The small hospital in 2 is nothing like the ones in the Capitol. They apparently wanted to airlift me to Capitol, but I was bleeding too quickly to make it, and they immediately rushed me into the small dingy operating room in the hospital here—the only one we have—that they mostly use for Peacekeepers injured during training. Part way through, the team from the Capitol arrived and took over the surgery to stabilize me, and then I was apparently flown to the Capitol for another set of surgeries.
I spend my days in the Tribute Tower medical facilities being visited by therapists, aids, nurses, and doctors constantly. I have nightmares nearly every night. They alternate between me being too slow to run away from my mother chasing me with a knife, and replaying the day I woke up after my Games. The latter of the two is a little harder to shake off considering I'm pretty sure it's the same room I was in back then.
I have to come up with a mantra in my head so they don't start to think I'm crazy and stick me on a mountain of sedative medications. My name is Octavia. I'm nineteen years old. My Games ended a year and a half ago. Sometimes my brain likes to play tricks on me as I repeat, adding in phrases like I killed my mother or obsessing over whether or not I could get enough medication from the vial the nurse is holding to kill me without it hurting.
I find out through the television set they have in my room that by the time I've come to, the entire story has been crafted without asking me a single question. So it's no surprise that my first real visitor is Plutarch, who comes as soon as I'm coherent enough to tell me the 'facts' of my case.
He makes it clear to me that the man who 'robbed' me was found on the streets the same night; he bled out and died as a result of the 'self-defence' wound I gave him. I guess they had to make it look like I fought back against my attacker—which I technically did—so I shudder to think of the Peacekeepers stabbing the man and leaving him to die. I don't know who the poor shmuck was, probably a petty thief they decided to pin everything on, but whatever he did or didn't do, he's taken the fall for me.
The basic facts are right: I was stabbed in my home and survived and my mother was stabbed and didn't survive. But everything in between has been carefully woven into a tapestry of falsities and lies, probably by an entire team here in the Capitol to ensure everything, and I am now tangled up in the middle, trapped and unable to move. I suppose I should be thankful that they've decided to cover for me and not throw me into the court of public opinion for killing my own mother, but I know better than that. Plutarch makes it extremely clear to me that I now owe him another favour, which makes me eye the nurse's vials even more intently for the next few days.
I never asked for this. I never wanted to be attacked, or covered up for, but Plutarch and the Capitol own me and therefore get to make every decision for me before I even have time to think about it.
They finally let me go home after three months as long as I promise to keep doing my exercises to help my shoulder. I'm not sure how necessary it is, given the fact that I've felt fine for weeks now thanks to their incredible medical technology, but I simply tell them that I'll do them so they let me go home.
Although it's not quite home since they've moved my things from Gran's house to 'my' house down the row at the very end of the occupied houses in Victor's Village. It's cold and emotionless, even though they've clearly done their best to decorate it with my things. I don't think I ever stopped to think about how creepy it is that each of the houses are a carbon copy of one another. The walls and furniture are all still the standard make, a far cry from the vibrant colours and comfy fabrics of Gran's house. It's a soulless copy of what once felt like the only safe place in the world.
For some reason, Enobaria and Mr. Hackett visit me multiple times a week. The irony is not lost on me that Enobaria is the one who likely saved my life. At least with Mr. Hackett, I know it's because he said he'd watch Gran's house while I was gone. But with Enobaria? I have no idea. But I'm bored out of my mind so I don't question it. It's nice to at least be around someone I don't have to pretend with. She knows what really happened, unlike the recovery team from the Capitol. One day she even makes a joke over tea that, "it's a good thing she's still got terrible aim. If she'd hit your heart, you'd be dead by now."
I follow a pattern for the next two months. Aside from pulling myself together for visitors, I eat, sleep, stare at the wall thinking about what a horrible person I am and replaying every terrible thing I've ever done and said, and repeat. Oh, and once and a while I cry to spice things up.
I get a letter near the beginning of December for an invitation to some sort of event being held in the Capitol; and of course, like any invitation from them, it's really a summons.
It's a celebration of a 'Golden Decade' worth of Games to ring in the new year. Every victor from Cecelia to Johanna will be there. I do the quick math in my head and try to resist the urge to jump into an empty quarry when I realize that there are only three non-Career victors that will be there, four if you lump Finnick in with them, but that's stretching it.
