chapter O2 ██████████ ☄. *. ⋆ white rose
❝ I destroy myself, just for You ❞
━━ Montell Fish
I STARE OUTSIDE MY WINDOW, MY HANDS SLIGHTLY SHAKING AGAINST MY LAP. SNOW IS AFTER ME, AFTER MY ACTIONS, AND HOW I WILL ACT DURING THE NEXT FEW DAYS. As much as I hate to admit it, the iciness and brutality of his words chill me to the bone. They seep into my skin like viruses and pinch at my bones like a snake.
The solemn echo of his words against my ears throws me back into the maroon liquid drenching my victims' mouth as I plunged my knife into their body shamelessly. The words he slurs have the power to stumble my consciousness back into such horror and dread.
His white, perfect rose, somehow void of any prickly thorns lies at the wooden desk innocently, the only proof of his visit. Such symbol of beauty and purity should never be associated to such a man. Its smell wafts in the air around me, surrounding me like a halo of death. If I make one single mistake, if I uncover one little flaw in his tactic, who knows what will happen?
Tightening my already loosened ponytail, I convince myself I'll manage, it's not like I'm unfamiliar with the concept of tricking an audience. Simultaneously, I stand up from my seat, leaving the flower to rot and exit the space hurriedly. Shutting the door behind me, I screw my eyes shut for an instant, heart drumming against my chest in a frenzy.
I barely have time to regain complete control of my thoughts as a screechy yet familiar voice rings through my now visibly occupied corridor. I prevent my body from jumping up in fear, attempting not to reveal who might have just made an appearance through my own door.
"There she is! My greatest triumph!" I hear Effie exclaim as she immediately takes me into her arms, the feathers from her coat itching against my cheeks. Yet, I return the embrace, letting myself momentarily appreciate my escort's affection.
"Our little superstar!" Flavius gasps, and I don't even have time to smile as Octavia pecks both my cheeks, grabbing me by my shoulders.
"We missed you!" she speaks.
"What a cute little house. So quaint, isn't it?" Effie then claims, her eyes inspecting the place as she paces around, the clinking of her sharp heels echoing through the walls. "Of course, you've heard about Cinna?"
This sentence spikes my interest and my worry at the same time, and, during the flicker of a second, I imagine the worst. "What happened to Cinna?" I reply hurriedly.
"Oh dear, he's a fashion star. You're his muse. Everyone in the Capitol's wearing him. Everyone." she explains dramatically. I let out a breath of relief, having let my subconscious picture the beginning of Snow's revenge.
"Well, not everyone." I pick up someone murmuring from behind Effie, and I waste no time in flinging myself into Cinna's arms as he materialises himself. My grin is genuine as I burry my head in the crook his neck. His presence is enough to calm me down, to let the tension that was jumbled up inside of me get replaced by pure contempt.
"Jade?" my sister softly calls out from the far end of the hallway, tightly holding Buttercup against her chest.
"Jade, is this your sister?" Octavia quizzes, and all I can manage is a short nod as my crew hurries towards Prim in an instant.
"Are you okay?" Cinna whispers, as if he's able to catch the twinkle of worry that remains in my gaze.
"Yeah." I smile, as convincingly as possible, as I feel my stylists tightening my jacket, stroking my hair, preparing me for my public appearance in less than a few minutes. I breathe steadily, preparing myself mentally for the familiar whooshing and zooming of dozen of cameras. They're flashes projecting my image onto millions of screens, focusing onto every word that will slip out of my mouth.
Just as I'm about to cross the door, to face it all, my mother catches up to me with something cupped in her hands "For good luck," she says quickly, and I thank her as soon as my eyes land onto the mockingjay pin she places in my palms. Cinna quickly fixes it onto the corner of my coat.
Effie Trinket's nearby, clapping her hands. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Jade, big smile, you're very excited, right?" I don't exaggerate when I say she shoves me out the door.
As soon as my feet crunch against the outdoor snow laying onto the steps and the cool air strikes my face, my lips quirk up into a huge grin, and, nearly subconsciously, my hand shoots up and starts waving at all the screens offering a reflection of my figure.
From the corner of my eye, I'm able to make out Haymitch stumbling out of his own house, somewhat dressed and ready. Thankfully, he'll accompany me on the Tour, being the only Victor of 12 left, my only possible support through it all.
