Chapter Text
My life wasn't always the way it is right now.
I guess you could say I've been very lucky most of my life. My family and I have always had enough to get on - more than a lot of families in District 4 - and me and my brother have never gone hungry. Even when there was barely any food (which was rarely, my family was probably richer than most by district standards, but it did happen), our parents would never let us notice. We were always fed and taken care of and mostly ignorant of the things they sometimes had to go through. It was later in life that we found out about the struggles beyond the usual ones, and the things my father sometimes had to do under the radar.
But it didn't matter; we were lucky, luckier than most - not to mention compared to other districts. I'd grown up on stories of District 12 - my father always wanted to instill gratitude for everything we had into me and my brother Trent. No stories were really needed - hard times would sometimes come to us and our district entire, and we'd learn first-hand never to think we're safe and dry.
My father Wade is the most hard-working and lovable man you could ever meet. I've always been ridiculously attached to him, and maybe it was all the more because he is a Ship Captain, and when me and Trent were children, sometimes he could be absent from home for a month or perhaps even longer. It didn't matter, because it was a high-earning job, and we'd always get delicious seaweed sweet-cakes upon his return and the hugs would always be even more rewarding after such an absence.
My mother Coral, on the other hand, has never stepped foot on a ship. She all but hated the sight of it. Working on ship has always been much more profitable than any other sort of work, but she always determinedly refused every opportunity to get on one. She always felt it her duty never to let me and Trent out of her sight, something I'm very thankful for now. I don't know what kind of teenagers we'd turn out to be without at least one parent constantly with us. I, for one, have always been dangerously rebellious, and Trent was never far behind. But we got that from our parents. It was with time, and I guess out of fear and complacency with what we had, that they slowly let that small flame flicker somewhere safely deeper inside of them.
My brother is my best friend. When I was twelve, and entered the Reaping for the first time, he was only ten, and safe for another two years, and I remember like it was yesterday how much and for how long he just couldn't get himself to let go of my hand. And it barely changed in the following few years. On the day of the Reaping he'd always wake up first, then gently shake me awake with the same sentence every year: ''Marinelle. Mari. Wake up. Reaping day. Time to not get picked.'' And I'd say ''Time to not get picked'' right back.
And I never got picked. As I grew older, the odds against me multiplied, but despite my nervousness every year, some small part of me deep inside knew I wouldn't get picked. I mostly feared for Trent, but luck was always on our side. Maybe it was our ''Time not to get picked'' mantra; I was actually starting to have some superstitious thoughts over that.
We were lucky, because not once did anyone we knew personally get picked either. Sure, we always knew who the Tributes were, we'd passed them or heard of them through friends, but it was never our friends or personal acquaintances. So sometimes, we didn't even watch the Games, me and Trent. It was our small act of rebellion. The key word would be sometimes - unfortunately, there was no escaping the Games, and once Trent and I were old enough, dad would actually make us watch. He once said: ''If one day one of you is so unlucky as to get picked, I want you to know what you'll be up against.'' He hated himself for it, and mom hated him for it too, but it was the harsh truth, and he never had to say it again. That sentence was engraved into our memories forever. So I watched. I learned.
Sometimes I wondered how I'd survive if I ever were to be picked as Tribute. I've always been physically fit as most of the kids in District 4 - all mostly well fed and in good shape because we all had to start working in the industry at a young age. But up against Careers, you have to have a lot of luck and skill. It isn't fair, really, and I found myself envying their privilege of training at the Academy, but then I'd remember their training has one downside to it - graduates are obliged to volunteer. So it's training for it and volunteering versus hoping unprepared that you'll never get picked. You could end up in the Games either way. The odds are never in our favor.
I've never personally known anyone who's gone to the Academy either, but our District has always provided a fair share of Careers. Trent made a comment about considering it once. It earned him a slap across the face.
When I was fourteen my life turned upside down. I never got to enter the Reaping that year. I was scouted by a woman named Daphne Thullius (something I'd never heard of happening to anyone before, at least not in our district) and before I could really wrap my mind around what was happening, I was shipped off to the Capitol. All I know is that I've always liked to sing and dance, but it was something for my own pleasure and something I wasn't aware I was even that good at. This woman seemed to see some potential in me, surely for her own ends, and for a while after her 'discovery' I was under the surveillance of her team of hawks. When she was certain I was what she was looking for, I was snatched off to the Capitol, confused and unprepared as ever. At first I didn't really understand what was happening, nervous and confused and distrustful of everyone; then the thought of living in the Capitol had the naive young me all excited; then the thoughts of being a superstar like those we sometimes saw on the TV screens sounded more than inviting to me; and then I was mostly just grateful for the opportunity to make the lives of my family and my district easier. That was until I actually got there.
