Catherine Seavers - D5 - FIN

I know I look just like my mother. I got none of my looks from Jeremy, that is for sure. But that is why I never questioned whether he was my father. And of course the ass never told me himself, so I was stuck thinking he was just an amazing guy who liked me. (Except he was tied to me, always knowing I would grow to help him do his dirty work.) I can see why the woman I was named after ran away from him. He's pathetic - worrying about nothing, no one, but his precious gang.

There really isn't much to say about myself. A lot of the men I know from the streets know exactly who I am. They had payed for, and thoroughly enjoyed, 'meeting' my whore of a mother. As if my blonde hair weren't enough to let them on, I also inherited her big brown eyes. Mrs. McKinley has always loved my eyes, always complimented them when I was younger. But she lied to me about my whole life, so maybe that had been a lie too? And considering my eyes seem like nothing but saggy puffs anymore, she probably was.

I haven't smiled in months. I bet people think that I have no teeth. I don't speak to many people either. I used to get all kinds of conversation from people in the orphanage and out on the street, but ever since the day my half-brother got reaped, I have kept to myself and managed to avoid conversation. Not many people really wanted to talk to me, though. When someone wearing a hooded sweatshirt walks by you, they tend to cringe away. That's good though - don't want to talk to liars. I'm done with that.

I'm not very tall, not very frightening, not very intimidating at first glance. But it is pretty easy to throw clothes that are too big on, and then, to prove I can hurt you, throw a knife that will just miss your ear and declare I will hit your eye if you dare to come near me again. You learn to get tough or die when you live in the streets like I do. (Orphanage. Street. Same thing really.) Sure, some days I yearn to go back to when I was younger, laying down and looking at the sky with Quinton, but those days are gone. I will never be that girl again - I can't forget what happened. I will always know the world is filled with liars.

I can remember the girl she used to be. Little Miss Catherine was always the kindest, sweetest, most adorable thing you had ever seen. She would run around in little pink dresses and smile and wave at everyone who passed by the orphanage, insisting that should come in and join everyone for dinner. Sometimes I was frightened of the people she let, but she seemed to have an effect on everyone. People who I had never seen smile before couldn't help but laugh and grin at her. She had a way of making everyone want to be her friend and she always wanted to be your friend. After only an hour of playing with another child at the orphanage she would declare she loved them and beg for me to give her a cookie top share with her new found friend.

Even as she got older she was kind. She always loved the way I would do up her hair for school, or compliment every single one of Quinton's drawings, even if he had just thrown them in the trash bin. I guess I should've known something like this wouldn't last forever, but how could I? How could I imagine her any different than she was? I guess I had noticed her father poisoning her. He kept feeding her lies - or at least he never fed her the truth - and after Quinton was killed, it was easy for him to recruit her. Quinton's death was only a crack though. It only cracked the surface. But as soon as the 60th Hunger Games reaping came around, her lie completely shattered. Learning so much so fast broke her.

I should've warned her about Jeremy, forced him to stay away, but she insisted she loved him, just like she loved everyone else. But as soon as she learned she had a long lost brother that she never knew about and that the leader of her gang was her father, she found that she couldn't stand the world anymore. Too many lies, too much silence. The man she thought to be truthful and trustworthy had turned out to be a snake. She was named after the woman he missed, that had given birth to his son. At first I thought maybe she would only be angry for a month or so. But that wasn't the case, She still hates me, still won't talk to me, wanders the streets, makes plans in her head to kill her father, learns the story of her half-brother she never got the opportunity to love.

Someday I hope that little girl in the pink dress can resurface. I know she is still there amongst the shattered pieces of her heart. But no one can help her find what she is looking for - only she knows how to put herself back together.

She was born into an orphanage. Never wanted by her mother, for reasons unknown to her at the time - only later would she find out what her life truly was, and the true relations she had with everyone she knew. But she grew up here, in the orphanage her entire life. I raised her from the day she was 3 days old to now, at sixteen years old. She is like a daughter to me, as all the kids that stay here are - but Catherine was special. Perhaps her past was a bit complicated but special all the same.

Her father, Jeremy, he is one of those guys who runs the big gang around here. Always causing trouble. Her mother, Jessica Retter, is a prostitute. She left the area right after she gave birth to Catherine and hasn't wanted anything to do with her. I try not to judge her for that because I have no idea how she feels and what she has had to endure, but it is quite hard not to hate a person who leaves their child alone in a world so harsh. But after being abused by countless men for so long and insisting she could not give her daughter a life worth living, I knew that she was being a good mother just by giving her up. Jeremy - he has played as much of a part as he could. I have never approved of him though, trying to keep him away from his daughter which he insisted be named after his first true love, Catherine Godwin. After she left, Jeremy was only just temporarily uninterested in women - But he was right back at them, not getting emotionally attached, only pleasuring himself. And that is how Miss Catherine came to be. Sadly, even that isn't the complete story.

