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Love makes the brave shy and the shy brave.
The next few weeks, Cassia found herself lost in the simplicity that was her new life. It felt strange to wake up with her stomach full and without Evelin's body beside her; to be in the shoes of someone that didn't have to worry about clean water or heat. All of it made her think about how lucky she was to not have to worry anymore, and yet there was some savage, stubborn part of her that didn't want to live the life she was given, that she won. She wanted to feel that ache in her belly, the dryness of her tongue; to feel something other than the plague that has infiltrated her body and soul. And it has indeed slipped into her, warped her, made her sickly.
No longer was she the young girl with muscles and blood pulsing beneath her tan skin. Cassia became troubled by the faces staring back at her when she closed her eyes—the ones she killed, the ones she couldn't save, the ones that wanted her dead. Hours in the day have become her minutes, draining the brightness from her that once resided.
Her family didn't notice this change because she didn't allow them to see it. She kept herself well fed enough that her weight was not drastically different, eating what she needed, and then she would keep away in her bedroom for as long as she could. Luckily, Evelin didn't bother her. Cassia wondered if her twin was scared of her. If she saw the murderer on the television that slaughtered children left and right; that killed the dying boy instead of letting him die on his own. The girl that was cold and manipulative and vengeful. That was what the people of the Capitol loved about her, but her sister would not be the same. Who would want to live with someone like that?
And the only person that could possibly understand how she was feeling was nowhere to be seen. Finnick was no longer a constant variable in her life. She no longer wondered what he was doing or how he was doing; all she knew was that he lived a life far more lucrative and didn't seem to want anything to do with her now that the Games were over.
Cassia sat in her bedroom with the door shut, staring at the fishtail braid she had made in her hair in the vanity mirror. She knew the girl in the mirror was not attractive looking—not anymore. Her cheeks were hollow and there were deep purple marks underneath her eyes from the countless nights she woke up flinging herself out of bed to run from an attack that wasn't there.
Behind her, the balcony was reflected in the mirror. It was a cloudy day. It would likely storm later, as the air crackled with humidity and heavy heat.
Standing, she grabbed a bag and left the house for the docks. She could hear the seagulls cawing before she had made it onto the wooden stretch where sellers were fastidiously selling their fare before the rain came. She tried to spend as much as she could, the pocket of coins heavy against her leg. She bought a haddock, shallots and potatoes, and silver fishing hooks for her father.
