* Chapter Thirty *
"I'd rather the rest of my tributes fucking die than have to do that again," Johanna growls and slumps into an armchair beside me while Marcella and my prep-team begin their work all over again.
"It could've been worse," I insist, sipping eagerly on the juice Anariel provided me with, "the only awkward moments were when you told that reporter your love life was 'none of her fucking business' and called Seven's mayor a 'rotting pile of maggot-infested horse-shit'. Aside from that it went pretty well."
Johanna snatches my juice off me and chugs the rest to show her displeasure with me. The empty cup gets thrown against the wall and I pout at her irritably. She's foul-mooded company, but company nonetheless for the next hour while my prep-team convert my 'semi-formal day-look' into 'formal evening-wear'. This dress is black and the semi-sheer fabric of the skirt is flowing and tantalising with slits up both sides. The bodice consists of two wide pieces of fabric that tie around my neck and do little to cover anything, including my exposed back. The deep 'V' neck reveals the whole shape of my cleavage and with my hair piled up in a messy bun I am once again very exposed. The only consolation when I'm given bold gold stilettos are the wide gold bracelets that slip over each of my wrists. They remind me of the bracers I wore to the tribute parade and offer me a small amount of scrapped together dignity. The other perk is that now I'm ready I get to see Cato again. Even a few hours apart has made me antsy to see he's safe and I'm not very interested when Anariel and Johanna explain that this interview is with Caesar Flickerman and some hot-shot Capitol broadcaster.
"She's the one who first spotted and broadcasted that exchange between you and Cato at the Tribute Parade," Anariel tells me in a low voice, "Same level of celebrity-status as Mr Flickerman."
"Stuck-up, rich, bitch," Johanna summarises, picking off the nail polish she'd been forced to wear for the press-conference, "but she's important."
"She's far more… critical than Mr Flickerman," Anariel adds anxiously, "Don't expect her to go easy on you."
"The President likes her," Johanna finishes with a scowl, "so don't fucking mess it up."
We arrive a few minutes before Cato's team because Anariel had once again pulled the 'tell Marcella I need to be ready twenty minutes before I do' trick. Anariel scuttles off to talk to a harried looking man with a tablet that matches hers but Johanna sticks by me and we both survey the room. This interview isn't in front of a live audience. The room is much smaller and the setting feels much more intimate. I see Caesar talking to a man behind a camera and there are a few assistants running around, but for the large part it's much quieter than the day before. I suddenly feel boxed-in, trapped in the small room. Surprisingly, I might prefer the blinding lights and deafening applause. Sure I may feel like a dancing monkey, but at least it feels like I had some degree of control or even power. Here, there's no visible audience to impress. No cheering or applause to help keep my mask from cracking.
"Look who showed up," Johanna mutters in disbelief.
I turn to see Cato's mentor, Titan entering the room. A smile immediately crosses my face when his victor follows him inside. Cato is wearing a green suit over a white dress top today. It's a muted colour with grey undertones and fits well over his muscular shoulders. I'm sure my expression resembles his as he eyes me appreciatively and lustfully even as he speeds to my side.
"Like the dress?" I snicker, trying to play it cool as he sweeps me into his arms. In reality, my hands grip him tightly, surveying for injury the same way he searches my face for any hurt.
"I'd like it better if you'd chosen it just for me," he replies, eyeing my exposed chest doubtfully, "I could've sworn there was a hickey right there…"
"Currently there's about twenty layers of makeup," I respond and lean into him contently, "and if I didn't have to parade around in front of everyone dressed like this, I wouldn't."
He kisses my forehead again, then murmurs in my ear, "Dress will probably look better on the floor, anyway."
"I reckon your suit will too."
I'm grateful for Cato's hand in mine as we make our way over to our mentors. Johanna and Titan are standing together and doing a fairly decent job of appearing amicable and jointly victorious. Their body language is relaxed and content, but when we get close enough we hear the threats that they're exchanging in falsely joyful tones. Johanna is just describing exactly what she wants to do with a barely sharpened stick and Titan's rear end when she notices us approaching and shoves past him roughly and moves to meet us.