"There she is! Our golden girl, our beautiful Victor, our fierce winner! The girl on fire." Caesar exclaims from the Capitol, his voice travelling miles to seep out of the speakers. Haymitch's presence goes practically unnoticed, his fame having died out after all these years. I manage a laugh as the cameras fly away.
"Wonderful! Everybody in motion, we are out of here in 10!" Effie directs from the corner of the garden, her wig whooshing in the wind.
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It never fails to surprise me how smooth the train ride feels, considering its incredible rapidness. I sit back in my chair as Effie goes on about all the commodities I will be offered as the newest Victor. Yet, only one thing stays clawed at the back of my mind, making it impossible to react to any of Effie's words.
"Fabulous food, fabulous wine, the massages, spa treatments nothing but the best for my best Victor." she rants, her eyes peering at the ceiling, as if she was already imagining all the favours this trip could bring.
"Talking about Haymitch?" I joke, which earns me a snicker from his part, though my gaze stays glued onto the marble table, dreading every minute I would spend during the Tour.
"Jade," my escort reprimands, before going back to her speech, as Haymitch and I share a few knowing glances. "It all needs to be fabulous. Now the schedule is a bit of a bear. 12 days, 12 districts. But it's mostly parties, celebrations, adoring fans to greet you at every spot along the way, and then we wrap it up at the Capitol."
Only about half of the information I register, in a confusing haze mixed with Snow's threats and Cato's name. My crew is failing to inform me about one part of the trip, one crucial part that will determine my fate. No, the fate of those around me.
"All you need to do is give a few speeches, wave to the crowds, and enjoy your time in the spotlight. You've earned it." Effie finishes, slumping into a chair herself.
I've earned it? I've earned it, by killing those tributes? What kind of hero was I?
"Earned it is a big phrase. Not sure it's the right one." I retort, which only earns me a glare form her part.
"Yes, you've earned it." she repeats.
"By killing children?" I snap back, though I'm aware it's not completely her fault. She clearly believes that 'Victor' is a title that deserves high praise, and that's simply the way her mind works. I guess that's what the Capitol does to you. Brainwashes you into actually envying Victors, seeking entertainment through the Hunger Games.
"Young lady..." she starts, but at that moment, I decide I don't have the time to pretend I care about her next sentences. I simply stand out, walking out of the living room, aching the feeling of a certain peace.
My feet lead me to the far end of the train, consisting of a large view of the landscape we run past. Sighing, I sit onto the couch, leaning my head against the fabric. Haymitch's arrival in the room doesn't surprise me, and I don't even bother to turn my head in his direction.
"I imagine there's something you want to know. Something we haven't discussed yet." he whispers, and the echo of Cato's name scribbles itself in my mind. Yet, I let my mentor speak, curious to see where this would go. "Cato Hadley, your lover from Two. You'll attend parties together, say the same speeches. Actually, you'll see him in less than half-an-hour."
"What? Where?" I suddenly ask, not knowing our encounter would come so soon.
"In Eleven. Before the speech. We'll leave you together for a few minutes in back stage, and then it's showtime." he explains, and I gulp, nerves kicking in.
How am I going to have to act? More importantly, what effect will he have on me, since he seems to be so good at making me ... feel.
I don't even have time to answer as the train comes to an abrupt stop, and when I stare out at the view, I know we've arrived. Not only has the nature been replaced by a poor landscape, but walls have the number 11 printed on them.
Quickly, all of us jump out of the train, and, as the air hits me, I can't help but feel kind of alone. In the midst of these adults, I seek the feeling of comfort, and am only met with Haymitch's alcohol-soaked breath and Effie's ridiculous apparel. For a second, I remember Peeta, though. Peeta Mellark, the bright boy who had been there for me through it all. Maybe I hadn't realised it, but he was comfort in itself. I shake the feelings away as soon as I feel a weight planting itself in my stomach, knowing that now is not the time to dwell.
The station is frighteningly and completely empty, and my ears are even able to pick up on the sounds of our shoes travelling through the space. Even the number of Peacekeepers are scarce. Yet, a soft gasp echoing from behind me makes my head shoot up. My eyes dart around, seeking what could have caused surprise.
