Chapter Eighteen | And measured in these limitations, bound:
"If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark."
2.1, 33 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare
Elara Winston has gotten used to being a Victor, but what she has not and will not ever get used to is mentoring for the Hunger Games. The first year after her own victory had been the hardest. With no idea as to how to actually advise two kids that are already destined to die, she had stumbled her way through the ordeal gracelessly. The tributes that year probably hadn't thought very highly of her. She wouldn't have blamed them for it.
She hadn't won her Games because she had a strategy. In her mind, it had been more luck and a burning need to survive than anything else. She had only killed a few tributes, and only because they had attacked her first. In her arena, she'd been the quiet one who skirted around the danger instead of throwing herself headlong into it. The only time she had killed with intention had been at the very end, when it had been just her and one other tribute. She had lured him to his death with a trap of her own making. Having been in the final countdown, Harley had finally managed to get her some sponsors to help her out.
Rigging the lake with electricity had been the easy part. Luring the final tribute to said lake and pushing him into it had been slightly more difficult, especially since he had been twice her size and extremely brawny. She'd almost fallen into her own trap in the process. It was only by some stroke of luck that she'd been able to overpower him enough to send him flying backwards off the rock that had become the scene of their final eulogy. The moment his skin met water, the electrical current zapped him to a long death.
The sound of his watery screams still haunts her, as does the sight of him flailing in the lake before his body had effectively short circuited.
In any case, District 5 has two mentors now, but even though this is her second year coming to the Capitol for this purpose, Elara is not very happy to be here. There's only one thing that makes her feel better, and that is the fact that Gloss will be there too. It's been a while since she's seen him last. They had parted rather abruptly the last time they'd been together in the Capitol. She's looking forward to seeing him again. He's become…a friend, of sorts. It's a funny way of describing their connection, but it somehow fits.
He understands her in ways very few people do. It isn't just because they're both Victors, or that Snow manipulates them similarly, or even that they have the same nightmares and fear the same things. She likes being around Gloss. He makes her laugh. He makes her feel like life isn't so bad after all, as if there's a silver lining to the stormy cloud that constantly hangs over them. That's what friendship is, right? She likes to think so. They occasionally take their clothes off and do things to each other that redefines that term entirely but – it's still friendship. Their own brand of it.
She likes to think that he sees her as a friend too. But suddenly she isn't so sure of that.
She's on her way to the public viewing room at the top of the Tribute Center, where Harley told her he'd be. It's only the second day of the Games and they have one tribute alive. The other died in the bloodbath the day before. Harley isn't much of a mentor. He's not very helpful, really, but Elara's hoping that she'll learn a little bit from him anyway. She's not a very good mentor, either.
In any case, she's about to turn the corner when she hears a low, aggravated voice hiss, "Would you stop pestering me about this? I told you there isn't anything else to it, Cash."
It's Gloss. She'd recognize his voice anywhere. There's a tone to it though, that makes her pause. Curiosity makes her linger by the corner, out of sight. The viewing room is a few halls down, but she somehow feels like it would be awkward to interrupt an obviously private moment between the District 1 siblings. Cashmere already dislikes Elara, and their desire to avoid each other is largely apparent to everyone else.
"I'm not fucking blind, Gloss. I know there's more to it than what you're telling me," Cashmere snaps back. Their voices are quiet, as if they don't want anyone overhearing their words. It makes Elara edge back a little, deciding perhaps that she should just take the long way through the halls. She isn't usually the type of eavesdrop. It makes her feel awkward.
She stops, though, when Gloss growls, "There's nothing else to it. We meet up, we fuck, and then we leave when we're done. There's no emotion behind it at all."
Even though her name isn't mentioned, Elara knows then that they're talking about her. Gloss had just described their relationship in a nutshell, after all. Meet, fuck, leave. But – no emotion? She hadn't been aware of that.
Not that she's in love with him of course, but that doesn't mean there's no emotion in the act they occasionally perform. There's joy in it, comfort, maybe even peace. Yet the way Gloss talks, it sounds that to him it's all just a mechanical process that he could do with anyone, with the exact results.
Elara rubs the back of her neck and presses herself into the wall. Gloss can do whatever he wants with other people. She doesn't care. What she cares about is that apparently he doesn't feel the same sort of bond that she feels towards him. Even if that bond is only made from the comforting presence of his body beside hers, shouldn't that be enough? Perhaps not.
Around the corner, Cashmere's voice snarks, "It's different for women. I just don't want you to get into something you don't understand. I see the way she looks at you – "
"We're friends," Gloss interrupts. His voice is a little further away now, as if he's walking out of the conversation. In an annoyed voice, he tells his sister, "If she feels something more for me then that's her problem. She's a good lay. That's all I see in her."
