chapter O4 ██████████ ☄. *. ⋆ chaotic home
❝ Try not to abuse your power, I know we didn't choose to change. ❞
━━ Billie Eilish
IN THAT ONE SLIGHT MOTION, I SEE THE END OF HOPE, THE BEGINNING OF DESTRUCTION OF EVERYTHING I HOLD DEAR IN THE WORLD. I CAN'T GUESS WHAT form my punishment will take, how wide the net will be cast, but when it is finished, there will most likely be nothing left. So you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here's what's strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. That the question of whether I can succeed in this venture has been answered, even if that answer is a resounding no. That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish.
Instead of forcing for my lips to quirk up, I find myself genuinely smiling, squeezing Cato's shoulder. He shoots me a curious glance, and, at the sight of my grin, probably believes our plan was a success. Truth is, I feel free now, less under Snow's manipulating gaze.
"Effie said we have to be back on the train at one. I wonder what time it is." he sighs as the announcement comes to an end and people begin spreading around again. Yet, his sentence causes for me to halt in my steps, mouth slightly widening at his words.
"What do you mean? My train is going back to Twelve." I narrow my eyebrows, certain he was planning on going back to Two.
"You didn't actually think you could get rid of me that quickly?" he asks, with a hint of irony, and I stumble backwards.
"You mean you're actually coming with me? To my home?" I echo, still incredulous. I keep wishing he could have made that decision weeks ago, when we were standing in front of a train.
"Yeah, figured it'd be better. I'm your soon to be husband, am I not?" he replies, a confident smirk lining his features, as usual.
"You do know what's waiting for you there, right? Poverty, starving children, dirty streets. I think it's quite different from Two." I whisper, but, for some reason, the news makes my heart swell in something other than worry.
"I've been in the actual Hunger Games. Think I can survive a week or two in District Twelve." he shrugs. I'm still partially at loss for words, until I hear Effie trill from behind me: "Time to say thank you and farewell!"
It's one of those moments when I just love her compulsive punctuality. We collect Cinna and Portia, and she escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us to the door. I stand close to Cato, and attempt to picture him in the chaos of my home.
"And don't think I won't meet this Gale guy." he murmurs so quietly that only I can make out his words. His sentence sends chills running through my spine and all I am able to do stare ahead, imagining the two of them together. They were so different, they could never get along.
"That's if you don't escape after a day there." I choose to speak, raising my eyebrows at him.
"Don't underestimate me, Everdeen." he shakes his head, a certain eagerness brewing in his irises.
"I'd be stupid to underestimate you after this." I sigh, obviously referring to the decision of coming home with me.
"I don't see you complaining." the boy breathes, moving a step closer. Cato has to believe he as some sort of power over me, as he smirks to himself, certain of his effect on me.
"Maybe I am, internally." I voice slowly, and his smile droops down in an instant. The confidence bounces back from him to me with every word spoken. But deep down, I know that I'm nowhere near complaining.
"Come on, we can't look like we're fighting, can we?" he asks, bringing his palm up to my cheek, his index lightly stroking my skin.
"I'm sure you can tell how absolutely head over heels I am for you, don't worry." I smile, placing my hands onto his chest, and from there the heat of the moment rose quickly. Being so close to him triggered feelings I never knew I had. I was aware of how dangerous my love for the boy could be, and I sometimes had a difficult time acknowledging how much I wanted him. In a way, nasty comments where we both tried to win over the other were only fuelling my emotions for the boy, and I revelled in it.
"Likewise." he lets out a small sigh, and even though sarcasm drips in both our sentences, I can't help but feel pulled towards him by an inexplicable and invisible power.
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As soon as we arrive in District 12, my feet ache and my eyelids threaten to close completely. My movements are slowed down by the fatigue lingering in my body, and the dress suddenly feels too suffocating. All I could ever wish for was for my body to drown in my soft covers, for my muscles to finally relax and my mind to shut off for a few hours.