My legs stop working when my gaze lands onto the figure of none other than Cato Hadley, between his escorts and stylists. It's been one year. One year since we haven't seen each other, and the sight of him is enough to make my heart explode. I can feel it thumping in my chest, and, unintentionally, our stares stay glued to one another.
I don't even pay attention to both our crews seeping out, leaving us to reunite. Meters of empty space separate us, yet none of us make a move towards the other. As much as I hate to admit it, he looks even better than last year. His features stay the same, yet there's a new charm that radiates out of him.
"Thought we were meeting in the Hall of Justice." I say, because that's the only thing I can think of to break the blur of tension between us.
"Decided to pick you up at the train station, like any gentlemen would. Right?" he replies, and I can already recognise the ghost of a smirk imprinting itself onto his lips. A smirk I'm all too familiar with, radiating his confidence, and, well, arrogance. He hasn't changed as he?
"How admirable of you." I voice, sarcasm lacing itself with my words. I walk towards him, and I can't help but continue thinking of how good he looks, despite my brain telling me to avert the source of my focus. Yet, I can't believe I'm face to face to Cato Hadley.
I don't know if I still love him. If I would still sacrifice myself for him. But, he could never leave me indifferent. Part of me will always seek him, no matter how hard I try to change that. To protect myself, to get over it.
"You're staring." he whispers, still smirking.
"Get over yourself," I roll my eyes playfully, and for a second it seems like nothing has changed, like we were still the Cato and Jade that 'fell in love' in the midst of the games. "And don't act like you weren't either."
"How can I not?" he teases as we head out, "We're in love, aren't we?"
As soon as those words slip out of his mouth, I know that Snow had paid him an equal visit, informing him of the little roles we still needed to play part in. In a way, it's a relief, because I wouldn't have had the courage to break it to him. Not really.
"Madly in love, Hadley." I echo.
Being with him, I thought would trigger memories from the games that could only make me want to escape the weight of his suffocating presence. Instead, I feel almost secure alongside the boy, along with chills running through my spine as soon as I notice him staring at me for a moment too long.
"Still calling me by last name, Everdeen." he comments as we squish inside the narrow ride, supposed to guide us to the main place of the District. Our respective crews left, jumping into another car right before we left the train station.
"Has a nice ring to it." I murmur, shooting him a small wink.
"Likewise."
The ride is quick, but the feeling of having Cato sitting next to me, his legs grazing mine, is almost surreal. There's a sort of tension still floating around us, which was to be expected. I mean, for us, it's a game. A fake love story we have to go along with to please Snow. Nothing more. We left each other as soon as we could last year, didn't we?
"Do you want me to speak for you?" I hear him mutter from next to me.
"What?"
"I know — I know this won't be easy. It's Rue's district, and —" he explains cautiously, peering down at his lap, almost in sadness.
"It's fine, I'm fine. I can do it. At least I'll try." I shake my head, because now is not the time to be weak. The memories I have of Rue have damaged me enough, but I can't let myself go through it all again. I'm strong, I always have been, and now is not the time to change that.
"If you say so." he replies, though he seems unconvinced.
To distract myself, I play with the corners of the paper cards Effie gave me, ordering for me to read them in front of the whole district. Glancing over, I notice that Cato also has his set of phrases he's supposed to follow on stage.
When we do arrive at our destination, we're directly directed back stage, having to wait to be announced. I don't have a problem with big crowds, nor public speaking, but the reflection of Rue's face onto a gigantic banner I fear will be enough to distract me. Thankfully, there won't be one of Peeta, because who knows how I would have been able to react to his reflection.
After a few seconds, the door leading to the stage creaks open, and Cato and I sliver through it, heading towards the microphone at the centre of the platform. The claps upon our arrival die out quickly enough as the mayor heads back to sit down.
As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for the families of the dead tributes. On Thresh's side, there's only an old woman with a hunched back and a tall, muscular girl I'm guessing is his sister. On Rue's ... I'm not prepared for Rue's family. Her parents, whose faces are still fresh with sorrow. Her five younger siblings, who resemble her so closely. The slight builds, the luminous brown eyes. They form a flock of small dark birds. I remember Rue speaking to me about her siblings, how much she loved them, how many efforts she made to care for them to her fullest. I feel my breath get stuck in my throat when my eyes land onto the holographic screens at the end of the place. Animated images of Rue and Tresh, that look eerily realistic. I don't want to be here.
