Caught In The Middle // VT {Kirito + Patricia and Lethe}

It's so far away, but I can hear the sound of that cannon, echoing in my mind. Through the distorted image on my apartment television, I watch Kirito Miristioma stand over Wyatt's body, and become crowned the Victor of the 70th Hunger Games. It never stops echoing, not for any of us. I sip at my coffee and turn my nose up in disgust when I discover the bitter drink is now cold.

It's just a replay. The real Games ended a month ago, and I'm being forced to watch highlights of the recent Quell in wake of Kirito's arrival in Five. There were no Tributes from Five in these Games - the first time that's happened in the 70 years that they've been running, but still the Victor is made to come here and ruin my mood. He'll give some false speech, just like I did, with dead eyes and a broken body.

I set the porcelain teacup aside on a glass table and move to the center of the Justice Building hall. A feast has been laid out in Kirito's honor, with a large hunk of roast beef, wild boar, forests of vegetables and reservoirs of gravy. It feels like such a waste, because I know he won't touch any of it. He'll feel all lethargic, with the taste of death in his mouth and blood on his tongue. I know because I was in his shoes not long ago. I tried to wash that away for months. It was horrible.

I would feel sympathetic for him, but it's a wasted emotion. He has to move on with whatever life he has now. The Games are done. Anyone who spends their days looking back and wondering what they could have done differently is lost. Peridot, Mace, Colgate. They're all yesterday-men. I'm a tomorrow-girl. I have to be. If I don't look ahead and assure myself that the next day is coming, then I'm only going to trip and stumble, and I've come so far now to degenerate into the mess I was a year ago.

My right arm is aching. Rose says she's getting angry at me for once again taking on too much too soon. Two years and I'm still not fully healed yet, but I'm getting there. I'm fitter than I was in the Games. I've been training nearly every day now for a while, but still I have deep scars that aren't going to go away. Permanent tendon damage, an artificial hand, damaged spine. I don't let it play on my mind too much. Scars make me who I am. They remind me why I'm here.

Rose has passed Reaping age now, so that's one less thing I have to worry about. The threats from the Capitol seem to have died down too. I've shown that they can trust me, following their orders and keeping quiet for two years. I was seen as an anti-Capitol icon in the Games, and they did their best to sweep me under the carpet after I won, with death threats to my sister or Diamond. They seem to trust me more now that they see I'm not a rebel, I'm just a survivor.

Lethe is late. This doesn't surprise me. I guess she wanted to watch Kirito's speech from home, and then head on over after. I should have explained to her that the speech would be a waste of time, but Lethe being Lethe would probably have ignored me anyway. I'm not watching the speech. I could probably tell you what he would say anyway. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.

There's a sharp knock on the door, and I turn my head, raising a finger to brush my auburn fringe out of my eyes.
"Yeah?" I call out.
The door opens and a man who is obviously from the Capitol pokes his head through the door. His eyes are narrow and his cheeky full, his skin is bright pink, almost the tone of a salmon. He has a burned moustache that is wirey and frantic, shooting from his nose like whiskers. He looks like a weasel. He spots me and slides into the room.

"Kirito is expecting you and Lethe in the waiting room." He informs me with a tone that is almost as impatient as it is patronising. He addresses me as if I'm a child late for school, even though I've been here for half an hour.
"Expecting me? Give me a break." I snap, and his mouth twists awkwardly, his red face getting redder still. Nonetheless I comply, leaving the banquet hall and following the Capitolite down the narrow corridor of the justice building.

I always find myself looking at the portraits that line either side of the deep red corridor. Gold-leaf metal frames hold hand-painted incarnations of dead Tributes. I walk past Shadow Bison, other names. At the end, two much larger paintings depict the only two District Five Victors in the seventy years. I look at the portrait of myself, dressed in black and gold, hair dyed dark and eyelashes unnatural. It doesn't look anything like me, except for my facial features. Lethe's is more angelic, dressed in white with a dainty smile. Two Victors, ten years apart. I move past them quickly.

"Kirito, may I present Patricia Valfierno, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games." He says, like its a full title. Like I'm royalty. I scoff and push past the man into the room. This is where they take us when we're Reaped. The waiting room. It used to give me the creeps, especially last year when I went to see Zeki and Pixie. At one point, I stood in this room as scared as I had ever been in my entire life, but now it's nothing but another room to me.

Kirito stands there looking as ordinary as they come. He's not ordinary though. He killed a Hammerfell, a behemoth of a tribute. I think back to overcoming the monster that was Crusader Rhodes and I can safely say that killing someone that big is not easy. What's more, Crusader was from an outlying District, whereas Orion was a Career, which made him all the more hard to kill. How can someone as small and scrawny as Kirito have killed such a Goliath?

I fold my arms, my gaze holding his for a few seconds. I let him drink me in, see another Victor in the flesh. Then, after a moment, I open my mouth.
"Hi." I say, mouth half twisting into something that could be vaguely interpreted as a smile, "Welcome to Five, congrats on winning." I say almost monotone.

"Make yourself comfortable, there's food and stuff in the other room if you're hungry." I try to make him welcome, because he's just been through an incredibly traumatising experience and needs some normality. My eyes trail to the door. The weasel man has left, probably to find my counterpart. Where the fuck is she?

I move left, towards the large window pane, my eyes trailing to the Victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games. He is slight and thin, with skinny arms and legs. I'm 6'0 tall, so he doesn't quite measure up to me, but he's young. Very young. Maybe I just feel really old since winning, despite only being Twenty.

I lean against the window and fold my arms.
"Lethe will be here soon." I say, slightly agitated, eyes on the door. She better be.