Leah Rockwell, 36 years old

Five months before the 36th Hunger Games

I'm curled up in a chair, angrily reading some magazine that I'd randomly picked up and carried away from somewhere. It's just some fashion magazine with a whole lot of overly glossy photos of outrageous outfits. Normally I like looking at pictures of clothes, but not tonight. Tonight, I'm mad. More than mad. Furious, actually.

I still haven't heard back from Hermes. None of the other Victors have, either, though the truthfulness of their claims is up for debate, if you ask me. I wouldn't put it past any of them to lie to my face. But regardless, Hermes isn't anywhere to be seen.

The avox standing at attention by the doorway is clearly scared of me - I can see it in the way she stands as stiff as a board and how she clenches and unclenches her fists. Good. Let her fear me. That's one way of gaining respect, after all.

I'm sure she's nervous that I'd take my anger out on her. Well, to that I say, if she doesn't fuck anything up, then she has nothing to worry about.

Though, I am itching to punch something. I am so fucking angry.

I haven't seen it heard from Hermes in three fucking days, what in the hell is he even doing? Where even is he? Why hasn't he told me anything?

The air freshener spritzes out a burst of magnolia. I breathe it in deeply, trying to calm myself. It's fine. It's all fine.

It's not fucking fine.

I do have to admit, it isn't so bad not having Hermes around. I don't have to put up with his whingeing, I don't have to look at his stupid pitiful face, and I certainly don't have to put up with his attitude.

Am I not good enough for him?

I can make decisions without having to battle over them. I can order the avoxes to make the dishes I want to eat. Hell, I can finally rearrange the dining table the way I want it. And there will be no one around to stop me.

I bet he's off fucking Medea, that horrid bitch.

I could get used to this. Just me, myself and I, facing the world one day at a time. Ruling every day with an iron will and good nature.

Betraying, lying, spiteful bastard.

A knock comes at the door. The avox immediately goes to open it.

And whaddya know? In walks Hermes, a suitcase in hand and an expression of guilt. I stand up and fold my arms, glaring at him in a way that makes him flinch.

"And just where have you been?" I demand.

Hermes looks away from me, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, nowhere in particular. Just around."

"Oh? 'Just around', eh?" I raise an eyebrow. "Tell me, just what were you doing?"

Hermes doesn't immediately answer. I clear my throat loudly to get his attention back on the subject at hand.

"Well?"

"I was with Medea." It comes out quickly, like he had been trying to hold it back but it had still burst from his lips regardless. So, he was trying to keep it a secret.

"And what were you doing with Medea?" I don't give him a chance to even open his mouth. "You know what, don't even bother. I'm sure I can guess exactly what you were doing with Medea." Her very name is like poison on my lips. "I'm so disappointed in you, Hermes. You take off without a word just so you can be with Medea, even though you know exactly how I feel about her! And then you just waltz back in through the door like nothing ever happened!"

Hermes flinches under my words. Yes, let him feel guilty for everything he'd put me through.

"I'm sorry, Leah," he mumbles, "it was a mistake. I promise I won't do anything like this ever again, I swear!"

I move closer to him. "You mean it this time?"

"Yes. I really do." And he gingerly approaches me and hugs me.

Normally I'd hit him, but strangely, all my earlier anger has dissipated. And a gleeful pride has taken its place.

I've got him. I've got him for good this time. I know it.

He'd spent three days with that Medea bitch, any maybe other women too, and yet he still came crawling back to me in the end! It just goes to show that no one else is good enough for him but me. No one else knows him like I do, no one else can please him like I do. I'm the only one for him.

I hug him back, and I don't ever intend on letting go.