I attempt to focus on the rhythm of Cato's words, "We're honoured to be here today, and to be here with the families of the fallen tributes."
What does surprise is what follows his speech. He hesitates for an instant before adding something that definitely wasn't written on his card. "It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we'd like for each of the tributes' families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives."
The crowd can't help but respond with gasps and murmurs. There is no precedent for what Cato has done, I don't even know if it's legal. As for the families, they just stare at us in shock. Their lives were changed forever when Thresh and Rue were lost, but this gift will change them again. A month of tribute winnings can easily provide for a family for a year. As long as we live, they will not hunger.
I look at Cato and he gives me a sad smile. At that moment, I know he's never been the ruthless machine he was made out to be. Somewhere buried deep inside of him is a compassionate boy, who could feel so much.
The ceremony's about to end when I notice one of Rue's sisters staring at me. She must be about nine and is almost an exact replica of Rue, down to the way she stands with her arms slightly extended. Despite the good news about the winnings, she's not happy. In fact, her look is reproachful. Is it because I didn't save Rue? No. It's because I still haven't thanked her, I think.
A wave of shame rushes through me. The girl is right. How can I stand here, passive and mute, leaving practically all the words to Cato? If she had won, Rue would never have let my death go unsung. I remember how I took care in the arena to cover her with flowers, to make sure her loss did not go unnoticed. But that gesture will mean nothing if I don't support it now.
"Wait!" I stumble forward.
My allotted time for speaking has come and gone, but I must say something. I owe too much. And even if I had pledged all my winnings to the families, it would not excuse my silence today. "Wait, please." I don't know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they've been forming in the back of my mind for a long time.
"I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh's side. "I never spoke to Thresh, in fact it's — it's me who killed him. But I can say I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. Rue spoke to me about how he was. I could see, on interviews, during training how he played by his rules. I respected him for that. He fought till the end, while being himself. That's something not a lot of tributes can do."
For the first time the old hunched woman — is she Thresh's grandmother? — raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips.
The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. They must all be holding their breath.
I turn to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. "Thank you for your children." I raise my chin to address the crowd. "And thank you all for the bread."
I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue's four-note mocking-jay tune. The one that signaled the end of the workday in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine.
What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It's our sign from District 12, the last good-bye I gave Rue in the arena.
If I hadn't spoken to President Snow, this gesture might move me to tears. But with his recent orders to calm the districts fresh in my ears, it fills me with dread. What will he think of this very public salute to the girl who defied the Capitol?
The full impact of what I've done hits me. It was not intentional—I only meant to express my thanks — but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. This is exactly the kind of thing I am supposed to be defusing!
I try to think of something to say to undermine what has just happened, to negate it, but I can hear the slight burst of static indicating my microphone has been cut off. What truly terrifies me is when I can see Peacekeepers carrying their lethal weapons and heading for the crowd. They're heading for the man that sang the note.
Before I can stop myself, I hurry towards the guards, in a blur of anger and simple sadness. I can't let them kill him, he didn't deserve it. I don't want to be responsible for another death. No more blood on my hands is all I want.
"No, no!" I scream, before I feel myself being dragged away by two guards. The accumulation of events feels like a blur, but I sense my body fighting back, trying to undo itself from the firm grasps of the Peacekeepers.
I see the rest of them grabbing the man, and tears start to prick my eyes, threatening to spill. I want to protect him, more than anything. "Leave him alone!" I yell continuously as they drag him to the top of the steps. Forcing him to his knees before the crowd. And putting a bullet through his head.
I watch all of it. I'm so close, yet I can't do anything to save him. I shriek, heading for the doors as soon as I'm in the Justice building, but it's too late. The man has only just crumpled to the ground when a wall of white Peacekeeper uniforms blocks our view. Several of the soldiers have automatic weapons held lengthwise as they push us back toward the door. Driven by the familiar feeling of anger, of disgust, I hurry back towards the guards that had just killed him, until I feel my own body being picked up from the ground.
"What did I do? Let me go!" I yell, in a broken voice.
"Calm down, calm down." I hear Cato whispering from behind me, tightening his grip around my waist.
Slowly, as I start to lose my strength, he puts me back down, and, as soon as my feet sink into the floor, he wraps his arms around me, letting me cry in his chest like a child.