Four attendants in the hovercraft began working on me immediately. I had blisters, a gash on my right shoulder, burns, a swollen foot, and absolutely no voice from smoke inhalation. One attendant lied me on the floor, shoved a pllow under my head, and slipped an oxygen mask over my nose.

"We'll be back home in about two hours," he said. "We're examining you now."

Home? They weren't taking me back to Three. That was my home. If they were referring to the Capitol as my 'home,' they were mistaken.

The attendants checked every cell of my body, from my eyes to my teeth to my toes and back again.

"She'll need a brace on her ankle."

"Her skin needs bleaching, badly."

"No permanent scars I should think."

"All teeth accounted for."

"No surgery required. She's lucky."

"Very irritated throat. Possibly vocal chord damage."

Only one of the people on board, and the only Avox, held my hand gently and mouthed "You're safe now, brave one."

Back on the roof of the Training Center, a line of Peacekeepers saluted me as I was escorted off of the hovercraft. I must have looked like hell, wrapped in a flimsy blanket, scarred, messy, and completely oblivious. I needed two of the attendants to guide my steps, as all I could see before me were corpses flying up into the fiery windstorm that had made me the 44th Victor. Tatsuya's, Alesta's Sheen's, Lustra's, Intel's. I was hot and cold all at once. I was sad, relieved, wrathful, and afraid. I didn't know my own name, or how to breathe.

Plume met me by the elevator, making the move to embrace me before thinking better of it. Instead, she began chattering about the post-Games procedure.

"You will get to go home the day after tomorrow. Tonight will be recap night, so you will be able to recover and spend the night relaxing...you've earned it! Tomorrow you will meet in the morning with Aloysius and Beetee to discuss your wardrobe for the crowning ceremony and your interview," she chattered on and on. All I wanted was to curl up in the corner of the elevator and pass out of this place forever.

"Tonight a Healer will come by to examine your throat," Plume added. "You need your voice in tip-top shape for tomorrow, Wiress."

Would I ever be in 'tip-top' shape again?

I refused food. I refused company. I spent two hours curled up in a ball under the showerhead as hot water fell over me. I watched as the water draining away by my feet quickly became grey and brown, before subtly fading back to transparency. The Healer who was summoned for my throat gave me a strong dose of some awful-tasting pellets that would mend my voice overnight. But I knew already that I would refuse to speak to anyone until I spoke to one specific person.

As I went into the bedroom, slipped on a nightdress, and sat down, it occurred to me that expecting any kind of sleep to come that night was to ask for a miracle. I was having flashbacks and nightmares while wide awake. My unconscious mind would surely frighten me to death.

The door opened. No one was supposed to enter without my expressed permission. And I'd given nobody that permission.

"Wiress..."

But that voice was enough to send me springing out of bed and into Beetee's arms before he even had a chance to say anything else. He welcomed me into his embrace with such warmth, that I genuinely felt safe for the first time in two weeks.

"You brave, brave woman," he mumbled. The tears returned to my eyes, and I wept silently as he rocked me back and forth. "The challenge is only beginning for you."

I nodded, signaling how I was well aware that even though I was out of the Arena forever, I was never going to leave The Hunger Games behind until I died. Yearly updates, tours, Mentoring, fame, fortune, all of it.

"I couldn't sleep the night after I left the Arena. In case you faced the same trouble, I...I brought you something."

Beetee nudged me away long enough for him to pull out a small book from his back pocket. "Selected Poems by William Blake."

Who knew Beetee was a fan of poetry?

"I'll leave it here for you," he said, smiling softly.

I shook my head in disagreement. Instead, I took his hand in mine and guided him to the bed. Beetee stood still in bewilderment as I unfolded the blankets, climbed in, and patted the spot beside me. He looked genuinely confounded until I pointed at the book. I struggled to speak. The pellets were only beginning to take effect.

"Read...to...me," I implored with every bit of energy. Then I winced at the pain.

Understanding spread across Beetee's face as he nodded and fell into bed beside me, pulling the covers up over his lap. He opened the book and studied the table of contents while I leaned on his shoulder.

"About tomorrow," he whispered. "If you don't want to do the interview, I will go out there with you and give them the horse manure they want. You shouldn't be forced to say a word you don't want to."

Wiping away a stray tear, I nodded and tilted my head, brushing the patch of skin under his ear with my lips. Beetee looked at me a moment with an odd expression, one that looked like he was restraining the temptation to grin from ear to ear. Instead, he affirmed my request with a simple "Very well, then," before he began to read out loud.

To both of our pleasant surprise, we fell asleep together. Plume looked startled when she opened the door to wake me the next morning, finding the two of us unconscious in bed, my head resting on his chest.

