The day Doctor Haig told her she was being discharged from the hospital wing, Eliza wanted to jump out of the armchair and kiss her feet.
At least for a few minutes.
A familiar shortness of breath took over her while she followed Sabrina Torres through the corridors of District 13, to the room they would be sharing for the next few months. During which Eliza was also going to be taking part in the Districts Integration Program for Refugees.
"This afternoon you'll have the assessment test, and, depending on your result, you'll be assigned a few classes. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get used to things in no time." Sabrina said reassuringly once she noticed Eliza's anguished face. "Here we are." She opened the one hundred millionth door in the corridor which looked exactly like each one of the others, except for the small number marking in the middle of it. "You can take your time to set your things straight. I'll leave you to it and come pick you up in a bit, so we can go to lunch and show you things around. Does that sound good?"
Sabrina seemed nice enough, from what Eliza could see. Even if she had been talking to her as if she was a child for the past fifteen minutes. She also seemed not to notice that Eliza did not have anything to sort out, because the only thing she managed to bring from her home were the clothes she had been wearing (rags that, by then, were probably being incinerated or left to rot in the closest dumpster), and a satchel that had been taken from her the moment she stepped foot on the aircraft.
"Also, the bed on the left is mine."
Sabrina left at that, not even waiting for a reply.
Eliza let herself exhale loudly, and spared a look at her new "home". Two single beds, one on each side of the narrow room, with two nightstands in between them. Two metal lockers right next to the door, and on the corner next to them, a tiny sink and a mirror. Oh, and a light switch.
It was perfect. No mold, no cracks on the walls, and as far as she could see, no mice. Even if she would have to share it with a roommate.
She sunk on her bed, feeling the softness of the bedding with her fingertips.
There was still a part of her that kept forgetting where she was, distrusting of all the fortune that came to her in the last few days.
Laying back, she stared at the ceiling, seamless gray concrete, instead of the moldy stained paint that she used to stare into every night at home.
Home.
Eliza was yet to decide what was harder to believe. That District 12 had been bombed to the ground or the fact that she had survived it. Her childhood home, the town square, the school. Half the people she knew were gone, and the few that survived would never be the same.
She would never be the same.
Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing. For once in her life, it had been more than a week since the last time she felt hungry. Now, keeping herself from wallowing in all the memories was definitely the worst part.
Breathe in, breathe out.
She imagined herself opening a little box, putting inside everything bad that could come to mind.
Breathe in, breathe out.
She would shut it down once everything was packed in again.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Then throw it into the fire, as if it never existed.