Scarlet.

II

"Scars From the Great War."

I change into a cotton dress when I start feeling overwhelmed by the heaviness of my winter clothes, and I try to fall asleep but I can't do it; my eyes are burning, and my head feels like it will explode at any given moment. Descending to the living room, I search for the bottle of whiskey gifted to me by the district mayor upon my return from the Games. I take a direct swig from the bottle, the fiery liquid searing my throat and briefly taking away my breath, almost causing me to choke.

I spit out the bitter residue lingering in my mouth, but the alcohol does nothing to ease my pain. The tornado of thoughts inside my mind grows stronger, and I hold my head with both hands, trying to put an end to it. I pull at my hair and shatter the whiskey bottle against the oak table as Marvel's face appears in my mind. Glass fragments embed themselves in my hands, and instead of removing them, I decide to press them in harder; blood taints everything in a dark hue.

I hold my face with both hands and sink to the floor, the echoes of my cries filling the empty house. Taking a ceramic ornament from the coffee table, I throw it at the closest wall. Despite feeling dizzy and nauseous, I manage to wreck everything in sight—mirrors, cups, plates, glasses—leaving nothing untouched in my path.

I open another bottle I find in the kitchen and drink its entire contents before shattering the container; moonlight filters through the window, allowing me to see my clothes soaked in blood. I grip my dress tightly and try to tear it off, only succeeding in pushing the glass shards deeper into my palms.

The image of the girl from District 12 repeats obsessively in my mind, and I see her standing in the kitchen doorway. I throw plates at her, but they never reach her. She walks towards me, her expression devoid of emotion, which is terrifying. I shut my eyes, and when I open them again, she has vanished.

I fell down the stairs when attempting to go back to my room, and now I lay completely still at the bottom of them, my body covered in blood, sobbing and shouting gibberish. Cursing and lamenting, regretting being alive, and hoping for the morning not to come because I no longer want to be here.

The front door opens, and I suppose I've forgotten to lock it again. I couldn't care less if it's a thief; I have no strength left to fight; they can do whatever they want in here; and I truly hope I get killed tonight.

I lose consciousness until a stabbing pain pierces my hands. I open my eyes, feeling as if a sharp dagger were embedded in my forehead. I'm in my bed, both hands bandaged, and with the faint moonlight illuminating the room. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but manage to quickly get up once I feel nauseous.

I run to the bathroom just to collapse in front of the toilet; the acid burns my mouth and nose. My heart is racing, and the retching seems endless. I stay on the floor for a while until I feel strong enough to stand up again. I brush my teeth and then drag myself back to my room. I open the curtains wide and gaze at the desolate street. It's all been futile to get to this point; I don't feel the joy I thought I would. Nothing will ever be enough to fill the emptiness inside me.

A silhouette appears in my bedroom doorway, and I'm too drunk to know whether it's a real person or if I'm just hallucinating. I stumble to my bed and fall face-first, closing my eyes as the mattress sinks besides me and a gentle hand caresses my face. I force my eyes open and see that it's Cato. I simply stare at him for a few seconds without uttering a word.

"Clove," he whispers.

"Shut up," I mutter hoarsely. "I don't want to hear it."

He moves through the darkness until his hands find my body, just to pull his body into mine. Nestling my face into the curve of his neck feels familiar, known, and safe. I notice he has lost weight as I wrap my arms around his torso. A lump forms in the back of my throat because his closeness makes me feel like I'm back in the arena. I sleep, clinging to him, muffling my cries so he won't hear them.