Chapter Nineteen | It can't be seen with eyes or marked with touch,
"My only love, sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"
1.5, 94-97 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare
She loves him. She doesn't know how or when or why it all started. It doesn't make sense to her. All she knows is that she does, which is why she has to end it.
"I don't understand," Gloss slowly says. His hands fall away from her body, where he had been clutching her waist. When she had called him to see if he wanted to 'hang out' with her tonight, he'd assumed that the night would follow the same pattern as all the others had. He certainly hadn't anticipated Elara telling him that she doesn't want to see him again.
He studies her closely, eyes honed onto her expression. She's biting her lip. He knows that it's a sign of anxiety. The way she's tapping her fingers against the counter is another one. But the sign he hates the most is that she doesn't look at him directly. Her eyes study the top button on his shirt, but do not raise any higher than that.
She shrugs halfheartedly, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, and explains, "I just don't think we should do this anymore, that's all. I'm worried that people are starting to catch on."
Honestly, that's the least of her worries, but she'd rather not tell Gloss that she's somehow fallen in love with him despite herself. She doesn't think that sort of confession would pan out very well, considering the nature of their relationship. And besides, his words still haunt her mind. The conversation he'd had with Cashmere about her are like heavy weights that she cannot be rid of.
She doesn't blame him. She knew from the very start that their relationship is purely physical. It doesn't matter that things have changed on her end. Gloss has never been obliged to feel anything more than lust towards her. It's what they had both agreed to. It's what they had both wanted.
She can't be upset that he doesn't want more than that. She's already resigned herself to her unreturned feelings. She doubts that Gloss could ever love her back, and that's okay. Sometimes, that's how love works.
It still hurts, but that's okay too. Most things in her life hurt. She's learned to accept the pain of her circumstances. Sometimes she even embraces it.
Gloss hums, still watching her closely. He knows that there's something she isn't telling him. Her words are too matter-of-fact. He knows her well enough by now to read between the lines. It's just that what actually lingers there, between those lines, is currently eluding him.
"Okay," he says after a long silence. He doesn't try to argue with her. Elara isn't sure if she's happy about that or not. She tells herself that she is, because it's easier this way, but her heart beats out a truth that her mind refuses to consider at this moment.
She nods and awkwardly folds her hands into the pockets of her jeans, glancing around her kitchen so that she doesn't have to look at him. She's afraid that if she raises her eyes to his gaze, she might falter. She might forget herself, like she always seems to do around him, and fall right back into his arms.
Gloss doesn't move, even though he seems to have accepted her words. He stands in the center of the kitchen that he's grown very familiar with. After a moment, he walks over to her fridge and opens the door, casually grabbing a beer as if he's right at home and doesn't intend on leaving. Elara frowns in confusion.
"I think you're misunderstanding me," she says, and he glances over at her idly, totally unencumbered by the anxiety that seems to have captured her. He sees it clear as day in her eyes when she accidentally looks at him. He knows it's accidental because of the way she immediately darts her gaze away, staring at the countertops as if she's never seen marble before.
He raises an eyebrow and drawls, "No, I understood you just fine, Winston. You don't want to fuck anymore. I get it." He shrugs and pulls open the drawer that contains the bottle opener. A moment later, he's popping the cap off the beer and taking a sip. She's still staring at him, so he laughs and says, "Just because we're not having sex doesn't mean we can't be friends. You want one?"
He gestures to the beer and she slowly shakes her head. This…isn't how she'd anticipated this conversation to go. After all, she hadn't thought that Gloss considered them to be friends at all. He had told Cashmere that she's just a 'good lay' and nothing more. Maybe he was just trying to get his sister off his back. Elara doesn't know what to think. Her thoughts are too tangled to make sense of it all right now.
"What's wrong?" Gloss asks, putting the beer down on the counter and turning to face her. He crosses his arms. The muscles beneath his skin flex from the movement.
