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KILL FOR YOUR LOVE.

act three.

(chapter forty-seven, feathers. dirt. stars)

the white room, 75 ADD.

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THE VICTOR NEARLY LEPT out of her bed when she awoke. Her head was pounding, her heart thudding. Juniper could feel the rage filling her entire being. What was that dream? Why had she dreamt about the interviews?

The Hale woman ran a hand through her hair as she swung her legs over the bed, letting out a groan. She could feel Wiress's single word echo around her ears. It felt as if the loony woman from Three was sitting on her bed, alive, whispering that one phrase over and over. Sold. 

Juniper had buried that dream, that memory deep down in the chest in her heart. The moment where she decided she hated Peeta and Katniss from District Twelve. The moment she met Beetee and Wiress. The interviews for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. Why did that come up? 

She didn't know and she didn't care. Instead, she clamped her hands over her ears to try and block Wiress's muttering out as she glanced at the bedside table. There was no tray there, no food, no breakfast or dinner. Juniper's stomach practically roared in response. But the Hale woman tried to block out the searing pain from her empty stomach as she looked around the white room. 

She expected Clampitt to be standing in the corner, or come walking through the door, or to be sitting on the end of the bed. And Juniper wanted her to be. Not because she wanted to see another clip. Not that she liked socialising with Clampitt. It was because she wanted to rip her head right off. 

That woman, every time she had seen her, tried to make her realise something she already knew by showing her clips. Dr. Clampitt wanted Juniper to realise what she was, but the woman already knew. She had been facing that fact, the statement that she was a killer, since the Seventy-Second. 

("Are you asking a question or stating a fact?" Volts replied. He was twitchy and nervous. "If it's the latter, then you are the mentor from Ten. Stating facts.")

And Clampitt probably enjoyed watching Juniper study the clips she showed her. To see how she writhed slightly at the anticipation. To see how her eyes widened at the sudden scene. To see how her face was set with realisation on what Clampitt was showing her. The doctor was using Juniper and now, she had taken away her food and for what? Because the Hale woman had not told her anything about the rebellion, the rebellion she called a lost cause?

Juniper felt a breath of air slip past her lips as she stood up. Her stomach was growling, yelling out in pain at the sudden loss of food. She didn't mind the porridge, really. And Juniper should have eaten the freezing cold grain because if she did, then maybe she would still have breakfast and dinner. But no, she didn't. She didn't because Juniper Hale was a stubborn woman, a woman that rarely listened to others.

But now, as she began to walk up and down the room with her hands on her head, stomach in pain, she wished she had at least not been stubborn. There was nothing wrong with that porridge, now that she thought of it. She could have gotten past the coldness and really, she should have eaten it. But she didn't and so, now, she had no food. 

And whilst depression, sadness, and sorrow should have filled her up, consuming her entire state with the hopelessness of no food and no escape, it was only rage. Only anger as she thought back to her dream. Why had she dreamt of it? What was the reason? 

Juniper didn't know, but Wiress kept muttering in her ear, kept repeating that single phrase. And fire kept burning her brain, the same flickery stuff that flew off of Katniss Everdeen's dress during her interview. Those two kids kept popping up in her head. What were their names? It was the boy and girl she had mentored during the Seventy-Fourth. 

Feathers. Dirt. Stars.

The Hale woman felt her head beginning to swirl as she fell back down onto the bed. But the soft material of the quilts didn't caress her skin. It itched and scraped at her, feeling like she had just fallen on a hundred needles. Writhing and twitching, Juniper immediately got back up and sat on the floor. 

Feathers. Dirt. Stars

The three words popped into her head. Feathers, dirt, and stars. What did they mean? They felt important, Juniper knew that. She could feel their severity cling on her, scraping at her insides. But what did they mean? Dirt for Ten? Juniper didn't know, but she could feel the three words attack her relentlessly.

In. Out. 

In. Out. 

In. Out. 

Where was Clampitt? Juniper just wanted Clampitt. She wanted to wrap her hands around her neck and squeeze until her face went blue. The Victor yearned to see the life be taken from her, to see her soul leave her body. Dr. Clampitt didn't need to tell Juniper that she was a killer, to make her realise. The Hale woman already knew. She had always known and no Capitol head doctor could come along and tell her otherwise. 

Juniper felt her nausea rise again, but tried hard to keep it in. If she threw up, Clampitt probably would have left it there. She would make Juniper smell it, look at it. The Hale woman shuddered as she felt a severe weight be dropped on her shoulders. 

Feathers. Dirt. Stars. 

"Are you having a nervous breakdown?" 

Juniper snapped her head to the side to see the door opening with Dr. Clampitt in the doorway. Her black hair was done in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, loose yet pretty. Her glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose, her beady eyes looking through them. Her lab coat swished around her knees slightly, smooth and straight unlike last time. And in her hands held a black tape. Juniper felt her gut start to swirl with immense rage. 

"I haven't had breakfast." 

