Chapter Twelve | And makes me burn; my very soul made bright.
"He that is stricken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost."
1.1, 213-232 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare
Elara has barely returned to her Capitol apartment after a night with another client when her phone rings. Based on previous experiences, she's always a little wary whenever she hears the sound. Oftentimes, the person on the other end is not someone she wants to converse with. Usually, the only people who call her at her apartment are the people in charge of her schedule. They usually call to inform her about changes or additions to her routine, and most of the time, those alterations are purely negative.
When she hears the phone go off this time, she's naturally suspicious, but she knows that she can't just ignore it. There's no escape from her circumstances.
"…Hello?" she asks into the receiver, holding the phone up to her ear with a wariness that is born of many past experiences. She's expecting to hear the cold voice of her scheduler, an unnamed woman in charge of organizing her clients, but the voice that responds to her is not that woman. It is someone entirely different.
"We're going out for a drink," Cashmere briskly informs her. "Electrika, thirty minutes. Don't be late."
Utterly confused for several reasons, Elara blurts, "Cashmere?"
The woman on the other end verbally scoffs, as if she thinks Elara is a total idiot, and drawls, "Did you hear me? Don't be late."
The line goes dead before Elara can deny her demand. She has no desire to go out again tonight considering that she's only just gotten back. She would much prefer taking a hot shower and falling into bed. But Cashmere has never called her like this before. Ever since their impromptu meeting at Gloss's apartment several months ago, the District 1 Victor has avoided Elara with a singular effort. It's more than a little strange to receive an invitation from her, even if it's obviously forced. Elara would be a fool to ignore it. It might be her only chance to get to know her. She's not silly enough to think that she might actually become friends with the woman, but perhaps going out for some drinks might ease the tension between them.
With a sigh, Elara heads to the bathroom to take a quick shower and scrub her night away. When she's done, she pulls on a knee-length dress and throws her hair into a messy bun. The bar that Cashmere has in mind is only a few blocks away from her apartment, so Elara just decides to walk it. In the darkness, she's not as easily recognized by the silly creatures that inhabit this city, and she arrives at the club only a few minutes past ten o'clock.
Cashmere is waiting for her in one of the booths, and she isn't alone. Elara stumbles a bit at the sight of Johanna Mason, a Victor from District 7 that she's only had a few run-ins with so far. The younger woman is aggressive and stand-offish. To be honest, Elara's avoided her at the various functions she's forced to attend. There aren't many of them anyway. Johanna rarely visits the Capitol. Rumor has it that Snow had tried to make her a prostitute after she won her Games, and when she'd flatly refused him, he had her entire family killed off. The only positive aspect of the event is that Johanna has a freedom that is rare among Victors: Snow doesn't have anything to threaten her with. He can't force her hand. Elara wonders if it's worth it, living such a ghostlike life with only yourself for company.
When she approaches the table, Cashmere looks up and says, "There you are. What took you so long?"
With a raised brow, she retorts, "You said thirty minutes."
She slides into the booth. Cashmere pushes a drink her way – a neon green concoction that takes like pineapple – and says, "You know Johanna, I'm sure."
Johanna catches her eye with a wide smirk that makes Elara shrug. She merely smiles back, determined not to show any signs of weakness. Frankly, she feels a bit trapped between these two women, as if she's been lured into something. She clearly has the disadvantage here, considering that she doesn't know either of them as well as they know each other. It's disconcerting, but Elara isn't going to let them one-up her.
"We met in District 5 on your Victory Tour. You pissed the mayor off so badly that he wouldn't stop complaining about you for weeks," Elara drawls sarcastically. Johanna smirks wider.
"He's a fucking idiot," is all she says in response, as if that explains everything. According to Johanna Mason, it probably does.
"Why'd you invite me?" Elara asks, turning to stare at Cashmere with a careful expression. She's never had much to do with the other Victors, minus Gloss of course, and their relationship is purely sexual. She wonders if that has something to do with this. Why else would Cashmere actively ask to hang out with her?
The woman just shrugs and twirls her martini glass in her hand, staring at Elara with unreadable eyes. There's something in them that makes Elara distinctly uncomfortable, as if she's being sized up and weighed.
"My brother seems to like you," is all she says, "so I thought I'd try to figure out why."
