One Reason to Stay Here [VT/5/Lethe]

Lethe Turner

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The Victory Tour. Another way to make sure the Games were never forgotten. And it wasn’t even her tour. It belonged to Mace. And for some reason, that made it feel even worse.

Lethe sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, as her eldest sister, Sarah, brushed out her hair, pulling out a few dead strands here and there. Occasionally, Lethe would bring her hands to her tiny, rounded out stomach and rub it vaguely. Seeing this, Sarah clucked disapprovingly with her tongue. “Mel sent some dresses. I’m dressing you in black, Lethe,” she told her with a sigh, “but that doesn’t mean I’m keeping this up for any longer.”

“What are you talking about, Sarah?” Lethe asked blankly, staring straight ahead at the blank expanse of wall that once had a mirror. There was a square of lighter blue paint than the rest of the wall, marking the mirror’s former place. Her hands came off of her stomach and resumed tugging at each other in her lap.

“I’m not stupid, Lethe,” Sarah replied shortly. “Mel called and said you had to have bigger clothes made for you. Around the waist.”

“Oh,” Lethe replied softly, swallowing hard and looking down, heart pounding against her chest.

“I know, Lethe,” Sarah tugged gently on Lethe’s hair as she twisted it up into an elegant ponytail. Sarah thought herself a stylist, though she, like her husband and most of the people in District Five, worked on an oil rig. Mel had been unable to make it from the Capitol to prepare Lethe. Something about a surgery. “When you are going to tell Mom? She’ll understand, really-”

“No,” Lethe stood quickly, her hair falling back onto her back and walked the length of her bedroom. Downstairs, she heard the clattering of plates as her mother made breakfast. Lethe glanced down at the bump. It wasn’t large at all, luckily, but both Sarah and Lethe knew that wouldn’t last. Lethe patted her sweaty palms, anxiously, on her bathrobe.

“Lethe,” Sarah whispered behind her, “she won’t be too angry, really. You’re nineteen. I married when I was twenty-”

“She won’t be angry,” Lethe muttered, her mother’s voice ringing in her head.

“Lethe, darling, aren’t you too old to be single?”

“Bring me home some grandchildren, dear!”

“Aw, Lethe, isn’t he cute? Why don’t you go and talk to him?”

“She won’t?” Sarah asked, her voice thick with discomfort. Her tiny hands found Lethe’s shoulders and squeezed them, reassuringly. “You sure, Lethe?”

“Yes, I am!” Lethe snapped and instantly, the hands came off her shoulders. Sudden fury had shot through her veins at her sister’s inquiring. “You’re not Mom, Sarah! Just stop.” Lethe didn’t turn to see Sarah’s hurt expression, knowing it’ll only lay guilt heavy on her heart, so she turned to the chair where her black dress was laid out. Snatching it up, Lethe stared away from Sarah with hard eyes, grumbled out, “I’m going to get dressed in the bathroom,” and stormed off.

Once in the bathroom, Lethe couldn’t help, but stop after she’d let her bathrobe fall to the floor. The pale skin of her stomach had been stretched around a round bump, almost like she’d swallowed a ball, like the kind she could see her little siblings playing with outside on the front lawn through the window. His name has been Eric. He had had a cute face and lovely eyes. He’d smiled at her. He’d been kind to her.

It had been a whirlwind of a mistake.

And she knew it the next day when she woke up with his scent on her skin, that bitter, burning, stale taste in her mouth and a pounding headache. The memories were fuzzy, but they were there. She knew what happened. And so did the doctor when she went to him two weeks later especially after she vomited right in the waiting room. It wasn’t just morning sickness. The Finale of the current Games playing on the television in the waiting room just made her feel even more sick, even more so with the sick and healthy people alike around her cheering, crying out and making bets. She’d thrown up at the same time Sundra’s body had hit the ground with a dead thud.

“Well, good news, Miss. Turner,” the doctor had said after hastily taking the girl into his office after both her vomiting and realizing who she was. Lethe chewed on her lower lip as her heart beat so hard against her chest, she could hear it over the shouts coming from the next room. The doctor sat down before her with a plastic white grin, permanently knifed onto his face by other doctors. “You’re pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Lethe had choked out, instantly feeling queasy again. Noting her green look, the doctor had hastily retrieved a bowl for her to throw up in again. When she was done, having wiped her mouth with a napkin, Lethe shook her head at the doctor, tears pooling in her eyes. “I can’t be pregnant.”

