Chapter Text
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I don't know how long I was laying in something that felt like a bed, maybe?
That's right — here is a blanket over my chest, my body is no longer freezing, and there are even some socks that were not soaked in snow.
My head is doing funny back and forth, yet I can't answer my own questions. I don't want to open my eyes. I am dead, I am dead. I died there , that thing had to kill me.
But if I died, why does all of it feel so real? Then what does it mean — I am still laying with my face in the snow, am I still in the Arena? It feels pretty warm here, but this is physically impossible. I'm losing it, certainly.
Trying to make sense of it, I only tried to confirm that I was alive and that could have been one of those times where nobody could make sense of what was colder — the Arena or the feeling my stomach just had when I finally managed to hear my voice.
Is that me? No, no, no, no. That can't be. I know my voice — mom told me it sounded like the smallest horn on trains, what I just heard now is more like a sound an adult would make. Tried to speak, yet my mouth failed to make a coherent sentence — my lips must be long frozen, adding to the already hurting teeth.
I need to get up. Right now I need to get going, I have to leave this place.
All of this cannot be for nothing, I have to move forward, there are still some of them out and I'm here lying in the snow.
Could still feel the taste and smell of blood — tried reaching places around my mouth with my tongue to take some and almost jumped up. My mouth, my face, and somewhat my hands, control over which I started to regain bits by bits; all felt weirdly dry. Oh hell, there is barely something left in my bag, or maybe already nothing at all?
No. Now I will die. I will die after all of this.
After some time, I somehow find the strength in my arms to raise them and get out of there, when suddenly I find myself being thrown back, with my head hitting something with a loud bang. Wasn't the ground at all.
My eyes fly open and I quickly feel myself going almost blind when light hits. Can feel my limb control coming back more and then it is clear as a day — I was bound, held worse than a dog that belongs to one of our Peacekeepers, that wild animal he takes just about everywhere.
I attempted to move however possible, slowly touching and inhaling some weird scent, but couldn't make out what it was or what I was even touching. Inhaled again — it wasn't the smell of a windstorm, a smell of fresh blood, or hard ground; it was hard to wrap my head around that discovery, as if I spent all my life in that Arena and didn't see anything besides the endless amounts of snow.
…Well, from those rare bits of time when I could see something and didn't need to fight every second with piercingly cold snow getting in my face.
What does that mean?
Only one thing. I am not in the Arena anymore.
Before I could control it, I heard wailing without any properly formed words — the wailing was my own. I wanted to get out of here, I needed it — I was alive then why was I here?
I tried to remove the binders, slamming my hands against the mattress, hoping that somebody would hear me and let me go, yet nobody came to my aid, with me only stuck with the sound of beeping machines and my tears as "company". There is no sight of doctors, but this is what I don't mind much — those or any Capitol freaks are the last I wanted to see.
Guess mom and dad still haven't managed to leave home to visit?
I could feel my hands digging into the mattress, but the multiple layers of bandages were not coming off anytime soon, and all my attempts to tear them off while fighting the lake of tears ended up in vain.
A needle with some yellow substance is stuck in my right arm. No way to move it because of the almost iron grip the restraining belts had on it — I couldn't feel the entirety of my arm at all, now it was probably as white as it was at the Arena, fighting the bitterness of it.
"Just let me out, let me out please," I beg. No response.
Lastly, my head bashes against the pillow, and with me squirming so much it was only time before I could hear it falling, hitting the probably cold floor — no way would I step my foot on there, or well any cold thing; after the cave, no way.
Cave. Mountain. Snow that devoured all on its way.
I can't do that anymore. Tearing off parts of the cover from the mattress, I bury my head in it, from time to time screaming right in it because there was too much resemblance to that snowdrift I found myself in after the hell on earth was over and the world turned black for me.
Time became a non-existent thing, where I couldn't make it clear just how long I was lying limp in one position like a corpse I was supposed to be, whimpering and crying so much that the mattress probably had a puddle of salty tears on it.
