.: inner fire - {patricia} oneshot - part iii: ashes :.

[rook]

tw: sex trafficking, sexual abuse, substance abuse, suicide

the year of the 82nd annual hunger games

reaping day

It follows me everywhere I go. It's there when I'm picking up supplies from the market, it's there when I'm alone walking through the woods, and worst of all it's there in my bed at night. When I close my eyes, it's all I see. When I wake up, it's the first thing I remember.

The worst is when I think I'm keeping it together. The days when I forget for a little while, where Phelix says something funny and I laugh. When the sun sets perfect over the reservoir. When I feel thankful for being alive. It makes it all that much more painful when I slip back into the reality of what happened.

Another Winter passes, and in the bloom of Spring the daffodils sprout on the hillside. Bucks march proudly through the woodlands, bringing with them their foals. The eastern wind brings with it a cold reminder that turns all the little things I like about this time of year bittersweet.

It's gotten to the stage where I don't bother to unpack my suitcases, they just sit in the spare bedroom clasped shut, a selection of elegant dresses and casual sportswear neatly folded by someone with more grace and care than me. I prefer them out of sight. I can forget, for a little longer.

But when the time does come, I find myself struggling to go into that room to get them. It feels wrong. My blood runs cold and I feel sick looking at them. At that moment, when I take them downstairs ready for transport to the station, it all becomes real again, and it hits me like a flash-flood of guilt and shame, turning my face red and stinging my eyes.

I don't even know who I am anymore.

I used to not give a fuck. I could take on anything, because I had been to hell and it had spat me back out, bleeding and screaming, but alive and full of fire. Now I'm the wick of a candle, weeping in the rain.

Maybe I was always this. A flickering shadow of the person I projected onto the world. The scared girl behind the curtain.

Bringing the last of the suitcases down to the front door, I stand panting with my hands on my hips, staring down at them. They're just things, Patricia.

I'm on the edge of crying.

I don't know how long I can keep doing this. Is this my life now? Is this going to be every year? How long before I snap? How long before I lose control and stick a knife in his ear? I'm losing control, and I'm terrified of what I'm going to do. What I'm going to become.

My chest hurts. I walk across the living area and reach for the translucent amber tube containing my painkillers, taking a double-dose and swallowing them dry. Rose comes downstairs, ready to head to the mayor's office, off to make Five a better place.

"Rose?" I breathe, my voice reaching out across the room. She turns and sees me standing there, arms at my side and tears sitting red on my cheeks. Her cheery demeanour drops, and in two steps she's there by my side, her little eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"I did a bad thing, Rose." I speak to my sister for the first time in what feels like years. And I mean speak her, not just talk. Open up and show her the real me, not the facade I've been putting on for years. Not the big bad Victor, the scared little orphan girl from the streets.

And I don't know if I can tell her the truth. I've been shielding her from it for so long, letting her live her life, do the things she loves, and change the world one day at a time. Because she deserves to live a life as a free person, without all of this... all of this shit that I drag around with me.

I burn everything I touch in this world. And I don't want Rose to get caught up in the flames.

But I don't think I can fight this on my own anymore.

"I did a bad thing, and the Capitol said... they said they were going to kill you, because of what I did." I breathe, sinking down into the designer sofa, and wanting to sink further still.

"So... So I made a deal with them. To keep you alive." I stare at the wood-pattern lino floors, wishing I could rip them up and dig a hole big enough for me and all my guilt. I'd be digging for a while.

It seems so simple an equation, my life for hers, same as it ever was. Except it's not a quick death for me, it's a long, haunting process in which they take everything that I built myself up to be and they chip away at it piece by piece, until all that's left is what was there at the start. But a death all the same.

Rose sits down next to me, her eyes brimming with concern for the mess that I am becoming. My mascara is starting to run down my face.

"And I don't want to put this on you, because you've got enough... enough shit going on in your own life. And I-I don't want you to have this guilt too." And it's enough of a struggle just to get the words out at all, but-

"But I-I'm falling apart, Rose."

And I'm terrified of where this all ends. I'm terrified of where this leaves her. She's got her life together, finally. She's done what I haven't been able to, and left the alcohol and the drugs and the crime behind her. She's grown. They'll tear her down too, just to spite me, if I do anything other than what they ask.

And then her voice snaps me back to now, and I'm staring at her through blurry eyes.

"Patricia you can always talk to me." She affirms, "I.. I can bear it. I bore it when you were in the arena, I can... just tell me. What was the deal?"

The arena was different. I had a clear way out, and that was through everyone else. This isn't something I can win, or force my way out of. There's no one to beat, or to best, there's just what they tell me to do, and me doing it.

"This isn't like that, this is-..." I choke a little, realising I'm probably far more emotional than Rose has ever seen me, and that makes me feel even worse.

"They-.... they made me a thing... for people to..." I can't find the strength to say the next word, but I do through tears and gritted teeth, "...use."

My breathing is heavy and my legs are shaking. My hands search for something to grip, clasping at the my knees because there's nothing else.

"That was the deal."

