Chapter Twenty-Six
I step out into the corridor to find Gloss already there waiting for me, immaculate in his suit and with a golden tie that matches my dress. Apparently they still can't let go of the coordination theme even now.
The first thing I do is unfasten the shining fabric and undo the top button of his shirt, adjusting the collar so it looks a little less perfect.
"It looks better like that," I say, forcing myself to sound as bright as I can when he raises his eyebrows questioningly at me.
"Who is his sister and who is his stylist, Cashmere?" asks Lucretia slightly bad-temperedly, but I notice she makes no move towards Gloss to readjust his clothes.
I roll my eyes at her in response and Felix laughs, but I'm not thinking about my brother's outfit now. I scan the corridor, searching for Falco, but he isn't there. My heart sinks instantly.
"Where is he?" I whisper. "He promised me that he'd be here."
"I don't think he could bear to see you on the stage again. Even the thought of it hurt too much."
How about me? That's all I can think even though I know I'm being selfish. How about how much it's hurting me? I'm not sure I can lead the line of Victor-tributes onto the City Circle stage if he isn't there. And what if he doesn't come back at all? He left me without saying goodbye last time but that was different. I can't stand the thought of never seeing him again.
"We have to go," says Felix quietly. "We'll be late if we don't. I'm sorry, Cashmere."
"It's fine," I reply, not feeling at all fine really. "Let's go."
Unusually the lift isn't there waiting for us when we get there, so I stand close to Gloss and wait. Once again I wish this was all over and think that even being in the arena would be better than this. Waiting like this is worse. At least in the arena I won't have time to think.
"That's a dangerous level of symbolism there, my friend," says Falco to Felix, staring at me from his position in the lift once the doors have slid open. I don't know whether to kiss him for being there or kill him for making me think he'd never arrive.
"Only because you were there when I designed it," replies my stylist. "Nobody else will have a clue."
"I did," I say immediately, worried for him.
"You would," he says just as quickly, and though his words are sharp, his expression tells me he didn't mean that as an insult.
"We have to go now," interrupts Lucretia, shepherding us all into the lift and pushing the button for the ground floor.
I stand close to Falco, lifting my arm so he can pretend to inspect the thick gold bracelet suspended around my wrist because it means he doesn't have to move away.
"Are you still going to do what you said?" he hisses, making Gloss narrow his eyes at us.
"Of course," I reply immediately. "Why wouldn't I?"
"It's dangerous."
"Do you think I care about that now?" I say, only thinking about how much that will hurt him once the words have left my mouth. "It'll be worth it," I continue, trying to make him think about rebellion rather than death in the arena.
I can tell it doesn't work from the way he pulls me close, but he says nothing so neither do I. We reach the ground floor before I have time to think.
Falco, Felix, Lace and Fortune are escorted away before we even leave the Training Centre, and though I wish Falco was still with me, I force myself to follow Gloss without protest through the side exit that has caused me so many problems before. He smiles and puts his arm across my shoulders but says nothing. I'm grateful for that. I have to do this. If I can't do this small thing then what good will I be to him tomorrow.
When we finally emerge out into the area behind the stage I take a deep breath and make myself let go of Gloss' hand. Chin up, back straight, walk tall. That's what Ursala said and I'm determined not to let her down.
It looks like virtually everyone else is already here, gathered in groups just like they were before the Opening Ceremony and during training. Beetee catches my eye and I nod once to tell him I still mean to go through with it, that I'm still going to be part of tonight's planned show of defiance. He smiles almost imperceptibly, but then he immediately turns away at the same time as I sense someone else approaching and spin around to face them.
"Ready for the big show?" I ask Enobaria as I take in her long black dress in a way that I hope isn't obvious.
Its collar and neckline are as high as hers always are, but this dress is different. Its skirt has a split in it that almost reaches her hip, and more of her pale skin is exposed than I've ever seen her tolerate before. The murderous look on her face tells me just what she thinks of that, and when the fabric parts every time she moves, she pulls it so viciously back into place that I'm surprised it doesn't tear.