Elara opens her mouth, then closes it again, pulling her fingers through her hair to buy herself some time. There are a lot of things wrong at this moment. Specifying which one is currently the most important to her is a little difficult.
When she doesn't respond, Gloss sighs. He stares at her with eyes that are strangely knowing, as if he can see right through the thick boundaries she's built within the last hour to ward him away from the truths that she's bundled up deep inside her heart. Every second that passes them by makes her feels as though those walls are coming down just as quickly as they'd gone up. She feels defenseless and confused. She wants him but she doesn't want him.
"Look," he starts to say, "You don't have to explain anything. We've kept this relationship casual for a reason, right? We've agreed on keeping our emotions out of it. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy your company though. Victors stick together."
She lifts her eyes to stare at him, and finally finds her voice as she slowly agrees, "Yes…that's true. So…I guess we're friends?"
She says the word like it's foreign to her. In a way, it is. She doesn't really have friends, not the any normal context. Victors are a rare breed, after all. Friendship just isn't cut out for them. And besides, she's extremely confused as to the sudden revelation that Gloss does indeed see her as more than just an occasional sexual partner. She's somewhat surprised by that.
He raises an eyebrow at her. "We've been friends for years now. Did you not know that?"
The question make Elara laugh a little with genuine amusement. He smiles at the way it lights up her face, dulling down the anxiety that she's been carrying. Together, they stand in her kitchen and chuckle, as if being friends is the most hilarious thing in the world.
"Friends, then," Elara nods, and walks over to the fridge to finally join him in his drink.
She can't blame him for this either. Friendship is better than no relationship at all. At least she'll have someone who understands her, and Gloss is taking the news very well, considering that she sort of just rejected his advancements towards her. She supposes that it's all she can ask for.
"I am curious as to your real reason though," he murmurs as he watches her reach for the bottle opener. They're standing side by side now, both leaning against the counter. His question makes her pause, and Gloss knows that he's right – that the reason she had given him before is only a partial truth. There's more beneath the surface of it. He can be observing when he wants to be.
"I thought we were having a good time," he slowly adds, watching her closely again, as if he's trying to figure out every expression that passes over her face. Her anxiety comes back, and he frowns.
She swallows tightly and opens the bottle, depositing the bottle opener back into its elected drawer as she admits, "We do have a good time. I do, anyway." She glances at him and he laughs.
"We both do," he tells her, like he wants her to know that she's very much capable of bringing him pleasure as well. He's a little surprised when he sees her blush a little bit. He hasn't seen her blush about sex for a long time now, not since the beginning of their atypical relationship. She had blushed a lot during their first encounter. It had been her first-ever encounter, after all, so it a little awkwardness was to be expected. As she gained more experience in the art of sex, Elara Winston had ceased blushing entirely. It's strange to see her cheeks redden now.
"So…?" he prods, raising an eyebrow at her. He watches the way she fidgets, fingers tapping against the glass of the bottle she's holding. Her anxiety returns at full force, and she doesn't meet his gaze. He barks out a laugh at her actions and shakes his head. "Elara, seriously. We've seen each other naked a hundred times. You know me better than anyone. You can tell me why you want to stop having sex with – "
"We agreed to keep our emotions out of it, didn't we?" she cuts in, clutching her beer so tightly that her knuckles blanch white. He stops talking and looks at her strangely, as if he's wondering why she's bringing that up again. He really is an idiot. Elara sighs.
He's not just an idiot – he's a persistent one. He isn't going to let this go until she gives him a proper reason.
"Yeah," he says, prompting her out of her silence. He stares at her like she's a strange creature he doesn't understand, and she pierces him with a look that makes him stand a little taller. There's something in her eyes that makes him stall. He thinks he knows what it is.
"…Are you saying that…you've broken our rule?" he slowly asks her, and puts his beer onto the counter. In the silence of the room, the noise seems to echo.
Rules – it's almost laughable. Love doesn't have rules, but then again, there is no love between them. There is only love on her side, and Gloss seems to find the realization of its existence to be utterly incomprehensible.
