Chapter Thirty Three | Then shall I paint a picture of my love,
"Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget."
1.1, 236 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare
It's raining outside – pattering droplets that glisten in the late afternoon sun. They hit the windows in small torrents and makes the atmosphere of the room seem turbulent and profound; two things that always seem to exist in some capacity in Elara's life.
Amelia is off somewhere, doing God knows what. She attracts trouble as if she's a magnet, and at this point, Elara has resigned herself to the fact that her younger sister is probably not going to change. She's still young and wild. Though she's not as innocent in the same way she'd been before, back when Elara was not plagued with nightmares and their parents were still alive, Amelia still had a youthful sort of passion that Elara is sometimes a little jealous of. Her time for such lighthearted sentiments has long since passed, and there is no way of getting them back now.
She sits in the window seat of the living room and stares out at the grey sky, recalling the bright and vibrant days when she used to spend hours away from home, playing with old friends down by the lake that surrounds District 5. In the summer months, the water would be warm enough to swim in, and she would fearlessly jump off the shabby little dock that's been slowly decaying for decades now, long before she remembers.
She has many happy memories of that lake. She almost had her first kiss there when she was seven. Almost, because she had been too nervous to go through with it even at that tender age, when kisses were exchanged with far less solemnity. She'd ended up pushing the boy into the lake instead, and bursting out into wild laughter before jumping in after him. He hadn't been upset with her. In fact, he was probably relieved – he had been eight at the time, and kissing a girl was widely known by all his friends to be something dangerous, because cooties were hard to get rid of.
A slow smile curves over her mouth as she remembers the way her friends had teased her about it for weeks afterwards. Most of those friends were in the same year as her in school. As they grew older, they shared many a late night studying for their difficult exams. To succeed in District 5 and get out of a life of poverty, grading high on those exams is imperative. Her younger self had been utterly enraptured in the thought of what sort of life she could build for herself if she could just get a job at the Grid like her parents. She had thrown herself into her studies with a singular intent back then.
Long days of studying had quickly replaced those summer hours spent at the lake. By the time she was a teenager, Elara Winston was far more focused on the silly dreams she had of becoming one of the best hydroelectrical engineers District 5 had ever seen. They weren't silly dreams back then, though. They didn't become silly until she was Reaped for the Hunger Games.
Everything faded after that. Not only was she a different person when she returned to District 5 after the Games, but her entire path in life was irreparably altered.
She was eighteen when she was Reaped, and at that age, she should have taken her final tests and examinations that would allow her to apply for jobs. But when she returned home, she was far too swept up in the horrors that she had witnessed to focus on anything else. Her studies were left to the wayside. She no longer felt qualified to apply for that pristine job at the Grid, even though she had scored higher than her friends on all the preliminary exams – friends that she ended up losing.
One by one, they stopped coming around to see her. Maybe they were frightened at the alteration in her personality or the darkness in her eyes. Maybe they were just driven away by the rumors that began to creep through the district after Elara's parents died and she began to go to the Capitol more often.
No one wanted to associate themselves with the resident whore.
It got better, of course. After a few years, the rumors began to die down. Her strange lifestyle became a normal facet of life, and even though people still suspected that not everything was as it seemed, they didn't question her anymore. They didn't really do anything, for that matter. Like a ghost, Elara bled back into the seams of District 5 and stayed there, resurfacing only when it was time to polish off her image and step up as a mentor for the latest batch of tributes. And, if any of the citizens blamed her for not succeeding in bringing their children home, well…Elara didn't notice and wouldn't have cared anyway. She blamed herself enough.
The rain hits the window harder, and a heavy gust of wind shakes the glass in their panes. She tips her head back and sighs, pressing her forehead against the cold window. Her breath fogs it over.
These days, she isn't concerned with what the people of her district have to say about her monthly visits to the Capitol. She hardly thinks twice about her transformation into Elara Winston, Victor and celebrity. She doesn't bat an eye at the way she is one person when she steps on that train, and an entirely different one when she steps off of it. The Capitol feeds off weakness. She tries her best to shed her own whenever she is forced to visit the sleepless streets.
