chapter five
OLWYN'S WITHDRAWAL FROM all conversation after she was thrown headfirst into the abyss of her own mind had really dampened the already bleak mood. The sixteen year old hated herself for it, not knowing why she wasn't okay after two full years of being the foolish winner. Why couldn't she mentor? She could barely function without multiple crutches. Olwyn viewed herself as pathetic, she couldn't even keep it together to help the baker's boy and her ex-best friend have somewhat of a fighting chance of getting out of that horrid arena.
"These are brand new pants", Haymitch told Peeta, after the boy had attempted to pry the drink from his hand, resulting in a drop or two landing on his trousers. "You know, I think I'll go finish this in my room", the mentor asserted, stumbling out of his chair with alcohol in hand.
"You'll be okay, miss sunshine?", Haymitch asked his mentee, ruffling her crown of golden hair. The overpowering stench of stale alcohol invaded her senses, nearly evoking a nasty gag from the back of Olwyn's throat. The girl tersely nodded in response, eyes focused on the intricate details of the mahogany table. Haymitch had retreated to his room, leaving a frustrated Peeta and a confused Katniss in the care of the currently mentally unstable victor.
"He's gonna come around", Peeta declared, rising from his seat to follow his drunken mentor. Determination seeped from his pores as he began to march to Haymitch's room. Olwyn didn't know what he was going to do, but she found the parallel between Peeta Mellark and her own district partner astounding. She never wanted to think about that charismatic boy; because wherever Ares Mallor went, bad memories followed.
"It's no use!", Katniss shouted at the boy's retreating head, earning herself a dismissive wave in response. Peeta disappeared through the automatic door, leaving both Katniss and Olwyn alone. Both parties were suffocating in the tense silence, pain and anger choking them with their own bare hands. Burning, that's the only word to describe the searing sensation in Olwyn's fragmented heart.
"Olwyn", Katniss muttered, watching as her adored girl paused before making eye-contact. Her eyes were still as breathtakingly beautiful as ever. Her coffee irises with the streak of golden green were still the most intricate piece of art Katniss had ever had the pleasure of looking at. And despite the anguish residing behind them, they were still equally as gorgeous as the day Katniss had first met a bouncing blonde on the steps of the school building all those years ago.
Olwyn took a moment to say anything. The cogs in her head were frantically turned in search for some sort of answer. "I- I'm sorry this happened to you, Kat", her hoarse voice croaked as she broke eye contact. Olwyn swallowed, however the imaginary, guilty, thick lump in her throat remained.
"It's not your fault. You don't control who goes and who stays", Katniss stated, her eyes focused on the trembling girl before her. Her own hands twitched with the urge to wrap the blonde in her arms to stop Olwyn from shaking. But, her mind was thinking of other things. More specifically, the gigantic elephant in the room. With a gulp and a breath of air, Katniss chose to tackle the elephant head on.
"Why, Olwyn? What happened to you?", Katniss blurted out, hoping to seek some sort of reason from her best friend. But as quickly as Olwyn had become vulnerable and open, her stoic, emotionless expression returned. The switch was instant, her eyes had hardened, her jaw set. Any pleasantry flooded out of Olwyn's system, replaced by defensiveness. Katniss seemed to have struck a nerve, pure regret crossed the Everdeen girl's face. However, it was out there. Katniss couldn't take back her words, even if she wanted to.
"Nothing happened to me, Katniss. I don't understand what you want from me! I grew up! I had to. I thought you would've learned that years ago", Olwyn spat, body rising off the chair, feet slowly backing away from the table.
"Ollie, you left me for years. And now I'm expected to not question it?", Katniss argued, her grey eyes glinting with frustration. The girl could feel the brewing emotions in the air, hurt and pain mixing with oxygen; being inhaled with every draw from their lips.
Olwyn huffed a painful laugh; the kind that cut deep, that froze the atmosphere around the pair. Her teeth bit her lip, hands shivering slightly as they ran through her hair. "It wasn't my choice! God, Katniss. You really think I wouldn't have ran to you the second I got off that train?' she rhetorically asked the girl, stunning Katniss into a shocked, embarrassed silence. Olwyn continued, pent-up emotion flying free. "My life is not my own, Katniss. My freewill died the second my name was pulled out of that glass jar. That's something you'll need to realise, if you want any hope of surviving", Olwyn wallowed, tears springing on her waterline.
