[help!]::i need somebody::ro/rave

Lethe Turner

Phelix’s fat fist closed eagerly around the edge of the coffee table as he leaned forward on his chubby legs, trying, trying to rise up onto his feet.

He’s trying to walk.

Lethe’s thoughts were unenthusiastic. She watched from the couch where she sat rhythmically flipping a lighter open and closed, a half-empty pack of cigarettes on the leather next to her. She’d gotten them from another Victor, she could hardly remember who, pressed into her hands during a drunken night with a “Hold these while I pee.” Lethe had slipped them into her pocket.

She’d never smoked before and she was sure there was something against smoking around children and so, she fiddled anxiously with the lighter, heart pounding. She’d come to the Capitol this year, reasonably less straddled down, far lighter despite Phelix in her arms. She had no tributes this year to watch blossom, wilt and die. And yet, still, Lethe was dragged to the Capitol, Patricia in tow, leaving Eden one more sobbing in her father’s arms.

Camalia skittered up the arm of the couch. She was slower in her old age, her colors less vibrant. Yet, she was still her same old self, still pressing her tongue eagerly to Lethe’s neck when she reached out and Lethe managed a weak smile, as her fingers fumbled over the lighter. Patricia would surely wrinkle her nose at this display. Lethe slipped her feet up onto the couch, underneath her, now clutching the lighter close to her chest as Phelix bounced down onto carpet, his attempts at walking foiled by gravity once more.

The train ride had been awkward, but what else had Lethe expected. No tributes to entertain, no questions to be answered, Lethe and Patricia had decided via unspoken agreement to occupy opposite ends of the train. The girl had become somewhat warmer to Lethe since the snowstorm where she had delivered Phelix, but Lethe knew she preferred the baby to her. It was like she was back in the Games, alone on a fast moving train to her supposed to death. Only this time, she had a baby on her knee.

Phelix fell down on his behind once more, but he seemed rather unperturbed. He eagerly reached, once more, for the edge of the table, his mouth open in wonder. Lethe’s fingers had crept to the cigarette pack on the couch as she watched him. He took a step forward, teetered for a moment, but kept straight. He stepped forward again and stumbled before catching himself at the table. “Good job, baby,” Lethe encouraged him from the couch, giving him the same distant smile she’d given Camalia. He blinked at her, with her own bright green eyes, the same one’s that Eden had, the same that filled with tears when she learned that there would be no District Five tributes this year. She clapped her hands together, a grin spreading across her face. “Mom!” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mother’s side. “Sadie, you know Sadie, from school. She’s safe!”

“They’re all safe,” Jasper reminded her, winking at his wife who could only manage a short shrug back. If only this twist existed in two years. If only the same fortune fell upon District Five. Then, Lethe could breathe easy for one year. And one year only.

She watched her son take another hesitant step and then another and then another. Lethe rose to her feet as Phelix waddled towards her, arms outstretched, gurgling, “Mama!” He fell into her arms and she scooped him up, smiling and poking his nose. “Good job, baby!” she told him and he giggled, snuggling close to her neck and she held him, gently swinging him back and forth. Yes, two more years until her nightmares might come a reality. Two more years until she tensed and shivered as the District Five escort swished her hand around the Reaping bowl, knowing Eden’s name was swimming around in there. She held Phelix tighter, pressing her nose to his sweet-smelling black hair. He had his father’s hair, his mother’s eyes and he smelled fresh like cucumber, thick like crayons and sweet like strawberry.

A sudden knock on the door broke Lethe from her thoughts. Who could it be? Her stomach lurched—could it be Patricia? She groaned, called “one minute!” and placed Phelix on the couch before hastily snatching up the lighter and cigarette pack. “Stay here,” she told him, slipping them into her pocket as she turned towards the door. Taking a deep breath and forcing her most passive face, she cracked it open.

To her surprise, it wasn’t Patricia. It wasn’t a Victor either. She didn’t open the door any wider than a small crack to peer through. It was the District Eight tribute and she gasped when she saw his face. Bruised and swollen. Unable to help herself, she cried out, “What happened to you? What do you want?”