Chapter Eleven: Bitter Victory

A/N: As always, a huge thanks to my reviewers: Supachick92, our little infinity, Darth Rapture, Smizzlemort and Total Targaryen.

Riiiight so I'm guessing a lot of you won't like how quickly things between Storm and Gloss develop in this chapter...but they're both a bit mentally screwed up right now about their feelings, not to mention what happens is significant for later in the story.

Warning: some sexual themes in this chapter, but nothing explicitly M-rated

Gloss's POV

I am legitimately amazed that I haven't smashed anything. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games, arrived in District 1 today. I couldn't condemn them for winning – someone has to. But it just reminded me of the failure of the District 1 tributes in the past few years, how I had been the last to survive the Games. A grimness settled over me then, when I realised just how easy it was to die. Lives were snuffed out like candles, the lives of frightened teenagers with weapons forced into their hands.

Cashmere doesn't seem surprised at all to see me on the couch sipping a beer when she returns from the celebrations with Storm in tow. Of course they would have go. It was Storm's obligation as a Capitolian escort, and while I was feigning sick Cashmere had still found it in herself to go. Cashmere crosses over with a scowl and snatches the can of beer from my hand, setting it down on the table.

"Don't turn into Haymitch from 12, Gloss. Drinking doesn't become you."

Storm sits beside me and her expression is solemn. I don't look at her because I don't want to see the pity in her eyes. I hope she doesn't think things have changed due to what happened the other night with me stopping Hyperion. I'm just as fucked up as I was then, meaning I still don't want anything like a relationship with Storm. Cashmere replaces the beer with a juice, which I sip gratefully.

"There's always a chance," Storm informs me, but it's one of those times when you don't need optimism. I wish the voice of reason would just shut up and leave me alone to brood. "Someone from District 1 might win in the 75th Hunger Games."

Cashmere sinks into a chair across from me and I note that her expression has darkened considerably. I know exactly why. Every twenty-five years, the Capitol issues a Quarter Quell. For the 25th Hunger Games, the districts were forced to vote for the tributes they would send into the arena. For the 50th Hunger Games, double the amount of tributes was sent in. If I remember correctly, that's the year Haymitch Abernathy won. The 75th Hunger Games are only a cause for apprehension.

"The Capitol will twist the Games," Cashmere informs Storm, as if she could have forgotten. Really Storm should know better than anyone else. I can imagine Hyperion hissing in Snow's ear like a venomous snake, trying to hurt us in any way he can. My lip curls in disgust at the thought.

"There's something else." Cashmere and I both glance at Storm, who is playing with her hands and gnawing at her lip. I can tell by the way she's fidgeting that something is wrong and when she looks up, her hazel eyes are troubled. "There's a rebellion rising in District 8."

Cashmere goes out, but Storm stays in. My sister will sometimes go shopping in her light hearted moments, calling it retail therapy. I don't understand it, but it's good to see that she's in a bright mood, especially since I'm not. At first I think that Storm is waiting around for Cashmere to get back, but it soon becomes clear she's staying to talk to me. It's not really a prospect I'm comfortable with.

"Gloss?" Storm swirls a mango juice in her hand, looking down into its murky contents before glancing back across at me. "I just wanted to talk to you. About the other night. When Hyperion..."

I know she doesn't want to finish the sentence, so I spare her. "I remember what happened, Storm. It doesn't mean anything. I had been drinking too."

My words seem to impact her like a slap to the face. She flushes bright red and bites at her lip, nodding. She acts as though she can accept it, but there's misery in her eyes, a desire for something that can't be. I wish that I could tell her the truth. But the truth can sometimes hurt like a knife between the ribs, despite the good intentions that come with telling it.

"You don't mean that." Her words are soft, betrayed.

I sigh heavily and rake a hand through my hair in frustration. "What do you want from me, Storm? Alright, there's no point denying the truth. But you know what? Sometimes it's so much easier to believe a lie."

Storm blinks. I don't know what she expected, but it clearly wasn't that. She gets to her feet and downs the last of her mango juice. She places her glass on the bench and avoids making eye contact as she makes to walk out, but something tells me I can't just leave things there. There's more between us. A spark. I've acknowledged it now, and I need to act on it, even if it's just for the moment.

I grab Storm by the wrist and tug her towards me. She opens her mouth to say something, and maybe that's why I press my lips to hers. I haven't had that much beer, but when we kiss it feels like fire. Her warmth burns into me and holds me captivated in a way I've never known before. I slide my arms around her waist and press her closer and this time she doesn't resist. This time, it's working.

I lift her up and press her against the wall, my lips trailing down the tender skin of her neck. She gasps, legs wrapping instinctively around my waist. The soft sound just about drives me over the edge. I nibble lightly at Storm's neck, running one of my hands through her silky brown hair. She moans and I know that it won't end here. I can't stop. It's like I'm in flight and I have no intention of crashing and burning.

I slide my hands underneath the hem of her shirt, fingers finding the warmth of her stomach, before roving up to her chest. Storm clings to me, kissing me with a ferocity I'd only seen once: when she hit Hyperion. We don't need meaningless word, requests or permissions or I love yous. That's not how this works. Maybe it's love, but maybe it's something much more dangerous. As I lift Storm higher and carry her to the bedroom, I find myself realising that I don't care either way.

