lost and found // tom & zori

They didn’t tell me when or where they were shipping Rum Tum off to. They just did. One morning I opened the door to his room and the tiny bed was made, the shades were open, and there was an unfamiliar air of emptiness. My parents had warned me days prior, but it hadn’t settled until then that it would actually happen, that it actually had happened. There’s something about losing people that never feels like it hurts enough in the beginning. Because maybe I can survive a few minutes, a few hours, maybe a few days without Rum Tum. But every passing second hurts more and more and more. But I’ve lost Rum Tum more than once. I’ve lost Kormiko more than once too. You could look at my life and easily see it as just a series of losses, one after another. But I guess you’re not truly living until you’ve got something to lose.

I’ve spent the last few days staring at walls and pacing the halls, trying not to fall into that same state that I was trapped in for the countless days I spent sitting within the confines of the lighthouse. And it’s this feeling -- this dreadful, hopeless feeling -- that makes me wonder how and why I was ever able to stand again, speak again, love again. Because losing someone that close to you isn’t just about not having them in your life anymore. When you lose someone who spends more moments in your life than out of it, there’s this feeling that some piece of your identity is being ripped away. Because we worked so hard to build this. How am I supposed to take the leftover bricks and create something else? My hands are already tired, and there’s nothing else to build. Nothing else I want to built.

But what if I don’t have to? I hear my parents’ conversations late into the night. I know they’re concerned about the way I’ve retreated back under the sheets of my bed and swallowed all the words down until the house is filled with a silence that hasn’t been there since the days when I refused to speak altogether. Some nights I can stand outside my parents’ bedroom with my ear to the door and hear them discussing the same old matters over and over again. “Should we not have sent away the Avox?” “No of course we should have.” “There was definitely something going on. There had to be.” “Freya just needs some help. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know right from wrong. She’s confused.” “Are you sure it was a good idea to give him over to the Training Center?” “Yes, he can’t be in this house. Whatever is going on is not okay.” Generally, my parents are smart, perceptive people, even though it may not always seem that way when my mother’s flinging herself across the Capitol every weekend. And I hate them. I hate them for pretending like they care about my feelings. I hate that they can take things from my life and believe that they know what’s best for me.

If anything, though, standing outside my parents’ room was a worthwhile use of my time. Had I not been there listening, I would not be here now, inches away from the training center, pushing my father’s key card up against the plate on the back door. It opens, and I step inside cautiously. I follow a dark hallway down to two large doors. Locked. I move down the next hallway, seeing light at the end. I reach the light and find that I’m standing just in front of the entrance to a huge kitchen, filled with Avoxes in their red uniforms. I glance left and right, but I don’t see Rum Tum anywhere. Either way, I need to blend in.

I lurk in the shadows until I see another door that leads me down a lighted set of stairs and into the basement. And there are Avoxes there too (but no Rum Tum), and laundry machine after laundry machine. When you see the training center on TV, you don’t see all this. Who knew there were so many rooms? I walk until I reach a laundry bin and pull out a clean set of these red clothes that all the Avoxes seem to wear here. Suddenly, an Avox grabs my arm with a serious look on her face, and I flinch. There are several Avoxes looking at me, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. They know I’m not supposed to be here. They know I’m up to something bad. I stumble to grab my father’s ID card from my purse and hold it up so they can see. “My father creates muttations that could tear you apart, so if I were you, I would back away right now.” Fortunately, it’s enough to get the Avox to let go of my arm. I scurry up the steps and find a public bathroom, quickly pulling on the long red shirt, the red capris, and the gold sandals. I leave my other clothes in a heap on the floor, not knowing where to hide them or what to do with them. I look at my face in the mirror as I pull my hair back into a bun and fasten the red collar around my neck. I grab my belongings from my purse, including my father’s key card, and slip them into the pockets of my red clothes. Lastly, I grab a tube of red lipstick, a red eyebrow pencil, and whatever other red makeup I can find in my purse and apply. When I look into the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself.

I leave the bathroom, feeling more comfortable to roam as I need to, and I find an entrance to the back stairs. Now I just need to find Rum Tum. I walk up to the first floor and then the second and the third and fourth and fifth and I feel like the only floor I can trust is the eleventh. If they assigned Rum Tum to a tribute floor, this would be the one. It has to be the one. I take a deep breath and put my key card up to the plate against the entrance to the eleventh floor. The door opens and I step inside what seems to be an extravagant living room area. There is no one in sight. I take careful steps further into the suite, hearing voices somewhere down the hall. I spot an Avox, entering through a door down to the right, and I follow into what seems to be another kitchen. Not like the big one downstairs, but a smaller kitchen just for this floor. There are several Avoxes; I don’t think any of them have noticed my interrupting entrance. Some of them are loading dishes into the washer while most of the others seem to be preparing a series of desserts. But still no Rum Tum.

I pick up a dish and put it into the dishwasher, trying to look like I’ve been here the entire time. Occasionally, an Avox pops out of the room and then returns with a dirty dish or two. When the next Avoxes leaves, I follow them into the dining room, watching as they grab a plate off of the table. I follow their lead and grab another empty plate, my heart beating fast as if someone is about to point a finger at me and tell me I’m not supposed to be here. Can they tell? Does anyone know? I feel an anxious knot in my stomach as I grab the plate from the table, trying not to look at any of tributes or mentors and whatnot. However, my eyes inevitably wander just a little, my heart stops for a moment, and I feel the plate in my hand go crashing to the ground.

“You--,” I say instinctively, but I quickly stop myself from saying anything more; Avoxes don’t speak! I hope my word was quiet enough that they didn’t hear. Oh goodness, I remember this boy so clearly. I punched him the face. I told him he was a liar, that he was a peacekeeper, that he was the one who took Rum Tum away. And yet, here he is on death row, nothing more than just a boy. An Izar. even. Oh my god.

I know I’ve made a mistake -- a terrible mistake. I tremble and sink to the ground, quickly picking up the tiny shards of the broken plate, not even daring to look up at the faces at the table. I swallow down the sudden surge of guilt. Where is Rum Tum? I just want Rum Tum. That’s all I came here for. Not this. Not more shame. Not more remorse. No, not this.