Chapter Four: Deep Shadows
A/N: A huge thanks to my reviews: Team Renly, Bookworm and Lover, the epic bookworm, WriterFreak101, izzybellawella and Dyksta. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.
Okay, I really don't know where all of this came from. Gloss's point of view is probably deeper than I meant it to be. I kind of got hooked on a few sad songs while I was writing it. If you want to get in the mood, you should listen to "Breathe Me" by Sia or "The Diary of Jane" (Acoustic Version) by Breaking Benjamin.
Gloss's POV
It's the night before the Games, so of course I've been drinking heavily. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some complete alcoholic like Haymitch from District 12, but I suppose everyone wants to shut out the pain in some way or another. I experiment. I've tried drugs, women, cutting, booze. None of it seems to work for me. I'm left with this hollow feeling inside me, like there's a void I need to fill. It's either being shocked to the core by what's to come, or being numb. It looks like those are my two options.
If you asked me what I was drinking, I wouldn't be able to tell you. It's the Capitol's finest wine no doubt, but it tastes bitter on my tongue. Nonetheless, I have more, and more, like it can fill the hole the Games have created inside me. Someone touches my arm and I whirl immediately, before relaxing as Cashmere silently sits beside me. She's been focused on getting Glimmer and Marvel through the interviews, and I feel a surge of guilt.
I'm acting as though I'm the broken one, damaged beyond repair, but that's not my role to play. The Games might have destroyed me, but at least it stopped there. For Cashmere, things only continued. A letter that smelled like roses. Long nights with strange men. A shame and a hurt that I couldn't even begin to comprehend. It's only when I remember Cashmere's pain, a pain she still suffered, that I force myself out of my shell. For her sake. I sling an arm around her shoulder and she leans her head on my shoulder, a soft breath escaping her.
"The Games are tomorrow." It's something that we both know, but in Cashmere's normally confident voice I can hear a hitch. There's more. "I have to go out tonight."
I tense, my hands balling into fists of rage. It hurts me as well, knowing what the Capitol subjects my sister too. It hurts that I can't say the right words to stop her crying into the dawn, that I can't understand. I've always felt that it was my role to be the protective role, but in truth, she's playing her role as the big sister and protecting me. It's something that makes me mad, to know the sacrifices she makes for our tributes.
"Don't go," I tell her firmly.
Cashmere sighs. "Glimmer and Marvel need sponsors, Gloss."
I know that. I know my words fall on deaf ears, but it's always worth a try. I dream that one day she'll ruffle my hair and agree, but in my heart, I know it'll never happen. It's been a long since we've been the playful brother and sister. I did this to us. I volunteered and caused her this pain, the pain that soon became my own. There's no point trying to deny the blame. What's the point in pretending anything?
"Please don't go."
Cashmere turns her face. She doesn't like it when I plead with her. I swill the wine in my glass and tilt back my head, swallowing the rest of it. It's dry and sour down my throat, a burning liquid fire. I want to cry at what my sister endures. It seems she's destined to be the stronger one while I'm the shadow, the unbalanced one. I don't even know if I have the strength to cry. Fuck, I'm a wreck.
"Glimmer and Marvel did really well in their interviews." She deliberately changes the subject, and I don't change it back. I don't want to make this harder than it already is.
"District 12 did better," I mutter, but I'm not angry. I remember how the girl spun and her dress lit on fire, how the sappy boy declared his love for her. Love? He doesn't know the meaning of the word. I don't know the meaning of the word. What is love, really? How do you know when you're in it, when you're out of it, when your heart breaks when the rest of you is already shattered?
I only realise the tears are streaming down my cheeks when Cashmere leans across to wipe them away, hugging me close. I stiffen, but don't pull away. How did I not feel that I was crying? I laugh then, out loud, because I'm insane. I know it, we've both always known it. It's just when the Games swing around that it becomes more obvious. Cashmere draws back and grips me by the shoulders, shaking me a little.
"Focus, Gloss. No more booze."
I smile wryly, but it freezes on my face as I see her standing in the doorway, awkward, knowing that she doesn't belong. She has seen everything. My tears, my weakness. Cashmere turns and notices her as well. Her face registers surprise.
"Storm."
"Sorry," she stammers, taking a step back. It's already too late. I am supposed to appear strong, and she's seen through the walls to what's hiding behind them, cowering, too frightened to come out. No one apart from Cashmere is allowed to see past my barriers. I push myself to my feet, snatching my hand away when Cashmere takes it in an attempt to stop me.
"Why are you watching us, Storm?" I demand, stalking over to her. I expect her to turn and run. She stands there and lifts her chin, meeting my eyes. I wasn't anticipating that, but I don't see courage in her. I just see her as an obstacle, as prying eyes into something that isn't for a Capitol girl to see. "Do you get a kick out of seeing it, huh? This is how low some Victors have fallen. Does it surprise you, that your Capitol is capable of causing this?"
Storm opens her mouth to speak, but I'm done listening. I know Capitolians. Their words are softly spoken, gilded lies. I want her to scream at me, slap me, give me something real. Anything is better than the falsehood that has become my life. Before she can so much as utter a word, I grab her by the throat and lift her off her feet, slamming her against the wall.