My head started to crack like crazy, with me for a second wishing to turn into one of those wolf mutts back there, all to have an excuse to howl on the moon from raw agony. The rattling of chains and screaming died down, as all I wanted right now was to die — my bandaged hands were also in pain, so all that was left for me was to just lay out and hope that misery would whisk me away to sleep again.
All I could now think about was my head which felt close to blowing up, with no way to distract myself from it. At some point I expected my stomach to growl and go on a hunt all over again just to calm that thing down and keep moving. Nothing close to that has happened.
Well, I'm not in the Arena now and need to get used to this. Now, I can be called a Victor.
"Titus…" I could hear another voice calling my name and then two hands somewhat fixing the blanket over my limp body.
Lazily and barely turning my head up, I expected to see anyone else — my mentor, mom, dad, or damn, even some stupid doctor.
Instead, I am greeted by a pair of thick glasses and a sad face of an older man; Ford Wright, the first ever Victor of District 6, who was always smelling of wine when was around the other two. What was he even doing here? He isn't a mentor this year, then why is he the first person coming to check on me?
I can hardly react to him. I made an attempt to ask about my mentor, but what came out threw Ford off. The pure, genuine fear in his eyes is evident — damn, did the Capitol see me when I was doing that to Mae? To other tributes whose names I didn't know?
Oh no. No.
I barely get my body in order, with Ford looking weirdly patient with me. I still feel my head pounding in four different places, yet I manage to speak something properly, without it sounding like an animal yowling:
"How long was I here?"
Ford, definitely pleased by my reaction, moves his chair closer, clearing up.
"The Gamemakers retrieved you over 10 hours ago. An avalanche that broke out… It killed whoever else was left, so they had to practically dig you out of that snow."
What? Even after all of this? They saved me? They put me here?
I couldn't believe my eyes. Hearing another voice might have broken some pipes inside my head when as much as the restraining allowed it, grabbed Ford's hand. My voice was breaking down as I gulped the tears and the old man's expression was surprised at best.
"Please, tell me that I am out of that place. Please, Mr Wright, say that I wouldn't return!" I almost yelled out and was greeted with a pitiful look from the older Victor. He didn't throw off my bandaged hand in disgust, instead putting his wrinkled palm on my hair.
"Yes Titus, you are out. You are here now, you won."
Looking at the man, I can't see that he is very happy about this fact — I am sure absolutely nobody wanted me back, especially if those idiots didn't cut any of mine…
Yet I am still alive — only took an avalanche, cold, and maybe me (?) to take them out and there was nothing good about it.
Soon I will be able to leave this hole, but not before being put through the final humiliation from the Capitol. And I don't want this.
I don't want to look at anyone's face. I don't want to remember Mae's smile, I don't want to think about what is currently filling my stomach.
"Are you there?" Ford politely asked me and I could only give him a nod. Now I could surely understand that he hadn't drank quite recently, as no smell was noticeable in the air.
"Thanks. When are others coming? If they will."
The older Victor keeps silent for a moment and I am already prepared to punch the air again, with my legs acting on their own, yet he quickly composes himself. This must not be his first time dealing with things like that.
"Yes, they are. I will also call Cassius in when he is… Free to visit."
Oh right, my mentor — probably is now drinking or whatever he can do since I for sure screwed him over with my so-called Victory.
But, by Ford's convincing look, I forced myself to shut up, closing my eyes and attempting to name herbs, like mom used to teach me — failed on the first one with even my inner voice stammering.
I shouldn't be crying right now, so I don't. My hands are shaking, when I keep begging Ford to untie me and let me go home — the man took my blabbering, calling some medics in the guise of: "he is better now, see?" helping to set me sitting.
The terrified stares I receive from every single medical personnel are soul-eating and I keep mumbling for them to stop.
But my pleas were unanswered again; when a woman accidentally touched my shoulder, she almost yanked away and there it was over.
I covered myself away from the world, almost resorting to tears, making some half-swallowing, hiccup sounds to deal with it; probably scared many in this room, but at this point, I couldn't care less about their feelings when they preferred to treat me like a rabid animal.
Ford attempted to make me come back to reality, failing each time — I didn't want to, I just wanted to go home, so if I am forced to go through it, at least let me stay "out".