There is one weakness, though, that isn't so easy to shed. It comes in a form that also feels like strength, and is therefore rather difficult to define because she never knows which is which.
She scoffs to herself and says to the empty house, "I miss him."
And then, smiling sarcastically, she stretches her legs out over the window seat and turns her eyes from the rain to instead look upon the living room. She doesn't know if imagining him here in this room is a facet of her latest weakness or not, but either way, she can't stop herself.
He would hate District 5. It rains too much, and the cold winters are too different from the constant heat of him home to impress him. She can't picture him in District 5 anymore than she can picture herself in District 1, but it doesn't stop her from trying every once in a while when her weakness overmasters her.
Sometimes when she wakes up she thinks she feels his arms around her even though she knows he's not here with her. He is a phantom even now, lingering in the periphery of her vision like a stubborn ghost who won't leave her be. The worst part about it is that she doesn't even want him to.
Sometimes she imagines what it would be like to live with him and never have to say goodbye. What it might be like to have slow mornings every day, to make breakfast together and have silly, boring small talk about what their plans are. They've never had such an inane conversation before, unless she counts the times when they've gone over their Capitol schedules and what sort of horrors await them for the day. She doesn't think it's quite the same.
Sometimes, when she's feeling bored enough to wonder, she questions her feelings for him and asks herself if she can't feel that way about someone else, instead. It would be so much easier to be in love with someone else. She would have such a lovely, normal life. Maybe she could fall for a scientist who she could have intellectual conversations with over coffee down by the run-down café on main street. Maybe he wouldn't mind how scarred she is from her Games, or that she sleeps with a knife under her pillow because it's the only way she feels protected against the nightmares that make her scream and relive those horrors over and over again. Maybe he wouldn't mind that she goes to the Capitol every few weeks to have sex with other men, and that there's absolutely nothing he can do about it unless he wants to die a painful death at President Snow's hand. Maybe he wouldn't care that she's got a younger sister to look after because her parents were killed by that very same president.
Elara laughs to herself. Her mouth shifts into a sarcastic smile. If such a man exists in District 5, she would be utterly shocked. It's a little amusing, then, to think that she already has a man like that.
Sort of. At least, she has as much of Gloss as she can have, given the circumstances. Gloss doesn't judge her for any of that, because –
He sleeps with a knife under his pillow too. He is sometimes forced to have sex with strangers. His parents were killed by President Snow as well. He also has a sister to look out for.
God, their lives are both so messed up. It's hardly a wonder that they've ended up being messed up together.
But it's true. No one could possibly understand her life unless they've also lived it. Her personal demons are uniquely terrifying, unless one has had a taste of those terrors for themselves and isn't afraid to face them head on.
And Gloss, well, he's never afraid of anything. At least, he never shies away from the fear that he surely feels sometimes, every once in a while when he can't hold it back.
Elara turns her gaze back to the rain outside. Her heart shakes every time a droplet crashes into the window like a miniature tempest. She sighs, and it's a heavy sound.
She misses him so much.
They have a busy schedule for the rest of the day. Training ends an hour early today in order to accommodate the inclusion of the private sessions. After those, the interviews have to be prepared for. They'll barely have any time to themselves until later tonight, and with the Games starting tomorrow, that isn't exactly something to look forward to.
At the end of training, the Victors all file into a room off to the side and sit down on one of the long benches. Elara pauses for a moment, looking after Harley as he goes to join Chaff and Seeder. She wonders if she should have made more of an effort to ally with him. He is, after all, her district partner – a small piece of home in this faraway place. But it is far too late for such thoughts now, and Elara instead turns to sit down next to Johanna and Cashmere. One of them sends her a nod of acknowledgement, and the other just stares ahead and ignores her entirely. On Cashmere's other side, Gloss sends Elara a look and she purses her lips at him.
"How does it feel to be first in line?" Elara wonders after a long moment, staring straight ahead too and crossing her legs.
Cashmere turns her head to glance at her, and mutters, "I know exactly what I'm going to do. I'm glad to get it over with."