Ah, so she was right. Elara barks out a short laugh and takes a sip of her drink. The underlying taste of vodka is subtle around the pineapple flavor. She's never been a huge fan of pineapples. She never even knew what one was before she became a Victor.
"You shouldn't read too far into it," Elara tells her after a moment. She shifts in her seat and shrugs, "It's just sex. That's all."
Even as she says it, some part of her rebels at the thought. She wrangles it down though, before it can cement itself into her brain. Her affair with Gloss doesn't need to be examined too closely. They've both spoken about it. They agree that it's only a form of comfort – a way to keep the nightmares at bay. There's nothing more to it, and that's exactly how it should be.
Cashmere doesn't look convinced though. There's something in her expression that looks almost like disbelief. She seems baffled, like she can't quite understand Elara's words. It lingers there for only a moment before she hides it with a blank expression, but Elara sees it.
"You don't believe me?" she asks, eyes darting over to Johanna's figure. The Victor from 7 is leaning forward, resting her chin on her palm as if this is the most interesting thing she's witnessed in ages. Elara glowers at her and turns back to Cashmere with a pointed expression.
Cashmere just shrugs. "…I'm not sure what I believe," she admits. It's true. She doesn't know. All she knows is that there's something different about her brother. Something has changed within him. He's less angry. He doesn't stare off into space as much as he had before. And now, when he does, there's a lighter gleam to his eyes that looks almost happy. Cashmere doesn't want to admit that it's because of Elara's presence, but she's the only variable that has changed in his life. What else could it be?
She doesn't tell her any of this though. Instead, Cashmere just says, "Anyway, I figured that if you're going to be hanging around my brother, I should at least get to know who you are."
Elara blinks at her. It's sound reasonable, she supposes, especially since she doesn't think her relations with Gloss are about to end.
"And I'm just here to get a few laughs," Johanna adds with a sarcastic smirk, spearing a glance at Elara, who rolls her eyes at her, unimpressed.
"Good to know," she quips back, her voice equally as sarcastic. Johanna snorts.
As Cashmere takes a sip of her martini, Elara wonders, "So what do Victors talk about in their spare time, anyway? I've only really hung out with Finnick so far, and I've got a feeling he isn't on the same level as most of you."
At this, Cashmere smirks, "Finnick's in a world of his own. He's the Capitol's Golden Boy. He can do no wrong."
Elara raises an eyebrow at her, and Johanna jumps in to add, "I guess having good looks is part of Snow's criteria. I wouldn't know."
Elara silently disagrees. Johanna may not be classically beautiful, but there's a rough attractiveness to her features. Her eyes are bright, her face fierce. There's a sharpness to her that Elara finds familiar, because she possesses it too. Cashmere on the other hand – she's gorgeous with her long blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. Far more physically appealing than her. Not that Elara minds overmuch. Johanna is right about one thing: having good looks is a criteria, it seems. From what she's heard about Cashmere, from both Gloss as well as her own gossiping clients, the female Victor is nearly as popular as Finnick is. The only difference is that Finnick is far more vocal about his popularity. He seems to treat his life as if it's a game, almost.
Johanna studies Elara carefully from across the table, and murmurs, "What I'm most curious about is your relationship with Cashmere's brother. Do tell."
Elara immediately stiffens. Floundering, she pauses and flashes a glance over at Cashmere herself, who is sitting beside her with flat eyes. It isn't exactly a winning expression.
"…I wouldn't call it something as pedestrian as a relationship," Elara mutters gruffly, turning back to eye Johanna sharply. "Snow would probably have our heads if he thought we meant anything by it."
At this, Cashmere cuts in with an equally sharp, "Yes, he would. So make sure you don't fall in love. Gloss doesn't need an emotional idiot hanging off his every word. His ego's too big for that as it is."
Johanna smirks, clearly agreeing with the last part, if nothing else. Elara just sighs. She's frankly tired of having this conversation at this point. What her and Gloss do in their spare time is none of their concern. And besides, sex is just sex. It doesn't have to mean anything, and it certainly doesn't have to mean that she'll fall for him. The mere thought is ridiculous.
With a fair amount of confidence in her voice, Elara lifts her chin and staunchly says, "I'll never fall in love."