She purses her lips and mutters, "I think we should stop, Gloss. I…I like you a little too much. I don't know why. You aggravate me most of the time."
He doesn't know what to say. She doesn't use the word 'love' at all, but he sees it in her eyes. Suddenly their relationship seems to take on a new meaning. The warmth in her gaze whenever she looks at him, the carefulness of her touch, the almost worshipful quality of their sex…he thinks that perhaps it isn't sex at all. Perhaps she's been making love to him all this time and he hadn't realized it. He's…not sure what to think about that, either.
Is he happy? Disgusted? His thoughts whirl. He hadn't expected a confession like this. He's not sure anyone's ever confessed to him, come to think of it. He's never been with someone as long as he's been with Elara. He's never gotten close to anyone like he's gotten close to her.
The terms 'friends' and 'sex partners' suddenly seem far too shallow to describe what it is that lingers between them.
"…Say something," she whispers, staring at the opposite wall because she can't look at him. She's afraid of what she'll see in his eyes if she does. Afraid of the rejection she knows she's about to experience.
Gloss swallows, keeping his eyes firmly onto the tiled floor of the kitchen. He's afraid to look at her too. All of the sudden it feels as though they're strangers. Like he doesn't know her at all.
It's all too much for him to think about right now. Cashmere's words are circling his head. His sister had been right, apparently. Elara Winston feels something more for him than what they had agreed upon, and he'd been completely and utterly blind to it. Cashmere hadn't though. She had seen it clear as day. He feels like a total idiot for missing it.
Besides feeling like a blind fool, Gloss isn't entirely sure what other emotions are spiraling through him. He usually avoids emotions at all costs, so he has little idea as to what he feels right now. He thinks he should feel upset that the rules they'd laid down have been broken like this, but all he feels is an extreme awkwardness right now. He's out of his depth. He has no idea what to do or say, and he very rarely ever falters in such a manner.
She deserves a response though. They've been doing this for three years now. He doesn't know how long she's been struggling with whatever these 'feelings' are that she has for him, but they have a history that he can't easily ignore. He just…needs some time to figure out what it is that's barreling through his chest. What inexplicable emotion is it, that's making his breath shallow and his heart pump? He needs to know that before he can give her the answer she deserves, and in order to do that, he needs some time to himself.
"…I'm leaving for District 1 tomorrow," he slowly says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her deflate a bit. He knows that this isn't what she wants to hear, but he needs some space to work some things out. He turns to her with a sigh. "We'll talk the next time we see each other. I just…you confuse the hell out of me, Winston. I need a little time."
She smiles. It's a bit bitter, like she's swallowing something sour. He can't entirely blame her.
"Yeah. Next time," she parrots back, and he cringes a little but doesn't say anything else.
Straightening up, he clears his throat awkwardly and mutters, "I'll be back in the Capitol in a few weeks. Will you be here?
Elara responds with an equally awkward, "…Yes."
He nods and starts walking towards the door, but she calls him back with a sigh. "Gloss. You don't…you don't have to…feel anything for me. I don't expect you to. I know that's not what we agreed on. It's okay."
It's not okay, at least not to her own heart, but it's true. They'd agreed on keeping an emotional distance from each other when they first began this affair. Just because she blurred the lines of it all doesn't mean that she expects him to do the same.
He glances back at her and gives her a little smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Like I said, Elara…I just need to figure out a few things, that's all."
She nods slowly, and he calls, "See you in a few weeks," as he heads to the door, walking fast enough to make it obvious that he really wants to get out of her apartment as quickly as possible.
The moment the door shuts, Elara sighs and stares at the beer bottle he'd left on her countertop. Gloss must have felt truly awkward to leave so much left. He's not the type of leave without finishing his drink.
She has very little hope that he'll tell her anything she wants to hear the next time they see each other. Very little hope at all.