Of course, there's a new addition that would change my desire: Cato. Despite how luxurious and grand my home now is, there appears to be no guest rooms. Why would a Victor from Twelve need one, anyways? Waking up my family is an immediate no, so I lead him up to my room quietly, eager to find some solution.
There's some sort of silence that wafts in the air as our eyes simultaneously settle onto my room, and onto the double bed that took up most of the space. Neither of us speaks up for a few seconds, waiting of the other to mumble something that could resolve the problem.
"You could sleep on the couch?" I propose, plopping down onto my bed.
"Are you kidding? After standing straight for like, eight hours, I need proper sleep." he groans, shaking his head firmly.
"I've been standing in heels, Hadley. I deserve my own bed." I roll my eyes at his stubbornness, kicking my shoes off.
"Fuck me." he mumbles, running a hand through his now disheveled hair.
"What? Nervous about sharing a bed?" I breathe, though I wouldn't admit that the prospect of it chilled me too.
"No. But you should be." he whispers, and my throat suddenly dries up as he shrugs off his shirt, his whole chest gleaming against the flooding darkness of the room. It's almost as if he doesn't realise what he's done until the silence finds it way back, floating in the air.
I attempt not to let myself react, so I slip into the bathroom, heart drumming against my chest. I let out a small breath as I undress, putting on my ivory robe in an instant. I aggressively splash water onto my face, desperate to get the remaining specks of makeup off my skin. As I scrub, and patches of redness appear momentarily, I realise that I don't want to leave the bathroom. Ever. Despite how tired I am, I do not want to be faced with Cato in my own bed.
I glance toward the bath, wondering if I couldn't make it comfortable by lining it with pillows and—No! No, I cannot seem bothered. Since when did a boy make me that nervous? In the blink of a second, I'm out, and my eyes set onto the blonde boy, sitting up against my headrest. We exchange a look, before I slide into the covers, immediately sighing in delight at the feel of the fabric against my own skin.
I blow softly on the lit candle resting on my bedside table until the flame evaporates, submerging Cato and I in complete darkness. "Good night, Cato." I murmur as I bury my head in my pillow, failing to ignore the pattern of his heave breathing as he also lays fully down.
"Good night, Jade." he replies, and his words tickle the back of my neck, traction of his closeness. I, as quietly as possible, turn around, and I know he's facing me as well. None of us open our mouths, until sleep gains control of our soul and we fall into the night.
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The sunlight seeps through my silk curtains, and into my room, until I feel its rays planting themselves in my eyelids, forcing my eyes open. The first thing my mind registers is the surprising warmth that seems to radiate from under my body. Then, my eyes adjust to the sight of my hand laying onto someone's chest, and that's when realisation dawn on me like an electric shock.
All of sudden, I jump from my position, where I had been sleeping onto Cato, and I curse myself for letting myself get so close. I cannot let myself fall more for this man, not when I've been so bent-up on forging this independent, strong image of myself. And especially not since this is all supposed to be fake!
Under the sudden lack of warmth, Cato groans, eyes still screwed shut. His hands runs through his chest, until his whole body stills for a second. The boy wakes up, peering around the room in perplexion for a few seconds, before his mind recollects the past few days and reassembles the memories.
When he glances towards me, his lips twist into an evil grin and my eyebrows raise in question. "This is a sight I'd like to witness every morning." he chuckles, resting on his elbows. I check the nearest mirror, and the state of my hair is obviously the source of his entertainment. Jumbled up, framing my head like a crown, it's definite I look like a wild animal.
"Shut up." I roll my eyes, nudging him.
"Hey, it fits you. I like it." he taunts, and I latch my hands around the nearest pillow, throwing it hard in his direction.
"And I liked it better when you were sleeping." I say back, before leaving the room.
I take an hour to explain to my family the present situation, explaining exactly why a Victor from Two was staying in my bed. They nod, though I notice the ghost of a knowing smile on my mother's lips: as if she knows something I do not.
Soon after, I seep out of the house, everyone too preoccupied with whatever they were doing to notice.