It's the first time I've been introduced to Cato's mentor and I take a moment to scrutinise him. I'd always just assumed that Titan was at least middle aged, but he's not. He's not much older than Finnick; in his mid to late twenties and seriously built. Cato's huge muscle mass is balanced out by his height and evenly distributed; his mentor's arms remind me of tree trunks. I know Cato can snap someone's neck easily, but this man looks like he could crush my ribs if he got his arms around me. He's also scowling like he wants to and it makes me want to reach for a weapon that's no longer at my waist.
"Any advice?" I ask Johanna with a wide, showy grin.
Beside me Cato angles himself between his mentor and me. His arm moves to sling loosely around my waist and his expression is relaxed, but I can sense his wary attention focusing on the potential threat of his mentor. His presence is a constant reassurance and I press into his side gratefully.
"You're not terrible at this crap," Johanna admits, rolling her eyes, "the Capitol loves you. Just don't let Rich-Bitch over there make you crack."
I follow her gaze to the woman who has joined Caesar Flickerman. She's wearing an extravagant blonde wig that adds a good half a foot to her height and fake-eyelashes as long as my fingers. Her dress is a stunning blue, but has far too much fabric for my liking. It poofs out around her shoulders like demented wings. Without all the fabric and ridiculousness she might have been very beautiful, but it's hard to tell which features are her own and which are exaggerated by make-up. Titan stays silent and sullen as Johanna suggests we jump in on each other's answers whenever possible, but I can feel his gaze on me. I wonder if there's a particular reason he doesn't like me or if it's simply everything I stand for and what mine and Cato's victory means for his district.
We get the sixty seconds call from the production head and Johanna ironically snaps at me to pull the plunging neckline of my dress up, then with a reassuring nod shoves me towards our seats before heading to her own in the wings. Cato moves to follow when his mentor's hand suddenly shoots out and grabs his wrist. I don't hear the few words he hisses, but I recognise the reaction Cato has and quickly thread our fingers together as Titan strides off.
"Whatever he said, just ignore it."
Cato turns his gaze on me and his expression is torn and worried for a moment before he smoothes it over, "stay close and I won't be thinking about anything else," he promises with a smirk and a deliberate gaze at my cleavage.
I laugh loudly for the benefit of the camera and lighting technicians scampering over the stage and pull him over to the couch we've been given. I give Caesar Flickerman a wide smile as he takes his seat and offer a polite greeting, getting one in return. He looks at Cato and I for a lingering moment and then chuckles ruefully. For the first time I see a man beneath the unchanging television presenter, one with a mind of his own and perhaps greater emotions and awareness than anybody could guess.
"Forgive me," he begins, with a glance towards where his co-host is being powdered one last time by a prep-team, "but though you two were not my favourites from the beginning, I'm very glad you're both here" his real smile is much more muted than his TV one, not so toothy, "I can tell you're going to be some of our most beloved victors."
"Thank you Caesar, that means a lot to us," I answer genuinely because I can appreciate this honesty and because I think he means to reassure us with the last comment. It's the same as before: if the Capitol loves us, they won't want to harm us. We might be expendable, but I know Snow is dependent on his public's approval.
"You hold onto each other tight now," he shakes his finger at us jokingly but Cato tenses and my laugh is slightly forced as he adds, "I'm sure there's plenty of hopeful Capitolites just waiting to snaffle you up!"
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Cato doesn't quite succeed in keeping the hostility out of his voice and his grip on me is tight and protective.
My own fingers clutch his arm like a vice, but I force a devious smirk onto my face and a purr into my voice, "You'll have to pry us apart."
It's just in time for the woman to join us with a painted smile. Caesar glances at her and chuckles a little awkwardly, "Oh I have no doubt, my dear!"
The ten second call goes out as Caesar makes introductions. Lavinia Prince's eyes catalogue the death-grip Cato and I have on each other's hands and her smile turns just slightly cold as she says, "Simply cannot wait to get to know you."