"Mmm…stop that…" Elara chuckles, flapping her hand at the solid mass of muscle that is current occupying the bed behind her. Gloss doesn't listen to her, of course. He just keeps stroking her hip idly and occasionally circling his touch over her abdomen. It tickles.
It must be almost midday by now. They've spent the last few days similarly. Luckily, their schedules have both been accommodating in that regard. She's had a few clients so far, but the early mornings have belonged to her and Gloss entirely. Of course, she's the one who's more tired between the two of them. He's gotten more sleep than her, having had less clients and more actual photoshoots.
"I have to get to my interview soon," Gloss mumbles against her neck, tightening his arm around her body. His actions counteract his words; he doesn't want to leave this bed unless he absolutely has to. She feels the same way.
Despite this, she whispers, "I'd rather not have a repeat of that time Cashmere banged down my door looking for you."
They share a laugh at the memory. It hadn't been that long ago, actually. They'd been in the middle of eating breakfast when his sister had made an abrupt and unexpected arrival, bearing down on them for forgetting about the time. The sibling duo had some sort of photoshoot for one of the magazines they're always getting photographed for, and he had completely forgotten in lieu of the quiet morning they were having. With an amused chuckle, he kisses her neck and murmurs, "…Shower?"
Elara turns to give him a wry look. "You really think you'll be on time if we both take a shower together?"
He immediately opens his mouth to argue, but then just smirks and drawls, "True. You wouldn't be able to keep your hands off me."
Elara laughs and elbows him. Gloss catches her elbow before it can reach his stomach and playfully wrestles her down into the mattress. She halfheartedly tries to push him off of her, but her attempts lack any real motivation. His weight on her is heavenly, even if he is a hulking mass of muscle.
"Gloss!" she complains. Her voice is just as halfhearted as her efforts to separate them. Even as the words leave her mouth, she's wrapping her arms around his neck and grappling her limbs around his body, dragging him further against her.
He chuckles, eyes bright as he swoops down to kiss her. They linger there for a long moment as the kiss turns surprisingly soft. In the beginning to their affair, Elara had been surprised at the way he could be so gentle. Now, she adores it. There is just something about a man like Gloss – blunt and brash – kissing her in such a soft manner. It makes her crazy.
"Mmm…I really do need to get ready," he tells her after a few minutes. He lifts his head from hers and sighs, leisurely taking her in. She's pressed beneath him, hair mussed all over the pillow, expression yearning and cheeks subtly flushed from their previous activities. She's got a few love marks strewn over her skin, too – marks that he had put there. He leans down to kiss a few of them, grinning against her when she scoffs and tries to slap him away. Also halfheartedly.
"Alright, alright," he mumbles, still grinning. She gives him a dry look and he smirks, leaning down to give her one last kiss before rolling off of her and sitting up on the edge of the mattress.
She turns to study the brawny shoulders and muscled back and almost pulls him back down. She just barely refrains herself from doing so when she catches sight of the time.
"Oh shit!" she exclaims, jerking up and tumbling out of bed. Gloss raises an eyebrow, mid stretch, as she starts pulling clothes out of her drawer with almost crazed intent. He leans back on the mattress and watches her. His is extremely knowledgeable about her body – he could picture her naked with no effort whatsoever, by now – but that doesn't mean he isn't appreciative of the sight she makes as she stands in all her nude glory in the center of the room.
Once upon a time, she would have blushed at the thought of being so vulnerable in front of him, but that time has long since passed them by. He can't say he minds it, though he does recall finding her to be extremely endearing back then.
"What's wrong?" he asks dryly as she pulls her underwear on with frantic fingers. He's half tempted to tell her to stop – he quite likes the sight of her bare breasts – but he's got a feeling that she'd bite his head off if he tried. The thought amuses him.
Elara casts him a glance as she pulls her closet open and starts riffling through the contents. "I have a meeting with President Snow in half an hour."