I lie her down and slide her shirt effortlessly over her head. Sure, I've been with women before. I'm twenty-two. But they've always been women who wanted to take control. But this Capitolian girl, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed, is content to let me do as I will. It suddenly strikes me that even though she has only just surpassed her teenage years, Storm is a virgin.

I look into her eyes, looking for uncertainty, looking for any sign that she doesn't want this. I don't care how much I want her, if she is reluctant, I won't do it. There's nothing but a heat blazing in those eyes and she pulls me to her and kisses me again. Her small hands run almost tentatively over my chest. They're cool, eliciting a groan from me as I work at the zip of her pants. I've come undone, and this time, she's not looking to put me back together.

Storm's POV

I'm not sure whether he's asleep, or just has his eyes closed. I want to reach and touch that soft blond hair, but I know he's likely to slap my hand away. I think what just happened was possibly the most conflicting experience in my life. There was pleasure, there was pain, and there was Gloss. All of it made me feel fixed up. I had given him a part of me, but what did that mean for us? Us? Was that even the right term?

He opens his eyes and I'm a little taken aback. I'm not sure what to do. My cheeks heating up, I tug the sheet around me and set about manoeuvring into my clothes underneath the blankets. When I'm finished I try and regain my composure, fixing my hair and straightening my clothes. Gloss watches me lazily.

"So, what did you think?"

I don't know why, but talking about sex makes me uncomfortable, even if I have just done it. My cheeks burn a bright red.

"I...umm...it was pretty good."

"I wasn't talking about sex," Gloss replies with dry amusement, causing me to flush even redder, if that's even possible. "I mean, where do you think we are now? We've gone somewhere and we can't go back."

I consider his words, but I don't even know myself. I gave this man my virginity. I'm not stupid enough to think it immediately means we have to get into a proper relationship, because there's nothing normal about what Gloss and I have. I bite at my lip, watching as Gloss tugs on his pants. There's a sort of lazy arrogance about him now and I watch him warily, knowing that something has changed.

"Guess that solves the sexual tension between us."

I blink, before staring at him in disbelief. How can talk about it so dismissively? Sexual tension? Is that really all he thought it was? I feel the disappointment building up inside me. It's like everything we built up has come crashing down again. No matter how hard I try to fix him, to find out how he ticks, he closes me off. He's put another barrier between us. Gloss raises an eyebrow when he notices the shock on my face.

"What is it, Storm? Did you seriously think it was something more? Did you think it would be once upon a time and happily ever after? God, you're more naive than I thought."

His words cut deep like a knife. There's a mocking look about his face and I discover that I've been played for the fool. Maybe that's all Gloss wanted – to use a Capitolian like he and his sister had been used. The only problem was that I let him. I made it so easy for him. I force back the tears welling in my eyes. No, I won't cry, not over this.

"I thought there was...something." I murmur the words, because even now I realise how childish I've been. Gloss can't let anyone inside his fractured world, not an outsider. He's shown me glimpses through windows, but I am never going to walk in through the front door.

"You thought wrong." Gloss's tone is cold as he tugs a shirt over his head. "I think you should leave now, Storm."

I whirl and stalk from the room, trying to restrain everything that I feel. Maybe Gloss tried and failed to care. Maybe he never even wanted to. All I know is that Gloss Delucan certainly cannot love.

Cashmere always knows when something's wrong. That's why she comes over to my apartment with an oversized block of chocolate and a bottle of expensive wine, on the day the Quarter Quell challenge will be announced. We sit down in the lounge and break the chocolate into pieces. She watches as I swill my wine, taking slow sips of the bitter stuff. I've become accustomed to bitterness now. It's taken over what used to be a sheltered life.

"Alright, what happened with you and Gloss now?" Cashmere sighs.

There's no delaying, no trying to hold back what happened. I feel a little sick. Maybe it's too much chocolate and wine. More likely it's the fact that I feel like another Capitolian using a Victor for sexual pleasure. Only, I didn't pay Gloss. Perhaps it's me in the wrong after all. I put down my wine glass.

"We had sex." The words come out strained. I don't know what Cashmere was expecting, but I don't think it was this. Her eyebrows shoot upwards and pure astonishment is written across her face. She always guessed there was something between us, but she didn't know that things would go so far.

"He pushed you away, didn't he?" Cashmere inquires softly. She takes my hands in her own when I nod miserably. "Storm, if you feel guilty now, don't. What happened isn't your fault. You didn't do anything to make him act like this. It's just the way Gloss is, and I guess the way he always will be."

There is a true pain in Cashmere's voice and I know that I'm not the only one Gloss is pushing away. He's more open around his sister of course, but it seems there's a lot he's not sharing even with Cashmere. I break off another square of chocolate and pop it into my mouth, tasting its sweetness. Cashmere leans back in her chair and turns on the television and we sit in anxious silence, waiting for the 75th Hunger Games twist.

Once President Snow is finished with his speech about the Dark Days and the Hunger Games, he removes an envelope marked with the number 75. It's old and yellowed, an indication that the quell was written up many years ago – or was it? As a Capitolian, I have my suspicions about the 'honesty' of my own people.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary," President Snow speaks slowly and clearly, "As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

The glass falls from Cashmere's hand, wine staining the carpet red like blood. I can see the horror written over her face and I feel sick, sick to the stomach. Hyperion said he would have his revenge, and now he has. I am to be the escort who chooses which of District 1's famous Victors are going to go another round. For Cashmere and Gloss, the odds don't seem to be in their favour.