A few months into my training, and I was already hating everything. Having dance and singing lessons entire days long and being butchered by the beauty team and following strict diets and not having enough sleep - it all had me contemplating fleeing the Capitol quite a few times. I never did, of course, and I never could, even if I tried. I was determined to endure it all, and one day I would debut as this superstar entertainer they all wanted me to be, and then perhaps it would be easier. That's what I kept telling myself at least, to keep on going on. I was tired, and I was lonely. Home was far away, I didn't have any family or friends by my side, and none of the trainees I stumbled upon were from any of the Districts, unsurprisingly. Becoming friends with Capitol kids just wasn't going to happen. It simply wouldn't work.
The situation with my 'team' was much the same; the only person I befriended was my producer, Leto. He was in charge of making my music, and not obliged to be anything close to friendly, but he was one of the most pleasant people I'd ever met. I never thought there were people like that in the Capitol before I met him. I mean, sure, people will be friendly toward you, but it's never quite honest. Leto was nothing if not honest. He made my life easier by existing. My favorite part of a working day was having to be in his studio. He'd make some music and I'd relax and maybe even rest away from the prying eyes and we'd talk comfortably and I'd feel just a bit less alone.
The same year I went to the Capitol was the year a Tribute from our district had won the Games. It seemed to be a District 4 kind of year. Finnick Odair - fourteen years old just like me. I never knew him personally back home, but he was always that cute boy pretty much every girl in the district liked. It was a good thing that someone from our district had won, but it was never easy to celebrate. I could never bring myself to gloat over young people dying.
It was Finnick who turned out to become the first superstar from District 4, something I was being trained to become. The boy's popularity devoured all of Panem, it seemed; but the Capitol was crazy about him. He never really went back and moved to the Victor's Village; his property was just sort of there - he spent most of his days in the Capitol seemingly enjoying his socialite celebrity status. For a while, he seemed to be everywhere. Not that I had time to actually know what was happening out there - during my training, I could barely steal away time to actually go outside. We lived in the same building too, but we'd only sometimes pass each other - it would be two years afterwards that we talked for the first time, and it was on Caesar's Talk Show. He was completely different from what I'd seen passing by him in the hall - flirtatious and cocky and whatnot. He looked nothing like it at night before he entered his apartment. I didn't know him, but I knew he was playing a role, one assigned to him, just like one was assigned to me. He was under the same company as me, equally managed by President Snow, so the same people who pulled on my strings were probably pulling on his.
Finnick turned out to be something of a friend too, in a different way. We never got to spend much time together, but there was silent understanding between us, and sometimes I'd catch him on the roof. He knew about my hell, and I knew about his, and that was it. And it was comforting.
I trained for over two years and made my debut when I was almost seventeen. My success was huge, and it didn't take long for my popularity to absolutely rocket into the sky either. A ridiculously big team of ridiculous people had made sure to make a star out of me, and it was 95% them and 5% me that made everyone in the Capitol absolutely love me. They created this entire persona that was nothing like me at all, and in that one hour between showering and getting up on a stage, I would be transformed into a beauty queen - again nothing like me at all. It was a tiring process.
It was a tiring life, really, but I endured. I almost never had time of my own. I never spent time with the people I actually wanted to spend time with. I never got to rest. I never got to have a say in anything. The only times I was actually alone were when I was in bed or in the shower or when I sneaked out onto the roof and found it desolate. I was a machine, or maybe a slave would be a better word. I never got to see my family except sometimes through a screen or at the Reapings. Oh yes, my presence at the Reapings in District 4 was mandatory. According to my lovely manager Daphne, I had to keep up my connection especially with the public and 'fans' at home in my beloved district, which was surely entirely proud of me. I appeared, I smiled, I waved, I blew kisses, and I wondered just how many of those people hated the very essence of my being. It bothered me, and more with time. I didn't want them to hate me. I didn't want to be what I all of a sudden was.
But it kept me out of the Reaping. I was absolutely safe from the Hunger Games, because I was no longer technically from District 4. I was a Capitol person. I hated myself a lot for it. I dressed like them, though I fought ferociously to play their fashion down a bit (and my stylists would let me, selling it as a trademark style - 'rebellious and chic'); and I talked like them, though without that ridiculous strong accent. I behaved like them. I spent time with them. I pretended to love it. It was my own kind of Hunger Games. If I dared refuse anything, I'd be threatened with the lives of my family. So I sucked it up. I let them do as they pleased with me. I was all but dead inside, but as long as my family was safe, I didn't care. When the whole mess began, I was naive enough to believe that perhaps my privileges would extend to the rest of my family. That couldn't have been further from the truth.
What a fool I was.