Family Ties: The 35th Games

[suicidal ideation TW]

Though I'm grateful Addalie pushed me in any direction when I'd been floundering, trying to figure out what to do, I was really starting to regret it. It was abundantly clear that wielding a sword was not for me. I try my best to follow the trainer's instructions, but it's heavy and awkward, and doesn't feel right in my small hands. It doesn't help that while I'm stumbling around, I am acutely aware of the hungry gazes of the Careers on me. When I swing the sword and get knocked off balance, I can hear Vella snicker and Dane jeer at me from across the station.

I was expecting it. It hurt, but I expected it.

What I wasn't expecting, however, was the gentle hand that was held out in front of me to help me up, and the kind voice that accompanied it. "It's okay," she says gently, and I look up to see Georgie offering to help me up. I gratefully take her hand, getting back to my feet, and picking the sword up off the ground. "You just have a bad grip, is all. And your stance is too narrow," she explains, trying to show me on her own sword as an example. The soft grey eyes I'd seen in the elevator this morning were now studying me with care I'd really only come to expect from Nathan, and maybe Olivia. The only time they broke away was to eye the Careers, glaring at Dane angrily.

"He's been heckling me all morning," she explains to me, exasperation in her voice. "But I don't care. His ego will hurt him. The moment something goes wrong in the Arena, he'll crumble." She shakes her head. "Anyway, just relax your hands a little, okay? Try that, try keeping your feet shoulder-width apart, and then try swinging it with that new grip."

She demonstrates, and with her coaxing and coaching, I try it too. I'm still not good, but there's an immediate improvement. My movements are much more fluid, and I'm not falling over anymore. I keep practicing, her soft voice guiding me as I do, and when I start feeling like I'm exhausting myself, she sits beside me, letting me drink from the water bottle she'd brought over (I'd left mine at the lunch table).

"Thanks," I mumble to her. "For the water and the help."

"You and the others. The ones from Ten you were sitting at at lunch. You're working together, aren't you?" she asks me, and I blush. It was probably obvious, with how much time we spent together, but I hadn't thought anyone would even be paying attention. And it wasn't like finding allies was against the rules or anything, but it still kind of felt like I'd been caught. 

"I heard you talking at the Tribute Parade," she admits with a tiny smile, as though she was reading my thoughts. "The others will find out soon enough, though. You guys aren't very subtle." That earns her a deeper blush from me, which makes her laugh.

"I know you've been watching me, Zania. I know you want my help too."

I look up, gazing pleadingly at her. "Will you? Help us, I mean? Breah says you're strong."

She doesn't answer me right away, and when she speaks, it's not an answer to my question. "My name was in the Reaping sixty-five times, you know." I can't help but wince. "My family is the poorest in my district. My parents don't know the word moderation, apparently-- before Mom died, she'd already popped out twelve kids. Dad tried to raise us, but he wasn't cut out to be a father. Never cared for most of us. Neglected is too kind of a word to use to describe my upbringing, and Dad barely works. He borderline used our tesserae as an income. All of my sisters that were eligible had their names in there dozens of times."

"We all knew one of us would get Reaped eventually. It was only a matter of time. And we all kind of trained accordingly. Not anything near Career training, mind you, but we tried to practice. Tried to prepare. Tried to make it so that when we did get Reaped, we'd have a fighting chance."

She pauses for a moment, studying my face and I stared at her in awe. Her voice is still kind when she continues, but there's a steely edge to it. "Do you know what it's like? To grow up knowing you're going to die? Or knowing, that if you don't die, the life you'll have will make you wish you had?"

I had to be honest, I didn't. I had no idea. And I had nothing to say back, either. I knew I was lucky-- my family wasn't well off, but we were hardly poor, and we had enough that we never had to take much tesserae. We all loved each other, and took care of each other. And while the reality of the Games loomed over us every Reaping Day, before this year, it was just a passing anxiety. Life moved on past it. When we planned for the future, talked about wants and goals, it was never part of it. My daydreams about having a house and a family and a dog when I grew up never had any of that in them.

"I'm not going to win," she says softly, breaking me away from my thoughts.

"I--" I stammer, frowning. "You don't know that. You might."

"No. I won't. I don't want to," she answers soberly. It's a shock, and I am at a loss of what to say once more. "There's nothing waiting for me on the other side."

"If you win, you win money," I point out to her. "You get a house, and all your family gets to move with you. Just because you don't have a lot now, doesn't mean you won't."

She smiles at me sadly. It's like she knows something I don't. Like I've said something naive, and she doesn't want to let me down. Wants me to just hold onto my hope, however unfounded. "Victors live cursed, half-lives," she finally tells me. "There is no winning. There is just losing, and surviving. And while I know full well that some may be strong enough to build a life on the other side, I don't want to."

She leans back against the wall, taking her bottle back and drinking from it before putting it back down between us. "Can I ask you a question?" my voice is small and shaky as I ask.

"Ask away. I'm an open book," she tells me.

"I just..... If you don't want to win, why train at home? Why practice so hard here if you've just given up?" I ask.

She smiles at me again, and then glances up at the Gamemakers. My gaze follows; I'd noticed them up there when I'd come in this morning, but hadn't taken a good look at them until now. They watched all the tributes like hawks, plans formulating behind their eyes as they logged each strength and weakness of every kid practicing before them. "I want to fuck up their narrative," she tells me.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, all of this-- the Games, the Reapings, even the way the Districts are set up... It's there to keep us in our place. The people in the Capitol see us all as below them, and we're just pawns in their game. And for us, that's literal-- we are pawns in their Games," she says. "The way they divide the districts, making us all separate from each other, sowing division... The way they keep the districts impoverished, making people like me have to put my life on the line just to get some bread. They way they steal children away from families, only to have them fight to the death on live television, as some sick way to keep everyone in their place.... Our fates have been decided for us since birth, and for those of us in the districts, our fate is to be servile. And I don't want to serve."

I really don't know what to make of what she's saying. I think I understand, but it's so much all at once. And even if I do understand parts, what I don't understand is not wanting to win. Not wanting to live. 

"It's so unfair when twelve-year-olds get Reaped; they never stand a chance," she continues, and I feel a pang in my chest. Her words hurt-- they're true but they hurt. "They have the tributes from the Career districts too, trained to be killing machines, and then some underfed kid from the outer districts. Fed to the wolves. Even worse for you, Zania-- Your brother got Reaped too. More content for the machine. Just going to be a sad little plotline in another bloody, bloody games."

My eyes are stinging. Was all of this just to make fun of me? To make me feel vulnerable, to make me feel comfortable and start trusting her, only for her to play with me? To twist the knife, make me unravel? Was this all a ploy to try to take me out of the games mentally, so she'd have an easier time taking me out physically once the Games started? 

But just as a tear starts to roll down my cheek, Georgie takes my hand, her stormcloud eyes looking deep into mine. "Imagine, Zania, if you won."