"The big show is tomorrow morning," she replies, her lips suddenly curling into a fierce smile. "Unless I see my stylist before then. If I do then they'll get their show early," she continues, scowling once more at her dress.
I don't know what to say to her. If she'd been anyone else then I'd have reassured her that she looks good, and in her case I wouldn't have had to lie, but it isn't modesty or lack of confidence making her feel uncomfortable. It's something else entirely, something else a lot more sinister from a long time ago in her past.
"Cross your left leg over your right when you're sitting on the stage," I tell her, my words coming out before I can stop them when I notice the split in her skirt is on the right and abruptly remember my grandmother saying the same thing to me when I was little more than a child.
"I thought I told you not to pity me," she snaps, but she inclines her head before she walks away and I receive no death threats. Like I once would have with Dahlia, with Enobaria, I call that progress.
Soon after, the usual clipboard wielding officials begin to increase in numbers and the buzz of noise from the capacity crowd in the City Circle abruptly gets louder, as if they sense the moment they've been waiting for has almost arrived.
Gloss returns to my side, moving away from the uniformed Capitolians rather than towards them, and I feel him tense as Finnick Odair walks past with Mags leaning heavily on his arm for support.
"They're late again," says my brother quietly, and I'd instinctively know he means District Twelve even if I hadn't already noticed they're the only Victor-tributes yet to arrive. "I'm sure they do it on purpose."
"Probably," I reply distractedly, no longer concentrating on him because at that moment the aforementioned District Twelve finally choose to make an appearance.
And Ursala was right. The rumours were true.
I'd like to be able to say that I feel such hatred towards Katniss Everdeen when I see her standing there in her wedding dress because she's a truly evil, wicked person who has done me a genuine grievous harm. But I can't. What I truly feel is overwhelming and uncontrollable jealousy. I know that now, despite how I can barely admit it even to myself.
I don't like the dress. Objectively I can see its beauty, but it's too fussy for me, too bulky and far too heavy looking. And when I see her there all I can do is imagine another world where I could wear a bride's white dress and say out loud the vows I've made to Falco a hundred times in the dark where nobody else could hear.
It's wrong of me to despise her. Part of me has always known that. It's a good thing that she had someone she could fight for who fought for her in return, and it's a good thing that she was one less person to fall victim to the Victor's Game. I can see that. But I'm not perfect, far from it, and right at this moment I hate Katniss Everdeen.
I hate her even though in reality she's in the same position as me because she's going to die too. I hate her because at least the world knows the boy who walks beside her as if they're on their way to slice their wedding cake is hers and she is his. That's assuming she actually loves him, which I'm still not entirely convinced of, but that's another story entirely.
She walks steadily closer and closer, and by the time Finnick Odair becomes the one to finally break the silence, I can hear every word they say even over the noise of the crowd and the increasingly impatient shouts of the officials. I link my hands together because it's the only way I can think of to hold myself back.
"I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing," says Finnick.
"He didn't have a choice," snaps Katniss immediately. "President Snow made him."
"Well, you look ridiculous," I growl, tossing my head back so my hair flies behind my shoulders before taking Gloss' hand and leading him away. If I don't go now then I won't be able to stop myself and I'll say something a whole lot worse.
"Calm down, Cash," whispers Gloss as the officials begin to supervise the formation of the tribute line in preparation for our grand entrance.
"I am calm," I hiss back, sounding anything but.
"Of course you are," he replies disbelievingly, trying and failing to hide his smile.
Then everyone backstage abruptly falls silent as the fanfare of trumpets that signifies the start of the ceremony begins.
"Three, two, one…go!" says the head official, gesturing in the direction of the stage steps without taking his eyes off me.
Caesar bounds onto the stage with his usual irrepressible enthusiasm shortly after we're all seated, his hair and the features of his face a pale lavender colour this time. However not even he can hold the crowd's attention for long, and though they laugh at his jokes and cheer when they're supposed to, the low buzz of many hundreds of whispered conversations all happening at the same time never ceases.