While the medic staff chatted with the (by his voice already quite done) man, maybe about my condition or something else. I couldn't hear it that well, nor did I care. I tried separating their babbling away from my ears and preferred to focus on a machine that my body was attached to instead — beep, beep.
Haha. Those sounds were nice, somewhat calming, and while the others' voices were louder, I only focused on a thing that helped me to breathe, without the mere memories that slowly started sneaking in, bringing me close to gagging.
I always loved medicine and here goes my dream of following dad's footsteps — straight out of the window, along with any chance to ever see a smile like the ones Mae gave me that entire 2 week training time and during the Arena.
Mae. At least you are here with me.
Slowly and carefully, I take out my unrestrained hand from under the blanket and put it over my heart. Finally, I am not freezing anymore — very warm.
≪❖≫
Cassius was found with a needle in his vein 2 days before the end of the 66th Hunger Games. As he was recovering in a nearby hospital wing, a shrieking: "NO!" was something that the whole floor heard.
News of Titus' victory was bad. And looks like Victors in 6 were not the only ones understanding that.
When the hovercraft picked up his frozen body that clung to life even with black frostbite all over his fingers on both hands and his face turning almost white mixed with blue, not one person went to the only working screen of 6 to congratulate them on another Victor.
With the official mentor gone to "rehab", Maureen stuck glued to the screen way over the announcement, while Ford walked in circles to give condolences to other mentors, to some of which he personally apologized as if he was the one mentoring the "monster".
Maureen's face was blank the entire time of the "celebration" and way after she visited Cass — to tell him about Titus and at the same time, his first success.
Cassius was fiddling with a pencil in his hand, looking close to snapping it in half when raising his head, fixating his morphling-infused gaze on her. It was unclear if he was crying or had a face of complete giving up, but by the way, his hands were trembling, he looked miserable.
She tried to come closer and put her hand on his shoulder, but almost jumped from the loud sound when the pencil hit the wall, then loudly fell on the floor.
"He should have just died," he blurted out without any care for the world and while others may call him heartless for it, Maureen like no other understood where he was coming from.
"Yes," Maureen sighs, feeling her stomach drop. "They killed everyone else and Titus was the only one clinging to his life — it was either him or nobody."
On this, Cass buried his head in his knees, with the feeling of despair and heartbreak getting through the remains of drugs in his body.
"Reen, he is a goner — the Capitol would despise him, Snow is going to punish him, no one in 6 would accept him as part of "their" and…
He stammered and Maureen caught up on what he meant exactly, which almost made her throw herself on the floor to follow him. What will they do to Titus now?!
And oh shit. Filip. Maureen was so worried sick both about Cass, about Titus, didn't sleep at all, and because of that, kind of forgot to take an extra dose. That was something she started to regret the most; the emotions leaked through the drug block that spent years collecting in her body and she found herself time and time again forgetting that Cassius might have his priorities, and his own life too.
A tribute from 10, whose body was carved through and then eaten by "Cassius' first Victor" and who was mentored by the very same Filip — what irony, both boys used to look forward to this day whenever they managed to talk, all for the Victor of 6 to finally be allowed to visit 10 again.
But now? The new "star mentor" wasn't even sure how to take this — he didn't want to do anything, just silently sink into the hospital bed and hope he would dissolve in it like drowning in a swamp. Maureen didn't speak at all, only climbed on the other side of the bed with him, almost instinctively taking his hand.
"I didn't want him to do that. I already failed him enough, if only there would be a sponsor…" Cassius was stammering, the symptoms of withdrawal were obvious and he shook like crazy from time to time; as always, Maureen clung onto him, keeping quiet.
Sometimes she briefly touched his hair or the huge bags under his eyes — what happened to him? It was only 6 years and he already had to be taken out of an overdose, with what was supposed to be one of the few happy days he allowed himself to spare, turning into every single person's worst nightmare.
"That poor kid," she muttered under her breath, quickly regretting it. She thought Cass was going to blow up again, but it looked like morphling saved both him and her again.
"Right…" his eyes turned into two pitch black circles and he leaned closer to Maureen's head.