Neither of our grips loosen as the cameras start rolling and the two presenters launch into their introductory and welcoming spiel and I can tell that Caesar's words have gotten Cato worried too. His eyes are hard, he's on edge as much as me, but he drops another kiss to my temple and turns to smile as we are introduced. A grin spreads my own lips and I brace myself for another round of questions. They start out slow, asking us general knowledge things about our districts and commenting on similarities and differences. Then some questions about the Games. The ones about Clove, Linden and Brinna are hard to answer for both of us, but we get through them together.
It's not until after the short advertisement break, where Marcella and Claudia descend with a cloud of powder and hairspray, and Lavinia simpers that she loves my dress with a leer that makes me uncomfortable, that things get difficult. First Cato is asked if he has any girls back home:
"We know Rose has some boy-experience," Lavinia throws a wink at me as though I have a saucy, rather than horrifying secret, "but surely a face like yours has broken some hearts too Cato?"
His answer is non-committal and I tease that I want to know more later even though I don't particularly care. Especially seeing as Lavinia pushes the subject as if she's trying to make me jealous or upset. Cato kisses the corner of my mouth this time as he assures her no girl in District Two could compare to me.
"Now Rose," Caesar begins and I immediately tense because I can tell it's a difficult question from the sympathy laced through his voice, "there were some… specific secrets revealed during the Games which Panem is very eager to clarify," he begins carefully.
"Have things not been clarified enough?" It's the first time Cato has failed to stop a hint of simmering anger from colouring is tone; he straightens up and his arm tightens protectively around my waist. Caesar flinches only slightly under his sharp glare and shoots me an apologetic look.
"It's okay," my voice shakes slightly and my hand smoothes the front of my dress nervously. Lavinia wears a politely, sympathetic smile, but her eyes are eager and piercing. She's just waiting to pounce on any new detail I offer and I can practically hear her begging me to get emotional or Cato to get too fired-up.
"Ro-"
"Shh," I murmur, looking up at Cato to soothe his protest, "It's okay. What happened to me… I'm by no means the only person who has experienced something like that. It needs to be something that we talk about, because if it isn't, then it's all too easy to brush under a mat."
Caesar hesitates, looking unsure whether to prompt me or give me a moment to gather my thoughts. He chooses to stay quiet and I turn myself to focus on one of the cameras. I have a voice. For the first time ever, I have opportunity to say the truth and know that everybody has to hear it. Even if only a few people actually listen I can't let this opportunity pass me by.
"I was raped," I say and clench my hands together to stop them from shaking. Even after so long, my throat closes in abhorrence at the words and my eyes start to itch, "I had something taken from me that I can never get back - more than one thing, in fact. Outside my family, I don't think anyone believed me. It's taken me a really long time to stop feeling guilty about what happened. I did not ask for it; I did not deserve it; it wasn't my fault. Everyday people told me otherwise, in their words, actions, sneers… I nearly died and sometimes I wished more than anything that I had. I lost my innocence, my friends, my reputation, but most of all I lost… myself," the word comes out a sob and I pause a moment to control my voice as a hot tear spills over my cheek, "I hated myself. I would have given anything to turn back the clock and not have gone to that party. It's taken years to… almost fix the hole inside me, but I've gotten there."
I look up at Cato and smile at him, "I know that I'm worth something and I know that I can get through almost anything; especially with people I love helping me."
His gaze holds me in place and his arms around me confirm my words as he leans down to place a sweet kiss on my forehead. He gives me the strength to look back at the camera and look at it hard.
"If I want Panem to know anything, it's that no matter how worthless or disgusting someone makes you feel, you can overcome it. I know I'm not alone. I know that there are other girls - and boys - out there who have suffered in a similar way to me. Listen to me closely! You are worth something," I emphasise every word and pour as much emotion into my voice as I can without it cracking, "You are so much stronger than you think you are, and so much more beautiful! Take a good look around and I promise you that you'll find things to live for. I know I did, eventually, and I know you can too."
Cato holds me tightly as I huddle back into him and murmurs words of praise and encouragement in my ear as I swallow thickly and look back at Caesar.
"Listen to her," he says to the camera, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief.