Elara nods, pleased that Cashmere isn't ignoring her to the point of not answering her question. The last time they'd spoken only a day before, Cashmere had been angry, but she had left the conversation looking far more mollified than she had going into it. Elara can only assume that the woman has had too much time to think about all the reasons why this plan is dangerous. She probably tossed and turned all night while those thoughts ate away at her, which would explain the clipped tone in her voice.
Gloss had said that she'll come around before they enter the arena. Elara knows he's right. He usually is, concerning Cashmere.
When her name is called several minutes later, Cashmere stands up with blazing eyes and marches through the doors without a backwards glance. When she leaves, Gloss slides over to fill her spot beside Elara, swinging an arm up over the back of the bench.
Elara glances over at him, and he shrugs, "She'll come around, trust me."
She sighs and mutters, "…I do trust you, and it definitely gets me into plenty of trouble."
He chuckles and quietly murmurs, "I might say the same about you, Winston."
She throws him a look that is playfully edged, because she knows that the importance of his words goes far beyond the types of trouble that they've gotten into, but rather how much they trust each other.
Beside her, Johanna groans and mutters, "Just one moment where you two aren't trying to get into each other's pants – that's all I ask."
Gloss snickers. Elara elbows him.
"What are you gonna do, Johanna? Throw a couple of axes at the Gamemakers?" Gloss snarks, leaning forward so that he can look at her around Elara. Johanna throws him a dirty look that only seems to make him more amused, and snorts.
Johanna and Gloss's acquaintanceship has never been easy, to say the least. But then, Johanna isn't an easy person to be friends with.
"Too bad you weren't gonna be in there too, Augustine. I might use your head as my target," Johanna grumbles, crossing her arms. Elara bites back a laugh at their quips and leans back on the bench, shifting into a more comfortable position. Minutes pass by. They fall into silence until Gloss's name is called about ten minutes later. He sighs and stands up.
"Good luck," Elara tells him, and he winks at her.
"See you after," is all he says in response, and glances at Johanna with a smirking, "Johanna."
She sends him an edged look as he strides away for the doors, and when he disappears behind them, turns to Elara with an exasperated look in her eyes. Elara pretends not to know why her friend appears so ruffled; she knows better than most the effect that Gloss has on people, when he's in the right mood.
"After all these years, I still don't get it," Johanna tells her, glancing around the room. Finnick and Mags are nearby, talking silently in the manner that they often do – hands waving and lips shifting soundlessly. Some groups are louder than others. Chaff and Seeder are, as always, joking around with Woof and Harley. Some are silent as the grave, like the morphlings who idly wait in the corner and Katniss and Peeta, who sit side by side several benches away, stoic and expressionless.
Elara shrugs, tilting her head back to stare up at the ceiling with a blasé expression. "Trust me, I don't get it either," she tells Johanna with a wry smile. "…He definitely isn't the type of man I thought I'd…you know."
Johanna throws her an insipid glower and supplies, "Turn into an idiot for?"
Elara rolls her eyes, but then admits, "Yes," a moment later. It's true, after all.
With a snort, Johanna mutters, "So what are your plans then? Are you joining up with the Careers, or are you gonna be smart about this and stick with us?"
The question is one that Elara's been meaning to bring to attention. Her and Johanna, and Finnick too, have briefly spoken about Elara's plans in the grand scheme of the rebellion, but nothing has been set in stone. And while this isn't an ideal place to talk about rebellions, they can certainly talk about it as long as they're careful with the words that they choose.
"…We've agreed that it's best if I stick with you," Elara responds slowly, chewing over her words.
Johanna shoots her a sharp glance and raises an eyebrow. "You're splitting up then?"
She doesn't sound surprised, but that doesn't mean she isn't. The extent of Johanna's emotional capacity seems to go as far as anger and bitterness and then falls short. Not that Elara judges her for it. Johanna has lost everything to the Capitol – her life, her family, her will – and if anything, Elara thinks that her strength is her finest attribute, even though Johanna often hides said strength behind biting words.
It's clear that she's at least a little surprised though, when Elara turns to catch her eye. She sees it there behind the muddy brown of her gaze.
With a sigh, Elara says beneath her breath, "Him and Cash are gonna try to meet up with us before the end. Gloss thought it would look suspicious if the Career pack split up."