Beetee, true to his word, acted as my voice the entire day.

The crowning ceremony took place at noon, in front of the crowd in the stadium where I'd first made my entrance in the Tributes Parade. I wore a black off-shoulder gossamer dress. Beetee stood beside me the entire time, dressed in a similar all-black suit. The black, I learned, was to commemorate the rather sudden death of President Candida, who keeled over during supper while I was in the Arena. She'd designated her intern, Snow, to succeed her, and the Capitol Lawmakers agreed unanimously. Thus, Snow crowned me, but not before giving a speech about my victory being the symbol of hope amid sorrow as Panem mourned Candida.

I, of course, didn't mourn. I didn't even care. Candida was all but my executioner.

As Snow placed the gilded diadem of the Victors on my forehead, I couldn't help but notice the awful, almost bloody smell on him. He smiled at me with an artificial grin.

"You bring honor to District Three. They will be very proud of you, Miss Ohmstead."

I looked at Beetee, who nodded. In turn, I bowed my head to Snow out of ceremony.

"A pity you have no voice," he said. "A pity."

The statement sounded less like a show of concern and more like a threat to me. When I looked at Beetee, the look on his face was one I'd never seen before...it was a look of fear.

I'd never known Beetee to have any fear at all. But the look stayed with him even as we got onto the train that would take us home the next day. I'd only been on it once before, but the quasi-familiar surroundings were able to comfort me a little bit.

"What are you afraid of?" I asked bluntly. Beetee took my hand.

"Your voice sounds a lot stronger today. You'll be able to speak to the District-"

"No," I said. "I only want to speak to you, at least right now," I answered. "You're afraid, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Our time in the Arena is over, Wiress. But the storm never ends. Now you'll learn that too. You're a Mentor now. This world of lavish people, cameras, and interviews...and reliving the nightmare...it's...it's..."

I saw now why he was afraid. Neither of us would ever be free again. And in this world of cameras and interviews, Beetee was no stronger and no wiser than I was. The Capitol put us both, Mentor and Mentee, on equal ground before it. We were humbled before them through no choice of our own. The storm was never going to pass. The most we could do was find temporary shelter.

For the first time in my life, words failed me. Instead I took him in my arms tightly and refused to let him go until we had no choice but to separate for the sake of Plume walking in on us.

I still refused to speak to anyone when I arrived home the following afternoon. The sun was the brightest I had remembered it to be, and what was more: it was the sun's natural light, not the man-made, unnatural glow refracted off of the high-rise buildings of the Capitol, nor the computerized light source in the arena. I could tell it was natural light, because it brought warmth with it.

The Capitol cameras filmed my reunion with my family, and it was exactly how I didn't want it. I wanted to fall into Daddy's arms and cry, but public appearances forced me to, as Plume had instructed me, "look like a champion."

Mom, Daddy, and Edison struggled to keep up a civil demeanor as well, but Daddy especially was working hard to fight back tears.

"You look like a woman," he whispered into my ear. "You are a woman now."

If being in the Hunger Games was what I needed to turn into a woman, I would've given every second of the carnage back to stay a child. Did Intel, Alesta, and my Tatsu, along with all of the others, really have to sacrifice their lives so that I could be a woman? What more had to be sacrificed?

District 3's Victor Village wasn't situated like the ones in other districts. Most had a road lined with mansions. District 3's urban setting meant there was not enough room for such a neighborhood, so the Capitol built a skyscraper on the same block as the Justice Building. Each floor was a lavish condominium belonging to the Victor who'd earned it, as well as their family (if they wished to live there). The lobby was situated hotel-style, and the building had an indoor pool, café, and fitness center in its' basement for the exclusive use of the Victors. Beetee lived in the Penthouse, which had a sky light and access to the roof. I moved in on the floor below, as did my family.

Life in District Three went on, with few changes.

Being a Victor means bringing glory (among other things) to your home. The Capitol expressed this to us through special imports being delivered to the Inner City for the citizens once a month until the next Reaping Ceremony. In the outlier districts, these prize deliveries typically contained food and more necessity-based things that the people in those areas lacked. In a relatively well-off place like Three, the people were given more decadent items to enjoy and celebrate my winning. From the window of my new apartment, I could see Peacekeepers and Capitol representatives handing small candy boxes and toys to children, and large gift baskets full of cheese and wine to adults.

I couldn't stand to watch the sight for too long from my window. My victory was nothing to celebrate.

"Well, at least I will stay in business," I heard Daddy say behind me. He was wearing his white doctor's coat, having just come back from a day of work. "Look at all of that candy!"