Katniss didn't say anything. The brunette remained silent, witnessing Olwyn scoff. The blonde pulled a bottle of brown liquor from the cart and mumbled something about finding Haymitch. The door shut behind her, leaving Katniss alone with her thoughts in the fancy dining car of this luxurious train. The girl had never felt so out of place.
Katniss knew Olwyn Laurier harboured a lot of pain; some predating to before her infamous games. She just never realised the sheer amount of anguish that sat on the victor's shoulders. Pain that would destroy the bright, young girl who would smile even on the darkest, stormy day. Maybe, Katniss hadn't accepted that the Olwyn she knew was gone. She hoped that Olwyn was still buried within the shell of herself.
Olwyn had found temporary solace in pills and harsh spirits, wallowing in self-pity and pain as she drank and got high. It was a vicious cycle. And the brunette girl, who had all of this ahead of her, made it her mission to become Olwyn's escape from reality. Even for just a little while.
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DISAPPEARING FROM SOCIETY was a desire Olwyn Laurier wished was her reality.
Alas, despite her ghost-like exterior, Olwyn's lowered, blonde head was still spotted by her escort, Effie Trinkett, as she attempted to retreat to the confines of her dormitory. The almost silent screech of the door was too loud, causing Effie's eyes to land on the teenager.
"Ah, there you are", she cheerfully smiled, her fingers stirring a cup of flowery tea. Her long fuchsia nails were on show as she took a sip of her drink. "Where are you off to? Supper is ready, plus you need to talk to your tributes. Between you and me, I think twelves got a shot this year", Effie shyly smiled, but stopped at the sight of the tearful, dejected girl in front of her.
"Ahh, sweetheart, come here", the woman calmly spoke, stepping up in front of the weeping girl. Olwyn's bottom lip trembled slightly, her head shaking. Effie's bright smile never wavered, pale fingers brushing tears off skin and curling Olwyn's blonde hair behind her ears. Quiet shushes came from Effie.
"Darling, you are much too pretty to cry", she told her. "Besides, how could anyone be sad on this marvellous train! Now, I'll give you a few minutes to freshen up", the escort continued, annunciating each word with her prim, proper tone. Her words did nothing to soothe the empty feeling in Olwyn Laurier's heart, but she nodded anyways. Effie smiled, perfect teeth gleaming, before she left Olwyn alone.
The girl knew Effie didn't understand; couldn't fathom, the sheer ignorance of her words. However, it didn't lessen the splinters rushing through her heart. Effie grew up feeling important, knowing she mattered. Effie Trinkett could never know of youthful days filled with painful, rumbling stomachs and cold, bleak mornings where skin turned black and blue from something other than the freezing weather. Effie Trinkett would never know the scars, both visible and invisible, that covered the victor like a suffocating blanket.
Many would think Olwyn resented Effie. The escort flaunted her luxury accessories to people who would never be able to afford and acted like the dynamic between the districts and Capitol was perfectly normal. But what changed Olwyn's narrative on her was the fact Effie had been brainwashed by the ideals that were forced into her from the day she was born. And it was moments like this that made Olwyn realise how little freewill both sides of the system Snow created had.
The girl's feet had reached her room, shutting the door and fastening the lock. It was silent, the only sound was her racing heartbeat and the train's quiet hum. It took all of six seconds for the floodgates to burst. Hot, angry tears fell from her eyes. Sobs erupted from her throat, joined by a chorus of painful hiccups. The girl thought she looked pathetic, crying over someone she could never have.
And yet, that harsh truth only made her tears come faster until the girl couldn't do anything but cry. Even when the tears were dry, her whole body trembled and shivered with the thought of braving whatever was waiting for her. This was her life. For the rest of her days, she would sit on this train, never truly getting off.
Meanwhile, from outside her locked door, a terrified Peeta Mellark stood, horrified. The boy had come to find Haymitch, not listen in on his other mentor break down in her bedroom. What exactly happened to victors unluckily left alive after their games finally dawned on him. Of course, the boy had heard whisperings of the teenage girl falling apart and the drunken man using alcohol to numb the pain he had accumulated over decades spent alone, but he thought they were just rumours; things people said in order to spread gossip. Maybe there was some truth in those rumours, the ones that painted the broken picture of two people haunted by the ghosts of their past, and then be dragged out every single year to watch people, who resembled themselves, be slaughtered.