"What to say to him, Reen? ‘Sorry I failed you and forced you to eat people?’ This is the plan?” He was close to crying, but because of morphling in his system, a cry turned into a covered scream. “I don't want to see anybody, especially Titus. Yeah, I know that it's not his fault, but I just can't."
He was saying all of those things with a tone of nothingness in his voice. It was then and there Maureen knew that either she was speaking up, or they all were going to get another overdose before the Victory Tour would even begin. Well, obviously if anyone would hold one for the boy, that wouldn't look like one huge mourning over the fact that the 66th Hunger Games could have had a normal Victor.
"No one can force you to see him if you don't want it," she carefully rubbed his back, just like after his comeback from the Arena — now, he needed this like no other. "But please, don't give up on the only boy you managed to bring out of that nightmare. He might need you."
Cassius was close to choking, so to distract himself, he pretended to be interested in the ceiling. He closed his eyes, imagining going through Filip's wild dark hair, inhaling the sweet smell of his bed, and clinging to each other instead of being stuck here.
Filip… Will he ever talk to him again?
Well, if he doesn't, that will be yet another red mark on the endless list of his failures. And Maureen here talked about his newest Victor needing him?
Bullshit. Titus doesn't need this mess — he failed him already, he didn't want to do that the second time.
---- ••• ----
Three days later, after a long series of going back and forth, Cass finally was convinced enough to pay Titus a visit and Maureen of course tagged along.
She tried to convince herself it would go fine, but with the way luck has been treating them for the past few days, she shouldn't let her hope up this much.
On the way to his hospital block, both Victors of 6 were greeted by an annoyed doctor, who had been supervising his recovery — Cassius couldn't find words in himself to speak, so Maureen stepped in; at least the small dose was still there in her body, which helped to ease up the pain from the endless circle of horror that she found herself in.
"Hello," she coughed, attracting the medic's attention, who by the flickering look in her eyes quickly recognized the pair. "We are here for… Titus Domery."
"Oh, him? This brat has been nothing but a problem for the whole wing — screaming, crying, and as a whole acting disrespectful," on each word of the doctor, Maureen watched Cass' face fill with anger mixed with sorrow. "Are you sure you want to see that right now?"
"…Yes. Let us in, I was his mentor," Cass almost scowled through his teeth and the doctor shook away from him — oh, now all District 6 are monsters that sink their teeth into human flesh? Or was she just afraid of him because he was the one mentoring Titus?
The doctor complied with their requests, seeing the desperation on Maureen's face, when Cassius grabbed her hand even tighter, but on the way to his block, the woman in white, as if trying to give the last warning to the two Victors, turned to them with a last concerned look:
"You wouldn't get much of this vegetable either way — he went crazy this morning and even threw the plate of food at the personnel, we all were so afraid. Now he is put back on a watch and heavily sedated, so I doubt he can even talk to you two."
The I-am-better-than-you-all high-pitched voice annoyed Maureen, though she didn't speak up about this at all — Cassius simply ignored her, still feeling the scratching of his heart hearing all of those horrible things said about a child.
He held onto his most trusted person, remembering every second of that time when she was telling him that nothing was his fault. Well, let's see.
"No one can be prepared for that, Cass. And no one would judge you if you decide to leave then and there," Maureen sighed, closing her eyes and trying to shoo away the image of the boy that was now behind those hospital walls.
"I know," he grumbled in response, lowering his head. "At least there I can properly apologize to him."
And before his once mentor could correct that it wasn't his fault at all, they opened the door and Cassius right away felt the chills running down his spine. He leaned onto the wall, looking at the tied down, meek body of a kid for whose death was praying not only half of mentors in the control room, but also him.
They couldn't see his face, only the mess his dark tangled hair had become, while the boy was covered with a blanket, yet the image of Titus looking like a lunatic, with blood dripping down his chin and chewing onto the flesh of dead tributes, then yelling in the windstorm still couldn't leave both of their minds.
What surprised them both was seeing Ford, who brought in a more comfortable chair to sit in, definitely looking like he hadn't come in here in the recent hour.
Maureen approached him first, with Cassius staying behind — what got his attention was a brown spot on a purely white wall, that looked like they tried to get it out; must have been from the food his tribute threw away.