There are three of us on the train ride there: Otto, Enobaria, and myself. It's a fairly silent ride after I practically bite Otto's head off for asking me when I'm coming back to the Academy. He retreats to his room while Enobaria tries to distract me with the fact that I'll be seeing Johanna and Finnick soon, but it doesn't help my mood.
The Capitolians in the crowd waiting for us at the station look like a sea of molten gold because of the theme for the upcoming New Year's bash. I stick on a pair of gaudy and large sunglasses to cover as much of my face as possible and I try to hide within my large black coat while they shout at me, asking how I'm feeling, as if they actually care.
Our gold car entourage arrives at the Tribute Tower, and it's buzzing with Capitolian excitement. I let out a heavy sigh when I'm met with the sight of Fallon waiting for us on the other side of the rotating door—I'd nearly forgotten I'd have to deal with her chippy demeanour while were here.
She looks on the verge of tears as she says, "Ah, there you are." She opens her arms and engulfs me in a hug. "Octavia, dear, I was so worried about you. How are you feeling?"
"Uh, better," is all I manage.
"Good, dear." She snaps and several assistants appear. "I don't want her to lift a finger while she's here, understand?" They all nod. "Good. So, Octavia, I've arranged for you to go first today to see the stylist, and then afterwards a team will meet you in the apartments to pamper you."
"Uh, thank you."
Fallon frowns. "Look at you, poor thing. Even your speech has been affected. I can't believe anyone would try to steal from your grandmother's estate. Savages, I tell you. No decorum whatsoever."
I don't really have time to unpack all that, because I'm whisked away by the team of assistants mid-blink. Once I'm in their studios they get to work on polishing up everything that I'd let go over the past six months. They whiten my teeth, remove the hair from every nook and cranny on my body, polish my face to make it look smooth and supple again, and treat my hair with several rounds of some sort of awful-smelling mask. Between the third and fourth rounds of the hair stuff, I hear them debate between themselves about my split ends and the poor condition of my hair, wondering if it would be easier to chop it all off and give me a bob hairstyle or sew in fake hair. I'm relieved when one of them insists they try their best to save my hair because of everything I've been through.
It's almost fascinating how different they treat me here after being stabbed this time, as if they didn't watch it happen on live television before. But to them, it's different somehow. What happens in the arena is expected. It's contained. But being attacked in your own house? Well, that's unthinkable. I can only imagine how crazy they would all go if I told them the truth about what happened.
They finally release me several hours later, and to be honest, I'm quite looking forward to whatever massage Fallon has prepared for me, since my neck is now a bit stiff from all the pulling they did on my hair.
As I come up from the studios in the basement, I hear shouting outside of the rotating door. Someone is arriving no doubt. As far as I know, every district is scheduled to arrive at some point today, so it could be anyone.
But it's not anyone who walks through the rotating doors. It's Finnick. His face immediately drops as soon as he's inside, replacing his signature smile with a sullen and worn-out expression. I shoo away my entourage so I can talk to him privately and see if I can figure out why he looks so worse for wear. When he finally spots me in the mess of people his eyebrows raise for a moment before returning to neutral; there's no relief on his face as he looks me over, only exhaustion.
"You're okay," he mumbles to himself breathlessly. "I thought, when you left we thought...they said..." They said. He can't even finish the sentence, but my brain has already started to put together what he means.
"I'm fine," I whisper. If there are microphones in the lobby, there's no way anyone will be able to hear what we're saying because of all the loud chatter. "I had to rush home to see my Gran before she passed, that's all."
"That's what I told myself. But then I hear on the news you're half-dead being flown to the Capitol and...It's my fault, Vee. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
I shake my head in confusion. "I'm not quite sure what you mean by that."
"I was angry that they were forcing you into things," it doesn't take a genius to think what those 'things' may be even though his assessment is wrong, "so I told them no. I refused to go to the Capitol. I thought I could bargain with them...but they killed your mother. They almost killed you. And it's my fault."
A small sputter of laughter bursts through my lips, but I quickly clamp my hand on my mouth to quell it. Finnick looks at me wildly, perhaps rightly so, because he thinks I'm laughing at me nearly dying. If he didn't think I was crazy before, he surely will now.