Elara purses her lips and looks down, staring hard at the tiled floor of the hallway. She isn't necessarily surprised at Gloss's harsh words. She knows him well enough by now to understand how he is. He skirts around emotional ties like they're too much effort for him to invest in, but Elara thinks he's just afraid of emotions altogether. He's got a classical case of commitment-phobia. Not that she wants commitment from him, of course.
Cashmere apparently thinks otherwise. Her voice barks, "You're an idiot, Gloss. You're gonna get yourself in so much trouble if Snow finds out what you're doing. He already suspects that something's up. He's not blind."
Gloss counters with a gruff, "I don't fucking care. It's none of your business anyway so leave it alone."
Their voices begin to fade off as they walk away, their argument continuing down the hall. The Golden Siblings of the Capitol aren't as perfect as they appear, but what siblings are? Their footsteps disappear and Elara hears a door slam, but she doesn't move from her spot.
Pressed against the wall, she tilts her head back and frowns at the ceiling. Since when did she start caring about what Gloss thinks of her, anyway? Or Cashmere for that matter. She knows it's dangerous to enjoy her time with Gloss as much as she does. For some reason, though, it hadn't felt so dangerous when she'd thought that Gloss valued her as much as she does him.
Now she isn't so sure.
Is she really just a good lay and nothing else? She supposes that she should be grateful that he's even still interested in her at all. The fact that he keeps coming back to her even after nearly two years into their affair, or whatever it is, should be a shock in and of itself. She must be fairly good in bed to keep him hooked. But is that really all she is to him?
That's all she wants to be, surely. But why does her heart hurt so much? Why does his words make her feel so small and useless? She shouldn't care, so why does she?
It's a mystery that isn't really such a mystery, if she really thinks about it. And she does – think about it that is, all the way back down the elevator to the District 5 suite. She's still thinking about it later that evening when she should be focused on other things, like trying to keep her remaining tribute alive.
She thinks about it for a long time, even though she doesn't truly need to, because she already knows why Gloss's words have affected her so much. She's just too afraid to admit them to herself.
Can you fall in love with someone that you barely see? That you sometimes take comfort in and then say goodbye to once you're finished, because you're not really supposed to be with them to begin with? Can you love an object that belongs to President Snow? Because that's what Victors really are, after all. They're things that are tossed around like dolls to fulfill their purposes. Soulless objects that belong to others, but never to themselves.
It is possible that she loves Gloss? She's told herself so many times that she can't fall for him. She's hammered it into her mind that he's only a way to forget how shitty her life is. He isn't a true cure for her personal demons – just an occasional fix. That's all. He would never fall for her. He just isn't the type of man to surrender to such silly feelings.
Yet suddenly Elara thinks that perhaps she's silly enough to do exactly that.
When Elara steps off the train and into the station at the Capitol, she doesn't expect any deviation from her usually schedule. Her apartment is across the city and she'll need to wave down a taxi. She's in the Capitol for about a week and a half this time around, so she'll have to go out and get some groceries for her stay. She's brought most of her other essentials with her from District 5. The less she has to venture out into society, the better.
She's made the walk down from the District 5 terminal to the train station foyer hundreds of time by now, but never on any of those walks has she experienced what she is about to.
She is just walking around the corner when suddenly her arm is being snatched up, and she's being pulled into a body that feels very familiar to her. Her reaction is immediate: she gasps and pulls back, eyes searching his face as a wide smile spreads over hers, and then Elara throws her arms around him and hugs him tightly. Gloss chuckles and pulls her closer against him, burying his face against her neck as he leans down over her form.
"You jerk – you always push me into walls when I least expect it," she complains just for good measure, but she doesn't really mean it and he knows it.
Against her hair, he smirks, "I'll make it up to you, Winston."
For the time being, Elara rolls her eyes and ignores the innuendo in his voice, instead opting to huff, "You'd better."
But neither of them will make good on his words right now. They're technically still in a public place. And while there's no one else in the District 5 terminal, it is always better to be safe, at least until they've got more privacy.
"How'd you know what time my train came in?" she asks him curiously as he grabs the small bag she's brought with her and throws the strap over his shoulder. He spears her with a raised eyebrow and jerks his head at one of the many screens that are positioned all over the building.
"I read the train schedule, what else?" he asks sarcastically, and she pushes him playfully when he tries to throw an arm over her shoulders. He grapples it over her anyway, until of course they reach the end of her terminal and Elara ducks out of his grasp. He doesn't say anything about it. They're supposed to be no more than good friends, after all. Lingering touches should probably be reserved for another time.
Honestly, sometimes Elara wonders how these Capitolite creatures even buy their pretenses. She thinks it's ridiculously obvious that her and Gloss aren't just friends. Would friends meet each other at their train terminals so that they didn't have to wait a moment longer than necessary to see each other again?