"You don't have to do that," Ford spoke quietly and Maureen noticed that he was now looking at a picture book of sea life; not something Ford would enjoy that much. When asked, the older man just silently gestured at Titus, who still didn't understand who just came in to visit, or what was going on at all.
"He likes turtles and the sea, so we've been reading it together. Got it from the staff after..."
He didn't need to continue. A day from the end of the 66th Hunger Games, Ford told her that the boy had to have 3 of his fingers amputated after the frostbite turned out to be too much — lucky (or unlucky) for him, the rest of his hand was saved.
"And what happened today?" Maureen gulped, remembering her very first dose. "I thought you said he is getting better?"
"Those idiots tried feeding pork stew to him in the morning," Ford spoke with deep resentment, somehow managing to keep himself composed, something that she would never have been able to do at least 6 years ago. "As you can see right now, it didn't end well for any of us — Titus broke down badly, was injected with a ton of morphling, still not responding."
What morons were responsible for that? By the very thought of meat near the kid she almost threw up — that Capitol bitch taunting Cass with her stupid interview immediately came to mind. Yes, she knew that those people had pudding instead of brains, but really, what did they expect out of a clearly unstable kid?
And out of them, Titus was the only one being punished, forced into morphling, and restrained again.
As Maureen approached him and put her thin hand on his back, Ford went up to Cassius to immediately comfort him — after all, he had known him for 6 whole years and he, like no other, needed his support as well.
"I'm terribly sorry, Cassius—" he started to say before Cass removed the man's hand from his shoulder.
"No. It's me who should say sorry — thanks for doing my job for me by the way."
Ford chuckled, giving him a sad smile just like the one he had given Titus at his waking up.
"You can say that those couple of days haven't been the same without my wine, but he has been keeping me some company… When he can say more than 3 words, it's clear that he is a good one," it was evident that, unlike others, Ford had been taking those disturbing news relatively alright.
Still, the bar was on the damn floor with how Cass reacted, how for Maureen it was hard to grasp the new reality and none of them wanted to even think about what the reaction of Kennedy was going to be.
It was the first time Cass managed to slightly smile back, all while the anger started to slowly consume him alive.
Looking at the small body that Maureen attempted to wake up with careful touches of her shaking hand, he started to remember how different Titus used to look when he first was tasked with mentoring him. Slowly, the images of a feral lunatic soaked in blood, heavily breathing while chasing his victims to feed on pieces of their flesh started to disappear and their place began to fill by a thin, barely talking boy who was melancholically thinking about his terrible odds, apologizing over his lower than mediocre score, clinging to Mae the entire training time and named so many useful plants that Cassius couldn't recall half of them.
Shit. No one ever asked for all of this to happen. Cass knew — Filip was so right about this; never get attached to any and it will all be easier. Now just look at him! The biggest loser of District 6, ladies and gentlemen; wants to run away from his tribute and Victor.
"Miss Trevi?" A quiet, tremulous cry made him snap out and look straight; the boy started to move his still bandaged hands and stuck his head out of the blanket.
Maureen reacted right away, reassuring the kid that she was here, but then she froze — now what to do?
She wasn't close with Titus at all and when all of them 4 were together he barely talked at all, being his shy self and only sparing a few words either for Cass or Mae. The woman silently looked at him, noting his puffy eyes, red marks under them, and the paleness of his face — by the looks of it, this mess of a boy also lost some noticeable amount of pounds and his previously dark eyes became almost pitch black.
Right now, she literally couldn't believe those were the same eyes of an insane person that she saw through the screens — now, in front of her was only a shadow of that simple, shy boy who could have been someone's friend, was someone's child.
Ford took some steps towards the bed, without pushing Cassius forward at all as if saying: "come when you are ready" and quickly overtook the situation from a confused Maureen.
"See? We all are here now — for you, kid," the wiser man kept on a nice, genuine smile.
It looked like Titus started to warm up to him, so he didn't hide his head in the blanket, keeping it above — his sight was murky but for some reason, he looked way more sane than what the doctors had described.