"Finnick," I start, "there wasn't a robber." A few more chuckles escape, and I probably look like a mad woman trying to hold it all in with my hands. "I mean, well, there was, but it was my mother." Finnick's face contorts as I let out a few more giggles—I can't tell if he's more concerned or confused. After some more laughing, I look to see Finnick's eyes are wide. He's probably questioning ever becoming friends with me. I actually like being friends with him, so I try to sober up my laughing and put my hand on his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. It was hers."
Finnick clears his throat, looking around the room. I hadn't noticed that I'd apparently attracted quite a bit of attention with my laughter, so it's a good thing I was whispering the entire thing. "Let's, let's uh, go upstairs."
Finnick ushers me into the elevator, pushes the 4 button and we wait in silence. It leaves me alone to think for a moment about everything Finnick has said. The only thing that I can't quite figure out, is why on earth they'd ever use me against Finnick? It must be because of them thinking we spent the night together, I reason. But there's still something that bothers me and itches at the back of my mind: why Finnick would think they were using me against him. We've only known each other for a little over a year after all.
We walk into his apartment and straight into the bathroom, where he turns on the shower to block the noise. He's probably about to tell me that he never wants to speak to me again, since he knows now that I've killed my own mother and all, but instead, he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry that this's happened to you."
I reluctantly return the hug. "I...thank you?"
"So, she tried to rob you?" He quickly adds, "If you're not comfortable you don't have to."
"No, it's fine. Someone in this damn country deserves to hear the truth. I got back to my Gran's house late one night and I thought there was an intruder, so I grabbed a knife. She broke in through the back and she was looking for this expensive locket, said my grandmother promised it to her, as if she'd ever leave her something. But I wouldn't give it to her. I don't know why. It's just a stupid necklace. But it belonged to my aunt and I was just so fed up with my mother constantly trying to take everything from me..."
"Hey, you don't have to justify it. She broke into your house for crying out loud. You didn't owe her anything of your Gran's."
I nod, even if I don't entirely believe it. "And then she called me some nasty names and yelled at me and then lunged and I couldn't stop it. She came at me and I held it out to protect myself, it was an instinctive reaction—believe me, I know how that sounds—but I didn't mean to do it. Who tries to tackle someone who has a knife? I tried to help her from bleeding out, I was trying to stop the bleeding around the knife with some cloth, and, and, when I reached up to grab the phone...."
"Wait, I'm confused?"
"Yeah, well, you might have to get in line for the answer."
"How'd she stab you if the knife was still inside her? Did she rip it out?"
I shake my head. "Oh, no. Um, she had...a throwing knife tucked into her sleeve."
His mouth forms an 'O' shape. "So she meant to attack you."
"I don't think she meant to—"
"She was carrying a knife while walking around your house, Octavia, I think she meant it."
The words sting a bit, but I've never thought about it like that before. All these months I'd been cursing my reflexes, wishing I never grabbed the knife when I heard someone in my house. But if I didn't have a knife, would she have attacked me earlier? Would our situations be reversed? I'd be dead and she'd be the one gravely wounded?
He brings me out of my thoughts with a familiar phrase, "Octavia, can you hear me?"
I sigh. "Unfortunately, yes."
"It's not your fault."
"You weren't there."
"I know you well enough that you wouldn't have hurt her if you could help it."
I want to tell him that he's clearly wrong and doesn't know me, that I've killed people before, so this is no different, but I can't find the words. Instead, when I open my mouth, a sob comes out, followed by a flood of tears. I clap my hands over my mouth to try and keep the sound in like I tried to do with my laughter in the lobby, and my legs turn to jelly. Finnick must see me going down because I feel him catch me as I sink towards the floor.
I find myself repeating over and over again, "I didn't mean to." I don't know for how long, but when I finally come back to my senses Finnick is stroking my hair gently as I'm sat in between his legs. "They didn't make me do anything by the way."
He knows what I mean instantly. "That's good."
"I'm sorry I made you worried about me."
"That's not something you can control, but thanks."
I'm slightly irritated at his words. I can't believe he would think that what happened to me is somehow his fault. "Well, you don't have to do it for me anymore."
"Like I said, that's not really something you can control."
"Just like you have no control over what happens with me? I'm a victor. They're never gonna leave me alone. I'm not some random person from District 2."
"They made us think that something happened to you when they took you away. I thought it was because we were talking with Johanna and they wanted to make an example in front of her so she cooperates. Since she doesn't exactly seem like the cooperative type."