Lavinia lets the silence linger for a moment before leaning forward with a falsely apologetic smile, "I have to ask," she simpers and he looks me straight in the eye as she does, "do you feel that justice was served, Rosilda? For what happened to you? Did District Seven do you justice?"
I tense and Cato does too, because there's something about the way Lavinia spoke and Caesar is suddenly looking at me. It makes my fingers itch for a weapon and I lean forward so I'm ready to bolt if I need to, "District Seven is my home," I say carefully, frowning over the air of expectancy, "I'm proud of where I come from and it's an integral part of my identity… but I never got justice, no. I don't think many sexual assault victims do though. You can't ever erase something like that once it's happened," I hurry to add, glancing uneasily in Johanna's direction.
"Well now Rose, you're a victor now!" Caesar beams a toothy, brilliant smile and throws a conspiring look to the camera, "The Capitol is here for you and always will be. We can't allow anyone to get away with messing with our beloved victors now, can we?"
Dread settles in my stomach and I feel frozen, unable to move as at Lavinia's direction a screen slowly lowers before us, "District Seven might have failed you Rose, but the Capitol won't! Justice will be served!" Lucretia promises with a fervour that could be passion or psychosis, "In honour of your victory, our illustrious President Snow has ordered all sexual assault cases from the last decade, within both the districts and the Capitol, be reopened and trialled by a team of Capitol judges, prosecutors and defendants. President Snow wants to send a message," Lucretia intones gravely, looking at the camera with more genuine emotion now, "Rape victims will no longer be silenced by the system."
"Nobody is above the law," Ceasar finishes ominously as the screen comes to life.
I can only stare in total disbelief as a group of six people are marched across a wooden platform in the City Circle. President Snow's mansion is captured in the back of the shot, looming menacingly like a judge. I stop breathing as I realise who the people are. Cuffed in chains and dragged along by armed Peacekeepers are Wren Barclay and all three of his older brothers. The other two men are clearly Capitol and I almost slump to the ground in a dead faint when I recognise the first as Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker.
I am completely numb as a well dressed man on screen rattles off a list of charges. All I can do is stare in confusion. It's only when the bags start being put over their heads that I realise what's going to happen to all six prisoners. The camera focuses on Wren for a long time and something scarily close to glee fills me as I see he's white faced and snivelling. Loathing twists my face and my palms clench; this is the monster who broke me, who revelled in my pain, who taunted and teased me for my weakness and who took sadistic pleasure in stripping my freedom, my innocence and any power I had over my own person from me.
"For crimes against the Capitol and against the people of Panem, in the name of President Snow, these men are sentenced to death by firing squad. Effective immediately," the man finishes.
Cato's arms are the only thing keeping me in my seat as six Peacekeepers step up and simultaneously lift their guns. The bag is covering Wren's face now and the camera cuts out to show all six dropping to their knees. It reminds me that there are more than just Wren there and nausea suddenly hits me as I remember Wren's brothers. Two were married with children, surely they weren't rapists too? And Seneca Crane? He had been a little perverted, but I truly would never have thought him capable of forcing himself on someone. As Head Gamemaker he's one of the most powerful and influential men in the country, surely Snow would want to spare someone so in his own pocket?
Except he let four people win the Hunger Games.
With sudden clarity I realise my naivety. Of course this isn't about justice! Wren is probably the only one convicted on true charges.
"It's gonna be okay," Cato murmurs to me, but his voice shakes just slightly and I know he knows too.
This is President Snow's way of reminding the country that he has power over life and death. Who knows how many innocent people will be rounded up and executed… because of me. Because we all survived and we shouldn't have. Because Katniss fucking Everdeen tried to take the power away from them. The sound of six guns firing simultaneously rings in my ears and when I close my eyes I see the black cloaked figures slump in synchronisation. When I open them again, I find the screen has been replaced with the Capitol seal. It reminds me of the Anthem being played in the arena and my stomach coils. The Games aren't over yet, we've left one arena for a bigger one.
"Unpleasant business though it is, how does it feel to know that justice has been served, Rose?" Lucretia asks me with a satisfied smile.