I rise slowly to my feet when my name is called, looking up into the stands until I find Falco and then staring at him so I don't have to gaze out into the audience. He smiles back at me, and I find myself thinking I'd feel a lot more reassured if that smile reached his eyes. Maybe my defiance will make him smile properly. It always did in the past.
"You look as beautiful as ever, Cashmere," says Caesar, gesturing to the chair opposite his golden throne.
I sit down and close my eyes, immediately letting my tears flow. I think of Gloss, of Falco, of my first arena and all of the innocent lives I took when I was there, deliberately plunging myself into despair and darkness in the hope it will make me convincing to the audience.
"Cashmere?" asks Caesar, leaning towards me and resting a snow white hand on my arm concernedly.
"I'm sorry, Caesar," I stammer, my voice shaking and struggling to break through my sobs. "I'm sorry but I just can't bear it. I can't stop thinking about how much you will all suffer when you lose us."
If they'd been impossible to silence before then the audience are the opposite now, and despite the vastness of the City Circle, the only sound I can hear is that of my own shuddering gasps for breath. The part of me that isn't overwhelmed by the situation hopes Snow is watching closely, because this is truly the acting performance of my life.
"The Victors are part of the Capitol now, and so many people here have come to love and care for us so much. And we love and care for so many of you in return," I continue, looking out at the people on the front row staring up at me with tears in their eyes and wondering how they can believe such a thing when I'd bet half of them have signed a contract with Snow without caring about our wishes in the slightest.
I continue my speech until the buzzer finally sounds, letting my eyes drift over to Gloss when I feel my false tears starting to dry up. Just the sight of him on the stage with me is enough to make me cry all over again. This time tomorrow we'll be in the arena. This time tomorrow I could be dead. And so could he, but that isn't something I can let myself think about. Not if I'm going to stay strong for him.
"Very impressive, sister mine," he says amusedly, leaning down to whisper into my ear when he hugs me tightly as we pass each other, pretending to be comforting me and making the crowd sigh wistfully.
If the reaction of those watching proves that I was convincing then my brother is even more so, which is truly astonishing when I consider what he's been through and what he chooses to talk about. He sits down opposite Caesar, casually leaning back on the chair like he's in his own home rather than on a stage in front of the whole country, and then proceeds to thank everyone for the kindness they've all shown to us, of how welcome he's always felt here and how he's so sorry that it's all got to come to an end.
I don't know how he does it, and when the buzzer sounds, the cheer he gets is almost deafening. I don't know whether to be sad, angry or proud. I suppose I end up feeling a mixture of all three. All I do know is that it hurts so much to watch him pretending to be grateful and appreciative to the people who have literally taken everything from him.
He bows gracefully and returns to his seat, quickly taking my hand and not letting go. Then we sit together and watch as many more of the Victors play their part in the plan that was originally Narissa's.
She's there, of course, sitting on the front row with a smug smile on her far-too-beautiful face as she witnesses her idea as it's brought to life so perfectly. There's another woman by her side, and I recognise her instantly as the woman who gave the reporters false information to make them leave Falco and me alone when we returned to the Training Centre last night. Though she's slightly younger and blonde rather than dark, the look of superiority she gives those around her is virtually identical. The way Gloss looks at her tells me this certainly isn't the first time he's seen her.
"Another friend?" I whisper, knowing nobody but my brother will hear me over the noise of the still-cheering audience.
"She's 'Rissa's friend," he replies, looking at the blonde woman rather than at me. "They work together."
"Whatever you say," I say, smirking slightly when I don't detect any animosity towards either woman from him.
He glares at me and nods in the direction of centre stage as the crowd falls silent. I roll my eyes and he squeezes my hand a little bit too hard. I say no more.
Beetee remains quiet and introverted, but he is one of those people that virtually everyone both likes and respects, and unusually that seems to extend to the Capitolians as well. They hang onto his every tremulous word as he questions the legality of the Quell, and the rest of us on the stage do the same.
