It was so quiet, too quiet as Enobaria walked, trying to keep a light tread, through the hallways of the Training Centre. The nightmare had woken her up, sweaty and screaming, and as always, there was only one place to go on nights like this.
"Do not show weakness, Enobaria. I did not bring you up to be weak. You will be a Victor; you will stay strong and keep your resolve. You will not show weakness in any way".
Did the nightmares that plagued her regularly count as signs of weakness? Those were the final words of her father before the reaping in which she volunteered, the Games in which she brutally ripped out the throat of a fellow tribute. Would her father be proud of the way she had handled herself after Victory? She didn't think for one second, since her first year mentoring, really, that he would be. He would not be proud of her.
She was weak, but not physically. Heck, given half the chance she would pull her best arena party trick again, perhaps, on that brattish lumberjack girl from Seven who couldn't keep her comments to herself in the mentor's lounge. Where her weakness lay was simply a certain set of blue eyes, a certain body that held her, protected her, through these nights.
Enobaria's secret that she kept safe. Guarded with her life.
She turned the familiar corner, although the hall was barely lit she knew exactly which door to knock on, five times and then wait, and then, if there was no reply, to use the spare key she kept hidden in her pocket. How she craved to run down the length of the corridor and barricade into the room, and into the arms of her own angel.
But she didn't, she kept quiet and moved slowly as to not wake anyone along this way. She had no explanation for being down here and especially at this time of night. She was not a natural born liar, like her father. Her father said love was a weakness. He must have been lying when he told her, because she did love, she loved the one person who ran their fingers through her tangled mess of dark hair, wiped the post-nightmare sweat from her forehead and kissed her lips with the passionate force of someone who loved her.
If anyone was to take away Enobaria's one constant, her happy place, she would make sure they were dead as soon as she could get their hands on them.
She was there now, at the door, and she knocked. Five times, like always. But what surprised her tonight was that the response was almost instant, like a well-rehearsed routine. The door opened on her fifth knock and she slipped in, checking one last time that the corridor was empty of prying eyes, although she knew no one was ever around.
Arms wound around her neck straight away, and she felt a face pressed into her neck, breathing her in. She ran the sharp points of her teeth along their shoulder blade, and felt a stifled giggle against her throat. As Enobaria held her whole world in her arms, the nightmares of the past hour faded, and though she was sure Cashmere had also had a bad night, everything was okay now. They were okay now.
"You couldn't sleep either?" Enobaria whispered.
"No, I've been up a while. I was almost ready to come upstairs to you." came the reply from the blonde.
Enobaria was sure the talking was done for the night as her cruel, fanged mouth met the beautifully shaped one of the lustrous District One victor. When they were apart, they were both killers, beautiful but deadly, cold and unreachable. They never showed this kind of emotion with anyone else but eachother. They had an irrevocably deep bond with the other, and the strangest part of it all is Enobaria could not pinpoint why.
She knew her father had said she shouldn't love. She and Cashmere were almost so opposite, yet so much the same that it was almost funny. Cashmere was a sweet, sensuous lover. Enobaria was passionate, and the pair of them was deeply crazy about the other. They had saved eachother from the regular nightmares of a female victor, made worse by the demands of President Snow and a dozen of their clients. It had felt right for her to fall in love with her best friend, and the first time she kissed Cashmere, she knew why. This was safe, this was home. The first time they made love, moved together, they fit like a puzzle, like a perfectly choreographed dance. Enobaria left bite marks all over Cashmere's beautiful skin. Cashmere told her she knew why it never felt right with any men, not ever.
She's not sure and she doesn't think she ever will be, about why the conceited, arrogant, icily beautiful and cold District One victor of all people broke down her walls, put in place by her father. It's pointless to try and understand how, so she doesn't. She kisses her beautiful best friend and love on the lips, and everywhere else, night after night, and knows if there is a guardian angel on earth for every citizen of Panem, she's found hers. Her secret. Her love.