chapter O5 ██████████ ☄. *. ⋆ the knife's hit
❝ And I try to be tough, but I want to scream. ❞
━━ Olivia Rodrigo
MY FEET TAP THE FLOOR REPETITIVELY, MY DAMP PALMS RESTING ON THE LEATHER COUCH AND MY HEART DRUMMING AGAINST MY CHEST. I WAIT FOR Snow's face to fill up the screen as the focus of my eyes dart from the clock to the television. The President is to announce the rules for the next Quarter Quell. Prim and my mother sit next to me: their postures seem serene enough, while I look like a total mess. Cato sits behind me on a wooden chair, equally waiting for our President to pop up.
Ever since the party in the Capitol, a part of me lives in certain dread for what measures Snow will adopt to punish me. And, for some reason, apprehension swells my heart as I wait for his next words to suddenly echo around me.
Cato being a few feet away from me does help calm my nerves, but it's not enough. Anyways, since our talk outside my house, we've only seen snippets of each other, both busy enough. What surprises me is how long he lasted in my district, and how his presence has, in a way, satisfied my heart.
Before I can pursue my trail of thought, he anthem plays suddenly, and my throat tightens with revulsion as President Snow takes the stage. He's followed by a young boy dressed in a white suit, holding a simple wooden box. The anthem ends, and President Snow begins to speak, to remind us all of the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born. When the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. It would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion.
These words could not be more pointed, since I suspect several districts are rebelling right now.
President Snow goes on to tell us what happened in the previous Quarter Quells. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."
I wonder how that would have felt. Picking the kids who had to go. It is worse, I think, to be turned over by your own neighbors than have your name drawn from the reaping ball.
"On the fiftieth anniversary," the president continues, "as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."
I imagine facing a field of forty-seven instead of twenty-three. Worse odds, less hope, and ultimately more dead kids. That was the year Haymitch won.
"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," says the president. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. We can see the tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. Whoever devised the Quarter Quell system had prepared for centuries of Hunger Games. The president removes an envelope clearly marked with a 75. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
My mother gives a faint shriek and Prim buries her face in her hands, but I feel more like the people I see in the crowd on television. Slightly baffled. What does it mean? Existing pool of victors?
Then I get it, what it means. At least, for me. District 12 only has two existing victors to choose from. One male. One female. I am going back into the arena.
From then one, my entire body convulses and realisation hits me as hard a brick wall. It feels like my body works faster than my mind as I feel myself rising from my seat, and next thing I know I'm running out of the door, across the Victor's Village and towards the woods. I don't register where exactly I'm headed, leading my body guide me through the pack of trees.
After a few minutes, my knees buckle and I latch my hand around a random trunk at my side. My breath comes in short and choked breaths and my vision becomes blurred by the beginning of my crystal tears. This is it. This is how Snow decides to punish me. He's sending me back. It's the only way to keep me gone forever and subdue the districts.
Snow's words replay in my head over and over again until I let out a blood-curling scream, followed by dozens of birds flapping their wings and flying away from me. From then, I'm only able to let a river of tears that soak my cheeks and my mouth only opens to let sobs escape my shaking lips.
I barely survived the first Hunger Games, and now I'm being sent back. Even worse, with skilled killers and former Victors. Memories from my time in the first arena play in my head, and my chest feels brought down by an incredibly heavy weight. I'm going back in those damned games.
My thoughts then switch back to my on district, and Haymitch's reflection materialises in my head. He'll be going in those games with me, considering he's District Twelve's only male victor. And Cato. District Two has many male victors, so his chances of being picked are slim. That's the only bit of relief I'm able to experience.
How was I going to survive, thrown in with experienced killers ready to come at my throat any second? With a drunken, old man as my partner? Forget that, how was I going to cope with Haymitch's possible death in the arena?
Before I know it, my feet begin to function again, and no matter how weak my legs feel and how damaged my expression looks, I'm heading back to the Victor's Village. I feel stares following my figure as I walk past the streets of my home, and my hands can't help but shake as I open the gate to the Village. I've never felt and looked as weak as I do now.
I head straight into Haymitch's house, and immediately the sound of broken glass fills my ears. I peek into the kitchen, where I see Haymitch, having let a whiskey-filled glass slip out of his hands. He slumps into his chair, running his hands over his face, burying his head into his arms. His state fills my with pity, but also manages to scare me even more. I take a hesitant step towards him, and the bounce of my boot against his floor leads for his head to lift itself up, his eyes squinting towards me.