Rose is silent for a long minute, her eyes moving from mine, to the walls, then back to me. I used to know everything going on inside her head, but now she might as well be a blank canvas.

"I'm so sorry." She offers finally, her voice considerate.

"I don't... I don't think less of you."

She hugs me tight, arms wrapping around my shoulders and gripping around my back. I feel her holding me, like I'm something so precious she'd lose me if she just let go. My hands rest at my side, my chin sitting on her shoulder.

I hug her back, and don't let go.

"People think I'm strong, Rose - because of all those horrible things I did in that arena..." I say, my voice cracking, "because of the things I say, because I'm Patricia fucking Valfierno."

Invincible.

"But they're wrong. I'm not strong. I'm not. I'm scared."

Terrified, in fact.

"And I don't know if I can keep doing this anymore."

Rose keeps her grip tight to me, but moves her head backwards to look at my face, into my eyes and into the very soul of me, or what's left of it.

"You don't have to be strong, Trish. Not with me." She takes a quick breath and tries to swallow through a tightening throat. "You've been there for me so many times. I'm here for you. You don't have to do it alone."

A problem shared is a problem halved, and all that. I do feel like a weight's been somewhat shifted, like although this awful situation is still going to happen, I know that someone else knows what I'm going through. I don't have to put on a brave face around her any more. I don't have to be strong.

Because she's stronger than me, and always has been. She doesn't need me to set the example anymore.

"You're right," I manage, after a while, "But I still have to do it."

There's no mistaking that. Call it fate, call it miscircumstance. This is the hand I've been dealt, and I can't fold, not when so much is at stake. So I have to play their game, I have to keep doing these awful things for them, because what's the fucking alternative? There is no fucking alternative. This is what it is.

So I'll do it, as much as it tears me apart, as much as it makes me want to curl up and die, to keep her safe.

"And I will keep doing it until it kills me. Because I love you, and you deserve to live for more." I smile a sad smile.

"Trish, no." She begins to plead, "I love you too, but please don't worry about me."

"You deserve more, too."

I laugh through my tears. No, I'm a murdering bitch who gambled her loved ones lives and lost, and for what? To be outspoken? To ruffle a few feathers? I deserve this shame. It's my fault.

"You idiot, all I do is worry about you." I try to smirk, but end up coughing as I choke on my anguish.

"I just wished none of this had ever happened." I've thought those words a thousand times, and my cybernetic hand frisks my pockets for cigarettes that aren't there as the pain swells in my chest and my cravings scream at me, "But so does everyone, I guess. I'm not special."

Finding a pre-rolled cigarette resting on the coffee table, I reach out and tuck it between my lips, eyeing the door.

It's then I see Rose break, tears filling up her eyes. My heart sinks.

"You are special, Trish." She starts to sob, "You're my one and only big sister."

The big sister who was taken away, stripped of her humanity and thrown into a cave. What came out was something else, red-raw, her innocence bleeding all over the stone walls of the tomb she left behind. I've bled for her, lost my arm for her. Nearly died for her. Am still dying for her.

A ghost of a smile glides over my face. Another mask.

"Don't you forget it."

And like that, it's time to go. I kiss my sister on the forehead and say goodbye for another few months. It's routine at this point, same every year. Leaving home never gets any easier, and given what's waiting for me in the Capitol, I find myself wanting to grip the wooden foundations of this place even tighter, before they come to drag me away. Sometimes it's less painful to just accept it and go quietly.

I take my suitcases to the station, escorted by an entourage of Peacekeepers and Capitol officials. Flashes from the paparazzi capture the makeup running down over my dead expression. They ask me questions. So many questions. Why are you so upset? Who's going to win the Games? What's your relationship with Diamond Millison? Does Rose Valfierno have a drug problem? Do you have a drug problem? (Yes) Do you see a future for District Five?

We move down narrow alleyways as we weave towards the station, the press following us, a pack of hungry wolves that can smell blood. I struggle to breathe.

What do you think of Denali Lyons? What's your relationship with her? Have you spoken to Minx lately? Have you given up on my Tributes? Where's Lethe? What will you do if Phelix is reaped? (Break down) Will you ever have children of your own? Who are you dating? Are the rumours about you and Maverick Miles true?

I can't do this.

My breath catches in my throat, and the world starts to blur. Suddenly the shimmering metal carriages of the train are there in front of me, and I place a shaking hand on the hot surface, dragging myself to the door and inside, their voices still screaming at me.

What's your relationship with Maverick Miles? (Shut up, shut up) Have you spoken to Topaz Ross? How do you think the other Victors will react? Are the rumours of your pregnancy true? (No) Will you tell us the truth?

Make it stop. Just shut up. Shut up and leave me alone.

I stumble to the bathroom as the train starts to move, to take me to my fate. Fuck. This is it, I'm really going back. Back to that. I can't.

My chest hurts so much, it has for fucking years. When will it stop aching? The gaping hole in my chest and inside it is all the bad things that I did.

And so I decide to fill it with more painkillers, and wash it down with brandy.

And more painkillers. And more and more until I lose count.

And the noise stops.

And it's quiet, and everything starts to go grey, and there it is at last:

Peace.

part ii