Torn: Sequel to Ruthless

Chapter 19

I won. But Apollo's still dead. Kai's still dead. Seena. Bark. Every tribute I killed. I have blood on my hands. Literally and figuratively. I'm standing here, staring at my hands as the hovercraft flies behind me. The speaker booms as Claudius Templesmith announces my name, declaring me Victor. But I don't feel like a Victor. I feel like a murderer. I couldn't save Bark. Seena. Kai. Apollo. 

I close my eyes, leaning back against the cold metal seat. Artemis. The thought of her cuts through the numbness like a knife. Artemis, Apollo's sister, my best friend. How is she going to handle this? How is she supposed to process losing her brother? The Capitol will twist his death, make it part of their sick game. But Artemis knew him, the real him. She'll see through their lies.

My throat tightens as I think of her. She was always the one with the sharp tongue, quick to gossip, always the one to see things for what they truly were. But how will she see me now? Will she be able to look at me, knowing I couldn't save her brother? Knowing that I let him die? I try to push the thought away, but it lingers, gnawing at me. I don't know how I'll face her. Or if I even should.

The hovercraft lands at the Capitol, and I'm rushed off into a world of flashing lights and cold, calculating Capitol officials. Doctors swarm me, poking and prodding at every bruise, every cut, every mark of the arena. They congratulate me, offering words like "heroic" and "brilliant." Their compliments slide off me, meaningless. I don't want their praise.

I just want this to be over.

After what feels like hours of being poked and patched up, I'm escorted to the Victor's suite. The room is luxurious, filled with soft, golden lights and plush cushions, but I can't take it in. I sit on the bed, my hands still shaking, as the prep team bustles around me.

Tomorrow is the first of the post-Games interviews. The Capitol will want me to put on a good show, to sell my story, to entertain the masses who love to feast on the pain and destruction of people like me. But I don't know how I'm supposed to do that. I don't even know how to smile anymore.

The prep team chatters endlessly, styling my hair, touching up the bruises with makeup to make me look less like I just walked out of a nightmare. They talk about the Victory Tour, about the parties, about how my life will change now that I'm a "star." I can barely focus on what they're saying. My mind keeps wandering back to the arena, to Apollo, to Kai... to the bodies that littered the ground.

"Octavia," one of the stylists says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You need to look radiant tomorrow. You're a Victor now. The Capitol wants to see you shine."

Radiant. Shine. I almost laugh at how absurd it all sounds. But I don't. I just nod, letting them finish their work, letting them transform me into something palatable for the cameras.

That night, I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together how I'm supposed to get through this. How am I supposed to sit in front of Caesar Flickerman and pretend that I'm proud of what I've done? That I'm proud to be standing here while Apollo's body lies cold in the arena? While Kai, Seena, and Bark will never go home?

And Artemis... how am I supposed to face her?

Today is the first of the interviews. The prep team swarms around me, their hands quick and efficient, brushing and pinning, smoothing and adjusting. They chatter amongst themselves, discussing colors and textures as if it all matters. But it doesn't. Not to me. I'm lost in a fog, the world around me a blur. The Games are over, but the fight isn't. Now, I'm expected to perform.

They dress me in a pale gold gown, fitted perfectly to my body. The fabric shimmers under the lights, delicate and almost weightless, like I'm supposed to float through the interview, like I'm supposed to dazzle and distract the audience from the reality of what I've been through. The dress is beautiful, but it feels wrong. Too light. Too soft. It's the opposite of what I am now—broken, heavy with guilt.