Scarred | The Hunger Games

12.

The miscellaneous lines across my body were scabbing over, some made by actual clients, others by my own hand. The sense of control.

In the beginning, I was able to avoid a lot of cuts, seeing as Snow payed many visits to most of my clients. After a point though, my clients realised what I had been doing, and they stopped caring, they stopped caring as much about the scars, just touching me, hurting me in the worst mental ways possible. Losing the control.

And I think Snow caught on as well, because he stopped caring about me storming into his office. They must be paying him more, or he must have just stopped caring. Clients become rougher and appointments became harder to pull myself into.

Eventually, clients stopped bothering with cuts. Either they grew out of the kink, or it wasn't in anymore, or I already had enough that they didn't care. Or, they lost the control they once had on me.

It had been a few weeks since my last appointment, since everyone was preparing for the reaping of the 73rd Hunger Games. It was now that I realised that I would never gain control over my life ever again, as I was called up to mentor the Hunger Games. 

I had prepared Ottiline to my lack of visits, both she and I were torn on it. I read her a bedtime story that night, hoping she would be more relaxed for the next few weeks. 

Cecelia and I stood on the stage, us being this years mentors. VeVe walked up to the stage, this time in all black, juxtaposing her all white aesthetic last year. She looked like she was going to a funeral, which to be fair she kind of was.

Woof had become very quiet, almost non-verbal, since Otto's death. Otto had been like his son I suppose, even though Woof never showed his emotional attachment to him. I don't think Woof would ever be able to mentor again due to his mental state. 

When Cecelia had first told me Woof had become depressed, I visited him often, usually bringing meals. Cecelia and I made sure Woof was alright.

"Welcome to the 73rd Hunger Games. Ladies." VeVe's intro was short this year, I guess because of the excitement of getting another victor. She took off her black glove before digging her hand into the bowl before pulling a piece of paper out. "Elektra Bee."

A girl emerged from the crowds, maybe 15 years old. She had out-grown bangs that almost poked her in the eyes and her fingers had multiple needle pricks on them. 

"Wonderful. Now for the boys." VeVe's ungloved hand dug back into the boy's bowl. "Ledger Lovey." 

The boy was clearly only 12, but he was taller than most boys his age. He looked a bit more athletic, especially with the tan he had.

I could see it in her smile, VeVe's confidence wavered, seeing as though both this year's tributes were young and skinny. "The tributes of District Eight for the 73rd Hunger Games, Elektra Bee and Ledger Lovey. Perhaps we will have another winner this year. May the odds be ever in your favour."

As we board the train, I turn to Cecelia. "You think they have a chance?" I ask.

She sighs. "Look, I- I don't. But that's what I thought about you last year."

"I thought that about myself as well." I laugh.

"Yeah. Which is why I am unsure. You won because you were smart, you knew how to survive. You knew how to play the crowds, and most unfortunately, you were beautiful."

I sigh. "And the kids this year clearly don't know any of that."

"Just don't get attached to any of the tributes. There's a chance they won't win, and you will be crushed by it."