"Ah, there she is. All tuckered out. Finally did the math, did you, sweetheart? Worked out you won't be going in alone?" he says. At first, I'm not able to answer, my eyes narrowing as they focus on the words slipping out of his mouth.
I approach him a little more, taking a seat in front of him. "I came for a drink." I mumble.
Haymitch bursts out laughing and slams the bottle on the table before me. I run my sleeve across the top and take a couple gulps before I come up choking. It takes a few minutes to compose myself, and even then my eyes and nose are still streaming. But inside me, the liquor feels like fire and I like it.
"Cato was here before, you know." Haymitch states, watching as I gulp down more of his drink.
"Why?"
"Threatening me. No, ordering me to protect you in those games. That boy sure is scary when he wants something." Haymitch answers truthfully, echoing for some sort of reaction from my part as his eyes scan my expression.
"I can take care of myself." I sigh, attempting not to let my feelings shine through. If I hadn't been in those circumstances, the news would have warmed my heart, strangely enough. But now is time to draw my wall back. I'm going back into the games.
"I know you can, which is what I told him." Haymitch nods.
We sit for a while in silence. "It'd be bad for you in the arena, wouldn't it? Knowing all the others?" I ask.
"Oh, I think we can count on it being unbearable wherever I am." He nods at the bottle. "Can I have that back now?"
"No." I say, wrapping my arms around it. Haymitch pulls another bottle out from under the table and gives the top a twist. I can tell he has something sitting at the tip of his tongue, something that he's hesitating to tell me. I raise my eyebrows, glancing at him curiously.
"Jade, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Cato would be capable of volunteering." Haymitch whispers, almost cautiously.
"Cato's smarter than that." I shake my head immediately, wondering why Cato would ever want to volunteer, to be thrown back in that world. Especially since a love story won't be able to save us this time.
"Please, the size of his muscles doesn't mean his brain is as developed." Haymitch snickers, and I can't help but let out a laugh, and then another one, until I have to clasp my hand over my mouth to stop myself.
"God, are you a lightweight." Haymitch comments, though his lips have also twisted into an entertained smirk.
"Cato's actually smart, you know. He's more than a Peacekeeper-want-to-be from Two." I say.
"I know, sweetheart. I know. Which is why I think he's so keen on keeping you safe." Haymitch says quietly, possibly hinting again to something Cato might do during the Reaping.
His words hit me like a brick. Cato and I have a complex relationship to say the least, and it's no doubt in my mind that he makes me feel things in ways that I cannot put into words. Yet, if he ever mutters the two words that changed my life a year ago, I'd never forgive him. Volunteering in the games, where one of us would inevitably die. I couldn't do it. I couldn't.
"He's keeping me perfectly safe by staying in Two, getting me possible sponsors." I reply, putting a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. There's a small silence after the sentence has slipped out of my mouth, where Haymitch and I stare at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking.
"Honey, we both know that boy. We know that's not what he'll do." Haymitch shakes his head. This sends my nerves into a frenzy, and my heart begins thumping against my chest in fright. He's right, Cato Hadley is truly capable of volunteering for those games. Maybe he even still has some sort of fucked-up idea engrained in his mind that the games will always represent some sort of validation, of praise.
"Okay, well --" I'm just rambling, searching for some kind of solution, "Can't you talk to your District Two friends, or Brutus? Don't Victors always know each other? Tell them to --"
"Jade, I'm not particularly friendly with Victors from Two." Haymitch interrupts, his eyes seeming to brew pity.
"Why not? Just --" my voice shakes, my hands running through my hair. I feel panic flow through my whole body as my legs bounce repeatedly against the floor.
"It's going to be okay." Haymitch suddenly says, pressing a firm hand on my shoulder.
"What?"
"It's going to be okay." he repeats, though none of us believe it. Yet, that's surprisingly enough comfort for the moment. He takes me in his arms, allowing me to bury my head against his chest. I let the tears fall once again, the sobs echo through his walls and for my hope to drown in an abyss.
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"We should have gone when you said." Gale whispers, though my gaze stays glued to the landscape in front of me. Who knows the next time I'll set my eyes on something so raw, so fitting? The wind brushes my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps to rise slowly on every inch of my body. I sink my hands into the viridescent grass, letting it the mud sprinkle my palms. I'm not ready to be ripped out of my home just yet, but is life ever fair? The last few years have taught me the contrary.
I suck a breath in, trying my hardest to ignore a voice in the back of my mind, telling me that I might never be here again, taking in the depths of my home. The sun sets, spreading its wings across the sky to replace its usual grey by a flaming orange. My head turns towards Gale, and I wonder when's the next time I'll ever see him again.