I swallow and plant a beaming grin on my face. It's only the knowledge that I'm still fighting for my survival, for Cato's survival, that keeps me going. Desperation and years of acting make my performance flawless. If it weren't for the crushing grip Cato and I have on each other's hands, we'd be the image of elation.
"It feels… amazing!" I pretend to dab at my eyes, as though I'm so moved by relief. In some way I am, because I'll never have to see that monster ever again.
"I feel like I can really start moving forward," I say and glance at Cato with a sappy smile before looking back at the camera with glistening eyes, "Mr President, I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me and for all the people like me. I— just thank you!"
I turn into Cato's chest like I'm overcome with emotion and his arms wrap around me, crushing me to him and protecting me from any who'd try to tear us apart.
"What that monster did to Rose," Cato's voice is tight, "That can never be erased, she has to live with that for the rest of her life, but at least she now has some comfort! I think that Seven did fail Rose and I'm not afraid to say it," his voice is a low and angry growl and I can picture the furious intensity of his gaze as he glares at the camera, "We should be standing together and looking after our own, not casting them aside when they need us the most! District Two, I know will be behind me no matter what. I hope that Seven can recognise this for what it was! Justice being served!"
I tense in his arms because I know what Cato is trying to do. I know he's trying to stop my District from turning on me. I know he's still trying to protect me.
"Is he lucky Cato? Lucky you didn't get your hands on him?"
"Caesar, that shit-faced dog got off way too fucking easily. In Two he would have been pummelled for forcing himself on a girl, I'd have made him pay no matter who the girl was! The fact that somebody did that to Rose—"
I lift my face from his neck and touch my hand to his cheek, "He's lucky," Cato finishes, his voice more controlled as his gaze turns to me and softens, "We honestly can't thank you enough Mr President."
"No we can't," I murmur, my heart thudding with the awful certainty that he'll get his repayment, "we will forever be grateful to you for this day."
I can't help but feel that I just sold my soul to the devil.
…
Marcella dresses me for the Beneficiary Party as if she's sending me to war.
Every swipe of make-up and drape of fabric is calculated. She dresses me to be a deadly weapon and a rock of impenetrable armour. She's found the equilibrium between combining my style with Cato's role in my life and victory and I like the results. My dress is a vibrant green with black and gold beading over the bodice that form flowers and leaves which trail down to my hips. Spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline which is tactically flattering, but conservative by my usual standards endear the dress to me even more. It's a cut that is all the more dangerously distracting because it offers tantalising glimpses rather than an eye-full. The tulle skirt falls from my hips highlighting my slim waist but for once not clinging like a second-skin. It's a protective shield against leering gazes. My hair is left almost natural, the curls simply coaxed to fall where Marcella wants them to and held in place by a gold circlet with an emerald at the centre. My shoes are hidden by the skirt of the dress so I'm allowed to wear simple black heels which are far more comfortable than the sky-high ones Marcella has been giving me to wear with shorter skirts. Wild hair, only temporarily tamed by the gold crown that marks my new-found status in this world and shoes that I can move in — run in — freely.
Like a parent sending their child off to battle, Marcella studies me up and down, proud and stern. She gives me an approving nod then squeezes my hand affectionately, "Just keep your head up and smile, let my dress do the talking," she advises and doesn't bother wishing me a fun night as she kicks my gushing Prep-Team out the door and leads me to a main reception area.
Cato is dressed in a traditional black tuxedo with a green tie to mark him as mine, and gold cufflinks that glint warningly with every move. His tall, muscular frame is emphasised by the dark suit and his eyes are piercing blue as he mentally undresses me when I saunter towards him, "This is my favourite," he tells Marcella with an approving smirk.
We've been warned it will be impolite to dance only with each other and I know he's relieved that for once my dress hides more than it doesn't. I wonder if he sees the battle strategy in the design the same way I do. I wonder if he knows Marcella has dressed me precisely to make this evening as easy as possible. He probably only sees as deep as her long blonde hair and pixie-like features; she hasn't gone full Army General on him yet.