"Miss Trevi…" he repeated in a hollow voice that had clear traces of morphling in it. "I am… very sorry. For all."
"Relax. You need peace right now, got it?" Ford tried to intervene, to make him quiet, but the kid was surely determined to speak up for a 'vegetable'.
"No. No, Miss Trevi," Titus' voice was scared and his eyes filled with shame — any tears that would have left were dried up. "Mae… I am… I didn't want to do that. I just… I just wanted to go home. But I am still so sorry."
Maureen froze. Just why? Why couldn't he be quiet about this, acting as if it was a normal Victory? Now what did everyone expect from her? To nod, to smile, and say that it was all fine? Well then it fucking wasn't, it wasn't fine at all.
But on the other hand… Neither did what she had done to Undine, Sylve, Wade, and Scythe, with the last one being even more innocent than the already dead Mae ever was.
She closed her eyes. Breathed in. Did it again.
Always remember — Victors don't hold grudges against each other.
So, she only silently nodded, without much smiling, while her right eye was focused on Cass, who was making the tiniest steps towards the other 3 (now) Victors of District 6.
"What is now important is that you are here — alive and with us," holy hell, she must be terrible with her encouraging speeches, Maureen thought — yet it looked like for Titus, even this bravado of a speech meant the world.
Looking at Ford being there for him and even Maureen, who had no idea what to do yet still sticking around, Cassius still kept his distance, badly hiding the emotion of horror over what was now in front of him. And they called this fine ?
Oh hell no, whatever it is, his Victor was not fine at all — it was a shell of a human with barely any emotion left, who could only properly communicate through his huge, glassy eyes.
And the only reason why this boy is like that is only because of him.
Pushing the inner pain down their throats, the victors still gathered close to each other — with Maureen sitting at the very edge of the kid's bed, Ford moving his chair closer so he could offer some comfort to Titus, who at some point refused to let go of the old man's hand; as Ford later explained, sometimes this child confused him with his long dead grandfather who left this world when he was just 8 years old.
Cassius couldn't look any of them in the eyes, hence taking his preferred usual spot on the floor, but not before loudly demanding Ford, who already wanted to free the comfortable place for the "overwhelmed mentor", to stay where he already was.
Ford kept his hand over his shoulder as the boy settled in, finally being able to normally sit — after some time of waiting, a nurse cautiously brought in a big mug of steaming hot chocolate, along with some water for the rest; by her explanation, no strong drinks were allowed in here.
The group was sitting in almost complete silence — not like there was nothing to talk about, none of them were good talkers or wanted to waste time on something that could be said with a simple caress on the hair or a shoulder rub.
Maureen was silently chewing on the couple of tea biscuits that Titus didn't touch; she still kept an eye out for Cass, holding his hand — he meanwhile didn't even touch the brought water.
"Mr Winston, want some?" Titus finally managed to properly acknowledge Cassius' presence — something he wished he wouldn't. The boy took a couple of biscuits from the second plate.
Gulping, Cass's first thought was to ignore him, but how could you ignore one of the very clear rare smiles from this kid that he would ever see?
"Stop with the 'Mr' this and 'Miss' that — we all use names between one another, Titus," he got up from the floor for a second and when grabbing the cookie, his gaze unknowingly fell on his hand; the very same one that was now missing 2 fingers.
"Ok… Erm… Cassius," the boy coughed, as it was hard for him to take the words out of his throat.
"You'll figure it out," his responses to the bound teen were still short, but he knew that eventually, he had to get used to him.
Then it looked like he blacked out again and the only thing that kept him "there" was hot chocolate; on the first day spent in the hospital with the kid, Ford told Maureen that it was the only thing Titus asked for when he regained at least a bit of his consciousness. Favorite thing perhaps?
This made Maureen wish for a second that she was either blind or that every single person from the Capitol would permanently wipe their memory off — the boy's parents were right during their interview, he was truly a sweet kid, with his mind now forever messed up.
She didn't want to think about what was going to await this nice boy with scared eyes and trembling hands — his life was already over long before it had begun, even with him "winning" this thing, nobody left an Arena as a true winner. And Maureen learned this in a hard way.