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I can sense the tension floating over Gale and I as we make it into our safe spot in the woods. I'm so relieved to finally be with him after the past exhausting weeks, but it's clear Cato and I's engagement has reached his ears.
As soon as we reach the furthest corner of the woods and our feet finality stop from marching in the hard-dipped earth, I allow myself to embrace the boy, a hug he returns rapidly. I take a look at him, and I desire how much dirt he was spread all over his cheeks, or how mauve-eye bags rest on his features.
I look in his eyes. His temper can't quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Cato. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. I could take hours trying to explain, and even then have him refuse me. Instead I go straight to the heart of my defense.
"President Snow personally threatened to have you killed," I say.
Gale raises his eyebrows slightly, but there's no real show of fear or astonishment. "Anyone else?"
"Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list. But it's a good guess it includes both our families," I say.
It's enough to fully reel him in the conversation as he takes a small step forward, eyes slightly widening in possible worry. "Unless what?"
"Unless nothing, now," I sigh. Obviously this requires more of an explanation, but I have no idea where to start, so I just sit there staring gloomily into the mass of trees.
After about a minute of this, Gale breaks the silence. "Well, thanks for the heads-up."
I turn to him, ready to snap, but I catch the glint in his eye. I hate myself for smiling. This is not a funny moment, but I guess it's a lot to drop on someone. We're all going to be obliterated no matter what. "I do have a plan, you know."
"Yeah, I bet it's a stunner," he groans.
I decide to begin with the night Cato and I were crowned victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol's fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow's visit to my house, the murders in District 11, the tension in the crowds, the last-ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, my certainty that I'll have to pay.
Gale never interrupts. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands I trust.
"Well, you really made a mess of things," he says. "I'm not even done," I tell him. "I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours," he says. I take a deep breath. "We run away."
"What?" he asks. This has actually caught him off guard.
"We take to the woods and make a run for it," I say. His face is impossible to read. Will he laugh at me, dismiss this as foolishness? I rise in agitation, preparing for an argument. "You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said—"
"Do you love me?" Gale suddenly speaks, and my lips shut immediately.
"Come on, Gale. You know I do. But―but I can't think of you that way." I whisper, trying my best to soften the blow. "All I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don't know."
I can see him swallowing his disappointment. "D'you think the President's bluffing?" he murmurs.
"He's not bluffing." is all I say as shake my head vividly.
"No. I don't know. Maybe the president's just manipulating you. I mean, he's throwing your wedding. You saw how the Capitol crowd reacted. I don't think he can afford to kill you. Or Cato. How's he going to get out of that one?"
"Well, with an actual uprising happening, I doubt he's spending much time choosing my wedding cake!" I blurt out.
The instant the words are out of my mouth I want to reclaim them. Their effect on Gale is immediate—the flush on his cheeks, the brightness of his gray eyes. "There's an uprising happening?" he says in a hushed voice.
I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. "I don't know if it's really an uprising. There's unrest. People in the streets —" I say. "And it's my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would've happened."
"Safe to do what?" he says in a gentler tone. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people—you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. There's already been talk in the mines. People who want to fight. Don't you see? It's happening! It's finally happening! This could be it, the thing we've been—"
"Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they're not like here! The lives of district people — they mean less than nothing to them!" I shout.
"That's why we have to join the fight!" he answers harshly.
"No! We have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!" I'm yelling again, but I can't understand why he's doing this. Why doesn't he see what's so undeniable?
Gale pushes me roughly away from him. "You leave, then. I'd never go in a million years."
"You were happy enough to go before. I don't see how an uprising in a district does anything but make it more important that we leave. You're just mad about—" No, I can't throw Cato in his face. "What about your family?"
"What about the other families, Jade? The ones who can't run away? Don't you see? It can't be about just saving us anymore. Not if the rebellion's begun!" Gale shakes his head, not hiding his disgust with me.
Before I have the opportunity to snap back, a gun shot echoes through the air, and we both jump back. We don't even waste a second to begin sprinting through the forest, determined to get to the source of the sudden sound.