I lace my arms around his neck, pressing my head against his shoulder. Immediately, he circles his arms around my waist, giving a tight squeeze. Returning the embrace. Returning the goodbye.
Before I lose all sort of control, I undo myself from his hold, ignoring the shake of my knees as I heave myself up, dusting my jeans from any dirt. I spare him one last glance, before turning around and walking off. A tear slides down my cheek, and I don't turn around, heading for my end.
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I lay my head against the vibrating wall of the carriage, driving Haymitch and I to the public Reaping. My eyes follow the snippets of District Twelve that the ride offers, and I bite my bottom lip. Now's the time to be strong again. To slide back in last year's mindset, where nothing would be able to stop me. I don't let any tears fall, curling my hands into tight fists. I'm going to fight for my life, with all the strength I have mustered inside of me.
Cato, as far as I know, is back in Two. We haven't exchanged any kind of words after the President's statement, only communicating through Haymitch. I hope -- I wish for him not to do anything stupid tonight.
I grip the ends of my dress, another one of my mother's. Slightly different than last year; it consists of a navy-blue, loose around my body and ending slightly higher than my ankles. My hair is still a mess, though a few strands of my hair are reunited in a single braid.
My boots crunch against the floor as I step out of the ride, holding my chin up. I've spent the last few days lamenting my fate, now's the time to face it head-on. My body is drained of its tears and my mind of its melancholy.
Peacekeepers stand at my side as soon as I'm fully out of the carriage, though I don't let them grab my arms as they do to Haymitch. I feel the burning gaze of the entirety of District Twelve as I march through the middle of the crowd. I look forward, though my walk to the stage seems like it's being dragged out, lasting an eternity.
Effie emerges, wearing a dress whose design revolves around the pattern of orange butterflies. Her costumes have a way of always triggering a small smile onto my face, no matter how desolate the moment seems. Her heels clink onto the stage, and her lips have twisted into some sort of frown.
The most terrifying part of the Reaping is the striking silence, no one dares to make slight noise as they watch me head to take my place next to Effie. I don't let any form of weakness linger as I climb the stairs and stand next to Twelve's escort. I know I'm being broadcasted, and I'm determined to show to my new rivals that I'm ready. Ready to fight.
"Welcome, welcome." Effie's voice shakes ever so slightly when she begins her speech, that I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's noticed. "As we celebrate the 75th anniversary and Third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games." she begins, clasping both her hands together. "As always, ladies first."
She heads to the Reaping Bowl, though only one slip of paper occupies it. This slip of my paper has my name inked to its ivory fabric. Her slender fingers catch the slip, and I notice how desperate Effie appears as she opens it up, ready to read out my destiny.
"The female tribute from District Twelve is," she annunciates slowly, her voice ringing through the crowd. I wait for the next words to roll off her tongue, pronouncing me as Twelve's next tribute. "Jade Everdeen."
I turn my head and take a few steps to stand next to Effie, my eyes staying glued to the crowd in front of me. I peer towards Prim, then towards my mother. I try to my best to not let fear flash across my face as I meet their teary stare.
"Wonderful." Effie smiles, though it lacks of any truth. "And now for the men." She repeats the same actions as before, catching a single slip of paper that obviously read Haymitch's name. The man has his head turned down, waiting for his name to leave Effie's lips. And it does. "Haymitch Abernathy."
Effie puts her hands affectionately on each of our shoulders, "Well all that remains is--"
However, her lips press against each other as soon as someone in the crowd-- no, my mother, Prim and Gale-- lift their hand in the air after pressing it against their mouth, lifting three fingers up. The symbol of rebellion, to say goodbye to someone you love. My heart swells as the rest of Twelve joins. As if it's some kind of reflex, my hand equally lifts itself up, in nothing but pride. Yet, it doesn't stay for more than a second in the air as I feel my arm being yanked by a Peacekeeper, dragging me away.
"Wait, no, I didn't get to say goodbye!" I scream, fighting against his grip. I watch as my family gets blocked by more guards, and continue to yell in fear as they watch me being pulled away from them, before I could whisper any last words.
"Change of plans. You're going straight to the train." the Peacekeeper commands, aggressively leading me away. I make out Prim shrieking my name, and as much as I try to detangle myself from the guard's hold, I fail. From then, anger bottles up inside of me until my lips curl into a frown, my hair covering most of my face. Then, I know that I'm going to survive the damned Hunger Games, and I will take my revenge.