Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
i. warning this chapter contains/alludes to: rape, forced prostitution, police brutality, violence, drug use, and mental illnesses. please don't read if these are sensitive topics to
NINA CLAUDIAS, WHO HAD NO MEDICAL training, knew that it wasn't healthy to see yourself kill the love of your life on live television. It's not like she needed a reminder of what happened; she often found herself replaying that moment over and over again. Nothing about it was hazy. It was like she was bashing in his skull all over again. She could still see the sad, love-filled gaze. It wasn't hard to feel as if she was still clutching his dirty tunic.
However, seeing it on a screen felt surreal.
Of course, during the Victor interview, she already saw it. She prepped herself to remain calm (if not indifferent) then. But now, seeing herself kill Mi—no, no, she would not say his name. Nina didn't deserve that. She understood why people thought of her as a monster. She had no emotion on her face. Her dark eyebrows furrowed deep into concentration. Her tan, muscular arms kept bringing the brick down on his head. Nina willed herself to stop. It was pointless. Everyone knew what came next: the booming of the canon and the trumpets proclaiming her the Victor of the 73rd annual Hunger Games. Well, in the edited version anyway.
"Chills. Absolute chills, Miss Claudias. I still can't believe you turned on him like that," the Capitol women gushed. She set her champagne glass down on the low marble table. The TV flickered off. She pushed a button. Suddenly, the glass fireplace burst into life. Even the flames here looked artificial.
"And I'd do it all again," Nina drawled. Nina wanted to punch the woman in her magenta dyed face. This was not one of those trashy dramas that District One produced.
"I knew it was the smart thing to sponsor and bet on you. My husband, on the other hand..." she burst into ear-shattering giggles. Perhaps the husband suffered from brain damage due to the woman's voice.
"He can always bet on my next mentee. We do have the Quell coming up next year."
"I'm afraid he did this year. We all, my friends and I, that is, thought your little Finch would win." The woman, Celeste, took a drag from her pipe.
