Chapter Twenty-Three, Victory and Gore

❝ welcome to your life, ❞

❝ there's no turning back. ❞

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WHEN I AWAKE, I'M TOO AFRAID TO MOVE AT FIRST. THE ENTIRE CEILING GLOWS A SOFT YELLOW LIGHT, and my body is located onto a single, narrow bed. I notice tubes going in and out of my arms, holding me down, and the sharp smell of medicine travels through the room.

A gown drapes over my body, caressing my skin that somehow feels smooth, unscarred. I lift my hand up in awe, because not only has it been scrubbed clean, the nails are filed in perfect ovals, the scars from the burns are less prominent. I touch my cheek, my lips, my bruises, and am just running my fingers through my silken hair in shock.

I whip my head upwards when the sound of a redheaded Avox girl entering the room is made. The sight of someone sends waves of relief through my body. I'm not alone.

I want to submerge her in a million questions, but I know I'm being monitored. They're watching me, watching her.

I risk one question. "Is Cato here?" I ask, my newly raspy voice unrecognisable. The girl shoots me a discreet glance, but fails to translate any sort of message. Fright paralyses me, and I start to ponder on all that could have happened to him.

It could have been too late to save him. He could be dead, right now, while I live and breathe.

The Avox exits the room almost immediately, firmly shutting the door behind her, leaving me to face my solitude all over again.

You'd think that I'd be relieved to finally be out of the games, in this mysterious and suffocating room. But no, I want to scream, to run, to go home. Most of all, I want to get out of this bed. To see Haymitch and Cinna, to find out more about what's been going on. And why shouldn't I? I feel fine. 

As I start to work my way out of the band, I feel a cold liquid seeping into my vein from one of the tubes and almost immediately lose consciousness.

This happens on and off for an indeterminate amount of time. I seem to be in a strange, continual twilight. Only a few things register. The redheaded Avox girl has not returned since then, my scars are disappearing, and do I imagine it? Or do I hear a man's voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can't help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me.

Then finally, the time arrives when I come to and there's nothing plugged into my right arm. The restraint around my middle has been removed and I am free to move about. 

I start to sit up but I am arrested by the sight of my hands. The skin's perfection, smooth and glowing. Not only are the scars from the arena gone, but those accumulated over years of hunting have vanished without a trace.

I slip my legs out of the bed, and I gasp as my eyes land onto a neatly positioned outfit at the foot of my bed. It's what all tributes wore at the arena, except it's clean, void of any specks of blood or cuts.

I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where a glass door slides open. Immediately, I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. 

But it must. And behind one of them must be Cato. Now that I'm conscious and moving, I'm growing more and more anxious about him.

"Hadley!" I call out, since there's no one to ask. I hear my name in response, but it's not his voice. It's a voice that provokes first irritation and then eagerness. Effie.

I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall — Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care.

I run for them and launch into Haymitch's arms first. I burry my head in the crook of his neck and he laces his arms around my waist. Surprise intertwines with my heart when I realise that I had missed my mentor. 

When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't sound sarcastic. 

Effie's somewhat teary and keeps patting my hair and talking about how she told everyone I was a pearl. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn't say anything. Then, I notice Cato's whole team is absent, and a bad feeling blossoms inside of me.

"Where's Cato? Where's his team? He's alive, right?" I blurt out anxiously.

"He's fine, they just want to see your reunion live on air at the ceremony." Haymitch explains.

A breath I didn't realise I had been holding darts out of my mouth, and all the bottled up worry flows away. "Oh, I guess I'd want to see that too." I sigh.

"Go on with Cinna, he has to get you ready." Effie then orders, waving me away.

It's a relief to be alone with Cinna, to feel his protective arm around my shoulders as he guides me away from the cameras, down a few passages and to an elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. 

The elevator door slides open, Venia, Flavius, and Octavia engulf me, talking so quickly and ecstatically I can't make out their words. The sentiment is clear though, they are thrilled to see me.