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt resentment towards my father. How could he make a joke about that...that blood candy down there? Those confections were earned by allowing a boy to take a dagger in the belly for me. Those children were eating suckers bought with the screams of a girl who'd been caught on fire and cremated alive. The wine my own mother was planning to serve with supper was brought to us by the decapitation of a boy from our own city, who didn't even get the chance to fight back.

Silently (as I was most of the time these days), I brushed past him and quietly walked out the door. I didn't even need to think about where I was going. My muscles had already memorized each step, having made the trek daily for the month I'd been home.

I went up the stairs one floor to the Penthouse, I didn't even bother to knock. The door was always open for me.

Beetee was in his kitchen boiling something. He turned around the instant I came through the door, bracing himself for the inevitable force of me throwing myself into his waiting embrace.

"I just need-"

"-I'm here, Wire. Shhh," he whispered softly, cradling me and rocking me back and forth.

"I don't want to live-"

"-with your family anymore?" Beetee finished. I nodded.

Beetee said it was common of young Victors to turn away from their families after coming home. Parents who nearly see their children die tend to glue themselves to them afterwards. I felt such suffocation coming from Daddy, as well as Mom. Edison hadn't moved in with us, choosing instead to live on his own.

"They just don't know!" I said, shivering. "They will never understand-"

"-shh," Beetee sighed, pressing his cheek to my forehead. "No, they don't. You can't expect them to."

"Things will never be normal again," I said, the distress making my still-recovering voice crack. "I see her body burning, his intestines falling into my hands...and the cannons at night! So many cannons!"

Beetee and I sunk to the tile floor and just stayed there, holding each other.

"How are you so calm about it?" I ask. "About winning?"

"I'm not," was the answer. "Every time I hear the hum of an electric current, I think of the six children at whose expense I live today. I haven't slept a single night through because of the insomnia. And the nightmares I have are enough to make me jump awake at least twice nightly in a cold sweat. If I hear a door closing too loud and too suddenly, I gasp."

"I only slept one night since it ended," I added. Beetee nodded.

"Me too."

I didn't have to ask if Beetee knew I was referring to that first night, where he read to me in my bed in the Capitol. I looked up at him and began to smile, recalling the memory.

He looked down at me as if my smile were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Then, without warning, he brought his lips down to mine.

As I suspected after kissing Tatsuya, Beetee's kiss by comparison was enough to make my body quake inside. Electricity flowed through my core from my lips to the secret spot between my legs. It made me long for him to touch me there with his soft, gentle fingers. His grip on me firmed. He raised a hand to cup my cheek and keep me that much closer to him, as if he were afraid to let me go. Then he caressed my face in such an admiring fashion, for a split second, I felt like a queen. His tongue gently peeked and poked at the place between my upper and lower lip, begging for permission to enter between them.

But something inside my mind...I don't know if it was the thought of Tatsuya watching us from another realm, or the fear of the unexpected next maneuvers that could or could not lead to something by far more intimate than I'd ever experienced, and the prospect of leaving myself vulnerable to such maneuvers, I yanked my head back. Beetee's eyes remained closed for a moment after I pulled away, his lips remained pouted, hoping I'd reconsider.

I nervously shook my head. "I'm not ready."

Beetee smiled kindly and nodded, not resentful at all about it. This made my feelings for him grow tenfold in an instant.

"Would you like to leave your condo to your family and move in with me?"

"Would we have to kiss like that every day?"

"Not until you are ready to."

"Then yes. I would like to live with you. You can keep the nightmares away."

"And you can read to me from one of your books after supper every night."

Perfect.

I wasn't ready to kiss Beetee again until many years later. When I finally kissed him back, we were in the Capitol. Not as Mentors. As Tributes. Again. The night before we were set to enter the arena for the 75th Hunger Games, I found Beetee in his bed and kissed him, whispering, "I'm ready."

We did more than kiss that night, and I was ready for all of what he did. He touched me all over my naked body. His hands were soft, and his gentle kisses and touches aroused me so fully that I instantly regretted waiting until what was likely our final days together. I let him put himself inside me, between my legs, and throbbing waves of intense pleasure drowned me in love for the first time. We then fell asleep together, our naked bodies tangled in each other's. Before we drifted off, Beetee confessed that waiting thirty-one years for me to come around and return his love was worth every second.

I dwell on that memory now, waiting below the arena to take my place in the tube that will send me up to either life or death. My skin trembles. I could be dead in less than five minutes. I know that my place in the arena is not to secure my own life, but to save another, a sweet and gifted girl. She is the one who might just be what we need to make sure this will never happen to another child again.

The next time I see Beetee, we will have weapons in our hands. There will be blood painting our faces. There will be no time for affection, kisses, or comfort. No time for words. Hell, these days I have such a hard time expressing what I wish to say…

…but I have been able to live without my beloved words before. Perhaps I can do it again.

THE END