After what Falco told me, it's no surprise when Finnick Odair joins in, reading a love poem that makes the audience swoon and the cries for the rules to be changed get even louder. It's true that I will always despise him, but at that moment I respect him too. I respect him for having the sense to use the main weapon he has when others would have shied away out of fear or shame. But that doesn't mean I like him or forgive him. Never that. That would be taking it too far.
I can tell from the expression on her face that Mags would join in this subtle Victor's rebellion if she could, and I smile at her when she returns to her place in the semi-circle. She just shakes her head sharply, her anger all for the body that's failing a mind which is clearly as sharp as it ever was. She wanted to speak out and she's furious that she physically couldn't do it.
"How many more?" whispers Gloss, as confident that nobody else but me will hear his words over the noise of the increasingly emotional crowd as I was.
I shrug my shoulders because I genuinely have no idea, and as it turns out we have to wait for Johanna Mason to take to the stage before the Capitol heartstrings are jerked to breaking point once again. As she pleads for someone to do something to stop the Quell, I look properly at her for the first time. More than anything I'm surprised by how young she looks, despite how she obviously knows she can't hide behind a charade of vulnerability like she did before. She's vulgar, uncouth and altogether too fond of public nakedness for my liking, but she's playing her part and she's playing it well. I can't deny that.
Then District Eleven continue where Johanna left off a short time later, and the audience are in pieces by the time the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight finally joins Caesar.
She stands there in that over-the-top wedding gown with a single spotlight focussed solely on her as we are all plunged into darkness, and the already overly fraught audience go wild yet again. Caesar tries to get them to quieten down enough for Katniss to speak but even he is unsuccessful, even when the other stage lights return. Her three minutes are ticking away and she hasn't said a single word yet. But maybe she doesn't have to. Maybe simply being there in that dress and bathing in the crowd's reaction is enough to make a point, because I'm sure that reaction isn't the one predicted by the man who made her wear it.
"So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?" asks Caesar when he's finally able to make himself heard.
"Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding…" she stammers, her voice shaking with every word. "…but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just…the most beautiful thing?"
Then everyone falls silent as she rises to her feet and begins to spin around, raising her arms above her head so the sleeves of the dress spin around with her.
"She's done this twirling thing before," whispers Gloss. "I don't understand."
"It's too much to hope that that's an accident that isn't supposed to happen, isn't it?" says Enobaria dryly before I can reply, and when I turn back to Katniss I can see smoke starting to rise from the dress.
"The Girl On Fire on fire," says Gloss, his equally dry tone making the woman from District Two smirk in response.
The smoke quickly gets thicker and thicker, engulfing Katniss and making her vanish from both our sight and that of the stunned audience. I expect her to be left standing naked on the stage when it abruptly clears, but what I see instead is a black version of her wedding dress, made of what looks like feathers. Black feathers with white patches on the flowing, wing-like sleeves.
"Mockingjay," I breathe, not knowing I'd spoken aloud until Gloss turns to look at me.
His look is questioning but I don't reply and I quickly return my attention to the girl from the coal district, the unknowing symbol of the new rebellion. Not for the first time, I wonder if she has any idea what is being planned around her, if she has any clue about how the image of her in that dress will be seen outside the Capitol.
Her stylist rises to his feet and gives everyone a small bow when requested, and seeing him like that suddenly reminds me that he is the one who designed that dress. I scan down the line of stylists until I reach Felix, and the anxious look on his face tells me all I need to know. He's worried, and I'm not sure all that worry is on Cinna's behalf.
Before I know it, the buzzer is sounding and the crowd start up again, even louder than ever. I look at Gloss, unsure of what to think. What have I just witnessed? The beginning of the rebellion or the end? While that is something I can't answer, I can say for sure that the potential impact of this night hasn't gone unnoticed. When I look up at the stands, at the Gamemakers and the government officials, not a single one looks the slightest bit happy.
And then Peeta takes to the stage and adds to the chaos of emotions by announcing that he and Katniss are already married and that she is going into the arena carrying his child.
Chaos breaks out across the City Circle instantly.