She wouldn't do that to herself. Her logical brain tells her that should she ever fall prey to the whims of such an emotion, Snow's governmental system would use her weakness to the very end. The only problem is that love has a terrifying tendency of defying all logic, and even Elara Winston cannot ignore its call.
Those words will come back to bite her later on, because – she doesn't know it yet, but she's already falling.
"I'll miss you," Elara tells Johanna, her stoic, fearsome friend who hardly bats an eye at her expression of affection. The Victor from 7 just gruffly rolls her eyes and pushes Elara back from the hug she attempts to bestow upon her.
"Stop being emotional," Johanna aggressively tells her with a scoff. Elara laughs. Johanna will probably never return the words that flow from Elara's lips, but the way her eyes soften just slightly tells Elara everything she needs to know. Victors. They're all incapable of admitting to their own feelings. She knows this personally.
Cashmere gives her a hug on Elara's way out. Harley lopes on ahead of her to where the car waits to take them to the train station. He's already said his goodbyes to Chaff and the others that he's friends with, leaving Elara to say her own farewells.
She wraps her arms around Cashmere, the woman she's become unlikely friends with, and murmurs, "See you in a few months."
Cashmere nods and pulls back, sending Elara a little smile before she whispers, "I'll take care of him for you." Elara smiles brightly back, if not a little tearfully.
"I know you will," she returns. Cashmere will always take care of Gloss. It's just what she does.
Something catches Cashmere's attention behind Elara. It's something that makes the other Victor send her friend a firm nod before edging away, leaving Elara in the company of the man who is silently waiting for her. As she approaches Gloss, she tries to keep the pain of their imminent parting from her features, but she's not sure she's successful. Gloss turns to face her with a knowing look on his expression.
They don't touch each other – they're in the middle of the Tribute Center's lobby, and dozens of Victors, Peacekeepers, and Game Officials surround them. Instead, they just idle there together for a long moment before Gloss murmurs, "I'll let you know when I get my next schedule."
She swallows tightly and nods. Silence drops between them again.
"…Cashmere's waiting," Elara breathes, exhaling heavily as she glances over to where the blonde Victor casually stands by the doors.
Gloss glances over too, but he doesn't make a move to join her. He only says, "It's only a few months. We can write each other."
Elara forces herself to smile. Receiving his letters and phone calls is a wonderful thing, but she wishes they didn't have to be parted at all. Still, she knows she must return to District 5. Amelia is waiting for her, and lord only knows how much that girl needs a little supervision.
She reaches out to squeeze his hand – the only form of comfort they are able to garner in this crowded room. They had said their proper goodbyes early this morning, before Elara had snuck back to her own floor. She wishes they had a little more time though.
Gloss's hand is larger than hers, and engulfs her fingers with a warmth that she is very familiar with. He squeezes her back gently, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand as he says, "How about I call you tonight? Make sure you get back to your district okay. Snow can't fault me for that, seeing as we're…friends."
Elara's mouth lights up with an amused smile. The tone he'd uses when saying that last word makes her bite back a laugh. She doubts very much that they've ever been friends – at least not in any conventional way. He smirks back at her, clearly as amused as she is. Their relationship is so much more complicated than that.
"Tonight then," she responds swiftly, and pulls her hand away from his before people can start questioning the lengthy touch.
He lets her go somewhat reluctantly, knowing that it will be several months before he will feel her skin against his once more. And then, without another word, for Gloss is hardly the type to drag out his goodbyes more than necessary, he sends her a lingering look before ambling off to where his sister is waiting. Elara just watches him go, lifting her hand to wave to Cashmere once more before the siblings walk out of the Training Center lobby.
Their time has come to a swift end. Three weeks hav passed so quickly. The life-altering events of the Games already seems like a distant memory as Elara and Harley board their train and are whisked back to District 5. The moment she steps onto the rainy platform where the train drops them off, it feels as though the last few weeks hadn't even happened at all, and were instead just a figment of a dream. But she could never dream up her time with Gloss. She isn't that creative, and she'd like to think she's not that girlish, either.
Amelia is presumably at school when Elara returns to the house. At least, she hopes the girl is. She can't even count how many times her sister has skipped classes just to go out and wander aimlessly around the district, getting into trouble left and right. That girl needs to get her priorities straightened out before something happens.
