Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter fifty-one

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chapter fifty-one
BROKEN PIECES

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tw:
mention of torture, mention of abuse, violence, ptsd — mockingjay is heavy :(

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No matter what she does, Sage is unable to rid herself of the burning sensation. Its seething and unforgiving heat burns into her flesh in the shape of stars and talons, but her back is not the only place that's fallen victim. Now, the heat courses through her veins, hums against her bones, and swirls beneath her aching heart. Sage knows this feeling, as she's felt it many times.

When that arrow pierced Calla's skull. As the Peacekeeper's baton cracked down on that little boy in the market. After they murdered Taura. Slaughtered Mateo. Beat her brother to a pulp in that pasture. Sentenced her to death in another Games, tore apart a man so gentle like Shep in the name of entertainment, and stole half of Tolly's eyesight. This anger's been born from the same womb repeatedly and walked in different ways.

She isn't just angry. Sage is furious.

Erabelle's been subdued now, but she's still haunted by her screams echoing against the four walls of her empty Compartment as she prepares for the next part of her daunting schedule. 18:00 – bathing. She stares at her and Ptolemus's empty bed, the corners crisp and neat from his perfectionist hands. The relief that he's at least safe, even reunited with his best friend, draws some comfort. However, it feels so much smaller besides all that ache that continues to mount in her chest.

The fabric of her shirt slides against the uneven ridges of her skin as she bends down to open the dresser, and for a moment, her own fearful shriek echoes with Erabelle's again. She hates it. She hates how easily one touch took her right back to Dr. Balcom's white room only to spit her back out in time to see them. Those looks. She's never going to be able to forget those looks. Sage clenches her jaw so tightly it might crack.

She can't even think about what the night is about to be like in this Compartment alone. Maybe she can ask Nurse Bryn to sedate her.

There's a signature knock against her door, the person tapping once, then a pause followed by three more quick ones. Even though she recognizes it, she still jumps, wide eyes snapping toward the source. Her taut shoulders remain still as she stares at Almanzo's frame looming in the doorway. He looks just as exhausted as her. He manages a warm smile in her direction.

"Hey," he greets. "Just wanted to run something by you."

Sage forces herself to straighten, realizing she resembles something like an animal caught in a spotlight. She snatches a pair of night clothes and fresh underwear from the drawer before forcing herself to shut it softly. There's still that warmth itching against her bones. "What's up?"

Almanzo takes a hesitant stride through the doorway, eyeing his rough and calloused fingers with a pinch of his brows. Then he lifts his gaze to hers again, starry with memories. "Remember Loft Nights?"

The term draws a nostalgic fondness from her heart, and the corners of her lips quirk upward in dumb amusement at his question. "Yeah, of course I do. Mama would make us swim in the pond to get the smell off us and Colt would tickle my nose with hay while I was trying to sleep."

Her brother chuckles lightly and nods. She's forgotten how rare his laughter is these days, but is sharply reminded when it startles her. You almost can't tell he's been crying. Almost, because there's still the puffiness to the skin around his eyes. "Well, Shiloh and I were talking. We know you're alone tonight..." He gestures to the made bed. "What if we have another Loft Night? Or pretend to. We'll bring our blankets and pillows over, sleep on the floor like we used to sleep in that smelly hay and pretend to look through the hole in the roof at the stars. Shiloh can ramble on about the planets and I could bring my harmonica..."