We all huddle into a tight room, and I slump in a chair as Cinna shows what I will be wearing tonight. I have to stop myself from gasping when he presents a yellow dress. This whole look gives off a whole different image I had at the interviews.

"Giving up on the whole girl on fire look?" I ask.

It's true, I'm no longer the ambitious girl from Twelve, that charmed the audience through a sweet smile. I'm reckless, a beautiful killer, a Capitol sweetheart.

"You tell me," he says, slipping the dress over me. I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves the hunger had stolen from my body. The outfit is charming, seducing even, but in a way, it's also innocent and pure.

I am still the girl on fire. The sheer fabric softly glows. Even the slight movement in the air sends a ripple up my body. By comparison, the chariot costume seems garish, the interview dress too contrived. In this dress, I give the illusion of wearing candlelight.

"What do you think?" Cinna demands.

"I think it's the best yet." I articulate, in awe.

When I manage to pull my eyes away from the flickering fabric, I'm in for something of a shock. My hair's loose, completely straight, framing my face. The makeup rounds and fills out the sharp angles of my face. A clear polish coats my nails. The hem falls just to my knees, emphasising my legs and frame.

We take the elevator again, and I find myself in a poorly lit area under the stage. A brand-new metal plate has been installed to transport me upward. You can still see small piles of sawdust, smell fresh paint. 

Cinna and the prep team peel off to change into their own costumes and take their positions, leaving me alone. In the gloom, I see a makeshift wall about ten yards away and assume Cato's behind it.

The rumbling of the crowd is loud, so I don't notice Haymitch until he touches my shoulder. I spring away, startled, still half in the arena, I guess.

"How about a hug for good luck?" he asks. It's a strange request from my mentor, but I go for it. I lace my arms around his neck, and soon find myself trapped in his embrace. He beings talking, very fast and quietly, my hair concealing his lips.

"Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at and they're the joke of Panem," he describes.

I feel both dread and adrenaline coursing through me now, but I laugh as though Haymitch is saying something completely delightful because nothing is covering my mouth. "So what?" I giggle.

In a way, it's flattering to me that I had been able to strike the Game makers, the Capitol, Snow. My haters towards them is unmeasurable, and I'm glad I was able to stomp out their confidence.

"Your only defence can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions." Haymitch pulls back and adjusts my hairband. "Got it, sweetheart?" He could be talking about anything now.

"Got it," I nod. "Does Cato know this?"

"Yes, probably." he confirms. He presses a kiss on my forehead, disappearing into the gloom, "This is your night princess, enjoy it."

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The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. The crowd breaks into applause as my prep teams is being presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. 

Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Cinna receives huge cheers, of course, he's been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. 

I'll need to look as charming and girlish as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping his tribute alive for the first time in Twelve. 

What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage.

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Cato just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognise him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms.

He engulfs me as well, his arms tightening against my frame. A genuine smile graces my lips, and, at that moment, nothing but happiness curses through my veins.

It feels surreal, having Cato with me, safe and sound. We cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's kissing me, and I forget we're on stage, live, and drown myself in the moment.

After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Cato just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Cato is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right.

Finally, Haymitch and Brutus interrupt us and give us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Game makers have provided a plush red velvet couch. 

I sit so close to Cato that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Cato's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. 

He wears the familiar cocky smile that seems to inhabit in his expressions. With his finger, he strokes my hip, sending waves of butterflies to fly in my stomach.

The things I feel with him are so intense. It's what I love, how I thrive. I need to feel the tension, the sucking in of breaths, the excitement. Cato gives that to me.

Yet, when I look at him, I'm thrown back into the games. Into the horror. Into the blood.

"You're staring, sweetheart." he whispers in his microphone, and this sends the audience into a state of laughter. I choose to laugh too, placing a strand of my hair behind my ear, almost childishly.

His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but his stylist has put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage.