"I take that as a challenge," Marcella sniffs, but she still preens as she slaps my hand away from fiddling with my hair.
Cato's hand stays high on my back, warm against my bare skin, but his eyes are blazing as he smirks down at me, "Ready?"
"Of course not," I snort, eyeing Katniss and Peeta suspiciously as they approach with their escort.
I wave goodbye to Marcella and let Cato tug me towards the door. I don't know whether it was our escorts' idea that we travel together, or if it's simply the decree of the bigger organisers, but we are to all arrive as a group joint in victory. I do know that I am extremely unenthusiastic about being stuck in a confined space with the District Twelve entourage. Even if we are supposedly very lucky to have a limbo-zene or whatever Effie said the automobile was called. Cato helps Anariel into the car first, receiving a fierce blush for his efforts. He goes to help me next, but his screechy escort pushes past smoothly to accept his hand with a simper. She shoots me a dark look as she does, but I've received blacker looks from my five year old niece so I struggle to maintain a straight face as Cato gives her back a disgusted scowl and turns to me with an eye-roll. It's a little tragic that I've managed to offend pretty much every member of Cato's team in some way, but I find it hilarious that his escort dislikes me purely because she saw me accidentally throw my expensive shoes carelessly out of the elevator that day before the pre-Games interviews.
Tense silence stretches almost the entire drive to our location. Katniss stonily glares out the window, ignoring the side-ways glances Peeta throws her every few seconds. Effie initially tried to strike up a conversation but after snapping at Cato's escort for a comment directed at Katniss' lack of excitement she too is quiet. Anariel fiddles with the trailing lace on her dress' sleeves and Cato alternates between twisting my ring around my finger and scowling at Twelve. It's a relief to escape the confined space and I leap up eagerly the moment we stop. It's Peeta who offers me a hand out of the car and I flash him a small, grateful smile as I accept. Cato's hand on my back is a little more possessive than before and I smirk for a moment before his escort is suddenly attaching herself to his other arm and my own expression becomes dark.
This is the theme for the night, it turns out. The Capitol beneficiaries of the Games and our Victory don't seem the least bit put off by the conspicuous absence of the Head Gamemaker in the position of honour. I wonder if they know or care about the real reason Seneca Crane was executed or if they are as naive and frivolous as they appear. Men and women alike lather their praises on me and despite both of our best efforts Cato and I are separated almost at once. Katniss is the only one of the four of us who isn't in constant demand. I don't know whether it's because she's more adept at avoiding her admirers or if she's been signalled out and boycotted on purpose for her rebellious suicide speech.
It feels like I have more than my fair share, but maybe it's because the Capitol men attending outnumber the women and the men are mostly interested in me over Cato and Peeta. Katniss keeps to the company of Haymitch and only a handful of Capitolites are brave enough to approach the scowling pair to ask her to dance. I barely get a moment to catch my breath between partners. The only thing that hurts more than my feet by the end of the night is my face from forcefully smiling and clenching my jaw. I would have hoped Cato's - and my own! - fierce reputation would have halted wandering hands, but almost every person I dance with leers at my cleavage, invades my space and swats or pinches my bum.
There are moments of reprieve where I actually get a chance to enjoy myself. Namely when I get to dance with Peeta and Finnick. Being so close to Peeta makes me a little nervous as I haven't quite broken out of my Games mentality that he could try and kill me at any time. It makes Cato visibly fume and despite numerous attempts, he refuses to dance with Katniss. Peeta and I share some light conversation, making observations and some jokes about the Capitolites around us, but mostly I appreciate the moment of reprieve from having to make small talk.
"She keeps wandering onto rotten wood," I murmur to him as we part ways, nodding my head to where Katniss has just turned down an offer to dance from a very important councilman.
Peeta's smile turns sad, "She's not a very good actress."
"She's never had to be before," I observe and shake my head, "Get her up here for a couple of songs at least. If not with you, with Haymitch."
