The train comes to a stop and I don't wait for the doors to open. I can't now. Instead, I use my hands to shove them open myself.
A huge crowd is waiting for my arrival, but they don't look too happy. Towards the back, I spot my mother, father, and Zemetria. Hopping off the train, I start to push through the crowd of people with my crutches.
"Mama! Dad!" I shout , my arms wide open. Zem comes to meet me immediatly and jumps into my arms, crying tears of joy.
"Johanna!" My mother says, and squeezes me tightly. "Oh, thank God you're okay! We're very proud of you, right, Ted?" She turns to my father.
He says nothing.
"Right, Ted?" She insists, faking a smile and giving a breathy laugh.
My father turns around and walks away, not even bothering to look back. I stand there, my mouth half open,my eyes full of hurt. Zem looks at me and then mother.
"Come on, Johanna. Why don't we go back to the house, huh?" She says, showing sympathy for me. But I turn and abandom my crutches. If I could run in the arena with a sprained ankle, I can do it here.
I sprint after my father. "Dad!" I shout, desperate for him to turn around and hug me. I really need it right now. "Dad!"
He's getting closer. I reach out my right arm for him, trying to grab his love back
My ankle is throbbing so very painfully, but I reach him. "Dad, please come back!" I cry. My voice turns to a whisper and I grab his arm. "I really need you."
He shakes me off. "Go home, Johanna. Get out of my sight," He says.
"What did I do?" I ask.
"Did you know I am friends with Amarack's father, Johanna? Did you know that he was my escape from you guys, and now he ignores me because you killed his son!"
No. I didn't know. But that wasn't what caught my attention.
"Amarack's father was your escape from us?" I ask quietly.
"Yes! All three of you were idiots for not realizing how much I didn't care about you!" He screams.
A small flame had started inside of me when he walked away, but now this an uncontrollable wildfire spreading rapidly inside my body, taking over my mind and heart.
"Well, then. If that's how you really feel then. . ." I begin. "Then . . ." I'm starting to tremble. "You aren't my father anymore!" My voice catches and as I turn around, I feel something weird. Almost like tears.
I don't cry unless I force myself.
I turn and half storm-half hobble away from him, refusing to turn around. If I do, I might punch him in the face. In fact, my fists are pale white from clenching them so tight.
My mother and Zem are still standing, waiting for me. Mama holds out my crutches and I hobble over and take them.
"Thanks," I say.
My face burns as we make our way back to the house. I embarrassed the shit out of myself, as all of District 7's eyes were on me. Me running at my father and having him deny his love for me in public wasn't something I particularly enjoyed.
When we get, 'home', my face falls. This isn't home. This is a home in the Victor's Village. A lot of our furniture is in the home, but there are new things, as well. I think the one plus side is that Marie lives right next door, and Blight on my other side.
As the days go by, and my ankle begins to heal, I start walking on it. I call my doctor in the Capitol, who confirms it's okay to walk on it. So I walk out the door, and run across the entire District 7. Past shops filled with people, past fruit sellers, and past the men chopping the wood in a million pieces.
When I reach it, I grab the doorknob and fling it open. I stare into the emptiness that was my home. I do nothing, not even walk in. I just stare at it. The walls are plain and white, as they've always been. The floor, though, made of wood, has no furniture. No beat-up TV.
The place I grew up in is now just a memory. I remember sitting on the ground in this room and being lectured by father for getting suspended. I remember watching the Games, as people got murdered and got their heads chopped off their bodies. I remember it being scary, very. I remember wondering if I'd ever go into the Games.
I still can't even force myself to move into the room. I try, try to make my feet move. But they're frozen in place, refuse to let me walk forward, refuse to let me go in. Maybe there's a reason. Yes, because it will be unbearable. To see this place- all empty and cleared and abandoned.
No. I can't go in there.
I make myself promise I won't come back, then back out the door.
I take one last look at my home - my real home - and, turn sharply, and close the door behind me.