He stiffens immediately. With a frown, Gloss stands up and says, "You didn't tell me you were meeting the President. What's it about? Why didn't you mention it – "
"It's probably not a big deal, Gloss," she interrupts, apparently settling on a knee length dress that's just classy enough to get away with a meeting of this caliber. It isn't often that President Snow requests to see his Victors. She's only met with him a handful of times over the past eight years since her Games. Most of the meetings had been involving issues with clients.
Gloss doesn't seem to agree with her nonchalant handling of the situation though. The softness in his eyes has vanished, replaced by a concerned fire that could almost be described as anger. He crosses his arms, totally unconcerned about his current state of dress (or there lack-of), and demands, "Well what does he want to talk to you about?"
She gives him an exasperated look and impatiently says, "I don't know. Probably my clients or something. Gloss, it's really – "
"It is a big deal, Elara," he cuts in, walking over to where she stands with a sigh. He stares at her for a moment before rolling his eyes and helping her get into the dress, which she's trapped herself in because of her frantic movements. As he's buttoning it up for her, he mutters, "It's always a big deal, with him. Why didn't you tell me?"
A part of her feels subtly guilty that she hadn't mentioned it, but really, Gloss can be extremely distracting when he wants to be. And the past few days he had been very distracting.
She brushes her hands over his bare chest and says, "I didn't mean to not tell you. You made me forget."
He raises a flippant eyebrow at her and drawls, "Oh, so now it's my fault?"
With a snicker, Elara leans in to kiss his jaw and murmurs, "You distracted me."
He rolls his eyes. "Seriously?"
Her gaze turns quite serious when she says, "You have a way of making me forget about everything that should be important."
His eyes soften and she knows he's forgiven her when he wraps her up in his arms and drags her against his body, pulling her into an embrace. There's something so powerful about embracing him when she's fully clothed and he's fully naked. She likes it.
"Elara," he grunts, lowering his hands to her hips to stop her from shifting against him. She makes a whining sound against his neck and he huffs, grasping her tightly in case she gets any ideas. In truth, she has quite a few ideas, but unfortunately not enough time to enact any of them.
"See? You're so damn distracting. It's not my fault," she mutters against him, and Gloss laughs.
"As much as I'd like to explore the many ways I might distract you, you should probably get going if you want to be there on time," he tells her, squeezing her rear playfully before stepping away. She gives him another exasperated look and glances mournfully at the bathroom door, wishing she could stay and take that shower with him after all.
He seems to know exactly what she's thinking, and he turns her chin to give her a surprisingly chaste kiss as he murmurs, "See you tonight?"
She hums agreeably against his mouth and pulls away.
"Have fun in the shower without me," she sighs, spearing him with a look that makes shivers race through his body. She can be quite distracting, herself, especially when she looks at him with eyes full of insinuation.
He growls, "I'd much rather wait for you to come back."
She smirks. He playfully pushes her towards the bedroom door, silently prompting her to take her leave.
"See you later," she calls as she obeys. She really does need to be on her way, after all. Being late for a meeting with President Snow isn't exactly high on her to-do list today.
The streets are packed when she steps out onto them, jacket half buttoned and purse hanging loosely from her elbow. As usual, people point and whisper when they see her; a side effect of being a celebrity in a city full of these peculiar creatures. She flags down a taxi as quickly as she can and makes her way to the Presidential Mansion on the other side of the city. With her late start and the morning traffic, she barely makes it on time. She has to hurry through the halls once she arrives, glancing at her watch every other moment in hopes that she doesn't keep the president waiting. Snow might appear to be a patient man, but every Victor knows firsthand that he isn't.
"Ah, Miss Winston," he greets when she's let inside his office. She's been here only a couple of times in the past. Despite being one of his more 'popular' Victors, he doesn't pay as much attention to her as the others. She's grateful for it, though it does make his occasional meetings that much more pressured. She has no idea what he actually wants to speak to her about. He's a hard man to predict, which is probably one of the reasons he's still in power.
