary, or try to be someone you're not. That kind of pressure is not something I want you to go through, not again. If you'd grant me a wish, I'd just hope for you to see what a great person you can be—no memories needed."

A wave of warmth and calmness engulfed whatever little control Navin had left in her body, soon giving in to Finnick's intense, loving gaze. "I don't deserve you. Probably never did."

"That makes two of us," he replied, his eyes stuck on his wife, smiling pleased as she rested her head on his hand. "Guess that means we have something else in common."

No sooner had Navin closed her eyes than the door to the hospital room burst open. Johanna stomped over to the bed, leaving Katniss to slump by the chair alone. Neither seemed to mind Finnick and Navin getting up from the ground, Finnick helping his wife. Despite Katniss's limited speech, she managed her way through a half-decent explanation of her and Johanna's sudden interruption. Apparently, her 'cousin' Gale had found a brand new passion along with a Victor named Beetee—creating a nightmare in the form of a booby trap where the military was not the focus of the destruction. The medics were.

Before she could begin to consider the horrifying scenario such a thing could create, Navin had already taken a seat on the bed beside Johanna and was listening to Finnick's open disapproval of such inhuman methods. She agreed. No matter the methods that were being used against them, there was no reason for them to reply in the same manner. They were supposed the right choice, the saviours, or that was what she had been told; blowing up innocent people hadn't much of an excuse even in war.

Katniss's turn to explain her indignation over Gale's mention of Peeta to support his conviction got interrupted by a grey-suit-wearing middle-aged person. They got their hand on a device around their leg and delivered the news; they were all wanted further in the hospital wing.

The group was taken to Peeta's room, a far too recent terrible memory for Navin, who stuck close to Finnick at the slightest glimpse in her direction. There was something she didn't like about the atmosphere in the room, and it wasn't for Peeta, but for the dozen people standing idly around, waiting, watching, not doing anything to help him.

"Hello, Navin," greeted a man as he walked over to them. "I apologise for the late greeting. I'm Plutarch Heavensbee."

Navin nodded the best she could and glanced over to Finnick, who seemed to be all too occupied with the man's presence and the meaning behind it to notice she was exactly doing the same. "Hello… sir."

"No need to be so formal," Plutarch assured. "You'll have to forgive us for the rush, but we've just received approval from your Head Doctor and everyone's schedules are packed. We hoped you'd, if it's not of any inconvenience to you, have a little chat with Peeta. We're trying to make him remember his past. I hope you understand."

"But how can I help? I can't remember a thing about myself, let alone him," Navin replied.

"But he does remember you," said Plutarch. "He's been asking to see you and I'm afraid if someone other than you goes through those doors—" he pointed at the large metallic plate at the corner of Peeta's room—"he might become violent."

Navin needed a moment to think it through. "He's been asking for me?"

Plutarch nodded. "Your nickname 'Liv' might be the only name he's called for since he woke up."

In no time, Navin found herself nodding along. "I'll try to help."

Plutarch's satisfied hum attracted a swarm of doctors to them. At the notice that she would participate, they grabbed her arm and took her aside. A good few pieces of advice later, and this time with proper—though grey and dull—clothing, Navin walked behind a guard to the slide of metal at the side of the room. Finnick, Johanna, Katniss, and a few others that had showed up along the time she had been taken away stood well behind, flocking around the glass wall in anticipation and creeping worry.

"Liv?" Peeta called the moment she walked in. "Liv, is that you?"

"I hope so." She smiled and got closer to his bed, minding the restraints enough to drive Peeta's attention to them as well.

"I don't—I don't know what's going on, Liv," said Peeta, a sense of desperation heavily present in his voice. "Where are we?"

She sat down by the empty space she had thought to be right next to Peeta's leg. However, as she got to see the restraints better, the oddity of having a singular one of them further up the leg than it should have been, made her realise that where she was in fact sitting was where Peeta's missing leg should have been.

"Oh, Peeta… What did they do to you?" she mumbled to herself, far too softly for Peeta to hear.

Peeta, though, could not withhold the silence for much longer. "Liv, where are we?"

She shook her head to snap herself back to her job. "District Thirteen, that's what they told me it's called."

He nodded doubtfully. "That's what those people have been saying. But it doesn't make sense. Why aren't I home? And you? Why aren't you in Four?"

"Um…" It was a tough question to answer. In all honesty, replying to it could very well be lying, since she had only heard of Twelve's destruction five minutes ago. To what point was it true? There was no way of telling. "We're safer here, Peeta. That's all I know."

"What about my family?" Peeta asked.

She could not reply, triggering a fleeting moment of rage in Peeta.

"What about my family?" he insisted.

"I've been told they're not here," she said.

Peeta calmed down, yet raised his eyebrows accusingly. "You've been told?"

Shame swung to her lungs like a bat. "Yes."

Finally, the dreaded question came to be. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

"I know some things about you," she replied, though her eyes had long since been staring at the ground.

"Things others have told you," said Peeta, as if he could see right through her. "Was it Katniss? You can't trust her, Liv. She's a Mutt! You have to kill her!"

Peeta's frail limbs recovered all their strength for another round of struggle against the restraints. He kicked and punched the air, trying desperately to get rid of the hopeless feeling glueing him down. Navin remained by his side, trying to serve as an object of focus. Perhaps that was all Peeta needed—someone who could tell him everything would be alright, that his reality, as horrible as it had been up to that point, could get better. She had no idea if she could do a good job in that aspect, but with Peeta's disposition to believe her, she could only try.