As she got older, I learned that she was talented on so many different levels. She was one of the smartest children I had ever cared for and always seemed to want to help me. Washing dishes, doing laundry, sweeping the floors - she wanted to help me with all of it. And it wasn't only me, she wanted to help everyone. All the kids loved her and wanted to play with her and she was so glad when they asked. She loved to be loved and gave her love away to anyone that wanted it. So when Jeremy started to pop in every once in awhile, she naturally took to him. I told him to stay away, that his presence would only make her life harder, but he was the threatening type who said he could take her away from here - that I did not have custody over her - that she was his and he could do whatever he liked with her. Knowing that he could take her away and that he would - no matter how terrible a life she would live with him - I kept my mouth shut in order to keep her here, safe in the orphanage. He never told her that he was her father though, not until she became the independent women and started asking questions. I knew the day would come when she would figure it all out, but I had hope it might be under different circumstances than she had. But she had her whole childhood yet to live.

She took a liking to a Mr. Quinton Trill that stayed here at the orphanage. He was 5 years older than her, but he had a hankering to tell some amazing stories. And naturally, with her and her imagination, she loved to be around him. Quinton was one of those kids that never attempted schoolwork, but could've excelled had he tried. He was an artist - always intriguing Catherine with his amazing portraits and landscapes. Even I was perplexed by his artistic skills, even if I didn't approve of him shooting ink into his arm in order to "preserve them forever." But his ability to spark wonder and hope in Catherine made me want to hug him so badly. Soon, Catherine was proclaiming that Quinton was her bestest friend in the whole wide world and that they were going to go on all kinds of adventures together. He walked her to and from school, tucked her in at night after telling her a story, and was like any big brother would be. Across District 5, though, was her real older brother - Blythe Godwin-Seavers. He was only just a few months older than her, but I knew that he was out there and that he was real. But she didn't need to know. She would never see him anyways. She would never know him and he would never know her. So I kept quiet. Besides, she needed a significant guy to look after her in her life, not just me.

But when Catherine was 12, she lost something close to her. Jeremy came by to visit more and more often as she got older, slipping ideas into her head that I knew were dangerous. She was saying things like, "I want to grow up and be like Jeremy." and "Do you think I can shoot a gun?" I grew worried for her. Her father - even though she didn't know him by that title - was corrupting her thoughts, make the sweet innocent girl who gave away all her love willingly want to do terrible things. Quinton didn't like it either. But he knew he couldn't do anything because Jeremy had threatened to kill him. And it turned out that he would kill him. Not directly, but he would. Walking back from school one day, Quinton decided that he would go look for Jeremy and tell him that if he didn't start leaving Catherine alone, he would make him leave her be. But before he could get much of anywhere, before he could even slip away from Catherine's side, he was killed by member of Jeremy's rival gang - his tattoos mistaken for Jeremy's gang symbol. Catherine changed after that. With no one to go to but me, she resorted to going to her dad. And because she hated the rival gang and wanted to avenge Quinton, when she was 14, she left the orphanage with Jeremy. But as soon as she turned 15, just a few months or so later, she left. But only after the reaping when she heard a singular name called. Blythe Godwin-Seavers.

She confronted me later that day, demanding to know who the hell he was. Her father burst in just in time to explain. All he was able to say was that he was her father before she started to curse at him and hit him with all the force she could manage. I watched him retaliate, hitting her so hard across the cheek that she fell to the ground. I remember watching him grab her by the hair and throw her out into the streets, kicking her when she tried to stand up. Luckily before anything else could happen, his fellow gang members stopped him. By this time I was crying and kneeling next to her in the street, assessing the welt growing on her cheek. She let me lead her inside and to her bed and then finally let herself cry. I told her that he was her father and that he named her after Catherine Godwin who ran away from him and the gang life to have her son, Blythe. That her mother had left town after she had her, knowing she couldn't care for her. That I knew the whole time, that I was sorry, that Jeremy had threatened to take her if I didn't keep quiet, that Quinton loved her so much he was going to go confront her father about all of it, and that I hadn't solved this whole thing years ago. She was too upset to be mad at the time and moped around for a few days before anger crept back into her.

She was so broken, insisting that since her whole entire life had been a lie that their was no point in telling the truth anymore. She had lost so many of the people she loved, and people she could've potentially cared about, that there was no point in being a good person anymore. I tried to convince her that she was a good person, even if she was brought here by not so good people. She was special, she was meant to overcome the obstacle of her family. That her mother and father were idiots to leave such a girl behind and then not tell her the truth. That Quinton was her real family. That I was her real family. But she wouldn't listen - not to me. She was too upset to listen. She didn't want to listen, I could tell. I watched her go off to that own special place night after night. She no longer wanted to be with her father, but to kill him. I caught her murmuring in her sleep about how she was going to get him someday. It was an obsession - an addiction - and I was terrified. But what could I do? She wouldn't listen, she didn't care that I was sorry, she was so broken that all she could do was hate. The little girl who had loved so much was done giving her love to those who around her. She was done with love.

All she had now was hatred. Her ability to trust anyone was hindered. She was lost. She still is.