"Can you hear me Father John?

Have you lost what you believe?

What's the matter, what's the meaning when nothing's as it seems?

Sit down at the table now, there's a reason, there's a breive

(You would never know it)

Even those who are yet to go are shivers in your grief"

~Beta Radio

I don't emerge until well into the afternoon. Derek doesn't have to ask; he just averts his eyes and pushes a cup of coffee towards me. Karina on the other hand pesters me about everything she can latch on to; how I slept too long, how I won't respond, why I'm not eating, why there's bags under my eyes and my cheeks are red. I'm able to ignore her, keeping my head tucked between my knees despite her complaints about how it's rude to have your legs up at the table. Only when she comments on the scratches on my arms do I look up at her. Tacky, she calls them, "no wonder Lucille has to spend so much time getting you ready if this is how you take care of yourself."

I wrap my hands tightly around the mostly empty coffee cup. One more word and I'll hurl the damn thing at her head. I don't know if Derek can sense my waning patience or he's just as upset with Karina as I am, but he casts her a cautionary glance and a murmured warning. But, as per usual, she tsks at him, waving her ridiculous hand in the air towards me.

"I'm just saying, she could at least try to make herself presentable-" Karina shrieks when my coffee cup explodes against the wall behind her. I only missed out of exhaustion and lingering tears in my eyes. Still, the remnants of the coffee and shards of the mug have fallen over her.

I rise to my feet, my legs shaking threateningly. With my jaw clenched, I glare at her, willing my eyes to burn a hole right through her pathetic head. "Shut up" I hiss "shut up, shut up, shut up!" my voice shrieks, seemingly detached from my own body. My face is hot and my hands are shaking violently. "Don't say another fucking word," I gasp for breath "or I swear to God next time it's your head."

Karina's face is contorted into a mixture of shock and terror. She clutches the edge of the table, like she might be able to use it as defense for when I come at her. But, of course, I don't. I slam my hand down on the table and push back my chair, storming back to my room.

I don't leave, let alone speak to anyone, until Lucille and my prep team arrive an hour later to get me ready for my interview. Karina must have warned them because they're extra cautious not to say anything. if they only knew I was focusing too much on not succumbing to the fire burning through my veins to even hear what they were saying.

Caesar must think I'm catatonic during the interview. I have to ask him to repeat himself for nearly every question then, when I understand, my answers are vague and short. I'm hoping I appear more apathetic or even rude than stupid. It's when President Snow makes his appearance do I finally snap to attention. I clench my fists together to lock my jaw in place to keep from throwing myself at him and wrapping my hands around his meaty neck…. The thought of him dying, of me killing him, is the only thing that lets me look into his eyes.

The party is impossible to enjoy afterwards. It would be a miserable affair without knowing what I had to do in a few hours. Snow did the honor of delivering my appointment himself, as he called it. The paper burns against my skin where I quickly tucked it out of sight. There isn't a free night when I'm in the Capitol.

I'm whisked away within the next hour, dropped into a car and driven across the Capitol. The door to the mansion is pulled open before I'm even halfway up the steps. I hug my coat around me, keeping my face as cool and relaxed as I can as a middle aged man adorned with a body full of tattoos greets me. He has a childlike smile plastered across his face and his fingers twitch with each step I take further into the house.

From a few feet away I can already smell the alcohol wafting off him. He's jittery and laughing and frankly scattered. He downs another full glass of some red liquid before turning to me. His hands clamp down on the side of my arms, gripping so tightly I can already feel the bruises forming. I tense when he tries to kiss me, almost falling over the first time but hitting his mark the second. I try not to gag when he shoves his tongue into my mouth, the acidic taste of whatever he just drank burns against my gums.

His hands are rough and careless as he runs them over me, having no mercy for the dress as he pulls it away. I'm shoved down onto some elaborate bed- couch combination. He mumbles incoherently in my ear, his teeth grazing against my skin. I want to scream, to kick him off me and run until I collapse. But I know that fighting will only make it worse. I want this to end- need it to end as quickly as possible.

Only after a remarkably long time of not getting very far, does he finally get off me. Before he lets me get dressed, he gives me a final, alcohol reeking kiss and a remark about how I should come over again soon. I'm clothed and out the door before he even makes it to his feet.

The rest of the night is spent the same as before. I sob into the floor until I'm too repulsed by my own skin and I shower, raking at my arms, leg, and torso until deep red gashes are visible. Only then do I collapse into bed, sobs shaking the bed so hard it feels like I'm floating.