But too tired to wonder if Amelia is actually being a stellar student today or not, Elara just opts to get changed into something more comfortable and unpack her duffle bag. It's still the middle of the afternoon, and Gloss won't call her until tonight. She already misses him despite only being separated for a matter of hours, and the knowledge that it will be months before she sees him again makes her heart clench painfully. She just can't help it.
She couldn't say with any precision when she had fallen for him. The layers of her affection are not so black and white as to set aside any specific point in time. Somewhere between the first time his mouth had brushed over hers and the many nights spent tangled together between sheets, love had sprouted like a clinging weed that refused to wilt. She is numb without him, as if the grey rain outside of her window is a perfect reflection of her world without his presence.
When Amelia returns home several hours later, Elara is cleaning up the kitchen. It's still too early to think about making dinner, but her hands are itching for something to occupy herself with. It's always like this after the Games. The combination of nightmares brought to the surface and the knowledge of a long separation between her and Gloss ahead of her is not a good one. She is restless.
"Oh God. You're cleaning again?" Amelia asks when she steps through the front door and sees her sister scrubbing furiously at the smudge marks on the refrigerator. She knows better than most how Elara gets this time of the year. Like clockwork, the memories of her Games pester her until she gets so crazy that the only thing that successfully distracts her is cleaning the entire house from top to bottom like an insane germaphobe.
Elara glances at her sister and demands, "Where were you? School got out two hours ago." She knows she sounds like an overbearing mother, but Amelia is used to that, too. Another side-effect this time of year.
She rolls her eyes and snorts, "Unlike you, I have friends." Then, throwing her backpack haphazardly against the wall, she strides over to the fridge and bumps Elara out of the way to hunt down a drink. Elara glowers at her when she pulls out an overpriced fruit drink that she no doubt bought because her sister hadn't been around to stop her
"I have friends, they just live far away," is her grumbled response as she watches Amelia with narrowed eyes. Amelia just smirks.
"That's exactly what someone with no friends would say," she retorts, and tips the drink back to take a gulping sip.
Elara pushes her out of the way and turns back to the fridge with renewed purpose, deciding not to question her about where she'd bought the expensive drink and why she thought it was such a good idea to waste their money on overpriced groceries. Honestly. She steps out of the district for only a couple of weeks and Amelia takes full control. She shouldn't be so surprised.
"Don't you have homework to do?" Elara asks, sounding grumpy and impatient as she angrily scrubs Amelia's recent fingerprints from the silver handle.
The question makes her sister scoff flippantly, and she decides that she shouldn't be surprised about that, either. Amelia is quite the character, and not always in a good way.
"I just got home," she complains, walking into the living room and throwing herself onto the couch. She blindly gropes for the remote as she mutters, "It was so nice not having you around…"
Elara hears her and throws the rag she's holding at her. Amelia just glowers from over the back of the couch and throws it back.
A while later, they're sitting down to a paltry dinner of cooked rice and vegetables because Amelia hadn't thought to buy actual food while Elara's been gone. Elara's griping about it to her blasé sister when the phone in the kitchen blares to life, and she nearly falls right out of her chair when she tries to get up too quickly. She's been waiting for the phone to go off all day. He said he'd call her.
From the frantic, eager gleam in Elara's eyes, Amelia must realize the truth of the matter, because she's out of her chair and grabbing the phone mere seconds before Elara gets to it, lifting it to her ear before Elara can stop her.
"Hello?" she smirks, drawling out the word as she gives Elara a shit-eating grin.
Elara glares at her and tries to grab the phone, saying, "Amelia I swear to God – "
"No way, you've been a crabby mess all day and this is my way of getting back at you for making me clean the shower!" she retorts, and presses the phone closer.
Gritting her teeth, Elara exclaims, "It was disgusting and you never do anything around here! Now give me the phone!"
On the other line, Gloss bites back a laugh and says, "Hey, Amelia. How's it going?" He can hear Elara's furious words through the ear piece and can just imagine the argument they're having. The two of them are hilarious, though Gloss only gets to listen to them rarely. He doesn't call often because it would be a little suspicious.
Amelia quips, "Great, Gloss! Is District 1 treating you well?"