At this, Johanna hums dryly and answers, "It would." She pauses, then adds, "…You'd better say your goodbyes before we go in. There's no telling what will happen. Even the best laid plans can turn to shit."
Even though it pains her to agree, Elara nods and whispers, "I know. We both do."
They fall into a depressing silence as more names are called and more Victors leave the room. After a while, Elara turns to Johanna and elbows her, "I'm glad we're going in together though. Your sarcasm will make everything feel so much better."
Johanna gives her a glowering look that makes Elara chuckle.
"I don't know why we're friends," is all she says. But, after a beat of silence, Johanna adds, "Good luck. You're crap at fighting, so you'll need it."
Elara snorts. She doesn't argue though. She knows only too well that she isn't a fighter. She can't heave an axe like Johanna or throw a trident like Finnick, and she isn't anywhere near as versatile as Gloss and Cashmere when it comes to the multitude of weapons that they can use. But…well, she isn't totally useless. At least, she doesn't think she is. The Gamemakers will decide if her talents are strong or weak.
"…You too," Elara says to Johanna when she hears her name called over the intercom. With a sigh, Elara stands up and gives her a brief nod, glancing around the room one last time. Finnick catches her eye and sends her wink, and Mags grins. She smiles back at them before turning and walking to the doors, heart hammering in her chest and palms clammy.
As she walks through the door, she feels as though every single fear she's ever had is crawling its way up her throat. She feels faint and nauseous when she steps up to the Gamemakers and clears her throat. She's immensely proud when her voice doesn't shake.
"Elara Winston, District 5," she says in a surprisingly clear voice. How she manages it, she'll never know.
Her eyes dart around the room, looking at the various weapons that are available for the tributes. Above her, Plutarch Heavensbee says, "You may begin, Miss Winston."
Her eyes dart back to him and he sends her a quiet little smile that makes her clear her throat again. Haymitch had mentioned that Heavensbee had a large role in the plan to break out of the arena. It's strange being in front of him though, knowing that he is actually a rebel and that he's orchestrating the Games so that they might all survive to fight the Capitol. It's dizzying, really, but Elara doesn't have time to ponder such a delicate subject right now. She only has a limited amount of time to show her skill, after all.
She takes a quick walk around the room and very nearly drops in relief when she sees the coil of wire sitting idly on the far table. Sending up a silent prayer, she walks to it and tests the gauge. It's thick, but light. Perfect.
It takes her nearly all the time she has to set everything up, even working as quickly as she does. Her fingers fly over the wire, twisting it into intertwining pieces, connecting them together in ways that she had learned back in school. All of her classes come back to her now. It's almost invigorating. She rarely has the chance to utilize such knowledge and she revels in it to such an extent that her nervousness begins to drop away with every addition she makes to her homemade tech.
The Gamemakers soon grow bored with watching her. The more time it takes her to prepare, the less interest they seem to have. They turn to chat with each other, idling the minutes away as if they've written her off entirely. Only Plutarch keeps a watchful eye on her, curiously studying each intricate twist of her hands as she crouches in front of the strange contraption she's building.
Of course, by the time her ten minutes roll by, it becomes rather clear that ignoring Elara Winston is not as easy as the Gamemakers had thought.
She snips off a few wires, unscrews the panel of a nearby outlet to shove them into the electrical socket, then steps back. She crosses the room with quick, sure steps, stopping only when she reaches the other end. And then she crosses her arms and waits.
The Gamemakers are baffled.
She sees them eye her, talking to each other behind the forcefield as if they think she's lost her mind. After all, from their perspective, she's just wasted her allotted time by playing with wire. She doesn't have to wait very long to change that perspective though.
The contraption starts shuddering in the corner. The electrical current that is running through it, now that it's been connected to the outlet, is quickly overriding the capacity that the wire has. This particular wire can only take so much current before it shatters – something that she is banking on.
She waits with baited breath, hoping that this works. It's been a long time since she's built one of these in a student lab back home.
But – it does, exceptionally so. It works so well that nearly all the Gamemakers jump up in shock when the rattling contraption starts smoking. No one can predict the way it suddenly explodes, metal parts ricocheting into the walls with a vengeance. The noise travels throughout the room, echoing loudly as it leaves a smoky shadow on the wall.
