Again, another chapter I can't ask you to "enjoy". But I do hope you please review!

Pardon me while I got sob in the corner and call myself a heinous villian T_T

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
William Shakespeare

When I get back to my room, I throw myself on my bed for what feels like a very short time. I'm face down in the pillows when Verity comes in. She sits down in the room and doesn't say a word until I get up.

When I do, she takes a small bag out and shows me some items while positioning me in front of a mirror. After an hour has passed, I know how to apply eyeliner, eye shadow, concealer and base.

Verity has explained to me that at times, I might be living with a man in the Capitol. I will be expected to do at least minimal make-up for at home wear. The concealer she notes, helps cover up unsightly bruises.

She tells me a lot of little things that I should know. How to keep my eyes down if I become very angry—to not be afraid to have a bit of a temper because they'll admire that. But to remember each action here, is a consequence back home.

I thought that was bad enough, but the next part is somehow worse as she shows me the slight and lacey things the Capitol women wear as underclothes on regular days. I'm blushing profusely by the time she shows me what she refers to as the negligee' for sexy "romps".

Even though I've been intimate with Ivan, I find the idea of him seeing me in this unnerving. The idea of anyone else seeing me like this is downright upsetting. I can barely keep the anger and the anxiety from overtaking me, but I manage.

…

After a few hours, I'm in a barely there slinky black mini dress with black tights on, and high heels that make me wobble just a bit. My hair is spiked up a little, and my make-up is made of dark, accentuating shadows. My lipstick however is crimson, setting off the pale tone of my face and somehow making my cut show slightly through the make-up.

As I look at myself in the mirror, I can hardly believe that it's me anymore. I look hard, but sultry and confident. But I guess, when you're acting and convincing is what protects your family—you can do anything at all, even this.

It's almost time when I slip on a long black coat, and Verity helps me to the elevator. "Remember," her voice is low. "Your eyes, watch your eyes. They like your heat, your passion but they're fickle so be careful." I nod my head, feeling like one of the little tramps in my district who have to resort to this to bring food to their starving families in the winter. But now, I understand them. Before, I thought it'd be better to die then sink this low. But when it's someone you love, who's depending on you, there's no way to say no.

…

The long black car takes me to his home. I'm let out, and I approach the steps not knowing what to expect. As I reach the top stair, the door is thrown open by an older man. He's slightly gone to seed, with garish blue hair and filed incisors that look like fangs. Despite wanting to turn around and leave, I look at him coolly as I pull my cloak further up around me.

"Johanna Mason! I've been waiting for you!" His hand is on my arm as he pulls me through the door.

…

The next few hours passed in chaos, slowly like a nightmare. His breath strong with the smell of beer as he shoved his tongue in my mouth. His hands rough and bruising as he tried to take the dress off of me with his shaking hands, before finally asking me to strip for him.

But worse of all was his ridiculous efforts to make this "easier" on me. Blindfolded and my hands cuffed to the bed posts, as he moved against me. I'm trying not to scream in this complete sensory deprivation, I'm trying not to kick or panic—because if I do, this will just take longer and what could be worse than that?

But it does get worse, because when he's done—after a remarkably long time of getting nowhere, he passes out on me. I can smell the stench of beer and sweat floating up to me, while his head lays on my bare breasts. I'm trying to choke back a sob, because I'm going insane.

This is the first time I've been with anyone but Ivan. I'm exhausted from the Arena, but I can't sleep like this—not when every little sound I hear makes me jump, makes me shake with fear. It's like I'm back there already.

But after an hour or two, he makes his apologies and releases me asking if it was good for me too. Good for me? I want to shout at him. I've killed before, but this—this was the most horrible moment in my life so far. I had one last piece of me to myself, but not anymore. Demurely, I nod my head which he takes for shyness.

It's only a matter of minutes, before I'm dressed again. His wife is coming home and I have to be out by then.

…

I spend the rest of my night in my own bed, sobbing until my tears are almost gone. I shower and shower, but the filth of what has happened doesn't leave my body. What I wouldn't' give to have my stylists scrub my body like the first day I was here, until my skin was raw.

…

If the first night was bad, then this one is far worse. Where the man before had been kind if disgusting this man is brutal. I know it from the moment he rips off my blue dress. I'm standing there in my underclothes and I'm scared, because he looks like he's about to kill me.

"You can't be Johanna Mason…" He licks his lips like he's looking at some feast.

"Who else would I be?" But it's not the same biting remark as usual.

He advances on me, and I don't move. I stand my ground though I'm scared. "Where's your fire, Johanna?" Before I can respond, he slaps me so hard across my face that I fall back into the wall.

I'm stunned for a moment, before I react. I bring my hand up hard across his face. He's shocked at the force of it, but he advances on me pressing my against the wall—pinning me. But I'm fighting him. I can feel my fingers draw blood as I rake my hands across his face and shoulders.

I'm thrown even harder into the wall, my underclothes ripped of. I feel his arms like vices holding me there, my feet clearing the ground by inches. I'm kicking at him, but he's winning. The bruises are welling up already under his hands. I sink my teeth into his neck, not to evoke pleasure but blood.

But no matter how hard I fight or resist, he just wants me more. His hands are around my neck, and then there's nothing.

…

I wake up as the sun is rising, blaring in my eyes. My whole body feels like a giant bruise, and my throat is swollen and sore. I realize I'm laying on a table with my legs hanging off and on the floor a few feet over is the vicious man passed out.

Memories of last night come to mind. He strangled me over and over again, and I fought him tooth and nail. I don't know how much more of this I can take. But when I think of Greta and Sven—what Snow will do to them if I don't, I know that I could do far worse things than this for them.