The audience shriek and wail with an anguish that as far as I am concerned is at least partly self-inflicted, whereas it seems that nobody on the stage with me so much as breathes. People cry out in outrage, screaming that the Quell should be stopped and pleading for change. However it only takes one look up at President Snow to know that change is never going to be made. He's enjoying this, watching the whole show like a ringmaster overseeing his circus.
I vaguely hear the buzzer that signals the end of Peeta's three minutes, but he has to make his way back to his seat without his applause and cheers because the audience don't even notice. They keep shouting and crying, and not even Caesar can regain their attention. When the anthem booms out across the City Circle at what sounds like three times its normal volume, I know that those who matter have decided the show is over.
I slowly stand, my hand still gripping Gloss' so tightly that I begin to doubt I'll ever be able to make myself let go, not even to wipe the tears that are streaming freely down my face. I look up at the big screen opposite me because I can't bear to look at the mass of people who surround the stage, and that's when I notice Katniss reaching her hand out to Chaff.
The man from District Eleven lets her close her fingers around the stump where his hand should be, and soon a lot of the others begin to link hands as well. Some do it slowly and deliberately in yet another show of defiance, and others like the morphling addicts from Six simply do it because they're asked to. Then there are those who think they're going to stay out of it, but pretty soon even they are caught up in the moment.
I see Gloss nod fiercely to Enobaria, the hand that isn't clamped around mine extended firmly towards her. She glares at him but he doesn't back down, and in the end even she gives in, reluctantly putting her small hand in his and turning back to face the audience. I do the same, giving them a fierce smile as my mind fills with thoughts of rebellion.
Once the officials realise what they're seeing and all of the potential implications it could have, they start to end the show immediately, passing messages through the camera crews in a way that reminds me of that whispering game that children play.
Just like in that game, the further along the line it goes, the more the message gets distorted. By the time it reaches the crew standing by my side of the stage, they simply look confusedly around at each other and everyone else, their cameras still rolling.
The light they provide allows me to see a furious looking Prisca, who remains one of the president's closest advisors, as she draws her hand sharply across her throat. The man in charge of the main camera soon gets the message and we're suddenly plunged into almost-darkness.
"Gloss, come on," I call, not letting his hand go as I stumble down the steps in my rush to get off the stage. "We have to go."
The Peacekeepers move in quickly then, dispersing the chaotic, surging crowd as best they can. I try to search for Falco and Felix but it's dark and there are people everywhere. I can't see them anywhere, and when Gloss tugs me into one of the lifts once we finally get back inside the Training Centre, I follow him without protest and press the button for Level One straight away.
Enobaria slips inside just as the doors are sliding closed, looking completely unruffled, as if this is something that happens to her every day. Or maybe she simply doesn't care what happens to her. Either way she doesn't say a word, and for some crazy reason suddenly all I can think is how lucky I am.
Horrible though it is, I'd rather be in my situation than hers. I'd rather feel everything I feel than feel nothing but a rage that won't ever fade. Although having said that, when I look at Gloss and think of Falco I can't help thinking I may change my mind about that when the time comes to say goodbye in the morning.
We arrive at Level One a few seconds later and still the woman from District Two doesn't speak. However she narrows her eyes at me until I nod back in return. Allies, she said, and it seems the deal we made still stands. For now anyway.
Then I temporarily forget all about Enobaria when I open the main door and find Falco there waiting for us.
"You got here quickly," I say, not missing how he moves close and takes me in his arms, almost like he thinks they'll take me away early if he lets me go.
"It's madness down there. Total anarchy and they don't know what to do about it. 'Rissa must think she's died and gone to paradise," he adds, momentarily sounding amused. However I'm not surprised it doesn't last when he continues. "They're sending everyone home. The prep teams and stylists, all of the escorts-"
"But… You can't… Falco don't go," I plead, not caring how desperate I sound.
"I came up here before the officials regained control. Perhaps they'll think I left already. And if they don't then… well, I'm not leaving you so they'll have to kill me."
"Don't say things like that," I reply, twisting my hand into his shirt so we don't lose contact as I move into the dining room and peer through the gap in the curtain at the City Circle below.