"Mr. President," she acknowledges, and takes a seat on one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. She tries not to shift uncomfortably beneath his stare.
He leans back and studies her for a long moment, taking in her semi-polished appearance. He lingers on her face the longest, as if he's trying to figure something out – an elusive concept that he can't quite grasp, or so it seems. He looks serenly frustrated, if that's possible. Something seems to be aggravating him, but he isn't allowing the full extent of his frustration to override his disposition. She isn't sure if that's a good thing or not. One can never be sure, with him.
"…I've called you here for a reason, my dear," he says after a lengthy pause, leaning his head against the chair's back. He taps his fingers against the arm of it as he continues, "I'm sure you're aware, by now, of the implications of the last Hunger Games. We've never had more than one Victor at the same time before. It's…dangerous. I'm sure you understand."
She does understand. What she doesn't understand is why he's telling her all this. She's just Elara Winston from District 5, the district that most people forget about. She isn't important like Gloss and Cashmere or bloodthirsty like Enobaria and Brutus or gorgeously charming like Finnick Odair. She's the second choice. Her clients probably prefer Cashmere over her, and when they can't get a night with the pricier, busier Victor, Elara becomes good enough. She's quite okay with that, but she's always very aware that she isn't as popular as many of the others. She's not sure why Snow is bringing this subject up at all.
"I – yes, I understand, President Snow," she haltingly responds, then falls abruptly silent. Speaking out of turn isn't something she wants to do today, after she's just had an impossibly perfect morning in bed with the man she isn't supposed to be in love with.
The President gives her a cold smile and nods, "You're confused, I see. There's no need to be, Miss Winston. I'm meeting with all of my Victors to ensure that they understand the current situation and what I expect from them moving forward. There's no need to be so stiff. Relax, my dear."
She clears her throat and gives him a slight smile, trying to do as he says. It's just that relaxing in front of the President of Panem isn't exactly an easy feat. This is the man who has made her life into a living hell, who has pushed her into hotel rooms and prostitution and sold her body and her soul to the highest bidder. This is the man who has ruined Cashmere and has crushed Gloss. The man who seems to take pleasure in destroying lives and manipulating his Victors into subordination, at any cost.
She tries to make it seem like she's relaxed, but she isn't sure she succeeds. Luckily, it doesn't appear to matter to Snow, who promptly says, "Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are all the Capitol has been talking about for the last six months. Their Victory Tour is about to begin, taking them all over Panem. They've become popular with the masses, the common rabble of this country. The districts adore them. Especially the girl."
Elara slowly nods. She shrugs halfheartedly and tells him, "I haven't met Katniss yet. I've heard that she's…difficult."
Snow laughs aloud at this, a bitter sound that would make her cringe, in any other situation. As it is though, Elara is trying very hard to keep her mask on firmly, to not allow her usually expressive eyes to show him any emotions at all, out of fear that he might use them to his advantage as he often does.
"Yes, that's one word to describe her," he agrees after a brief pause. "I've warned her what might happen if she fails to convince Panem that she's in love with Mr. Mellark. Their 'star-crossed love' is the only reason they're both alive. I'm sure you understand how it would undermine me, should they fall out of love."
Elara nods slowly and doesn't respond. Snow stares at her hard with that curious expression on his face again, as if he's trying to figure something out and simply cannot. It's making her distinctly uncomfortable.
"Victors are a rare breed, wouldn't you agree, Miss Winston?" he suddenly says, tilting his head at her. She stiffens a little bit, beneath the scrutiny of his eyes. He smiles coldly at her and says, "They're killers. Murderers. I would even go so far as to say that they're incapable of love entirely."
There's something in the undercurrent of his voice that makes Elara wonder if he's even talking about Katniss and Peeta anymore. It's in the way he's staring at her, studying her closely with eyes that seem far too knowing for her own comfort. She swallows thickly and gives him a stilted smile, trying not to give into the fierce desire to shrink into her chair.