"Well, of course you haven't. You rejected the last bowl and we thought that to be very rude," Clampitt nodded as she walked further into the room, heels clicking. She didn't seem to notice Juniper's twisted face that was only filled with anger. "And you've been knocked out for a day and we can't really shove porridge down an unconscious person's throat."

That didn't surprise Juniper anymore. 

"Anyway..." Clampitt muttered. "I have another clip for you." 

The doctor seemed to ignore how Juniper slowly rose from the floor, hands balling into fists. The Capitol woman sat on the bed, but didn't ask the Victor to and soon, the door flew open and a Peacekeeper rolled a trolley with the old television on it. Rage began to course through Juniper Hale's blood.

"Well, I won't ask you to sit since you seem content with standing," Clampitt grumbled as she eyed the tape, shooing the Peacekeeper away. The door slammed shut and was locked. "Though I suggest you do, however... this clip could bring... strong feelings." 

As the woman pushed the tape into the player, television crackling and popping, Juniper thought how she would do this. But no, she didn't need to think. She never thought when it came to attacking someone, to ripping their head off. Juniper Hale was known for not thinking. 

"Lord," a voice said from the screen. "We'll never find that little brat in this condition." 

Juniper froze. 

"Well, then make camp here," another voice said. Rayon. "Wait 'till light... what do you say, Eight?" 

Juniper slowly made her way around the television to see the swamp filled with darkness, barely being able to notice the three figures. The two Careers' were covered in mud with water dripping off of them, their jackets off with their muscles being on display from their sleeveless top. Rayon and Jagger. And then Dallas's skinny, small figure was present, but he looked to be more powerful than any of the tribute combined with his deathly eyes and grey-streaked hair. 

Twenty-year-old Juniper watched as the camera panned to include her seventeen-year-old self, hiding within a bush of shrubs. They showed how they all sat down on a land piece, Jagger and Rayon sitting in the mud with Dallas facing the river that went winding through the swamp, studying the nearby egrets and toads. 

"Can we make a fire or something?" Rayon asked as he rubbed his hands together. "Getting chilly." 

"Firstly, it's hot as." Jagger rolled his eyes. "And you can't make fire on mud, stupid." 

Juniper seemed to be caught in a trance as she watched the final night of her arena, all notions or ideas about attacking Clampitt and ripping her head off disappearing. The rage was, temporarily, frozen in her blood. 

"If you really want a fire," Dallas started to say. "Go and collect wood... doubt you can find any in this place." 

"Sure thing, Your Highness." Rayon rolled his eyes as he started to get up. He retrieved his spear and began to walk off. "I'll be back soon." 

The screen changed shots to show how Rayon jumped to the land piece that Juniper was on, who was still hiding in the shrubs. And it showed how she sneakily snuck out of the bushes, crouching as she followed Rayon without Jagger or Dallas noticing. When the two boys were slight figures in the distance, Juniper broke out into a full run to catch up to the boy from One. 

That was when the screen broke into two halves, much like how it did when showing the last night of the Third Quell. One part showed how Juniper was walking up to Rayon, readying her sword whilst the other was filled with Jagger and Dallas sitting in the mud. And whilst Juniper, watching, expected some dramatic music when she quickly impaled Rayon, it was silent except for his cannon. 

But as Rayon's cannon blew around, both Jagger and Dallas jumped. They looked at each other and then at the surrounding swamp. But whilst Jagger had his mouth wide open, nearly expecting the other Career to come waltzing out, it was Dallas that was smarter because after a few seconds, he shook his head and grabbed the spear beside him, stabbing Jagger in the chest with it. Another cannon. 

Twenty-year-old Juniper Hale became focused on how her younger self kept a tight grip on her sword, breathing heavily as she glanced around at her surroundings. It was so dark that the viewers barely could have seen anything, which was something that was a flaw in Seneca Crane's design. But after a few minutes, she began to creep back to the Careers' camp. 

And this time, the screen merged back into one and changed shot to include both the two figures in the dark. There was a silhouette of someone standing up on a land piece with a weapon in his hand, Dallas as Jagger was slumped against a trunk, dead. And then, hiding behind a tree, was seventeen-year-old Juniper. 

"I know you're somewhere here, Juniper," Dallas called out as he started to walk around the land piece he was on. "Come on out..." 

Young Juniper stayed where she was, crouching behind the tree. 

"You know, I know how it feels to lose a sibling," Dallas continued. "I was ten... my sister was nine. She died of tuberculosis... do you know what that is, Juniper?" 

The girl then and the woman now knew what tuberculosis was. People in Ten had died from it. There was an outbreak years ago where nearly half of the population would hack up blood, their coughs so violent it could rattle their rib cages. Some of the children had caught it and had to be carried to even walk down the road. They all died. Tuberculosis in the districts meant death. 

"She would cough all night... they were so violent... so horrific." Dallas shook his head. "She would go on, and on, and on. And she wouldn't stop. Until one night she did... I walked into her room and blood was all over her nightgown. She was dead." 

The camera panned in to see how Juniper had tightened the grasp on her sword. 