He follows me closely so I don't have to let him go and Gloss does the same. My brother pulls the curtain aside so we can all see.
If our names hadn't been drawn from the reaping ball then I know I'd be finding it difficult not to laugh at this. There are Capitolians everywhere, people who were in the audience who are sparkling with jewels and losing feathers off their headdresses as they either attempt to flee the chaos or get a better look.
The Peacekeepers are moving towards them now though, probably because all of the Victor-tributes and their support teams have been cleared off the stage. I can see Prisca and her cronies issuing orders, and many of them are having frantic conversations on their phones at the same time.
"Come away from there now," says Falco, glaring down at Prisca before walking back to the middle of the room, taking me with him because I don't want to let him go. I grasp Gloss' hand to bring him with me.
"They were all down there," he says, still looking at the window. "Phoebe and the others. Narissa."
"'Rissa can look after herself," replies Falco with a slightly grim smile. "So can Phoebe. Tonight was about the Quell. It wasn't about rebellion."
"Aren't they part of the same thing?" I ask, watching my brother's expression change from confusion to realisation and then back to confusion again.
Instinct automatically tells me not to talk about these things in front of him, but I carry on anyway. When this is over, he'll need to know.
"Yes and no," answers Falco. "Phoebe's been speaking out against the Quell and so has 'Rissa, but not in a way that could be…misinterpreted."
"Don't be so naïve, Falco. You know better than that. I've seen the interviews they've all been giving and it's all about how devastating it is for everyone to lose us and how awful it will be, but they're still speaking out against the president and you're being a fool if you can't see that's all it takes now."
Falco stares back at me, shaking his head slowly. "I was hoping you wouldn't work that out."
"I think you know me better than that," I reply, trying to sound light and teasing. It doesn't work even when I persist. "I know everything, remember."
He smiles sadly. I've never seen him look this helpless, not even when the president first told us I'll be a tribute in the Quell.
"Do you want me to-" he starts, looking from me to Gloss and then at the door.
"No," I reply instantly, cutting him off because I know he's going to ask if I want him to go.
I take both his hand and Gloss' and pull them over to the sofa, flopping back onto it and dragging them with me. Gloss rests his head on my shoulder and Falco links his arm with mine, squeezing my hand so tightly that I start to think he'll cut off my circulation.
"Do you want to go to bed?" he asks eventually. "It's late."
I shake my head when he's barely finished speaking. I don't want to let him go and I don't want to let Gloss go either. And I don't want to waste my last few hours by sleeping.
I close my eyes for a second anyway, and I can hear nothing but the soft sounds of our breathing. If the commotion out in the City Circle is still going on then the noise is obviously blocked by the glass in the windows.
"Could you get out?" whispers Gloss into the near darkness, and though I can't see his face, I know he's talking to Falco. "Out of the Training Centre and away, I mean."
I sit up, looking at him anxiously and then wildly scanning a room I can barely see, half expecting someone to jump out to arrest us. He spoke very quietly and with his hand over his mouth but it might not have been enough.
"Don't be stupid, Gloss," I hiss back. "Think of our victory," I continue, hoping I'll sound like a Career Tribute desperate for glory despite how I'm thinking of a very different Victory.
"I've thought about it every day for the past three months," says Falco, showing as much disregard for hidden cameras and bugs as Gloss did. I hope that's because he knows there aren't any, but I don't see how he can at a time like this, not when security has never been so great. "But it'd be a massive risk. And Cashmere's right. You know what the consequences would be."
"Which is why I'd never try," I say, thinking of Satin and Victory back home.
"I know," replies Falco. "If it wasn't for them then you and I would both be either dead or a long way from here by now."
I don't know what to say to that and apparently nobody else does either, because we sit there in silence for hours. I don't sleep at all, and instead try to think about happier times and good memories. But however hard I try, my mind always drifts back to the arena. What will it be like? How will I die? Will I be able to keep Gloss alive?
The worst moments are when the voice in my head considers that the answer to that last question might be no.