When we reach the town, it's clear something's horrible happening. The smell of smoke invades my nostrils, and people are seen scattering all around me, running from something, someone, in utter fear. I barely have time to register the past moments when a woman suddenly grips my wrist. She's holding her eye desperately, her face contorted in pain. Quickly, I take her in my arms as she shrieks in horror. "I'm going to get you out of here." I say, leading her away.
Gale stands beside me, his gaze focused on the Peacekeepers assaulting more of us, kicking them to the side as if they were objects. The fury in his expression is clear, but he urges me to leave with the lady, to get her safe. I agree, hurrying to find somewhere where the chaos would be less heavy.
I place her on the steps of a home, pressing a handkerchief to her eye, holding her face in worry. Blood dots the fabric, and the shouting from near me keeps averting my focus. That's until I recognise the origin of the yelling, and my heart drops in an instant.
"Here, hold this." I tell the woman, before making a run for the square.
The crowd's thick, people see me, recognize my face, and then look panicked. Hands shove me back. Voices hiss.
At this point, my heart is beating so fast and fierce I hardly hear them. I only know that whatever waits in the middle of the square is meant for me. When I finally break through to the cleared space, I see I am right.
Gale's wrists are bound to a wooden post. His jacket's been cast aside on the ground, his shirt torn away. He slumps unconscious on his knees, held up only by the ropes at his wrists. What used to be his back is a raw, bloody slab of meat.
Standing behind him is a man I've never seen, but I recognize his uniform. It's the one designated for our Head Peacekeeper. This is a tall, muscular man with sharp creases in his pants.
The pieces of the picture do not quite come together until I see his arm raise the whip.
"No!" I cry, and spring forward. It's too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won't have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I've flung out my arms to protect as much of his broken body as possible, so there's nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face.
The pain is blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light cross my vision and I fall to my knees. One hand cups my cheek while the other keeps me from tipping over. I can already feel the welt rising up, the bruise blossoming on my cheek. The stones beneath me are wet with Gale's blood, the air heavy with its scent. "Stop it! You'll kill him!" I shriek, standing up against the flaring pain.
I get a glimpse of my assailant's face. Hard, with deep lines, a cruel mouth. Gray hair shaved almost to nonexistence, eyes so black they seem all pupils, a long, straight nose reddened by the freezing air. The powerful arm lifts again, his sights set on me. My hand flies to my hip, hungry for a knife, but, of course, my weapons are stashed in my home. I grit my teeth in anticipation of the next lash.
"Hold it!" a voice barks. Haymitch appears.
Haymitch ignores him and pulls me to my feet roughly. "Oh, excellent." His hand locks under my chin, lifting it. "She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist?"
I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. Bundled against the cold, my hair tucked carelessly under my coat, it wouldn't be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face drawing blood. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he'd be difficult to forget.
The man rests the whip on his hip. "She interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal."
Everything about this man, his commanding voice, his odd accent, warns of an unknown and dangerous threat. Where has he come from? District 11? 3? From the Capitol itself?
"I don't care if she blew up the blasted Justice Building! Look at her cheek! Think that will be camera ready in a week?" Haymitch snarls.
The man's voice is still cold, but I can detect a slight edge of doubt. "That's not my problem."
"No? Well, it's about to be, my friend. The first call I make when I get home is to the Capitol," says Haymitch.
"Find out who authorized you to mess up my victor's pretty little face!"
"What business is it of hers, anyway?" asks the man.
"He's her cousin." Cato's got my other arm now, but gently. Yet, there is nothing but anger in his eyes as he approaches the guard. "And she's my fiancé. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us."
Maybe we're it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it's sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. But at the moment, all I care about is keeping Gale alive. The new Head Peacekeeper glances over at his backup squad. With relief, I see they're familiar faces, old friends from the Hob. You can tell by their expressions that they're not enjoying the show.
"Get em' out of here." the Peacekeeper snarls, shooting us a last menacing look before ordering everyone to leave.