So the boy retreated, a whole new outlook and respect for the girl who was only slightly younger than him. Peeta remembered Olwyn, before all of this. She was short, long blonde hair and constantly stuck at Katniss Everdeen's side or helping her brother carry things for his work. They were in similar classes, up until two years ago. He remembered her victory tour and her subsequent departure from society. Before he had left, his father had told him to trust the Laurier girl, stating that "she knows what's she's doing."
While Katniss may have not wanted the girl's help, Peeta knew Olwyn's guidance was the difference between becoming victor and ending up as the victim in the bloodbath. So, he would take the only worthwhile advice his father had ever given him and put his life in the hands of Olwyn Laurier. It may have seemed like a horrible decision but a future him would look back at this moment, knowing he was in debt to the Laurier girl for helping him.
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THE IDEA OF the hunger games, the entire spectacle terrified Katniss. The parading around of the tributes never appealed to her. In all honesty, she never thought she herself would end up here. Then again, Katniss never thought Olwyn; tiny, malnourished Olwyn who caught scarlet fever or the flu every other year, could do the things she did in that arena. Maybe it was the adrenaline that aided the small girl, maybe Katniss would feel that coursing through her veins the moment she rose into that arena.
After Olwyn had stormed off, Katniss too needed a moment to think. Something was going on, pulling strings behind the scenes. Katniss was wrong, she knew that now. But if Olwyn wanted to run to her the moment she got off that train, why couldn't she? Would the fate Olwyn met be the same as the one Katniss was doomed to live?
Katniss, wanting to find some escape, had tuned into a broadcast by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith. Both were laughing, discussing previous games in the run up to this one. The 73rd games' highlights were being shown, showing the moment the district two male bludgeoned another boy to death, crowning himself the victor.
Katniss, feeling her insides bubble in bitter horror, went to switch the television off, but froze as a familiar face flashed across the screen. Despite how much she loved this person, nothing would ever prepare her for what was to come as the programme's topic changed. She couldn't move fast enough, her body frozen, as images from the 72nd games flashed upon the screen.
"Now, this-", Caesar began. "This is my favourite games", the man cheered, seemingly delighted at the prospect of delving into this particular subject. Katniss had refused to watch most of Olwyn's games. The, then, fourteen year old had watched the initial bloodbath, ensuring Olwyn stayed alive. After that, watching a starving, suffering young girl, who the Everdeen girl had known for years, fight for her life lost its so called 'appeal.' Katniss saw somethings she wished she hadn't, things that changed her perspective on who Olwyn was.
After that, the girl had zero interest in watching her friend suffer, without mercy. Instead, she spent her days chewing at her fingernails in dread and walking around the district like a ghost. Her own mother, too mirroring her daughter's absent demeanour, had put the pieces together faster than her daughter could. Mrs. Everdeen knew the look her daughter exhibited. It was the same one she, herself, had worn since the death of her husband three years earlier. Heartbreak; it consumed Mrs.Everdeen, and it was knocking on her daughter's door. It was the first real indication that Katniss loved Olwyn, more than anyone else.
And as images of the twenty-four tributes who entered that arena that year illuminated the screen, Katniss couldn't drag her eyes away from the screen. Even as Caesar monologued a summary of the games, her mind refused to look away.
"These games, set in a scorching, toxic desert, showed everyone that being sly and cunning was more deadlier than a knife or a sword. Fourteen year old Olwyn Laurier, from the poorest of the poor in district twelve, ruthlessly took down eight tributes, the highest on record, before being crowned the sole victor! Scoring only a five in her training score, she was the most unlikely of contenders, proving everyone who ever doubted the coal miner district wrong. Laurier killed every single Career tribute, that's six in total, along with the female tribute from district eleven and her own district partner during the over eighteen day long games. Her strength, power and overall intelligence made young Laurier one of the most successful and deadly victors we have ever seen", Caesar recounted, supported by Claudius' dramatic inputs of gasps and shocked looks.