I watch Peeta as he makes his way over to the pair. Katniss glances at me stonily over his shoulder and only accepts his hand after a word from Haymitch. She's going to get us all killed on the Victory Tour. I'm glad for Peeta's sake when he says something to make a genuine smile cross Katniss' face and I'm selfishly relieved when she manages to grit her teeth through a few dances with Capitolites before Haymitch cuts in. As I float past on the arm of a young man with green hair, I overhear the terse apology she manages to offer her dance partner.
"She was more likeable before the Games," the man I am dancing with observes, noting where my gaze lies, "she could at least pretend to be grateful."
"If she was as smart as she thinks she is then she would be truely grateful," I say before I can stop myself.
Luckily my partner laughs and takes this to mean I'm grateful enough to let him feel up my arse. Finnick picks this moment to cut in and skilfully whirls me around the dance floor until I am giggling and a little dizzy. I wave a little cheekily to Cato when Finnick spins me, but to my great pleasure my over-possessive and jealous-prone lover is laughing with me. I wonder if he's realised that Finnick reminds me of Fletcher, or if he simply judges that despite being stupidly-gorgeous, Finnick is too unlike Cato himself to be my type.
"I'm glad you could make it," I tell Finnick, and then because I'm not sure whether he's been forced to stay in the Capitol, or chosen to, I add, "Thank you for coming, Johanna needs the company."
We look over at where my mentor is doing shots with a small collection of Victors who are amongst the most famous of winners. Enobaria is still here too, even though she was Clove's mentor, and I'm surprised that she and Johanna seem to be having a semi-friendly conversation. Finnick smiles at me a little sadly, "You're good for her. You stick together when you get back home."
I snort because I doubt I'll be any less of a pariah now I've won the Games, "Trust me, there's no competition. She's my best friend by default."
He winks and spins me again, "We're friends."
"We are?" I gasp a little from the twirling and flash a sardonic grin, "Friends with Finnick Odair! Well now I'm officially star-struck."
He seems to read the uncertainty I try to hide behind my joke because his playful expression becomes a little more serious, "We Victors stick together, Rose. It's best not to get hung up on who killed who in the arena because at the end of the day, we're all killers."
His words make a lump rise in my throat, but they also ease the knot of anxiety in my chest. He touches a hand to my shoulder as the song finishes, "Johanna killed one of the tributes I was mentoring too," he tells me, "Look out for each other, won't you?"
I nod instantly and flash him a small smile, "You look out for yourself too."
He grins and kisses the back of my hand, "Make sure Johanna calls me every now and again too! She's useless at keeping me updated on her life so make sure to give me a ring yourself."
Now genuinely convinced that we are really friends I beam at him, grateful for the extended hand to join the Victor community and to have someone else to break up the monotony of the next six months, "I'll make sure I do. Will you be on the train with us tomorrow?"
His smile becomes more fixed as he shakes his head, "No. My business in the Capitol won't finish for a few more days. Another train will deliver me and a few others home next week."
He gestures vaguely and I follow it to where a beautiful victor from One is dancing with an elderly Capitolite whose puffy lips remind me of a fish. She won around the same time as Finnick, the year after her brother did. Cashmere and Gloss are some of the most famous and favoured Victors; they came from the same Career golden age as Finnick, Enobaria and perhaps even Titus. That decade of victors from predominantly One and Two, with a handful from Four only exacerbated the class divide between the inner and outer districts and consolidated the distinction between Elite, or Career, Tributes and the rest of us.
There's something in Finnick's body language that make me squeeze his hand tightly, forcing his eyes to meet mine. Behind the smile and dancing eyes I see the same wide-eyed panic that catches in my own throat every time I am asked to dance. There's no question as to whether Finnick is staying of his own free will.
"You will forever be jewels in the crown of the Capitol."
A shiver of revulsion goes down my spine as I recall the President's words. Finnick is one of the prettiest 'jewels' they have; of course they hold onto him especially tightly. He's more influential than some of the wealthiest Capitol citizens, he has to be controlled and contained.
"It is your devotion I desire, my dear."
I don't want to think about the way Finnick is forced to show his devotion and allegiance to the Capitol, "It's just a few more days," my voice is quiet and calming as Finnick's shoulders give an almost imperceptible tremble, "You'll be back in District Four before you know it. You'll be home soon. You'll get through it, Finnick."