"Peeta, focus on me, OK?" She grasped his hand gently, letting him pull it up and down as he struggled. "I don't know what a Mutt is, nor who you are, or how we know each other, but I know we went through shit together. We've suffered and I can only guess how that affected us. Because whenever someone looks in our direction, it's like we're actively stabbing their hearts. But you know what that means?" His limbs relaxed somewhat, laying stiff at his sides. "It means there are people out there that love us enough to suffer for us and our well-being."

"Katniss—" Peeta tried to spit his hatred back out once again, but this time Navin didn't let him.

"Katniss was the most wrecked of them all," she assured. "And I'm talking from the experience of someone who's met her husband just four days ago. You bet I know what a wrecked person looks like."

"But she killed them…" Peeta mumbled, his legs falling flat near where she was seated. "She burned Twelve to the ground and she—she killed my family and friends."

"I know the word of an amnesiac is not worth much, but I highly doubt she did that, Peeta," replied Navin, holding Peeta's hand gently to give him a reassuring squeeze. "Let's chat about something else. I'm sure it's been a while since we got to talk like this. We have to catch up."

"She's lying, Liv…" Peeta whimpered, a few tears escaping through the increasing force, turning his limbs into rocks. "She's lying. You have to kill her! She's a Mutt!"

"Do you really believe that, Peeta?" she asked calmly, watching as Peeta looked up at her, puzzled. "Because I don't. If you ask me, you and I are by far the most dangerous ones around here. I could free you right now, and who knows? Maybe you would kill me while on your murder spree. Or I could retaliate and kill you instead. The thing is, we don't know how we could act, and that's dangerous. We're dangerous."

A hand pulled her backwards the next moment, hauling her over someone's shoulder until crossing the metal doors back again, leaving Peeta to his own confusion and echoing cries. After her initial surprise, Navin fought tooth and nail to be put down, scratching her 'attacker's' face while trying to make them let go. She was safely left on the ground soon after that, and the person who had dragged her out, Boggs—as he introduced himself—carried his severe scratches with an odd humour.

Finnick was the first to approach. His gaze got lost somewhere in her eyes; her past self, most likely. She flashed him a smile and glanced over at the rest of the observation room. There had been close to no change in most people except those whom she guessed were close to either her or Peeta. Contrary to when she had got to the observation room, Katniss was no longer the 'most wrecked of them all'. At that point, there was a silent competition between Annie and Finnick. Both had their own ways of breaking, as different as they could be, but one worried her far more than probably should.

Navin turned over to Finnick, extending her hand softly over to him. "Do you have it? The earring, I mean."

He doubted; the contents of the diary flashing through his mind before nodding slowly as he left the earring in her hands. With her hands trembling and her heart compressing on itself, Navin took in the dejected look in Finnick's eyes. He knew what she wanted to do, and it wouldn't be pleasing. More than likely, the day would end with Annie crying her eyes out, perhaps even having a breakdown.

Before she turned to leave, Navin placed a quick kiss on Finnick's cheek and said, "Thank you, Finnick."

While nobody else would have anticipated her to appear at that precise moment, Annie seemed to have her gaze on her. Even after Katniss had marched out with Plutarch and Haymitch, saying she couldn't stay in Thirteen any longer, Annie kept on standing near the glass wall, watching Navin closely. When they got to meet, Annie's eyes were on the earring, and they were quick to be flooded with tears.

"So this is it?" Annie asked, though she refused to take the earring. "My twin's dead?"

Navin fiddled with the golden necklace. Another thing she had to return. "I'm not her, Annie. And I think you know that the Olive everyone knows was never real… It must have been difficult for you. I know she never told you she felt, but—"

Annie chuckled, such a bitter tone that it didn't seem hers at all. "Please, you—well, she never told me anything. She was… She was a protective older sister through and through."

"I'm sorry, Annie," said Navin, gently taking hold of Annie's hand to let the earring come to its final rest. "Keep it. She wanted you to have it."

"Be my own person." Annie gripped onto the earring, digging it into her palm with no apparent pain. "If only she had asked me, she would know I don't need that—never did. I only ever wanted my sister back, nothing else. I never wanted her to feel like she had to put up appearances for me or keep a notebook to know how to act. She was my twin, my other half. There's not one thing I wouldn't have done for her."

An overpowering anticipation shook Navin to her core, leaving her to clutch the necklace in a desperate attempt to appease her raging heart. "Annie, do you think… Even if I'm not her, even if I never end up remembering you, or my past, or anything for that matter… do you think you could still love me as a sister? I know I'm not the prime example of what a sister should be like right now, but do you think you could get to see one in me? Even if for a fleeting moment?"

Annie smiled through fleeting tears, her hands reaching out to grab a hold of her despite the earring ending up on the ground. "I see one right now."

Navin buried her head in Annie's grey suit's collar, choking up through her cries mixed with her tears; a reaction all too similar to her sister's. "Would you—would you believe me if I said I love you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Annie covered her overall sobs with a chuckle and gripped onto her sister's new grey suit to bring her closer despite the lack of space to do so. "I love you, too, Navin. And don't worry if you forget. I'll repeat it as many times as you need. Every day for the rest of our lives."