Our Love Could Be Lethal Act I Re-Write

Act I: Party with Every Victor Ever (Almost)

By the time I get into my limousine and am on the way to the party, I've already been presented with no less than fifteen requests for me to model for various Capitol magazines and clothing brands by Fallon. I honestly don't even understand this Capitol fashion bullshit. And if I'm honest, I think most of the people here just look utterly ridiculous. In District 2, they teach us to look after and preserve the condition of our bodies, not to dye them different colours or inject gold under the skin. If I'm honest, they've always looked eery to me. They almost look like normal humans, but there's always some sort of unnatural twist to them.

My parents always told me that this night would be the highlight of my career—I think that was supposed to be their pathetic attempt at a pun— being at the center of attention of the Capitol's rich and famous, and officially joining the elite society of victor. The toughest club in all of Panem to get into.

We pass by rows of Capitolians lined up in the streets partying in celebration of my victory and waiting to catch a glimpse of my car going past to the Creed Family Hotel where the party will be held. They've all broken out the bottles of champagne, partying as if they've had their own victory. But they didn't have to kill people or run a risk of dying, I did. The solid gold laurel wreath that Snow had placed on my head about an hour ago is starting to feel heavier than I ever expected it to be.

I snap out of my trance as the vehicle comes to a smooth stop. Smile, I think to myself. Paint on a face like the Capitol people do their makeup, smile, and act like nothing's wrong. Just because the Hunger Games have ended, it doesn't mean that the show isn't over. In fact, I seem to be realizing more and more that this is a show that never stops.

I step out of the limo and hear people calling my name. Flashes are going off everywhere people screaming at me to look into their camera lenses so they can get a better shot. I oblige for a short while and stop to pose for some pictures. Not wanting to disappoint, I throw on my signature smirk and tilt my head at just the right angle to show off my best side.

I start to walk to the large hotel that has a red carpet set up leading to its main entrance. As I finally walk in the doors, I breathe in a huge sigh of relief. My fellow victors all stand to applaud me as I walk through the door, especially loud cheers coming from the District 2 tables. We represent the largest group of victors by a substantial margin; we've had more victors in the last ten years than 12 has ever had. To my surprise, I also get a decent amount of cheers from the District 1 and 4 tables as well, the other career districts.

Maybe they don't hate me for killing their people after all, I think to myself.

Maybe I've just overthought it. Everyone in the room here has killed people to get here.

For some strange reason, that thought comforts me because maybe, just maybe, it will let me settle the guilt that's threatening to eat me alive. The people in this room are in no position to judge me.

As the claps settle down I start to look for a familiar face in the crowd, one that I've desperately been hoping would be there. I panic slightly when I notice she's not sitting at either of the District 2 tables. Did she not make it? Is she too sick to travel? But sure enough, I spot the mop of grey hair and kind smile I've been searching for sitting with District 4. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father get up to be the first to greet me, but I instead make a beeline for Grandma Sadie.

I engulf her into a hug, but I'm careful not to be too forceful with it. She reciprocates the hug and once her arms are around me, for the first time since leaving the arena, I feel safe. The muscles in my body relax and unclench as I melt into the hug. Her arms are dainty and frail, but warm and inviting at the same time. The faint smell of butterscotch candies hangs off of her clothes and a small, singular tear starts to work its way down my cheek.