The 150th Annual Hunger Games

Victorious? (Part Two)

Janice Senn's P.O.V. (D3)

I gasp as I bolt into a sitting position. Sweat and tears wash down my face in gallons and my breathing is quick and rapid as my eyes search the room frantically.

"Harper?!" is the first thing I scream, but then I realize it was just a nightmare. I dreamt that we were in the arena, and Harper was killed right in front of my eyes. It felt so real, but then I remember, that's because it was real. Harper did die right in front of me. He died so I could win, and he wanted to. Why would he want to do that? He couldn't...

I frantically wipe my face and fall back onto the pillows, trying to dismiss the image from my head. I just can't stop thinking of the last time we saw each other. We were both bleeding out all over, our hands were tightly held together like nothing could tear them apart, and I said I loved him. And he said he loved me too. I was so sure that I was going to die first. But then I heard part of a canon go off before everything went dark. I was so sure that canon was meant for me, not Harper.

Why Harper? He was the one who fought it out to win a place on top, and he deserved it. He's the one who played the Games by the rules. I didn't do anything to earn my place as Victor. Why am I here?

I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. I feel so alone here, so detached, unwanted, and insignificant.

I don't even feel worthy enough to go home. I'm not the same person I was before the arena. I'm stressed, irritable, on edge, and not to mention paranoid. If I can see that, what's everyone else going to think?

Maybe I'll just pass out again and it'll all be over when I wake back up. It's happened many times since I got out of the arena, but everything was still the same. I was still here, and Harper is still dead. Nothing can ever change that.

Harper was always the protective type, and I could see that right from the beginning. But eventually, especially after Steve died, he became more and more protective. He seemed convinced that I was the one who would see home again. At least he got his wish...but I didn't get mine...

I wish Harper was alive instead. The world is better off with people like him.

Apparently it was a close one for us though. They don't know it, but I heard some of the doctors talking in the hallway, and they said I almost died on the way here from loss of blood. I also heard them say something about "the other one", but I didn't really get to hear anything before they shut the door.

I wish I really did die on the hovercraft. Who knows, maybe I did and they just brought me back. They can do that, I've heard. That's really unfair though, because then they could've brought Harper back instead.

I slowly sit up and bury my face in my hands, my dark hair falling over them as I attempt to hold back sobs.

My stomach and throat become tight as I squeeze my eyes shut. My abdomen throbs in a dull ache where Ace had thrown the card into me. A large bandage and stitches have been used for it to start the healing process, which doesn't take very long with Capitol medicine. I've only been here for about two weeks, but it could've been more. I passed out so many times, I wouldn't know.

I should be well enough to leave the hospital soon and start my mental recovery back home. That is, after a bunch of interviews and ceremonies, and of course, the Victor Tour. Maybe all of those things will help distract my mind from things I'd rather try to forget.

A knock on the door makes me perk up slightly. A short woman in a white coat enters, a tray of food in her hands. She smiles and places the tray on the small table beside my bed. She must be a new nurse here, because I haven't seen her at all until now. Most of the people that come in here are the same.