The travel to the train station goes by in a blur. The district seems quieter than before, like the insight of two twins being reaped has fallen across everyone's minds. Father didn't come to visit me. Maybe he wasn't even aware we'd been reaped. Last night he'd been drenched in spirits and in the morning he'd been gone. Maybe he was still working in the warehouse where they packed the clothes up and shipped them away, too hungover to realize his children were leaving.
It's not until we're left alone in one of the train's cars that we hug. Koltander Créme swaggers away to do something after he's said something I haven't heard. The ringing in my ears is still there, the words he says to me doesn't seem to make sense, like a different language entirely. I recognize the words, yet none of it makes sense. I just give him a stiff smile and a nod, feeling some kind of need not to hurt his feelings. As I watch the automatic door close behind him I look back at Fedya.
He's been crying, I think. Maybe I have, too. His eyes are red around the edges. For a long while we just sit there, on plush, green chairs, our knees lightly touching with the slight rocking of the rain. I try to read the depth of my own despair in his eyes. As we watch each other like you'd stare in a mirror when you've had too much to drink; intensely, curiously, with a lingering sense of surreality. I feel my senses returning to me. The steady thrumming of the train against the tracks, the clinking of the glasses in one of the cabinets. I become aware of the plushness of the room, richer and more lucious than any room I've ever been in before. The chair beneath me is soft, the floor is vibrating.
We reach for each other at the same time. Something in the air snaps and we get up, grabbing blindly until we're in a tight embrace. I sink my face into his shoulder and breathe in. He said it wouldn't be me today. I couldn't bring myself to be angry with him, and he doesn't mention it, either. It's all we can do, forgive what has been done.
"Promise-" We say at the same time.
"- to never hurt each other", I finish.
"To never kill each other", he replies, parting from me. There's a hysterical look in his eyes I can only imagine is mirrored in mine as I reach for a steak knife on the table beside us, already set for supper.
"On blood", I say. If I had a needle I'd use that instead, like we used to as children. Prick our fingers and watch the blood mix. Instead I cut my hand and then his. He only winces for a moment, but doesn't protest. We watch our blood intermingle for a few very long seconds, until a mixed drop lands on the ground between us. It soaks into the rug, the first sacrifice of the 63rd Hunger Games.
"On blood", he replies, our eyes meeting.
The moment is interrupted as the automatic door opens once more and reveals Koltander Créme, followed by a familiar woman with long, brown hair. We step away from each other, then, simultaneously trying to wipe the blood on our hands on the sides of our clothes. The woman is young and beautiful. I try to remember her name. She'd won the games only a few years ago, when Fedya and I were what? Eight? Nine?. She couldn't be over twenty. She looks us over with an unreadable look in her eyes. She looks bitter, I think, and shiver. Maybe she won't like us.
"I'm sorry", she says, instead. For a moment I think she's about to apologize for being late or something, but she remains silent. I'm sorry you two got reaped. She gives a slight wave to the table, asking us to sit. We sit down. I feel calmer now than before. I'd never hurt or kill Fedya, and he'd never do the same to me. We'll stay by each other until the end. Knowing that, I know what I can do. Survive as long as possible. I keep him alive, he does the same to me.
The woman with the brown hair sits down. She's got grace to her, like she walks with books on top of her head. Immaculate posture and serious, blue eyes. "Freya and Fedya, is it?" She asks. We don't reply. "I'm Cecelia. I'll be your mentor this year", she tells us. Before we can ask anything, Koltander pipes up.
"Isn't she lovely?" He asks, "I'm so happy you're here, Cecelia! That old man Woof did nothing but complain-" He says and rolls his eyes. A line of servants pile in and fill the table with food as he speaks, "After the way last years tributes died, I was thinking that it was about time they switched it up, don't you think? He's getting senile, not to mention he has no sense of how to dress or act-"
"Woof happens to be my friend and former mentor, Koltander", Cecelia says coldly. "I'm happy you enjoy being around me, as I appreciate you and your work, but please don't speak ill of Woof."
I remember her more clearly now. I recall watching her win. She'd only been thirteen, I think, but she'd been resourceful. Strangling people with vines she'd braided together into a belt. Traps upon traps. She'd barely taken anyone down hand-to-hand, but when she did, she'd looked insane. The last fight with the big boy I'd bitten my nails down to the flesh watching. A part of me didn't want to see her die, but I hadn't been able to tear my eyes from the screen. She'd killed him with a knife right into his eye socket. The tv had cut away only after she'd thrown up and passed out from her own injuries, but I remember her. I'd had hope when I watched her.
"You might live, but assume you will die", Cecelia says as Koltander Créme stabs a piece of potato (I think?) in annoyance at being shut down. I listen to her and ogle the food placed before us, unable to decide what to eat first. My stomach rumbles. Fedya's already taken a crescent-shaped piece of bread and sausage onto his plate. I decide to do the same. They look the safest, anyway. Nothing weird. Just bread and sausage to begin with.