Gloss looks at Elara as if he's seconds away from shoving her against the nearest wall and kissing her senseless. She wouldn't necessarily complain if he did, but they don't need that kind of publicity. People are already whispering at the sight of them trudging out of the train station doors, as if the Victors are rare, wild beasts. It's amusing, really, how they nudge each other and nod at them, fingers pointing and voices pitched low in gossiping tones. Elara's grown used to her celebrity status, but being in the center of all this attention isn't something she'll ever appreciate. Before she was Reaped for the Hunger Games, she'd been a nobody back in District 5. These people wouldn't have even given her the time of day before.
"Look – it's Elara Winston and Gloss Augustine!"
"God, he's so handsome. He was on the cover of the last Capitol Weekly, did you see it?"
"Of course I did. I drooled over him for hours!"
"What I'd give to have a man like that pick me up – he's such a gentleman – "
Elara coughs back a laugh as they walk past a nearby gaggle of Capitolite women. They're not making much of an effort to keep their voices down. A quick glance at Gloss tells Elara that he can hear them too, and the prideful smirk he's wearing makes her roll her eyes.
"After you," he says graciously, holding the door open for her. Apparently, he's taking his 'gentleman' persona seriously for once. Elara snorts but doesn't argue, and Gloss sends the women a wink as he follows. The squeals that they give out at the sight of it reminds Elara of pigeons squawking for food.
"You're such a shit," she tells him sarcastically. He just smirks wider and hails a taxi for them.
"Just trying to appease my fans," he responds as a cab pulls up to the curb. He opens the door for her again and Elara gives him a wry expression.
She gives the driver her address as he pulls back out onto the road, and they begin their journey through the thick Capitol traffic. It takes about fifteen minutes to get there. They sit in silence most of the way, all too aware of the driver's presence in the front seat. It's only when they've taken the elevator up to her floor and step into the privacy of Elara's apartment that anything changes between them, but when it does change, it changes drastically.
Gloss tosses her bag onto the floor, shuts the door behind them, and has her pressed up against the wall within moments. He wastes very little time in pulling her into a searing kiss. Elara, who had expected this abrupt turn of events, reacts immediately. She throws her arms around him, hikes her legs up his waist, and kisses him back with the fervent desire she's been struggling to contain since their moment in the District 5 terminal. In turn, Gloss grasps her thighs and heaves her up, nestling his body between the crevice of them and holding her firmly against the door as their kiss takes a heavier turn.
"Missed you," he grunts against her mouth, voice muffled as his tongue sweeps over hers. Her only response is a light groan that's meant to portray her agreement, because she isn't sure she has the patience to use actual words.
It's been four months since she's seen him last, and now that he's here…
His scent surrounds her, his skin and his body pressed to hers, their breaths intertwining as clothing begins to disappear, vanishing between long kisses. She hardly knows how they get to her bedroom at all, only that when Gloss drops her down onto the mattress and goes to kick his pants off, Elara is more than ready to welcome him back into her arms.
He enters her swiftly. There's an air of abruptness to their movements. Desperation clings to them. When they move together, they do so with the intent of capturing comfort in the form of release. It's like saying hello, and I missed you, and it's been far too long.
They'll take their time with each other later, when they have plenty of it to spare. For now, Gloss moves them towards their finish quickly, entwining his fingers with hers and stretching them over her head. He dips his mouth to brush over hers but doesn't pull her into a kiss. Their thrusts are too haphazard for slow love making. When he shudders out his climax, it's both far too soon for her liking as well as not soon enough. Another contradiction.
She's still wanting, and so he shifts back and drags his fingers over her, spinning her back into her pleasure so quickly that Elara can only moan and let him sweep her up in it all. She comes hard, panting out his name. She's been waiting for his touch for so long that to finally have it is almost surreal.
Gloss pulls back afterwards, kneeling in the cocoon of her legs as he looks down at her body. There's a lingering softness in his eyes that speaks more clearly than any words he might have conjured in that moment. He looks at her like she's a rare ray of sun that even he couldn't find, back in the desert that he calls his home.
When she impatiently tugs on his arm, he chuckles and lowers himself down, lying beside her. She turns to him and raises her chin, seeking to claim his mouth with hers. He doesn't argue.
"That was quite the greeting," she murmurs into the kiss after a moment, and he smirks.
"Mmm…that was just the 'hello'. There's still the 'how are you' to get to, but I'll let you catch your breath first," he quips, and she laughs. His arm tightens around her, pulling her flush against his body. Their lips brush together again, but for the moment they're just content to smile at one another, refamiliarizing themselves.
She brings a hand to his face, trailing over his jaw as she whispers, "What a gentleman." The joking tone of her voice makes his mouth twitch into another smirk.
His only response to her words is another kiss, which he drags her into by gently biting at her lower lip. He exhales softly and chuckles when she moans, hands sinking over his form as if she can't get enough contact.
Four months is a long time to live with half a heart, after all.