The footage changed, depicting Olwyn's last moments as a tribute. Her once innocent face was caked in dirt and covered in blood that mostly wasn't her own. Her lips were drawn into a fine line, a frown dragging at the corners of her lips. Something lay deep in her eyes, an emotion that in the lifetime Katniss spent knowing Olwyn had never presented itself. It was dark, twisted; and it was what made Olwyn Laurier win those games.
The video showed the Laurier teenager, bleeding herself, grasp a minute dagger. Despite having a gaping wound slicing through her abdomen and a nasty slit above her eyebrow that was pumping blood, Olwyn used the dagger to stab district two's female tribute, Uma Arvin. Uma, crying out in pain, used her fingers to press into the other girl's wound, that she, herself, had inflicted. Both girls screamed in pain, trying to outsmart the other in order to come out alive. Olwyn, seemingly gaining an outburst of adrenaline, pushed Uma to the ground, straddling her waist. The district two girl, gazing up with a realisation of fear as her life was slipping out from under her, pleaded with Olwyn to spare her life. Whispering a string of choked apologies, Olwyn's hands clasped around Uma's neck. The Arvin girl struggled, weakly pushing and tugging to free herself. There was no use, as Olwyn used her dagger to slit Uma's throat.
The cut wasn't clean, nothing professional. It was jagged and hadn't killed the other girl straight away. Holding the wound, Uma choked on her own blood, coughing and spluttering. Something had changed in Olwyn's brain, some kind of switch clicked. Her dirtied face, still wet from her tears, remained stoic as Uma eventually stopped moving after three minutes and forty-six seconds. Katniss stood in horror, terrified beyond belief. Not of Olwyn, but of what lay ahead of Katniss in these next few weeks. If someone as calm and sweet as Olwyn Aspen Laurier could turn into that, what would the games do to someone like Katniss?
"Now this, is why I adore Olwyn Laurier. The sheer determination, the brute strength! I know I'm not alone on this, Olwyn Laurier is one of Panem's favourites!", Caesar cheered, earning claps from Claudius Templesmith.
"Remember when she found out about poor Noble Sage", Claudius added, earning eager nods from Caesar. The file footage now showcased a weeping Olwyn, her emotions were written all over her face as her hands clutched the roots of her blood-matted hair. Caesar held his hand to his heart, falsely pouting, making Katniss suppress her urge to vomit.
"Oh, of course. Who can forget such raw emotion?", Caesar declared. "Especially her retaliation, her own district partner!"
"Ares Mallor didn't know what hit him!"
"In that arena, no one could trust that girl. She was deadlier than the game makers!"
"Olwyn Laurier became a different person in that arena. She became a killer, a skilled one at that. Her achievements changed the entire way the gamekeepers made the games, forever."
Katniss couldn't watch it anymore. She felt sick, a bitter taste brewing in her stomach. It was foul, nasty. The girl wanted to puke; cry; go home; die. Her entire world was spinning, the fear of who she may become after these games controlled her every action. It scared her more than dying itself, leaving her in a terrified state in front of the now dark television screen.
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SOMEHOW, OLWYN HAD picked her trembling body off the floor, showered and made herself look presentable before returning back to the dining car with her shoulders held high. With hair smelling like jasmine and wearing some outfit Olwyn had found in the boundless wardrobe, the Laurier girl breezed through the carriage, taking a seat beside Haymitch. He nodded in her direction, using his fork to inject her into his conversation with Peeta. The Mellark boy had smiled slightly at Olwyn, who attempted to return it. It came out as more of a twitch of her lip but the boy knew what she meant, thankful she was feeling a little bit better.
"If you want to know how to survive the career pack, Olwyn is your woman", Haymitch added, pointing toward the teenager, who had started to chew on a buttered roll, got slightly startled by Haymitch's comment. "Trust me kid, she took down all of them. It was quite the.... spectacle", her old mentor praised, smirking before taking a swig of his drink. The older man nodded to Olwyn, with Peeta looking at the girl, listening intently. The girl sighed, finishing the bite of food in her mouth before starting to speak. "Well, there's something you got to realise about the careers", Olwyn began, watching the boy nod, leaning forward to take in anything and everything the girl said. She matched his action, elbows coming to rest on the placemat in front of her.