"No one from here has won since I did, and I attribute that mostly to luck", she says. I'm not so sure about that, but I don't protest. I look up at her, still not really ready to eat my food. I just blink at her. "You've got both a disadvantage and an advantage, being twins", she admits, "I'm sure the Capitol will adore you. It will be great PR", she says. Her gaze softens somewhat. My stomach curdles at the thought.
"We're not livestock to just ogle", Fedya says, suddenly, "We're twins. Not just.. entertainment."
"You are livestock now", Cecelia says. "Either you avoid it and let the Capitol shape their own story about you, or you choose to redirect it somewhere else on your own. You are entertainment." There's an apology in her eyes, but she doesn't voice it.
We talked to Cecelia for quite a while. She was bitter and honest, but she wasn't mean. She did seem to care, but wasn't exactly avoiding telling us as it is. She'd tried to find some sort of advantage we could have, but it'd been hard. None of us could fight and since we'd worked in the sewing factories, not the warehouses, none of us were very strong. I could feel our odds declining by the minute. What was I supposed to do, stab someone with a needle? I wanted to do what Cecelia had done and learn how to set traps, but the other tributes had been more on edge, watching for traps, after Cecelia had won. I'd seen that on TV. But what else was there for me to do, truly? I was a pretty fast runner, as was Fedya, but you couldn't outrun the Hunger Games. The game masters always saw to that.
I went to bed less hopeful than before. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the world whizzing by as the train rolled closer and closer to the Capitol. I was starting to think there truly was no hope left for me. I wonder if I'd truly thought I'd survive from the start, or if I only accepted death now.
But Fedya. Fedya could do it. He was fast, smart, and charming. I was sure he could get both sponsors and allies. He wasn't strong but he was agile. I'd always seen him learn everything so quickly, maybe he could learn fighting, too? If I stood by to protect him, to get him there to the end, or as far as I possibly could manage, then maybe he could win. I wanted to believe he could.
My sleep was fitful. I dreamt of my mother, eaten by the plant on the windowsill, then Fedya dying in the bed my mother had died in. Death, and death, and death. In the end, after some hesitation, I snuck over into Fedya's room. It felt weird not to sleep in the same room as him. We'd slept in the same bed until last year, when we'd had no choice but to get another one despite the price of it. We simply hadn't fit anymore. But these capitol beds were huge, and it was easy to crawl into the bed beside him. We never slept too close, both too prone to overheating, but it was easy to place the hand I'd cut in his and close my eyes, match my breath to his like he did to mine, and fall asleep.
In the morning, I awoke before he did. I slipped into some of the clothes in his wardrobe. They fit me, too, anyway. A pair of dark brown pants in a rich linen and a jumper of what had to be cashmere, soft to the touch and green. My feet stayed bare. It was barely morning anyway and the floor seemed to have some way of warming itself.
I went to find Cecelia. Maybe she'd be awake, too. It was early, but still morning. My gut instinct was right. I found her in one of the big chairs in the lounge, sipping on a hot liquid that smelled bitter to me. I settled down in the chair beside hers. She looked up from her newspaper to acknowledge me, but didn't say much. Neither did I. I let my eyes rest on the nature zipping past outside for a moment to gather my thoughts.
"Tell me how to protect Fedya", I finally say, "I'll learn anything, do anything, to keep him alive until the end", I tell her. It feels like I speak an incantation. I put the truth out there. That I will die, and I will die trying to help Fedya survive. I couldn't guarantee his survival, but I could guarantee that I'd try my best.
Cecelia looks at me over the edge of her newspaper before she puts it down. The seconds following feel like years. She carefully folds the paper and removes the glasses she's got on her nose. She's young, I know she's barely twenty, but she feels old to me. She'd been through so much more than I have.
Finally, she sighs. She puts the newspaper on the little table beside her. "Fedya asked me the exact same thing last night, you know", she says. I frown. Asked what. How to protect himself?
"He wants to protect you as much as you want to protect him", she says, like she can read my thoughts. "He says you're smart and quick. Are you?"
I'm dumbfounded. He just went to her to sacrifice himself like that? Without talking to me? I lick my lips, "I am. But I won't be able to survive. He will."
"About exactly what Fedya said about you, Freya", Cecelia says, seemingly almost amused. If it hadn't been about protecting someone in the face of death, maybe she'd even laugh. The mirth in her eyes disappears after a moment and she leans forward on the chair. "Protect him like he will you. Maybe one of you will make it, then. I can tell you love each other. Maybe the bond between twins is what's needed this year. I'm sorry one of you will be without the other if you return home, but you might also be each other's only hope."
