One more night. Just one more seemingly endless expanse of time in which I toss and turn, unable to focus on anything but my imminent doom.
The interviews are tonight. I worked with Johanna and Nidea for the whole day, until they had picked an angle for me. I'm not looking forward to revealing my secrets in front of Panem, though. Why should I? I'm just going to die anyway. No big deal.
At least not to them.
I'm hoping my stylist will have picked something that doesn't make me stupid. Or reflect on what she looks like. She's just another freak, with pale, almost translucent skin and bright swirling tattoos. She scares me a little, to be honest.
A hot shower is waiting for me when I start my prep work. Although I'm preoccupied, I still enjoy the soothing massage of the water on my tense, knotted shoulders. Wrapped up in a robe, I am ordered to sit as the three bizarre figures around my start to work their magic.
I'm a little bit of a girly-girl, so I liked to see the palette they were using for my face. Pinks and reds, swirled in dozens of shades, are all I can see. I guess they're giving up on the whole District Seven thing.
My hair is straightened, then twisted again into soft curls. My hair is then pinned up in strands on the back of my head, with a few pieces left to frame my face. Nothing presents clues as to what I'll be wearing.
I am told to stand up, and material slips over my head. I can immediately feel the tightness in certain places. After some adjusting, I stare at myself in the mirror. A blazing red dress sheaths my body, encasing me in the soft fabric. I see spaghetti straps, and am not too worried, but then my gaze slips down farther. The dress is way more low cut then I am comfortable with, but no going back now. It hugs my form, accentuating curves that I didn't know I had, and, about mid-thigh, falls down into a cascade of rose-like embellishments.
I look like a frickin mermaid.
"Oh, you look gorgeous!" my stylist and prep team are beside themselves. From their chatter, I can tell they were hoping I could pull off sexy. I just think it looks stupid.
And when Carver sees me...
I stop that thought right there. I don't care what he thinks, even though I'm realizing that he's right about Johanna's situation. I picture Mahogany's face when she sees me on television. A girl like her would love this dress. Not me.
I'm led to the stage, where we get adjusted to the bright lights and sit in our places. I see other tributes that look wonderful. Some look like their stylist spent about ten minutes on their ensemble. Kohl looks beautiful in a flowy, bright yellow dress that reaches her knees. Her hair is straightened and pulled back in an elegant clip. I see that Brenton is dressed in a casual black suit with accents that match his partner's dress. They look fantastic.
Brody waves energetically until I catch his eye. I try not to grin-he looks like a clown, with his fuchsia pants and matching jacket. I'm not sure what his stylist was thinking, but it definitely-er-makes an impression.
I'm too preoccupied with greeting Carver, dressed in a dark suit with a red rose the exact shade of my dress pinned in his lapel, to notice the sudden deduction of noise. I glance about and see that all of the boys and several of the girls are staring at me-well, my dress. Ugh, such typical boys! Half of them are going to be dead tomorrow anyway!
I am saved from having to make a nasty comment to make them all look away by the arrival of Caesar Flickerman. He begins interviews and not much stands out in my mind. Bridget looks killer in a short, strapless dress, but her vicious personality kind of ruins the image. I can see the distance of the Capitol citizens, since most know about what happened in training. I subconsciously touch the scar on my upper arm, not fully healed.
My name is called, and I try to gracefully walk to the chair adjacent to Caesar's. It's so dang hard in this dress, but I can see quite a few of the crowd has their eyes turned toward the sheath of fabric. Caesar introduces me, asks me about my friends and family, and just chats for a while. And then the conversation switches to my dress.
What is wrong with these people?
"You pull off that look very well," Caesar tells me. I not and try to smile, while inwardly thinking that he was a total creeper.
"Quite an attractive look on you, wouldn't you agree?" he turns toward the crowd and lets them show their appreciation.
"Thank you," I say. "It's not really what I'm used, to, though, and I'm a little uncomfortable."
"Makes the boys at home jealous, though, huh?" Caesar refuses to take my hint that I'm done with the conversation. "You got anyone special back home?"
I think of Sawyer. What he said to me when we left. And how he's surely remembering it, too.
"One of my best friends," I begin. "When he came to visit me after the Reaping, he told me he loved me. And...I think I might feel the same way."
It's all true. Of course I love him-but only as a friend. Romance has never been part of our relationship. But, of course, the Capitol doesn't care. They just want a good show.
Before Caesar can respond, the buzzer goes off. I tune out the rest of the interviews, the laughs and gasps and cheers. I'm preoccupied with what's going to happen-which may very well be my last day.
oOo
Two hours later I'm showered and in pajamas, staring up at the ceiling while pointlessly trying to sleep. Thinking of Sawyer. Of Mahogany. Of Carver. Of Johanna. Of her family. How I'll never see their faces or find out what happened to them again.
And when dawn comes, my face is soaked with tears.
So sorry for not writing in forever! I was on vacation for a week. So, I'm writing this while listening to the Hunger Games soundtrack. I've seen the movie twice already (yes, I'm a nerd) and it was fantastic, if you haven't watched it yet. Thanks for reading!