A cry of shock escapes Cashmere. Storm chokes, prying at my fingers desperately. Her feet kick at thin air. I can see it in her eyes – she's afraid of me. She always has been. I thought it was good and I still do. But there's also a hurt there, almost like she has been betrayed. Storm has no right to such a hurt, but it still stings to see it. She tries to say something, but instead just chokes some more. Tears well in her hazel eyes and a whimper escapes her.
"Let her go, Gloss!" Cashmere's voice rings with alarm and she's gripping my shoulder, digging her nails in. She's not trying to cause me the pain I'm causing Storm, but rather make me see exactly what it is that I'm doing. After a moment I release the Capitol girl and she slumps to the ground, coughing. I watch her impassively.
"You're a monster," she spits hoarsely as she gets to her feet, and I think it's the most emotion I've ever seen from Storm Asterbury. I am so sick of mild curiosity and feigned contentment with the world around her. I wanted to see what she was really made of, and I guess I had my answer. She is steel and I'm the hot fire that forges it.
"I know," I reply calmly, because she is only telling me what is already embedded within me: the knowledge that the Games have changed me irrevocably, and there's no going back.
Storm's POV
I want to hate him. I should hate him. But I don't have the right or even the resolve. Since District 1, I have feared the powerful man that I saw Gloss as...but things changed last night. When he grabbed me by the neck and lifted me off my feet, I saw the broken boy that he truly is. So now I don't hate him, and I'm not afraid. I pity him, and that's even more dangerous, because I know he would despise my pity.
I sit alone in my room. Escorts aren't required to watch the Games commence like the Victors are. Most of them do, crowding around the screens with excitement on their faces. But I have always abhorred the violent and gory bloodbaths, unable to watch without turning my face. This year is no different and I know that if Gloss saw me watching, I would see the loathing in his eyes that burned into me. Why did he hate me so much? It wasn't my fault that I was born a Capitolian. I hadn't asked to avoid the Hunger Games.
Dammit. I push myself to my feet and wander down the corridor to the lift. There are a few floors beneath ours – such as the training centre and the observation room. I press the big O button that designates the observation room, and step into the interior of the lift. I pause a little when I realise that I am not alone. There's a man there, perhaps in his early forties, and I recognise him immediately.
Haymitch Abernathy.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he mocks me. "You look like you've see a ghost."
He laughs as if it's some kind of private joke, swigging back his beer. I don't even know where he managed to get that from. I press the buttons to close the lift doors and then we're heading down towards the observation room.
"You're late," I point out, "Victors were supposed to be in the observation room twenty minutes ago. The Games will be starting soon."
"Mmm." Haymitch looks distant and I think back to see if I can recall his Games. Obviously not – they would have been before my time, but I remember a repeat. The 50th Hunger Games, with twice the amount of tributes. Haymitch used the force field around the arena to his advantage, and because of this his mother, younger brother and girlfriend were all killed. He had shown the Capitol up, after all.
"Your tributes seem to be doing well this year," I remark, trying to make polite conversation. In truth, I'm also curious. There are many whispers about this 'Girl on Fire' from District 12, her score of eleven in training. Her district partner is of interest too, but not quite so much as her.
Haymitch seems relieved when we arrive at the observation level a mere few moments later, and I hardly blame him. We step out and make our way towards the room in a sort of awkward silence. Haymitch steps back and waits for me to swipe my pass, then I open the door and we enter the room. It's a mass of brightly-lit television screens, people swarming all about the place. I recognise Gloss by his golden blond hair, but I deliberately avoid him.
"Storm." Cashmere walks over, and although her tone is casual, her demeanour is different. She seems almost self-conscious, and her eyes are more flat, lifeless. I know what the Capitol makes her do and it disgusts me. I'm guessing that she was sold out like some kind of animal last night, to a man who simply wanted a night with a Victor. I'll never understand their reasoning. I notice the bruises in the shape of fingers around her wrists, but I say nothing about it.
"Have I missed the start?" I ask. Perhaps she thinks I'm eager, but in reality, I'm hoping that the bloodbath is already over. Cashmere shakes her head and leads me over to the screens, where the tributes are waiting on their metal plates for the countdown to be over. There's a nervous fluttering in my stomach. It's just on television, it's nothing that can hurt me...but no matter how much I remind myself this, I can't help but look out for Glimmer and Marvel. It's different once you know the tributes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice seems to emanate from all around us. Several Capitolians clink glasses in some kind of toast, their voices rising in excitement, but I remain silent. I can see the hard set of Cashmere's face, the contempt in Gloss's eyes.
I watch with fascinated horror as the gong sounds and the tributes scurry for the Cornucopia – well, those brave enough. The rest make their way towards the nearby woods, but I'm transfixed on the sight of the District 1 tributes. I know that as with most years, they will form a Career alliance with Districts 2 and 4 – but right now, all I can see is Marvel picking up a sword and cutting down the girl from District 3. Blood stains her shirt, spreading like a poisonous red weed. Nearby, Glimmer slashes open the throat of the boy from District 6.
The bloodbath continues and I watch in a sense of detachment. So many tributes are already dead...yet Glimmer and Marvel are still alive by the end of it. They join with the muscular blond boy and the dark-haired girl from District 2, and another girl I can only assume is from District 4. The five of them pick through the Cornucopia, taking what they want and leaving everything else behind. Once they start trekking away, I swallow hard and turn and walk from the room as silently as I can.