"The careers, the tributes from one, two and sometimes four, are the ones who run those games. Maybe not overall, the game makers still have their ways in swaying the outcome. But your life depends on whether or not those careers find you. You are playing their game of cat and mouse. So, kill or be killed, which one are you picking, Peeta?", she asked, punctuating her words with an eyebrow raised. Peeta swallowed, stumbling slightly. "Eh.... Kill?", the boy stuttered, nervous under Olwyn's analytic gaze. "I don't really want to die", he coughed out, his face turning red.
Haymitch tutted, almost as if he was scolding the boy. The older man leaned forward, his elbows resting against the wooden table. "Are you sure?", he questioned, watching Peeta squirm under the pressure. The Mellark boy just blinked, wondering how he ended up in this situation with the two mentally unstable individuals.
"You hesitated. You hesitate, you die", Olwyn advised emotionlessly. "Trust me, Peeta. These careers aren't going to wait for you to introduce yourself before driving their axe through your skull", the girl spoke, using her fork to pick up some vegetable and putting it into her mouth. The boy nodded, absorbing her words like a fresh sponge.
There was something about the way Olwyn spoke that commanded respect. Despite being only sixteen years of age, the girl held wisdom beyond her years. She inherited these skills from her father; the man, paranoid about the games and the Capitol, trained his children in defence and strategy. He may have been an absent, alcoholic and often abusive father, but Francisco Laurier would never allow some child of his to lay victim to Snow's agenda.
Olwyn was the youngest, always the smallest. Her sister and brother used to tower over her, up until she hit her growth spurt after her games. Even now, the younger sibling was no where near as tall as her six-foot-something brother and was just about taller than Esme.
But Olwyn possessed something Atlas and Esme couldn't understand; her unwavering survival instinct. Her father always remarked how she had gotten that trait from her mother. It was the only really nice thing he had ever said to his least favourite child. No matter what happened, Olwyn never stopped. She was a fighter, always had been and always will be, whether it be with a machete or by the means of silent rebellion. In more ways than one, Olwyn Laurier was the best and worst mentor in the games long-standing history. In one respect; Olwyn genuinely cared.
She may not have smiled or said pleasant things ( hell, most of the times she was rude and far too direct ), but anyone could feel her willingness to help. Her district would forever be the underdog; the wealth of district one and the brutality of district two combined with district four's strength meant the malnourished and underprepared tributes from twelve were simply cannon fodder. And that fact burned Olwyn's heart from the inside-out. It lit a spiteful blaze within the young girl, that could not be quelled by submission. It was her greatest asset and yet, it fostered into her downfall.
She cared too much. Every time the cannon sounded, signifying the death of one of her tributes, the girl broke down. Last year when tribute Ryder Echo, who made it to the last five, was beaten, slashed and eventually killed by two career tributes, Olwyn felt her entire heart collapse. The boy was seventeen, he had a family and a bright future ahead of him. And despite the fact that he would have never blamed his fifteen year old mentor, she blamed herself. Why wasn't she quick enough? Why hadn't she told him to not follow the pair of careers? As the realisation that she would have to return home without a winner set in, the line between reality and fiction blurred; evoking hallucinations in Olwyn's troubled mind.
Even now, a year later, Ryder Echo's bloody, smiling face, along with his district partner, thirteen year old, Odessa Pine, followed her. However as time went on, Ryder and Odessa became a sort of manifestation of Olwyn's guilty conscience rather than a relentless spirit who tortured her. This guilt would only grow after these games, a downside to the girl who cared too much. Would Peeta haunt her? Would Katniss? Could the pair tear her apart until all that remained was a broken legacy full of bloodshed and false honour?
"Okay", Peeta breathed out slowly, dragging Olwyn from her thoughts. His forehead was creased in thought, his lips pursued in concentration. "How do I survive?", the boy asked, watching his both mentors communicate via their eyes. Despite their issues and apparent lack of respect for each other, Olwyn and Haymitch knew each other like the backs of their hands. It was something Peeta found astounding, wondering what ran deep that linked these two people. The young girl cleared her throat, her former mentor clicking his knuckles.
"Well, where do we start?"
chapter five