Terms and conditions { maya }

[k!ah]

It had been three days since I had been dragged from the arena, my body torn into shreds, blood soaking the god damned ugly sequenced overalls. And despite all of that, despite the fact that my hands were covered in blood, and the remnants of the murders I had just committed I had still felt lighter than I had felt in years.

Instantly, they had transported me to the hospital that I was being held in currently, wrist tightly shackled to the bed railing. The lightness I had felt the moment the last canon had fired had started to feel heavy again. The freedom that I had fought for, killed for, had almost been in reach, but with each passing day I felt it slipping further and further away. It was infuriating.

"Hello!" There was a deep rasp in my voice, and I attempt to clear my throat, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. The movement cause my body to scream in protest, and I grunt in pain. "Damnit," I hiss, cradling my side.

"Hello!" I shout, glaring at the empty doorway. "For fuck sake- HELLO," I bellow, my voice regaining some of its integrity. Finally, a nurse enters the room, unlucky for her. "Where the hell am I? I need to see the president- fuck, no I need to see the person in charge. Now." The nurse clicks her tongue at the tone in my voice, and I bite back a snarky comment. "Please. I need to know what's going on. That Gamemaker that keeps popping her stupid peppy head in is driving me insane."

The nurse's eyes soften and as she moves around to the edge of my bed she hands me my glass of water. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I heard that you an an appointment with the higher ups today. As soon as you have been given the all clear for discharge."

Suddenly the weight on my shoulder felt ten times heavier, and I felt my mouth go dry, my hand clenching around the railing of my bed. Nervous twisted with excitement danced in the pit of my stomach and suddenly I felt like I was going to be sick. "Ugh I feel sick," I mumble and the nurse takes my glass, handing me a bucket. "Thanks."

Today was the day.

Freedom.

[k!ah]

"Maya Gomez, take a seat."

The room is cold, but not as cold as the stares from the Capitol Official that sat before me. Head held high, shoulder pushed back I take a seat across from him, ignoring the way pain shot through me with the movement, causing me to grit my teeth.

"First, I believe congratulations are in order." The man straighten a stack of packer in front of him, his con graduations feeling like a chore more anything.

"Thank you," I say around a wide grin, an attempt to throw him off. It didn't take a genius to know that the mans cold exterior was an an attempt to intimidate me. And I have never been good with authority. "Lets cut the shit though," I lean forward, crossing my arms across my chest. "You owe me."

Apparently what I said was hilarious because the man before me give a short dark chuckle, his smile growing. "Owe you?" He starts, watching me carefully, intently. "We owe you nothing, Miss Gomez. You are a traitor to Panem. We. Own. You." He draws out each word, ensuring that I would not miss a beat.

I choke for a minute, a flash of anger, panic, and frustration surging through me. I was nothing but property to them. Nothing but a pawn for them to manipulate. Any thoughts of freedom, even the artificial freedom that I had decided would have been enough vanish and for the first time in a long time I have no words. My mind, my body, my mouth unable to form any sort of verbal sound.

The man notices, and the satisfaction that creeps through makes me want to rip his face from his skull. Fucker.

"I see." Is all he says for a long moment, before he turns the stack of papers before him towards me. "The terms of your 'freedom'. The president as agreed to pardon you as response to your victory in the arena." He pauses, waiting for my reaction. I remain silent, a tiny seed of hope burying itself in my heart. He continues, "however there will be conditions so this freedom."

"What conditions?" I ask too quickly, pulling the pages closer. Too eager. Not that it mattered. I had a feeling that if I didn't accept I would be sent right back to the Detention center. Left to rot until the next games where I would be forced to make an appearance-

or executed. 

"The President doesn't like a traitor wearing the crown. He has decided that if you co-operate that your name will be removed from the list of traitors. Your parents, however, will remain traitors. However, the President has decided to reward you for your service and will be returning their remains to you to dispose off as you wish."

Suddenly my heart is in my throat, my hands tightening on the paper that I held. After their execution I had had never had a chance to say goodbye to them properly. I- I had never thought that I would ever get the chance to take them home. Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision and instantly, and aggressively, I wipe at my eyes, refusing to allow the man to see me cry.

"He has additionally agreed to allow your to return to the estate that your family owned."

Why? Why was he doing all this?

"In return you will do everything that is asked of you. And if there is even one hint of any sort of rebellious activity you will be terminated. This includes rumours, whispers, anything and you will be removed. Permanently. Is that understood?"

Iron shackles are removed, but their ghost will forever linger.

But I could- would learn to live with it.

"Yes."

I was going home.

We were going home.

In that moment, nothing else mattered.