"I…yes, I agree," she responds, because he seems to be waiting for her to say something. It wouldn't do to disagree, even though she does. She has a feeling that he wouldn't appreciate her rebuttal.
His cold smile grows. He eyes her with that strange expression and shakes his head. "Do you?" he asks her, and watches in amusement as she pales.
"…President Snow?" she wonders, confused as to what he's really asking. Why had he asked her to meet with him? Surely it isn't to tell her what she already knows. Every Victor knows how careful they all must be now that Katniss and Peeta have upset the careful balance of the system.
The President chuckles again, but this time it is utterly bereft of humor.
"Let's not play games with each other, my dear. I am well aware that you're in love, just as I'm well aware that the man you're in love with is also, shockingly, in love with you."
A pin could drop and Elara would hear it. Her heart crushes in her chest, thudding almost painfully. Her anxiety brackets through her, increasing tenfold. She presses her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking, and straightens her shoulders. It doesn't do any good though – she can see it in the way Snow smiles that cruel smile, as if he can see into her very soul and, subsequently, all the truths that she contains.
"If only Katniss and Peeta were as much in love as you and Mr. Augustine ar," he sighs, and lifts a hand to his chin as he stares at her in contemplative silence.
Elara swallows and doesn't respond. She doesn't think she can. Her words seem to have gotten washed away as if a tide has swept over her. They are dragged off to sea, crested into the deep ocean currents and forgotten.
Snow laughs. "You look surprised, Miss Winston. Did you really think I didn't know about your little affair? I know everything that happens in my city."
Elara looks down at her hands and hoarsely asks him, "Why are you telling me this now, if you've known about it for so long?"
Her President smiles and responds, "Because, Elara, it wasn't necessary to do anything about it before. You've never gotten in my way, and I was content to return the favor. However…what with this new situation regarding our latest Victors, I should warn you that if anyone discovers your true connection to Gloss Augustine, it will be the end for you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She swallows again and nods. Oh, she understands. She most certainly understands.
"Gloss and his sister are our shining stars here in the Capitol. Everyone adores them. I can't have their reputation getting sullied," he tells her, narrowing his eyes just slightly, as if he thinks that a lowly Victor from District 5 would be a stain on their reputation. Elara purses her mouth but doesn't respond. She values her life far too much.
He shrugs and says, "I'm glad we've reached a common ground. As long as you don't complicate anything, I believe we can control this situation. But…if you do…"
Elara abruptly looks up at him, staring into the eyes of the man who has made her life into a hell worse than anything she could have ever dreamed of, eight years before. She gives him a nod and murmurs, "…I understand."
He stares at her for another long moment before nodding as well, seemingly placated. For now.
"Good. That is all, Miss Winston. You may go." He gestures to the door and Elara stands on shaky legs, still blown over at the turn that their conversation had taken.
She gives him another nod and steps towards the door. Snow watches her closely as she leaves, and she tries not to shake as she makes a quick exit.
Of course she had suspected that Snow probably knew there was something happening between her and Gloss. Eight years is a long time to be sneaking around, and secrets always find ways of leaking out. She just hadn't realized that he would know quite so much. That he would realize just how much the two of them care about each other. Love is a beautiful thing, but it has a startlingly potent way of turning frightening the moment the rest of her life gets involved. She only hopes that she can keep the thin balance in place, for as long as she is able to.
What will Gloss say, when he asks her about this meeting later tonight? Because he surely will. He'd been concerned that Snow had wanted to talk to her at all. He knows the system even better than she does. He's been a Victor longer than her and he isn't blind to the way things work around here.
She swallows thickly as she makes her way out of the mansion. She can't get out of it soon enough. Her fears haunt her footsteps. Even when she steps back out into the Capitol streets, they make her quake, roiling beneath her skin like whispering demons.
She knows only one thing: that letting go of Gloss would be a pain that would far surpass any she has experienced thus far, and she has experienced quite a lot of pain in her short life.