Sparks Fly

Chapter 24

I am as speechless as the Capitol's torturers have rendered Darius. In my head I hear Darius's voice, playful and bright, ringing across the Hob to tease me. Not as my fellow victors make fun of me now, but because we genuinely liked each other.

I know any move I would make toward Darius, any act of recognition, would only result in punishment for him. So we just stare into each other's eyes. Darius, now a tongueless servant; me, now headed to death. If I had been there to stop Thread, he wouldn't have stepped forward to save Gale. Wouldn't be an Avox. And more specifically, wouldn't be my Avox, because President Snow has so obviously had him placed here for my benefit.

I stalk down the hall to my old bedroom, locking the door behind me. I sit on the side of my bed, elbows on my knees, clenching my hair in my fists, and watch my glowing suit in the darkness. I want to scream, to fight back somehow. But I can't. And the numbness begins to creep in, a feeling that's starting to become ever so familiar. I stare at the dancing light of my suit and imagine I am in my old home in District 12, huddled beside the fire. After some time, the room slowly fades back to black as my power pack dies out.

I'm not aware of much at dinner except that Darius and the redheaded Avox girl are our servers. Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, Portia, and Peeta are all there, talking about the opening ceremonies, I suppose. But the only time I really feel present is when I purposely knock a dish of peas to the floor and, before anyone can stop me, crouch down to clean them up. Darius is right by me when I send the dish over, and we two are briefly side by side, obscured from view, as we scoop up the peas. For just one moment our hands meet. I can feel his skin, rough under the buttery sauce from the dish. In the tight, desperate clench of our fingers are all the words we will never be able to say. Then Effie's clucking at me from behind about how "That isn't your job, Katniss!" and he lets go.

When we go in to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies, I wedge myself in between Cinna and Haymitch on the couch because I don't want to be next to Peeta right now. I'm still angry with him for laughing at me along with the other victors, and it doesn't help that this whole Darius business has shaken me to my core. Peeta knows of Darius, but he doesn't know him personally – not like Haymitch and I do. Those of us who were regulars at the Hob share a certain bond that not even Thread's reign of terror could cleave through. Even on the hollow days in the middle of harsh winters, when the air was so icy, wind so sharp and biting that it felt like I'd never be warm again, we'd gather around Greasy Sae's stall and share a hot bowl of stew. We'd warm our hands and gulp down the boiling liquid, share a few words, maybe a laugh. The stew never tasted good, not when there were such slim pickings in the cold months, but it was hot, and the company was worth it. Darius' lighthearted teasing and jokes even managed to thaw Gale's icy heart every so often, eliciting the rare smile from him. It feels as if a hole has been ripped in me, knowing that these moments are now lost forever.

I know Peeta will listen to me, empathize with me like nobody else can, but this is mine and Haymitch's burden to bear, and it is his presence I seek out as we settle in to watch the procession of tributes on the television.

As the first tributes begin to make their rounds in the City Circle, I think how it's bad enough that they dress us all up in costumes and parade us through the streets in chariots on a regular year. Kids in costumes are silly, but aging victors, it turns out, are pitiful. A few who are on the younger side, like Johanna and Finnick, or whose bodies haven't fallen into disrepair, like Seeder and Brutus, can still manage to maintain a little dignity. Finnick's look appears to be a particular crowd favorite, as the audience screams at the sight of his near-naked body. But the majority, who are in the clutches of drink or morphling or illness, look grotesque in their costumes. Small wonder the crowd goes wild when Peeta and I appear, looking so young and strong and beautiful in our brilliant costumes. The very image of what tributes should be.