"It's almost dawn," I whisper reluctantly when I can't remain in denial for any longer.
I only realise I'm trembling when I hear how much my voice is shaking. Then there's a knock at the door and Gloss visibly jumps. So do I.
"Can we come in?" calls Felix. "I'm so sorry but it's nearly time."
"Wait one minute," replies Gloss, squeezing my hand before letting go and standing up.
"Gloss?"
He stops and looks down at me, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear on one side. "If I go first then you'll have a few minutes. I'll see you there. Watch your back and keep fighting. Don't stop and don't think."
"Same to you, little brother," I reply, my voice catching because of the lump that's suddenly appeared in my throat. "And remember your promise. What is it?"
"To not go after Odair at least until the first battle's over," he repeats dutifully, and all I can do is nod and desperately hope he means it.
He kisses the top of my head, shakes Falco's hand and then he's gone. I hear him telling Lucretia that he's ready to go and then asking Felix to give me a minute. I turn to look at Falco and I'm wiping silent tears from my cheeks before I even realise I'm crying.
"I'll get you out of there," he says, cupping my face with his hands and brushing my tears away with his thumbs. "Whatever it takes. I swear it."
"No, Falco," I stammer, leaning into his touch before forcing myself to pull away. "If you love me then you'll choose Gloss. Gloss must live."
"It's because I love you that I'll always choose you. If you want to hate me forever then I don't care. It doesn't matter as long as you live."
"I've made my choice. Gloss lives. And without me to worry about, you can live too. Do whatever Snow asks of you and live."
"I'm not a good person, Butterfly," he says, resting his forefinger against my lips when I open my mouth to contradict him. "I've said and done a lot of selfish and questionable things. The only truly good thing about me is you. You're all I have that's worth fighting for. But whatever happens, I'll never be that man's puppet again."
"I'd say you'll make me cry if you keep talking like that but it's too late," I reply, attempting a smile because I know we haven't got much time left. "If you ever see the day he falls then promise me you'll give him a kick from me."
"You can kick him yourself," he says stubbornly.
"I'm sorry," comes Felix's voice from the other side of the door.
"I have to go," I say, but it's only when Falco stands that I find the strength to do the same. "I love you. I'll always love you."
"I love you," he echoes as I walk away, holding onto his hand until my fingers slip from his.
I only just reach the door before he pulls me back, lifting me up so I instinctively put my legs around his waist as he presses me back against the wall. Then for a few short minutes there is no arena and no Games, there is only him. I allow myself to get lost in him because when I do my pain fades and my tears stop falling for what feels like the first time in hours.
He puts me down far too soon, rearranging the skirt of the golden dress I never changed out of as I stumble into him because my legs are trembling too much to take my weight.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, holding me tightly so I don't fall. "I shouldn't have… I just…"
"I'm not sorry," I reply fiercely. "Not for that and not for any of it."
I jerk the door open before I lose my nerve and kiss him one more time before walking over to Felix, who is looking at the floor and doesn't once meet my eyes. As I follow my stylist to the lift I can sense Falco watching me the whole way.
The doors are already open when I get there, as if the lift is waiting just for me. It probably is. I take a deep breath as I step inside, wiping my eyes again before turning around. I don't want Falco's last memory of me to involve floods of tears.
"I'll never be sorry!" I shout as the doors slide shut.
I see him begin to reply but we're cut off from each other before I can hear what he says. I wish I could but I know I can't go back. I can never go back.
"Go and have a shower," says Felix, finally speaking after several minutes of standing in the hot and humid Launch Room in total silence. "You've still got your makeup on from last night."
I stare blankly at him before nodding mechanically and trying to ignore the mass of thoughts that flood my mind as I head towards the small bathroom. I want to tell him that I don't want to shower, that I can still feel Falco's skin against mine and that I still feel like he's part of me and that if I'm going to die then I want to die that way.
But I don't tell him any of that. Instead I numbly do as I'm told and put on the plain but soft underclothes left out for me before returning to the main room.
"Sit down," he says. "Have something to eat."