I debate for a minute whether or not to tell Finnick what really happened. Making a deal with Snow voluntarily isn't exactly something savoury. But if I can't admit it to Finnick, I don't know how I'm ever going to get out of the mess in the first place. "I made a deal with Snow, so I could go home and see my grandmother before she died."
"I thought you said they didn't make you do anything?"
"They didn't, not like that at least. I had to help them oust a few rebels at a party in return." I feel something radiating off of him, judgement perhaps, so I quickly add, "It was kind of stupid that they were doing things right in front of me—they should've known I was being watched—"
"Hold on, Rebels? Like, real-life fight against the Capitol-type rebels?"
"Yes? Kind of. One of them was at least. Mr. Forsythe, the film producer was trying to make a film to expose the horrors of the Games. Go to the districts, humanize us, the whole nine yards. The other guy was doing it just for fame I'm pretty sure, but at least he was doing something. Or so I tell myself."
Finnick turns me around so I can see his face; his eyes are lit up like lights and I think he's about to yell at me, but instead he says, "Octavia, do you know what this means?"
"That I led some of the only people in the Capitol who would help us to their deaths?"
"No. Well, maybe a few, but that's not my point," he says sarcastically. "If there are rebels that you're catching, there have to be rebels that you're not. There's got to be more of them, just better hidden. I always thought there might be. To think, if someone like a Forsythe is trying to turn against the Capitol? There has to be others."
"Maybe."
"You don't seem as excited about this as I am."
"No."
"It changes everything. This is why I've never heard anything like this, it makes so much sense! Any sensible rebel wouldn't approach a victor; they're smart enough to know we're being watched. I always thought the rebellions in 4 were an isolated thing—"
That piques my interest. "There's rebellions in 4?"
"All the damn time. That's how my parents died. They were part of an uprising and when the Peacekeepers started cracking down...let's just say there weren't many rebels left after that."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
His eyes brim with tears but he quickly wipes them away. "People are waking up. Maybe, just maybe, one day someone is going to say the right thing at the right time and bring a tidal wave over the Capitol."
"But even if there is some sort of massive rebel underground, it doesn't change anything for us. What are we supposed to do? Wait around until the powers that be decide it's time?"
"Yes. That's exactly what we're going to do."
"Why?" I can't understand why Finnick thinks this is such good news. The odds victors are first on any rebel's list of people who need liberating are slim.
"Because it's better than the alternative. It gives me some hope...you know? That maybe one day all of this will be over. The odds were never in our favour, but maybe one day they will be."
"You think so?"
He chuckles, "No. Not really. But I'd like to."
I nod in understanding. "I can get behind that." I sigh as the moment passes over. "I should get back to my floor. They're going to send out a search party if they're not looking for me already."
I say goodbye to Finnick, letting him know that I'll see him tomorrow. When I walk through the door of the second floor, Fallon bombards me with "I was worried about you!" and "We didn't know where you went!"
She keeps going on and on, "...and you're supposed to be giving a speech tomorrow, and you haven't even rehearsed. It needs to be polished so you can show everyone that you're alright and—"
"A speech? They're making me do a speech?"
Fallon nods and starts to go on about it. But all I can think about is that I've just found a flaw in the armour of the Capitol; they're making the mistake of putting me on the airwaves. "Is it live?"
"Yes, which is why we have to practice! No do-overs," she continues blabbing on, but the wheels in my brain are turning.
I'm only going to get one chance at this. One chance to make sure that the Capitol can't control me anymore. One chance to make sure that I'm not responsible for anyone else dying. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to blow this whole rebellion thing wide open. Like Plutarch said, there's got to be a way to make up for things, so this has to be mine. All I have to figure out is what to say.
And ta-da! There it is! There's for sure another one ready to go for next week. School + health have been killer lately so I haven't had much time to do writing that wasn't related to school.
For those of you who have read the OG version, you'll notice some changes here, this conversation between her and Finnick doesn't happen until the 70th Games, but I wanted to add some events in between to help showcase their relationship. The Capitol is 100% the type of place to have a big New Year's celebration, so I thought it would be perfect for them to have all the Victors from the last decade around. I also modified Octavia's internal dialogue because in the original version, yes, she's laughing at inappropriate moments, but it's not clear that it's because she's having a mental break. I really wanted to emphasize that this go around, so we're going to be seeing a lot of that essentially until you know who comes in when she gets back from this trip...
And here marks the return of everyone's favourite, the reason I didn't drop out, the Chapterly Memes: