And that was the thing about her, she kept on surviving. With bullet holes in her lungs and knife marks etched in her back. She never let anything get in her way, resilient. A fighter, not by choice. But a warrior at heart.
| the hunger games |
| pr...
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The smell of blood ... it was on his breath. What does he do? I think. Drink it? I imagine him sipping it from a teacup. Dipping a cookie into the stuff and pulling it out dripping red.
Outside the window, a car comes to life, soft and quiet like a purr of a cat, then fades away into the distance. It slips off as it arrived, unnoticed.
The room seems to be spinning in slow, lopsided circles, and I wonder if I might black out. I lean forward and clutch the desk with one hand. The other still holds the cookie. I think it had a tiger lily on it, but now it's been reduced to crumbs in my fists. I didn't even know I was crushing it, but I guess I had to hold onto something while my world veered out of control.
A visit from President Snow. Districts on the verge of uprisings. A direct death threat to my mother, with others to follow, everyone I love doomed if I don't do as he says. Who knows who else will pay for my actions? Unless I turn things around on this tour. Please the people and put the president's mind at rest. And how? By doing what he says and convincing the people that are my clients to do things his way.
I can't do it, I think. I'm not that good. I'm the one that sits back and lets others talk as much as possible so I don't have to. I'm not sure how I am supposed to convince these people.
I hear my mother's light, quick tread in the hall. She can't know, I think. Not about any of this. I reach my hands over the tray and quickly brush the bits of cookie from my palm and fingers. I take a shaky sip of my tea.
"Is everything all right, Ember?" she asks.
"It's fine. We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victors before the tour to wish them luck," I say brightly.
My mother's face floods with relief. "Oh. I thought there was some kind of trouble."
"No, not at all," I say. "The trouble will start when my prep team sees how I've let my eyebrows grow back in." My mother laughs, and I think about how there was no going back after I took over caring for the family when I was younger. How I will always protect her.
"Why don't I start your bath?" she asks.
"Great," I say and I can see how pleased she is by my response.
Since I've been home I've been trying hard to make a better relationship with my mother. I almost died and I realized I still had so many things I wanted to tell her. Asking her to do things for me instead of brushing aside any offer of help, as I did for years. Letting her handle all of the money I won. Returning her hugs. My time in the arena made me realize how I need to stop pushing people away, and for punishing her for the crushing depression she fell into after my father's death. Because sometimes things happen to people and they are not equppied to deal with them.