"I'm not hungry," I say, unable to take even a single step because I suddenly feel like my body has shut down.
"You can't help being frightened, Cashmere. I'm frightened and I'm not…I'm not going where you're going."
"I'm not scared," I snap, not even fooling myself despite the force behind my words. "I don't get scared. Chin up, back straight, walk tall. That's all I have to remember."
Felix says nothing but I can see the disbelief in his eyes. He doesn't believe me either, and I'm not surprised. He knows me too well.
"Put this on," he says, walking towards me carrying a small bundle of blue fabric. "So you're ready."
I take it from him and unfold what looks like a jumpsuit. It's made of a thin material that certainly doesn't look like it will keep me warm, making me unsure whether to be relieved that it's unlikely the arena will be like Gloss' first one or fearful that it might be like mine.
"It's hideous," I tell him, trying to turn it into a joke even though neither of us are laughing. "Are you seriously going to send me out in front of the whole country wearing this?"
"You'd look good in anything," he replies, his expression making it clear that he doesn't have the strength to attempt a humorous retort as he helps me put it on.
The jumpsuit clings to every curve of my body, especially when he fastens a thick purple belt around my waist, and I abruptly feel very uncomfortable. Long gone is the Cashmere who was proud of her figure and didn't mind showing it off. From the moment I saw the Capitolians looking at me like an object they could buy and sell for their pleasure and amusement, I have never been happier than when I've been at home and wearing one of the many shirts I've borrowed on a permanent basis from Falco, or something equally as big on me that conceals as much of my body as possible.
But then I remember why I'm here and tell myself to stop being ridiculous. Most tributes need sponsors to win the Hunger Games, and I'm here to make sure Gloss wins. I sigh deeply and pull the belt a hole tighter before unzipping the front of my jumpsuit so its far lower than I'd want it to be. I don't care who sponsors us as long as my brother survives.
Then I sit down on the sofa by Felix's side and we don't talk anymore. I have nothing left to say, no energy remaining to attempt to tell him what I'm thinking when I can't really understand my thoughts myself. His presence and the warmth of his arm across my shoulders is all I allow myself to concentrate on as I try not to count the minutes that are passing by far too quickly.
The same voice I heard this time nine years ago announces that it's time to prepare for launch a short time later, and the sound of it is enough to make me stop breathing. I jump to my feet and fly backwards until my suddenly sweat-soaked back is flat to the already damp wall, and it's only when Felix stands in front of me, grasping both of my hands firmly in his, that I finally begin to regain control.
"Hearing it made me remember," I gasp, hating the panic-stricken terror in my voice but at the same time feeling at a loss to know how to fight it. "I don't want to go back in there, Felix. Please… Please, Felix. I don't want to go. I don't want to do this. I don't want to die."
He pulls me into a tight hug and doesn't let me go even slightly until my breathing slows and I begin to calm down.
"You have to be strong, Cashmere," he says, the sadness written all over his face telling me that he knows that's all he can say, that he's as totally powerless to stop it as I am. "For Gloss, and for all of us who love you and wish more than anything that you could come back to us. Can you do that for me?"
Eventually I nod and allow him to lead me over to the metal launch plate. We continue to hold hands until I hear the whirring of the ceiling mechanism as the glass cylinder begins to lower down over me. It gets lower and lower but he doesn't let go until he has no choice.
"Promise me you'll look after him!" I shout, my desperate fingers scraping against the glass as it falls further and further down. "Promise me!"
The last image I have before the metal plate begins to rise is of Felix looking up at me. We're cut off from each other totally and so I can't hear him, but my eyes don't leave his face and I clearly see him mouth 'I promise' as he vanishes from sight.
That image is the only thing that gives me the strength to stand upright on my podium as a ceaseless wave of heat suddenly hits me and I have no choice but to close my eyes in response to the blindingly bright light that accompanies it.
This one was difficult but I finally got there... The single solitary line Cashmere has in canon... The line that inspired the whole (massive) trilogy...
I'd love to hear from you, especially with the arena starting next week...