Day Eight: Understanding
TW: References to Self Harm, Suicide
"I didn't want to. Really, I didn't. I just, I just." She's crying. She'd promised herself she wouldn't look weak, and now she's crying. But her mentor's got arms around her, and Sable feels like a small girl again as she buries her head in Citrine's head. "You, and Cash, and Laur, you all did this because you could. You killed and you didn't get anything wrong. But I, I missed. I shouldn't be here. I, I."
"Look at me, Sable. Look at me. Do you really think I should be here? You saw how I butchered my way through, do you really think I was better than you are now? Without Opal, there'd have been a noose around my neck and if they hadn't caught me a body dangling in the living room. Sable, the fact you're doing better than me is amazing. You can't let the shit you did in that hell drag you down, ok?"
"But five.. Five chil-" "Five's less than me. Five's less than Laurel. That doesn't make it ok, nothing makes it ok. But those were five children who were dead anyways. Most of them were quick, you had good aim. It's ok, it's ok." They stay like that for minutes, hours. Until finally Citrine reaches down, hand under Sable's chin, and lifts it up.
"You killed. The blood on your hands won't wash away in a million years. If it takes me a century, I'll make sure you keep the gloves to cover it up. Sable, dove. You can't go around thinking bad of yourself for not being as good, as quick, as efficient as you think me and Laur were, ok?" Citrine's pulling her a little tighter in now, and Sable's looking up at her with the kind of gaze one would reserve for an older sibling. "You're my mentee, Sable. The little girl I brought back from that hellscape, the girl I promised wouldn't die. And I was right, wasn't I?" A hiccup and a nod, and her mentor is already moving on.
"So you need to own it. It's not going to be easy. The Capitol loves pretty things like us, they do. Trust me on this." Cold steel in her voice now, Citrine speaks. "But your victory brought pride to One. Bought us another year, for our poorest, of the good medicine. Bought us another year of pride, a young woman who didn't die. The latest trophy in our collection, even if I'm the pride and joy." That cold steel is replaced by a tone drier than the southern deserts, until Citrine gives a chirping laugh and Sable nods. "I... guess. But still, was it?"
"No, it wasn't right." That talent for knowing what Sable was thinking had meant fuckups on the written exams weren't as big, and had clearly extended to verbal communications now. "But you're home, sweetie. You're our trophy, our Victor, and nothing can ever change that, understand. If any of the others wanted to be whiny shits, they'd have done it. With the odd exception, your peers are us Victors, and we're a family. We may squabble, but when push comes to shove any of us would protect another. Well, almost any of us."
Citrine leans in, and that cool steel is back. "If anyone tries to tell you you aren't a real Victor, I'll kill them myself. But you need to understand, first, that you're a real Victor. That nobody in Panem who matters is going to care whether it took you one or two throws to annihilate that little girl because you got it handled in the end, and that's all that matters."
Sable gives a little nod, and then lodges a question. "Cee. How do you handle the Victory? The tour, the parties, the reminders? You're a Victor, and you're so... Normal." A thrown back head, a laugh, and Citrine's staring at her for a good few seconds. Finally, she gets an answer. "Sable. I'm not normal. None of us are. The sooner you understand that, the better. Do you really think I enjoy having any meat set out in front of me in bite sized chunks. Do you really think that Laurel refuses to touch any knives because she's well adjusted. Do you really think any of us are fine?"
Her mentor shakes that blonde head, and Sable finally understands. "We'll never be normal. Always the outsiders, always the weak. But that doesn't mean we're gone. That doesn't mean we're done in. That just means we've got a responsibility. To keep our girls and boys safe, to make sure that whoever comes back is relatively ok. To take care of the people who come back, no matter who they are. Understand?" A nod. Sable does understand, and she's committed to understand it. That done, they both lapse into a companionable silence.