The Gamemakers turn to gape at her.
Elara Winston has just built a bomb, and they don't know whether she's insanely dangerous or a total idiot. She doesn't really care anymore though.
With a smirk, she takes a dramatic bow and turns to leave. As she does, she calls back, "You might want to get a fire extinguisher before that thing catches fire."
She doesn't linger to watch the Gamemakers run around heeding her words, though she is quietly amused at the panicked way they chatter behind the forcefield, bickering back and forth and waving their hands in earnest.
She chuckles to herself as she heads to the elevator, rolling her shoulders. For the first time since the Reaping, she feels as though she might actually have a chance, and that is a very good feeling indeed.
The training scores air later that evening, and Elara is shocked when she sees her score. Gloss gets a ten and so does she. Back during her first Games, she'd scored a five, but back then, she hadn't made a bomb and detonated it in front of a group of Gamemakers.
"What the hell did you do?" Gloss asks her later that night when they meet on the rooftop. He looks bewildered. She tries not to take offense. This is Gloss, after all, and he's a trained killer who knows his way around a blade. She is certainly not on the same level as he is, so the fact that she managed to go toe to toe with his training score has surely baffled him for hours. She can already picture his perplexed expression as he had watched the screen and saw her score come up beside her picture. With a smirk, she leans against the railing and shrugs.
He gives her an insistent look that screams his impatience, and she chuckles, "I made something."
She can't help but drag this out. She so rarely beats Gloss at his own game, after all.
He crowds near her, pressing into her back and caging her against the railing. "Tell me," he demands, and slides his hand around her waist.
Elara smirks wider. As way of explanation, she murmurs, "Back in school, we went to the lab one day and one of my teachers taught us how to make a bomb out of simple materials."
Gloss freezes as her words sink into him. He leans around her to give her a look, brows furrowed, eyes piercing, and hisses, "You blew up a bomb in front of Gamemakers? Are you insane?"
Elara gives him a wry smile. "Don't you know how insane I am by now?"
For a long moment, he just stares at her with those fierce eyes, and then he scoffs and mutters, "…Yes, but you hide it well most days."
She laughs.
Laying his chin on her shoulder, Gloss muses, "So you know how to make bombs. I didn't know that."
She hums, leaning back against him and enjoying the warmth of his hands around her body. He brings her closer as she surrenders her weight to his, and into the night sky, she tells him, "It's quite simple, really, if you know what you're doing."
He thumbs over her hip and lowly murmurs, "…Is it weird that I think that's kind of sexy?"
At his words, Elara snorts in amusement and turns her head to look up at him. His eyes flash down at her and she smirks.
"You think everything is sexy, Gloss," she tells him, in a tone that makes it seem like she pities him for it. In fact, she feels quite the opposite, and he knows it.
He smiles predatorily and says, "Everything you do, maybe. It's frankly annoying at this point."
She raises her eyebrows. "Annoying?" she asks, not sure she follows where he's going with this.
But he merely chuckles lowly and leans in to press his mouth to hers, kissing her slow and steady before drawling, "Yes, annoying. I want to have you all the time. Every time I see you, I want to bend you over and claim you. I think I'll want you till the day I die, Winston."
Shivers roils through her at the mental image that his words paint, as well as the way her name sounds in the dulcet tones of his voice. He only uses her surname when he's teasing her or when he wants her very badly. She has a feeling she knows which of the two is the reason for its usage now.
She turns in his arms and lets him draw her closer, leaning in to kiss him. He sinks into her kiss with a groan and shucks his hands beneath her shirt, palming the bare skin of her waist with a throaty chuckle.
"Wildcat," he calls her, and then winces when she proceeds to bite his bottom lip in retribution. Glowering, he pulls back.
But Elara Winston only smiles slowly at him and reaches down to grasp his hand and pulling him towards the shadows on the other side of the rooftop. And Gloss – well, he has an unhealthy aptitude for letting her get him into trouble. He follows only too eagerly, and relishes in every way she proceeds to prove her wildness to him.