He chuckles, hearing the muffled sound of Elara trying to wrangle the phone from Amelia's grasp. "It's the same as ever. Is your sister making you clean now? Tell her that's a torturous thing to do." He almost laughs out loud when she drawls his words back to Elara, whose angry tones seem to reflect her response well enough without words.
After a moment of static, Elara's voice crisply comes onto the other end as she shoves Amelia out of the way. "Gloss?"
The sound of her voice is like a balm to him, despite it only being a few hours since last he heard it. It's funny, really, what only a few hours can do.
"Elara," he returns, and chuckles, "Terrorizing your sister, I see." There's a sliver of amusement in his voice that makes Elara roll her eyes.
With a huff that crackles through the phone, she retorts, "Please. It's not like you don't do the exact same thing. I haven't forgotten about that time you put hair dye into Cashmere's shampoo."
Said incident occurred several years ago during a stint at the Capitol, in which both siblings were scheduled to be there at the same time. They often are – the Capitol does love their Victor siblings. Cashmere had aggravated Gloss so much during one of those trips that Gloss had come up with some crazy prank where he put pink hair dye into his sister's shampoo, and Cashmere's blonde hair had unfortunately suffered as a result. Not that she let it bother her in public, though. Some exasperated comments to Caesar were all that she said about the incident when he had laughingly inquired into it, but Elara knew for certain that she had pummeled Gloss the first moment she could. The blonde Victor from District 1 is utterly fearsome when she wants to be. The Capitol adored her new hair color, though. She had started a trend that lasted several months long, in which most of the pink hair dye seemed to have disappeared from the shelves overnight.
Gloss snickers over the phone and playfully quips, "She was asking for it. Besides, she got me back good. I think I still have a bruise from where she punched me."
Elara hums dryly in response. If they were in person and not being potentially recorded, she might tell him that she knows for a fact that he doesn't have a bruise. She knows his body more intimately than her own.
"So what have you been up to today, besides making your sister clean the shower?" he drawls, fighting back a smile as he opens his fridge to check its contents. Cashmere had left about half an hour ago to pick up some groceries down at the corner store several streets away from the Victor's Village, but he's too hungry to wait for her to return.
As he takes out some sandwich fixings, Elara grumbles, "I was just – " only to be cut off as Amelia shouts, "She was cleaning like a maniac all freaking day, Gloss!" Her voice is distant but Elara's annoyed rebuke is not, and he laughs aloud at the way she immediately snaps at Amelia and tells her to go do her homework.
It's funny, really, how lively that household seems to be all the time. He doesn't call as often as he'd like to, but every time he does it seems that Amelia is verbally getting into some sort of trouble and Elara spends every other second snapping at her around her conversation with him. He knows sibling relationships very well, but his relationship with Cashmere is a little different. Maybe it's because they're both older, only a year apart in age, while Elara and Amelia are nearly eight years apart and Amelia is going through a rebellious stage (or so Elara dryly informs him).
In any case, he doesn't tell Elara this, but listening to her relationship with Amelia is part of the reason he loves calling her like this. It's not merely amusing, it's also endearing. Maybe he's strange, but he likes the way her voice gets all pinched with frustration. Amelia is an endless source of it.
The sound of a door shuts, and Elara complains, "I've been home for a matter of hours and she's already getting on my nerves."
He chuckles. "That's what sisters do, Winston." The use of her surname makes her smile. He rarely uses it anymore unless he's feeling playful.
She sighs. "I miss you and Cash already. You'll let me know when you get your schedules, right?"
Snow always sends them their schedules relatively quickly upon their return to their districts. The schedules detail when they're expected to be in the Capitol, what clients they'll have, and what the time slots for them are. They're usually quite detailed. Besides nightly clients, they also have interviews and photoshoots during the daytime, too. Snow wants to make sure that his Victors are in the public eye during their time in his city. He certainly makes full use of them.
On the other end of the phone, Gloss drums his fingers over a thick file currently laying on top of the counter in his kitchen, and slowly lies, "Yeah sure. I'll let you know."
The lie slips from his lips before he even realizes he's saying it, for he already has his schedule. It had been sitting demurely on the sideboard when he had stepped through the front door, his name written on it with a flourish of black ink. A matching one had been waiting for Cashmere too. They don't usually receive their new schedules for a week or two after the Games season. He had been surprised to see it there, idly waiting for him in an almost innocent, harmless manner. There is nothing harmless about it, though. It's filled with dark orders and the names of all his future demons for the next six months.