His eyes meet mine and for a second he is vulnerable and broken. I take a long deep breath and after a moment he does too. He squeezes my hand in gratitude and we share a moment of understanding before parting ways. The next three partners I dance with all ask me about Finnick with adoring gazes cast his way. They love him just as much as it's always seemed on television. Except, now I know for sure that there's more to him than his play-boy persona. It makes it hard to laugh affectionately when my dance partner excitedly points to and names the woman Finnick has just left the party with.
"Rekindling an old flame? She was one of his biggest sponsors back when he won his own Games!" The man tells me excitedly, "I suppose he does have much to be grateful for!"
It's my cue to begin my own gushing thanks. I make sure to mention Cato several times because it seems to have occurred to the man that perhaps he can convince me to show my gratitude in similar ways. He's not the first to imply such.
The words 'thank you' have become bitter in my mouth as I repeat them over and over. None of the Capitol citizens are sated by mere words of gratitude however. I am their investment, they feel they own part of my victory and now they want to collect their dividends. My skin crawls and dread coils in my stomach as one after another they all stake their claim. A lingering touch that is too intimate and possessive; a kiss on my hand or cheek that burns like a brand; promises that we will meet again voiced with varying degrees of class and subtlety, some which sound like threats.
"I look forward to our next encounter Miss Aspen. Perhaps you'll consider remembering red is a colour I would die to see you in."
Die? That can be arranged.
"Perhaps a more private venue for our next meeting? Your… fellow victor is watching your every move."
It's your every move he's watching and I know he's praying for a reason to beat you senseless for the way you just groped me.
"Oh that money was nothing! You can simply owe me a favour, Rose!"
Does telling you orange faux fur is a terrible fashion choice count as a favour?
"I'm sure there will be a time when you help me the way I helped you."
I'd rather have another round with that wild dog.
Finally a hand touches my back that doesn't make me want to shiver with repulsion. Cato's touch is demanding, but his smirk is teasing as he addresses me, "You promised me the last dance. I'm here to collect," he barely acknowledges the wealthy old fart who had been about to drag me out onto the floor for the fourth time.
"Perhaps I don't want to dance with you," I tease him in a low voice to hear the slightly possessive growl enter his voice.
"Bullshit," he responds and tugs me close to his side, "Everyone in this room wants to dance with me."
"Everyone wants to dance with me too," I smirk wickedly, wrapping my arms around his neck.
"Good," he grins wickedly, "Let's give them their show," his hands are only slightly lower than gentlemanly as we begin to move amidst the other guests who have all coupled-up for the final song, but there's no disguising the intimacy between us. I may have been groped all night by men searching for this, but only with Cato does my body move so fluidly with another's.
Our eyes lock and my smirk becomes a small smile. Tension drains from my muscles as I gaze up at him. His hold is gentle, but firm, his eyes never leaving mine and his mere presence making my entire being relax into his arms. The snickering amusement and playful smugness in his eyes are replaced by something more tender as I mould myself slowly against him. It's in the way he's looking at me, the crooked tilting of his lips, the warmth in his eyes and his big hands not holding me prisoner, but cradling me as if I might slip through his fingers.
"I love you," I mouth it to him silently, not wanting any of the other dancers to overhear and notice we have slipped into a little bubble of heaven in the middle of their hellish party.
His lips tilt up more in a beautiful, unguarded smile that is only for me and when I lay my head against his chest and close my eyes he kisses the top of my head sweetly. It chases away any lingering revulsion at the way I had been touched by others, and replaces it with an ember of desire that has Johanna pounding on our door several hours later threatening to cut out both of our tongues herself if we don't keep the noise down.
I make sure to scream his name extra loudly in response.
...
I'm actually kind of pleased with how this chapter turned out! Hopefully you all enjoyed it too! Thank you so much for still sticking with this story, I would love to hear your thoughts!
Only TWO CHAPTERS left! I want to finish this story before the end of 2019, so you can expect those sooner rather than later! ;)
Much love!
- xx