Maybe dying in that snow would have been way more merciful to him, rather than living through whatever horror of a punishment the Capitol will give?
≪❖≫
"Okay Titus, how many fingers am I showing?"
My head was spinning and every note of Hermes' voice bounced off, creating an echo — I could barely recognize his face, yet the saving grace to knowing he was now there was his bright blue suit, maybe he wanted us to color match?
Alright, I got it. His fingers… Only wish I could say that I knew what was going on.
"T… Fo… Four," stammering, my head then falls down when I see my hand clutching the fabric of my dark blue coat.
"No kid, it's six," Hermes sounded panicking — either concerning, or it could be the fact that his second Victor was now looking like a morphling addict laying on the ground on corners of a street in a bad neighborhood.
The doctors told me I had no choice in this matter — about half an hour, or maybe earlier… Or maybe later than that, they put so many syringes in me that I almost collapsed then and there — perhaps some hoped that I would die?
I could hear my escort trembling and quickly talking to Ford, since Mr Wins— no, Cassius wasn't here. There was no desire for me to get on that stage, especially with that stupid black mask put over my mouth that made it hard to breathe. Yet the prep team insisted it would be staying on.
Claimed that this was going to be a one-time thing that was mandatory for the Capitol, as they claimed some of the viewers were still recovering from trauma after what they saw on the broadcast.
Just amazing — they are the ones being traumatized while it was me who had to eat Mae, those others, and dirty fake snow covered in blood, surviving on some drips that were left on my jacket?
Hearing this I wanted to cry, I really tried to, yet Miss Trevi was very much right about this magical thing — morphling can be a lot of help, so instead of a cluster of emotions, I only felt as if my heart was shot through and now half-consisted of a giant black hole in the middle of it.
I was still gripping the chair and refusing to get up, even knowing that the interview was going to start soon. It's useless, it is all useless — my "image" is already in the trash for the Capitol, and to them, I was worse than a mutt.
They already wanted to kill me — that avalanche was for sure meant for me, but now I am here instead of some favorite that might have gotten through the Games if it wasn't for that happening.
"Titus, I just need you to look at me," I can barely hear Ford's voice and somewhat nod, before feeling myself being risen from the chair by two men and guided by their two pairs of hands forward. "It's just one time, you are going to be all fine."
"No… I don't want… They will kill me," I let out a whimper.
"They can't harm a Victor — I promise, no one would ever touch you and we're also here to help."
I didn't want to overwhelm Ford with my whining, so I was not protesting while being led to the stage — my crowning was a small ceremony and there was no Victors Banquet since everyone had left as soon as they could. Nobody wanted to celebrate the victory of one sick freak who ate some of their tributes…
Now I wish I could follow them — the longing for my familiar lavender-smelling bed, and mom's warm and gentle hands became unbearable, but I still kept walking.
"You poor thing," maybe that's what Hermes muttered in a pitiful voice. I didn't know — I couldn't hear him at all.
Coming to the stage almost made me collapse — I could barely recollect the pieces of my memories from my first interview that even I had forgotten what was like. I couldn't hold still at all, only managing to plop in the chair, not sparing Caesar Flickerman a gaze.
Couldn't hear anything near that place, while my eyes drifted somewhere else to wander, just not to see the thousands of eyes who feared me in the Arena or even wanted me dead.
"So… impressed us… for sure… feel better," this was all I could get from the host's certainly long introduction speech.
I tried to talk, but each time something went wrong — I was stammering on letters, sucking in the saliva that made me want to drink, and also that stupid mask over my mouth caused some problems with breathing.
"Yeah… it was very cold… on that snow I mean."
"At least you are going back right now! Are you planning to…" The rest of his speech I couldn't make much sense of, only nodding to the man whenever he tried to initiate a conversation or a joke.
It turned out that Caesar never even scratched the surface of what I had done — only talked about my "good survival skill", my very clear talent, trying to pass me off as a previously hidden gem. I went along with it, wanting to smile, but because of the face mask, it was barely possible to make out what I tried to demonstrate on my face.