The doctor would’ve knit his eyebrows if he had any, but those were gone, so instead he, too, chewed on his lip. “Well, we have some other options,” he decided on finally, standing. A moment later, he had returned with a pamphlet in his hand. Lethe had taken one look at the word written on top and shook her head.

“I can’t do that,” she shook her light head. She was going to have this baby.

There was no time to find Eric. The Games ended that day. And for the next three days, she was preparing for the Victor Acceptance Ceremony, in which Mace would be crowned this year’s Victor and she, Lethe, would sit there among the other Victors and remember her own ceremony, remembering the horrible weight that had been placed on her head with that terrible crown.

Soon after, she was on the train home with one extra person. But, no Eric. And that left a pain stabbing at her chest. She spent the next few months wearing clothes far too large, blaming her morning sickness on the stomach flu and food poisoning. In one instance, she insisted she had swallowed a bug. Though Lethe could see the worried look on her Mother’s face, she didn’t question. Sarah was the first person to.

Lethe slowly slipped into the black dress. With its slimming color and the way it was gathered, Lethe appeared a lot thinner than she really was. A sigh of relief passed through her lips as she twisted her hair back up into the hairstyle her sister had attempted. She took a few moments to compose herself, smoothing her dress and touching up the make up on her face before emerging from the bathroom. Downstairs, her family was assembled in the kitchen, all dressed in their best clothes, munching away at food and chatting. They all fell silent as Lethe drifted in. Sarah diverted her eyes from her sister.

“You look lovely, Lethe,” her mother was the first to comment with a bright smile. She hurried forward to hug her daughter and as their stomachs pressed together, guilt pressed down tightly on Lethe’s chest, making breathing hard. When her mother pulled apart, she smiled, but Lethe could see the worry creasing her forehead. Lethe’s stomach lurched as she glanced over her mother’s shoulder at Sarah, but Sarah gave a tiny jerk of her head, her eyes still sharp as steel. Her secret was safe.

In the corner of the room, Camalia was perched on the counter, munching on some lettuce. Walking to her, Lethe scooped her up and placed her, calmly, on her shoulder, feeling the regular disapproving eyes on her back. Camalia licked Lethe’s neck in joy. “Well, we better get going,” Lethe’s mother said with a tiny grin, unhappy eyes straying to Camalia. A moment later, the entire family was parading out of the house, one entity, nearing the square which was already filling with people. Lethe’s mother fitted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead as Lethe began to draw away from her family to make for the stage.

The mayor nodded kindly at Lethe as she drifted up the steps and took her seat. She gave a quick smile as she fiddled with her hands in her lap. A second later, Mace ascended the stairs to the stage. For a flash of a second, Sundra’s face grew in Lethe’s mind and a particular memory of the Games, as she sat huddled in her room, watching. Aesop had loved Sundra. For a moment, Lethe envied Sundra. She’d fallen in love before she’d made that crucial decision. And she, Lethe Turner, had been drunk.

Eden. She would name the child Eden. Girl or boy, didn’t matter. The child’s name would be Eden. That was what Aesop and Sundra had wanted. And they were two people who deserved a child.

Lost in her musings, Lethe didn’t realize Mace had neared her. "Reckon we ought to do something," he mumbled and she could see the discomfort in his eyes. Pity filled her body as she smoothed her dress, hands pausing over her bump before crossing her arms.

“Just smile,” she told him, though she didn’t take her own advice, “act like you want to be here.” Before she could give more tips, another voice overtook hers, a messy sort of voice.

"You shouldn't feel guilty about Sundra. You did what you had to."

Lethe glanced around for the source of the voice and found the face of a girl at the edge of the stage. She recognized her immediately. Bastet. The deaf girl. Lethe knew who she was even if she never spoke to the girl. They both had a condition and Lethe had always felt some sort of connection to her. The mention of Sundra in that sense hit Lethe harder than thinking of her relationship with Aesop.

Mace hadn’t killed Sundra. Sawyer had provided the ending blow, but Mace had contributed. But, Lethe couldn’t hate him for it. She had killed her own ally when it had come down to it. She had just as much blood on her hands as Mace, yet it was in a trembling voice that she said, “Bastet’s right.” She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “She would’ve done the same thing. In fact, she tried.” Lethe sighed. The truth in her words was overwhelming.

For an awful moment, Lethe wondered what her child would think of her. Will her child see her mother as loving, kind person?

Or will her child see her as the same monster everyone knew she was?[/color][/size][/blockquote]