Moments from the Hunger Games flicker right in front of me, and I see our love story through the Capitol's eyes. Him saving my life, the bickering and tension. The first kiss. The worry, the lingering of our stares on each other, the chemistry of our touch.

If only they knew that this was a game too.

I seem strong, heartless even, when I murder tributes. Like a deadly beauty. Yet, the moments with Rue and Peeta uncover a fragile aspect to my personality. Cato seems arrogant, confident, and happy with me.

I see him with the Careers, how he seems to be lost in though when they talk about me, about killing me. I also see him running through the woods, eager to find me.

Things pick up for me once they've announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Cato's name, searching desperately for him. Our reunion triggers waves of satisfied sighs and whispers through the crowd.

And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Cato's name as they try to revive him.

In terms of survival, it's my best moment all night. The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown.

There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion — whose head will he place it on? — until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Cato's brow with a smile. 

He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake's.

That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished.

Much bowing and cheering follows, because it's time for the most awaited part. The interview.

Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country again. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself.

A series of questions follow, where we have to answer joyfully, as if the Hunger Games had offered us the possibility to fall in love. The truth is, I now feel sick. After watching myself complete the games alongside Cato, I just want to go home.

To forget it all.

"Jade, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind ... hm?" he says.

I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Peeta that I can't be held responsible for my actions. 

It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. "I don't know, I just ... couldn't bear the thought of ... being without him."

"Cato? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

"No. I think that goes for both of us," he replies. Caesar signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, and I stay positioned next to Cato, not wanting to leave him.

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It's night. My room engulfs me into a dark and completely abyss, and I can't sleep. Haymitch was keen to separate Cato and I after the interview, despite my pleading. 

No sign of fatigue enters my body, and I feel the need to talk to him. Before I can reflect on my actions, I let myself exit my bed. My room. My floor.

Unconsciously, my brain leads me to the roof. The place where Cato and I exchanged our first conversation. The place that allowed me to feel, far way from the cameras and viewers.

My feet guide me to the spot immediately, and I'm not surprised when my eyes land on Cato, peering down at Panem.

He turns around at the sound of me entering the space, "Thought you'd come up eventually."

"How are you doing?" I ask, walking towards him.

"I won the Hunger Games. My goal since I was two years old." he starts, sitting with me on the edge of the roof. "It's not like I imagined it."

"I have no idea how my life is going to be now." I blurt, inching closer to the boy until our shoulders graze each other's.

"Full of dresses and money." Cato chuckles, though I know he's skimming the one topic that's actually important.

"You know what I mean." I whisper.

"I — I can't move to Twelve." he says directly, ripping off the bandaid painfully, and a sudden weight lands on my heart.

"I'm not going to Two." I reply, staring in the distance.

It's clear that our fates lie in us being separated. I would never be able to leave my family, my home, just to satisfy the Capitol and move to the richest working District. And he wouldn't neglect all the power and luxury to move into the poorest District in the whole country.

"I just have to ask, Everdeen," he voices. "Was it all a game for you?"

I gulp and shift my gaze for it to meet Cato's. My breath stays stuck in my throat and a reply doesn't come. No, it wasn't a game. The games made me fall in love with you. But I can't admit that, not when I have no idea how he feels, not when we would be living thousands of kilometres apart.

Instead, I connect our lips. The kiss is slow, sad even, and I wish time could stop and leave us like this, forever.

Cato pulls away, "Goodbye Jade." he mutters, and I have to stop myself from freeing tears that sit in my eyes.

Instead of him being his usual arrogant, confident self, he looks destroyed. He doesn't give off the image of the bloodthirsty Career from Two, but just the one of a tragic teenage boy.

"Goodbye Cato." I answer, as he walks off, not looking back. I feel him slipping away, and all I want is to run after him and never leave him. 

Maybe in another life.

THERE IS A SEQUEL GUYS DONT WORRY