At some point in the interview, he said that he was sorry about my fingers and asked for my hand to demonstrate it — after a whole minute of silence I realized what he wanted from me, so I lazily obliged. Still, I knew that showing them my small sacrifice wouldn't make the weather.
This will always be nothing compared to what I took. My fingers are not my life that the Capitol can parade around as the death of a horrible rabid…
My winning robbed them of their feeling of justice and for this, I'm surely never going to be forgiven.
Even before this thing, at the Games recap, my mentor was informed that all of my inhumane deeds were wiped from the tapes — the Gamemakers would have preferred to never even show those atrocities on the live camera, but all they could do with Mae is to cover it up and then cut to the next tribute — that is how bad and sudden my "surprise" was to them.
The rest… I don't know if their kills ended up cut from the broadcast or just me taking the food.
No. Bad one. They weren't my food — they were people and I was a monster who should have never feasted on their bodies. Everything that has been happening right now was because I did that.
As I thought, Caesar continued to ride on the "secret potential" train, sometimes touching my shoulder to shake out a reaction from me — I must have looked stupid sitting with my head lowered in that blue coat thrown over a black shirt, with this annoying mask making me seem like a criminal. Which, without any arguments to my case, I surely was.
Not feeling anything was weird — I wanted to yell, cry, hit my foot against the floor, or even pass out, but I was only sitting quietly, barely making my presence on stage known despite arguably being the most important piece for today's show.
"Make it stop," I barely mumble under my breath.
"What-what Titus? Sorry, we couldn't hear you!" Oh crap. Looks like, after my silence, Caesar is grasping at any strings to make this disaster at least a bit more engaging.
"Pl… Please. I… let me… to mom and dad."
Damn why. Just why.
After my spew of words, I lost the grip on my head, dropping it down and never raising it back.
Morphling did its job way too well and my eyes were only looking at a bright floor that changed its shades from blue to bright pink — it was spinning, then flowing, with other voices in the back becoming nothing but buzzing noise.
It was surprisingly nice — how good it would be if I was allowed to remain like this forever; no other worries on my mind, only this sweet, sweet, euphoric nothingness.
Now, I only wanted to sleep.
---- ••• ----
The next time I figured out where I was and what even was happening around me, I could feel two hands on my back, to prevent me from falling on the side, while pooping up lights were blinding the way.
My eyes could barely make out what was going on when I heard loud yelling that almost made me fall to the floor and curl in a ball when my legs felt like that jelly Hermes tried to put into me on the train to the Capitol after my Reaping Ceremony.
"Move! I said move, give us the way!" I somewhat recognized a bit of Ford's voice, not being able to reply to him at all.
Moving through the crowd of the Capitolites with cameras, all while some very important people were left to sit in the hall, definitely unhappy about this letdown of an interview from someone as "infamous" as me. Couldn't see Caesar either — probably out there disappointed in me, this might have been just one of the worst interviews that he ever had.
I made a fool out of myself, but what is the point now? What was the point of all of this? I wanted to survive so badly, fought for my life so hard and now I want to fall back into this cold pile of snow and never wake up.
Hunger, windstorms, mutts, frostbite that cost me 3 fingers, and the nightmarish avalanche that was sent off to kill me — I was supposed to be dead over 5 times already, yet I outlived all of them.
Just leave me alone, I promise, I won't be eating anything, but leave me alone. I simply wanted to go home.
"It's going to be okay Titus," when some of the photographers were shooed away, I was close to tweaking. "Now it is over, we all are free to leave. Do you need something?"
"I… N… They… wouldn't punish you for helping me… you sure, Mr Wright?"
Could feel Ford coughing, containing his slight laughter — he stroked my hair a couple of times, like mom used to do and once we were away from everyone, he carefully removed my mask; nice sigh, now could breathe much easier.
"No one would be punishing me for something so trivial and besides, you are one of us now."
One of us. No. I shouldn't have been here, I should have been a victim, an example to never break the rules set by the almighty Capitol. What will become of me now, I had no idea, clinging to an old man who should be resting, but is now wasting his time with stupid me, being the waste of space I always was, even back in District 6.
Yet I only wanted to live. My life wasn’t worth anything, but I just had this desire to keep it for a little bit.