His eyes move over the first page of it, which gives a rundown of the weeks he's been 'invited' to the Capitol. The further into the file, the more detailed it becomes, but he hasn't looked through it all yet. His eyes linger on the first date that calls for his return. It is four months away.
He doesn't lie to her because he wants to; he lies because he needs to. Because if he doesn't, he'll have to wonder about how he'll get through four months without her. How many nightmares await him without her to soothe them away? How many sleepless nights will result because of her absence in his bed and in his arms? He already misses her so damn much that it almost hurts to hear her voice now, as if she is only inches away from him. But – she's not. She's a hundred miles off, in a house he's never seen, in a room he's never walked through, in a district he's only been to once.
And suddenly four months feels like an eternity, and it turns Elara Winston into a ghost that he's not sure even exists, because he can't hold her or feel her or touch her, and he would give anything to do exact that.
"Gloss?" Elara quietly asks, breaking the drawn out silence that has forged a path between them. There's a strange tone to her voice and he wishes he could see her face, because it's hard to tell what emotion is behind it.
He clears his throat and pushes the schedule away so that he doesn't have to look at it, instead turning his gaze out of the large kitchen window that looks out into the courtyard of the Village. He wonders, very briefly, what it would be like if Elara lived here instead of in District 5. Why couldn't she have been born in District 1? She could have lived right across the street from him, and he'd never have to yearn for her again, nor feel the peculiar pain of her absence rattle through him in an endless cycle.
Suddenly, almost randomly, she tells him, "It's raining over here." But he knows there's nothing random about the words. He remembers their conversation about the rain from years before, in a sliver of a moment that belonged to them when they were in the Capitol together. It was a harrowingly brief moment, really, in the grand scheme of things – but it was theirs.
He smiles and playfully asks, "Are you going to go run around in it?"
She laughs. "I might just. They say it's going to thunder later."
He shakes his head and quips, "Is this what we've resorted to now? Talking about the weather?"
His tone makes her smirk. In a tone that is just slightly more complex than a tone used between friends, Elara murmurs, "…Too bad we can't talk about what I'd like to talk about."
The inuendo of her of her voice is startlingly clear. It doesn't exactly take Gloss long to work it out, and when he does, he closes his eyes and exhales lowly, his mind immediately swept up with memories of bedsheets and her. How is it possible, he wonders, that he wants her so badly again? It's only been a few hours since he saw her face, and yet his heart feels like its burning in his chest for want of her, as if it is an inferno of fire. To just catch a glimpse of her again, even for a moment, to see the gleam of her bright blue eyes, to feel her fingers graze his skin…
"I guess we'll have to wait just a little while," he responds after a moment. His voice is low like hers, pitched just so in a way that hints at emotions that far surpass the usual brand of friendship that they pretend to possess. She shivers at the sound of it, just as caught up in her desires as he is, and hums.
She doesn't realize, yet, how many months they will actually have to wait. He will save her from that knowledge for now, because to him, it is a curse that he wishes he could lift from her shoulders, at least for the time being.
It's almost amusing how badly he wants to go back to the Capitol, the place that is full of demons and monsters; the place that haunts him in every waking moment, and every moment spent in sleep as well. For as much as he loathes the city that Snow has created, the Capitol is also filled with memories that are not so very bad after all, simply because they are full of her.
"I'll see you soon," he tells her, even though he knows he won't. For now, he's content to pretend.
Elara quietly murmurs, "Yeah. I…miss you. And Cashmere." The addition of his sister's name isn't lost on him. He knows she only says it just in case someone is listening in on their conversation. It's a feeble attempt to cover up the obvious undercurrent of their words, but it is just the nature of their relationship.
He wonders if that will ever change, or if they'll be forced to skirt around the edges of their affection for all of eternity.
"…We both miss you too," is all he says in response – another feeble attempt, because they both know that he's not talking about his sister at all, but himself.
When he hangs up the phone a moment later and returns his gaze to the courtyard outside, he tries to picture Elara there, sitting on the porch across the way beneath the hot desert sun.
But – like a ghost, she disappears before he can imagine her form there, and Gloss is left staring sightlessly into the dusk, feeling just as lost as ever.