It was the same routine. Johanna didn't make any indication that anything was out of the ordinary. I secretly wanted to point my finger at her and say 'I saw you'. But I'm not five and if she doesn't care about me then I won't care about her.
She continued with our usual five-thirty morning wake ups. What had changed is that she's not nit-picking me anymore. No, now she's...encouraging me. Instead, I now have to block out things like 'Nice One!', 'Keep at it!', 'Better than the last'...ect. I prefer training in silence but I can't remember my mother giving me this kind of encouragement before. So, I let it slide and take it in stride.
Not that any of this matters anyways. I'm not going to stab someone with my axe or chop their head off in the arena. No, I'm not killing anyone!. Because I refuse to play. Refuse, to let Snow win.
I don't know how Johanna will take it so I've decided not to tell her at all. She'll find out soon enough when she watches the games. I don't care if I 'disappoint' her. This isn't about her, she's not the one going into that arena. I am. And I don't want blood on my hands. Simple as that, besides what was I going to do with my life?, Make paper?...it's almost laughable.
But I'll pretend to be her little prodigy or whatever it is she wants me to be in that arena. She's still my mother at the end of the day and I want what days we still have together to remain pleasant. Or at least, normal.
Gasping breaths and tired arms. I wiped my brow in satisfaction of completing another training. What I didn't expect was my mother to sigh and give me a curt smile. "How are you taking it?".
Woah. It had everything in me not to do a double take. She looked at me impatiently with her arms crossed and lips tightly smiling. As if she had to force it. I scoffed and kicked a small stone that was too close to my dropped axe. "Like you care".
I looked back to her and she surprised me when she started laughing. She more cackles my mother. "Sure, I'll take that. Now answer my question Victoria".
I glared at her. "No. I don't think I will Johanna".
My mother was the only one to call me strictly Victoria and nothing else. Not Vicks or Vicky. I think it's to put more distance between us. That, or she knows it pisses me off and she gets a sick twisted enjoyment from it.
She scoffed and I could see a bit of anger climbing up in there. She smirked at me. "Johanna, that ones new". I didn't like how twisted she looked.
I frowned. "Not like you'd know. We don't talk Jo-mother".
It's almost sad how foreign that word was to say out loud.
She tusked at me. "I want you to remember something. When you're in that arena I'll be there doing all I can to get you out.". I watched her approach me until she held my chin tightly. "I'll be damned if they take you too!. I'm your mentor now Kid, I'll get you through this. Because you and me, we're family. And family doesn't ever give up on eachother".
She looked so determined that I couldn't not nod back at her. She then huffed and rolled out her shoulders before stomping back out towards Victors Village. Leaving me alone and beyond confused. What on earth does Johanna Mason know about family?!?.
Reaping day came faster then I thought it would. I decided to wear a light blue dress while leaving my hair straight. What with all the money I've accumulated from Johanna everyday, buying a pretty dress wasn't something I ever had to think twice about. When I entered the small tailors of District Seven the shopkeeper stared me dead on and whispered 'We made it especially for you, dear'. Of course they did, because Trent and I are one of four celebrities in District Seven. And I could tell instantly as I walked around my district that after the announcement everyone is angry and distraught.
It's not like we're their kids but they're all acting like it. I sighed, even today there was a fifty dollar note left on the counter. I guess she just does it out of habit. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the clock on the wall. Like with every tick it took away what little freedom I have left. I felt an overwhelming feeling of regret grow in the pit of my stomach. Had I really lived the past nineteen years?...all I've done with my life is train and wallow in self pity due to my mother. Being famous and rich means nothing to me. I envy the poor of our district who'd cling to their mothers while they returned their child's hug. I'd give anything for that. I'd give anything for love.
I heard the sound of heels making their way down the stairs and I could see the outline of my mother in the foyer. "Victoria!".
Fuck.
I took a deep breath before standing infront of her. She looked good, dressed in black and makeup professionally done. I bit my lip in slight confusion at the sight of her. When did her stylist come over?.
She sighed and looked me up and down. She nodded having found something satisfactory. "You look sweet".
It wasn't a compliment but more of an observation. Like an assessment. I crossed my arms and rose a challengingly eyebrow at her. "Do you not want me to appear sweet?".
She smirked. "If you can pull it off then do sweet. But it's too late to change your appearance now anyways. The Victors have to sit with the mayor on the stage. So I'm off, peacekeepers are coming to escort you and Trent to the justice building.".
I nodded and she straightened her dress before walking away from me. No, good luck or comforting words were exchanged. Just as she reached the door she paused and turned back to me. Her eyes had that determined look again and I tried to avoid looking into those pained eyes. A look I didn't know she was capable of expressing. "When you're on the stage don't look at me. Everyone's going to look back on this. Both mentors and tributes. They'll think you're weak if you and Trent look back at us for reassurance".
I nodded. "Right".
She left without a second glance. I scoffed behind the closed door. When has she ever given me reassurance in life?. Okay, well apart from a few days ago it was never.
I found myself sinking to the floor and observing every inch of my house that I could. From the wall paper to the weird tree like vases I'd never bothered to look at. Home. Lonely and big but it's where I grew up. Will I ever see it again...
A bang on the door jumped me from reprieve and I opened it to be faced with four peacekeepers. I followed mindlessly. The thought of running kept entering my mind with every step we took. A bullet to the head from a peacekeeper is better than being gutted in-front of a live audience.
I sighed and looked beside me at Trent. He had his own escort too. As if feeling eyes on him he looked up at me and winked. I felt bad for him. Blight didn't even make it twenty four hours before he relapsed.
I smiled and then we walked solely up the steps of the stage. The crowd of District Seven stared on with closed off guarded faces. I didn't dare look in Johanna's direction. Anywhere but there. Instead I faced the sea of people and looked at the tree tops behind them.
The video played like it had every year. I think the worst thing about this is that they've left the clear bowels out despite there only being one slip in each.
An eerie silence filled the square before our escort made an appearance. His name is Clement and he's hard to swallow. He made some speech about a hundred years being a mile stone and so on. He looked a little offended that nobody clapped for his speech before he marched to my bowel with a bounce in his step.
He opened the tab in-front of the microphone, smiled at Johanna causing me to cringe as he read out. "Victoria Mason".
It still hurt to hear despite knowing it was going to happen. I swallowed down any bile that threatened to come up and made my way carefully over to him. Avoiding my mother's eye the entire time. Just look at the trees..just think about being in a tre-
"Trent Perry".
Oh shit!. I tore my eyes from the trees to Trent. He shrugged out at the district like 'guess that's me' and walked casually beside me.
Clement chuckled at Trent and I guess that's always been his angle. The mischievous son of Blight. Known for it all over the country.
Clement clapped his hands in excitement. "Wonderful! District Seven your tributes for this years one hundredth games!. Victoria Mason and Trent Perry!. Go on, and shake hands now".
I don't why I did it. But instead of holding out my hand, I held out my pinky with a challenging eyebrow. Trent chuckled before grasping it tightly with a smirk. Our faces might've looked excited to the crowd but all that was said between our eyes was that we're not playing.