Hello,Sweetheart
"Hello, sweetheart." That's how it starts. That's how it always starts. Sometimes it's, "Hello, darling." Or "Hello, Finny-boy." if they are particulary forward. But they all say it in a hoarse voice that they think is seductive but I think it makes them sound like they have a sore throat.
They offer me a drink. It's just a formality, so they don't seem rude when they decide to jump me. As if I don't know why I'm here, like I didn't know they bought me, I know, all to well. They want it to seem natural, like I wanted it too.
After, maybe an hour, sometimes more, sometimes less, of drinking, and talking, and 'flirting', they grow impatient, their eyes darken to lust, they walk over to me, start touching and kissing me, and it starts.
After it's over, I sigh in relief, but they think it is of satisfaction, and they snuggle up to me and I try desperately to not think of Annie doing that, I don't want her to be associated with any of this, even if it's just in my thoughts, she's just too pure, too perfect.
They always want more, and I always have to give them more, no matter how much I don't want to, but I try not to let it show. They wouldn't notice anyway, too distracted by my body to pay attention to my mind.
The only part I look forward to is my payment. The secrets. Most of the time, it's something useless, some nameless person caught with an Avox, a surgeon's daughter running away to Seven, things like that. Though, sometimes, I get something on Snow, or one of his cronies, someone important, and it's so outrageous, so shocking, it almost makes this worth it. Almost.
And in the morning, when I wake up (in a different bed from the night before), I see them staring at me with their hungry, altered eyes, and they tell me how beautiful I am, how 'special' the night before was, how amazing it was and I want to hit someone, throw something, scream, anything to vent my frustration, but I nod my head in 'agreement' with them, hoping they don't see my anger at everything.
It shocks me (not really) that they don't notice, my anger seems like it could burn a hole in the floor.
And then they hand me some trinket and send me on my merry way, but not before kissing my cheek, leaving a lipstick mark on my cheek, winking at me and saying something like, "Something to remember me by." And then they slam the door.
That is always how it goes.
That's the thing about Capitol women, all grossly altered, all so blind, all so immoral, and all so robotically the same.
It's about 10:30 and I'm at some other mansion while some other husband, or some other father, or some other fiancé is away.
I knock.
She opens the door. Blue hair, golden swirls around her eyes, long, pointed, painted nails, and almost twice my age. I've had worse.
"Hello, sweetheart." And so it begins again.