Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter fifteen

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chapter fifteen
FIGHT LIKE IT

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tw: character deaths, violence, gore
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Ptolemus tries to follow Sage back up to Ten's quarters, but the girl is too fast, her heart heaving and her legs taking long and sharp strides. Not to mention, a seething Enobaria intercepts him, those fangs of hers beared into a snarl. The door to her bedroom slams shut before a teary-eyed Philo can even turn the hallway. Out of all people, he might be the very last one she wants sympathies from. His backhanded compliment to Taura when she received her score causes her to clench her jaw. Half a chance!

She can hear his sniffles outside her door as she paces, a gentle knock to her door. Perhaps he could suprise her and offer her some comfort in this moment. But after seeing what she's seen, hearing what she's heard, and now feeling what she's feeling, she just can't stand being cradled and coddled right now.

She needs to stretch out, she needs to burst and tear, she needs to detonate and explode, and you simply can't cradle a bomb.

The pain of Taura's death torments every atom of her being, scratching itself through her, lacerating her insides with its claws from the pits of her gut to her beating heart. It extends its vengeful talons with a scream that stretches from her lips and makes Philo flinch on the other side of the door. He turns away with a startled whimper, scampering down the hall and blowing into his purple handkerchief.

She can't cry, she can only muster one scream, and it's difficult to breathe as she lunges for the first tangible item she can find. The fabric of the pillow case makes a retching RRRRIP and SNAP! as she tears it in two, white plumes of feathers bursting through the air. They're suspended for a moment before floating downward in a slow and taunting fashion. The image of Taura's body plummeting sends the halves of the pillow hurling toward the mirror. It doesn't shatter like the camera to Mateo's blade.

When she tries to scream again, it's just a strangled and raspy breath, her knees wobbling as she crouches to the ground at the foot of her bed. The tears swell, their salty drops surging and consuming her body, stinging all the freshly dug wounds. Like a brand, Taura's name and the promise she silently made her on that stage char her heart to bits. The sob hacks at her lungs as she holds her face in her hands. She whimpers the little girl's name whom she just watched violently die over and over again.

Taura, Taura, Taura.

Dead, dead, dead.

Gone, gone, gone.

How is she ever supposed to forget that?

The idea of another haunting from another phantom evokes the overwhelming urge to run to the ends of the Earth. Even there, Sage knows she'd never be safe.

Perhaps it's better that way. Perhaps that's how it should be. After all, if she isn't haunted by the little girl's murder who will be? Certainly not the Capitol. Who's to reap the penance for the loss of sweet, innocent, and loving Taura Santos's life?

Life in Panem has always been draped under a shroud of darkness, and Sage has always been an optimist, a stand in the sunshine kind of girl. But now the shadows have her surrounded, and the clouds aren't thinning. They're growing thicker and thicker like black smoldering smoke.

Meanwhile, just outside the Viewing Room, a seething Enobaria has a just as furious Ptolemus cornered against the wall.

"What the hell do you think this is?" she growls, eyes aflame. Even though he's taller than her by a foot, you wouldn't be able to tell with her attitude. She gestures with a pointed nail toward the elevator Sage went up. "This isn't some playground for your bullshit teenage romance."