"But I don't know what it's like killing your allies..." Dallas murmured. "How did it feel to kill Ash? To kill Cedar? Did it destroy you inside? Or did it make you want to kill more? That's probably why you killed Wing and Hermes. Because you're so bloodthirsty. I don't blame you... or maybe because you were so filled with grief, you wanted to punish them for the murder of your bother. But in reality, Juniper, you killed your brother—" 

The minute Dallas finished his sentence, a guttural scream rattled through Juniper's throat and escaped her lips, just like her younger self did on the screen. But twenty-year-old Juniper Hale was not like her younger self. She wasn't attacking Dallas from Eight and nor did she miss. She was attacking Dr. Clampitt from the Capitol and her hands successfully wrapped around the woman's neck, pushing her down on the bed as she accidentally knocked the television off of the trolley, the sound of smashing glass echoing around the white room of hell. 

"What—?" Clampitt tried to say, but Juniper applied pressure on her neck, causing her to start coughing as her eyes darted to the high corner and the door. Her face was turning red. 

"You think watching those clips is fun?" Juniper sneered as she kept her hands tight. She could feel Clampitt struggling underneath her, but the woman kept a firm position as she straddled her hips. She enjoyed hearing the doctor choke. "You think those clips keep me entertained? And do you really think you, of all people, can make me realise what I am? Who I am? I know, Clampitt! I know what I am and who I am!"

The door was unlocking and there was a sound of great disturbance outside the white room of hell. But Juniper managed to get a good amount of pressure around Clampitt's neck to feel her slowly drift away, eyes huge before a cohort of Peacekeepers' blew into the room, one grabbing a tight hold on the Victor as they ripped her off of Clampitt. 

But Juniper didn't struggle, didn't wince when a Peacekeeper, the Head presumably, came up to her and punched her so hard in the nose that blood began to gush down. All she could do was smirk as she watched two soldiers help the doctor up, the said woman massaging her neck as she wheezed and coughed. 

The crimson liquid was dribbling down her nose, seeping into her mouth as it poured onto the floor. No Peacekeeper bothered to clean that mess up as the one holding her tossed her to the bed whilst the others managed to get the doctor out of the room safely as well as the broken television and trolley. The door slammed and was locked tight. 

Juniper cackled.

She laughed so hard that she felt her nose twinging and so, still grinning, she raised a fingertip to it. A harsh pain jolted through her face, but the woman didn't budge as she wiped the blood from her nose and attempted to clean it up with the white quilts. The blankets were stained with patches of red by the time she was finished. 

And as Juniper sat on the bed, massaging her palms, a certain pride filled her. That would stop Clampitt from showing her clips. That would surely cease her attempts to make Juniper realise something she already knew. The Victor from Ten had just choked Dr. Clampitt and a certain sense of joy and boldness filled her up. 

Feathers. Dirt. Stars. 

But the adrenaline, that joy, boldness, and pride soon deflated as an hour passed, as Juniper recalled what she had done. She was kept prisoner and she just attacked her doctor, a certain important asset to Snow. 

Snow. 

What would Snow do? Juniper was supposed to behave underneath Snow's watchful eye. And now, she had just attacked and tried to kill a very busy and important head doctor. They would not like that and it made the Hale woman begin to pant as she suddenly thought of the consequences. 

They would kill her father if he wasn't already dead. They would torture him slowly for what Juniper had done. And if not Orion Hale, then Finnick Odair. They probably would have Annie watch, hold her as she cried continuously. They would torture Finnick and if he was dead already, Lucy Stevens. And if it weren't them, they would probably kill Juniper. And she would be all right with that. At least she said she tried when no-one else did. 

It had been three weeks and four days. Plutarch hadn't come. The rebels hadn't come. No-one had come to rescue poor Juniper Hale. And so, she had to take matters into her own hands as she tried to kill her head doctor. But where did she think that would take her? The hallway was packed with Peacekeepers'. They would have killed her or taken her to a worse cell than the white room of hell. 

What was Juniper thinking? 

She could feel her heart rate rising as she found it more difficult to breathe. Her nose began to sting from when the Peacekeeper punched her and her head began to throb. And then Juniper let out a hacking cough that rattled her entire rib cage. Her stomach was growling. She just wanted some food. She wanted to be let go. 

And this was all Plutarch's fault, she realised. If the man had just picked her up like he had promised her, none of this would be happening. Yes, Juniper didn't do her job properly of protecting Katniss Everdeen in the arena, but that didn't mean Plutarch had to leave her to die. Wasn't the rebellion about saving lives, not losing them? But the rebellion was a lost cause and people were dying. And Juniper had just attacked the dark-haired doctor. 

What would happen now? Would Clampitt resume coming in and pretend that nothing happened? Would Juniper just get a new head doctor? Or would Clampitt cease coming entirely, killing the Hale woman by starving her? Juniper had no idea and she could feel her heart twinge in anticipation. 

Feathers. Dirt. Stars. 

Clampitt didn't come back the next day. Three weeks and five days.