"Gale." I turn, my hands fumbling at the knots binding his wrists. Someone passes forward a knife and Cato cuts the ropes. Gale collapses to the ground.
"Better get him to your mother." Haymitch recommends.
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"Get him here!" my mother orders as she clears our kitchen table, sprains a steel white cloth on it, eyes widening in worry at the sight of the boy, unconscious and still severely bleeding.
My mother pours water from a kettle into a basin while ordering Prim to pull a series of her remedies from the medicine cabinet. Dried herbs and tinctures and store-bought bottles. I watch her hands, the long, tapered fingers crumbling this, adding drops of that, into the basin. Soaking a cloth in the hot liquid as she gives Prim instructions to prepare a second brew.
"New HeadPeace keeper," Haymitch comments. "Not entirely peaceful."
Prim cups my face, staring at the blossoming of my scarlet bruise along my cheek. "Cato, get some snow outside, I'll grab the herbs." she orders, and Cato doesn't waste a second to head to my garden. I raise an eyebrow, wondering where the familiarity in my sister's voice came from. Did the two meet in my absence?
Gale's repetitive shrieks of pain alert my focus, as my mother pours liquid on his cuts. I feel Cato get a hold of me, he puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. I hold his hand, the moment seeming almost surreal.
"What is that, mom?" I ask from my seat, watching as my friend winces in pain. "You're hurting him."
"It's morphling. He needs it." she says, not taking her eyes away from his pattern of bruises.
I'm incapable of staying more than five seconds more in the wooden chair, needing to participate in the curing of my bestfriend. Thankfully, Cato stands close to me, his presence being enough of a comfort. He places his hand on my shoulder, occasionally glancing my way. I kick Haymitch discreetly when I notice him slipping some of the medicine in his drink, yanking the glass bottle out of his grasp and placing it back from the table.
"Hold him, please." Prim whispers in may direction, holding a sharp needle in her right hand. I told as I'm told, and I can't help but realise that Prim has grown, using her kindness to heal other's, and I smile internally to myself.
After a while, Gale is definitely asleep, and I stay at his side for at least an hour, tears threatening to squeeze out of the slit of my eye. I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today.
I keep peering at the blood on his body and remember everything I did in that arena. Everything that led to Gale being practically slaughtered in front of a dozen eyes. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does.
I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries.
The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Cato because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment.
A sort of nausea wafts inside of me, urging me to get some air, to allow myself to breathe. As soon as I step outside and the breeze strokes my skin, some sort of relief already washes over me.
From the corner of my eye, I see Cato, sitting down on one of the benches, staring intensely at the ground. I'm quick to join him, sighing quietly as my muscles tense up. "I'm sorry." I choke.
"Sorry about what?" Cato asks softly, turning his head towards me. "Jade, you know this isn't your fault."
"It is, though. I'm a monster." I mumble, staring at my own hands weakly.
"You're not a monster." is all he says, shaking his head.
"After everything I've done, I'm—I'm nothing but a monster." I breathe.
"Jade. Wether you believe me or not, wether we spend most of our time arguing or—or trying to win the other over, I know you. I know you, and your soul. I know you're different: you're strong, so strong it scares me sometimes. But you're also just a person. You feel so much. The way you look at your sister, at Gale, at the anyone. You'd be willing to sacrifice yourself for them. That's what makes you you. Eager to survive, but that doesn't erase your heart." he softly says, and my lips quirk up at his response.
I put his hand in mine, and I look into his irises, knowing, just knowing he's the person I trust the most. In another universe, I'd believe he had been handcrafted for me, he was perfect.
"Thank you." I whisper genuinely.
"You're everything." he murmurs, and his words make me melt. "And I want to kill that guard for hurting you."
"It's fine." I sigh, his sentence being enough of a plaster. "Though I wouldn't blame you for going back to Two." the words hurt as they seep out of my mouth.
"I'm staying."
"You should know I'm going to cause all kinds of trouble." I tell him honestly, and his mouth twists into a grin.
"I'd expect nothing less from you," he chuckles. "And don't think I won't be there, standing at your side."