Song Suggestion: Sóley- Pretty Face

Edited: 1/28/2022

Drown Slow, Darling

Later that Day

Prim sat at the dinner table pushing her peas around with her fork. There was so much food: apples, pumpkin tarts, vegetables, and meat—oh glorious meat—three types of it, turkey, ham, and beef, cooked succulently in butter.

"You need to eat," Cato told her.

But though Prim's mouth watered, not a bite made its way down her throat.

It didn't help the conversation was rather stilted and awkward with the only dinner guests being Cato, Prim, and his daughter.

She was a tiny thing with bright red hair which bounced into violent curls that rose from her head, as if conducting electricity. Her bright blue eyes—her father's eyes—gazed out from an open face with a wide mouth.

Three years old, she had told Prim, holding up pudgy, stained fingers proudly when Cato introduced them. Prim didn't understand about half the stuff that came from her mouth because she jumped from idea to idea so quickly, she didn't care to finish the first thought.

Coral told her about her stuffed animal, Mr. Lumpkins, and her pink bedroom (her favorite color, she said three times) until Cato told her to be quiet. And she did. For the rest of the dinner, she sat with her hands in her lap, staring at the ground. Her brilliant smile extinguished.

He must do that often.

So here she sat: a kidnapped dinner guest sitting between a monster and his sad child.

"Can I go?" It was the first words little Coral spoke since she stopped.

Cato cleared his throat, considering her, as if he had forgotten about his offspring.

"Yes, you may."

The little girl swung her legs down, patted her mouth with the napkin, and all but ran, slamming the door behind her.

"Still terrorizing children, I see."

Cato's head snapped up with a sharp glare.

"Coral needs to learn to be quiet."

"She's three. You're in your twenties and can't seem to get the grasp of it."

The pain in the little girl's eyes brought out something in her, something not nice. It almost made her brave.

"Careful now."

Almost brave, but not quite. Fear won out again, and Prim stamped down her brief spark.

He glanced back down to her plate.

"You need to eat."

"Why do you care?"

"A guest should always eat at a host's table."

"I thought guests were willing visitors. I'm not sure the same rules apply if the person is forced."

"An unwilling guest should be more concerned about insulting the host than the willing."

Prim sighed. She was tired.

"Can I be excused?"

Cato gripped his utensils in his fingers until his knuckles turned white. He glanced out the window off the dining room, staring into the mountains.

What did he want from her? Was it the wrong thing to say? Regardless, she couldn't spend another moment in his presence. He must know how much she loathed him.

"Only if you eat your food."

"It's not poisoned, is it?"

Cato looked insulted.

"What would be the fucking point of that?"

True. He seemed to enjoy blood and gore, excelling in creative slaughter. When he finally got around to killing her, it would be more inventive than poison.

Fine, she'd eat. What could it hurt?

Prim stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork and brought it up to her lips. The meat stuck to her mouth like glue and slid down her throat without taste. She put her fork down, unable to eat anymore.

"Happy?" She asked.

He glanced at her plate and scowled but gave a little nod in acknowledgement.

"You may go anywhere in this house you'd like. Take a step outside and you'll wish you hadn't. Oh, and my study is off limits."

Like she would ever want to go in his study. Prim took it as her cue to go.

An Hour Later

Prim wandered the house, trying to find a suitable place to sleep. She lost count of the bedrooms and bathrooms, each a theme by color. The red room had a four-poster bed in the center with heavy drapes. The green room had a bright lacquered desk in the corner, with emerald pillows on the bed and a white linen bedspread which looked like powdered snow. The black room had much the same and so on. About the sixth room she visited, it occurred to her that no one lived here except him and his daughter.

"What's the point to having so many rooms if they aren't going to be used?" To her mind, coming from absolute poverty, it was almost sinful.

Then she found it—the perfect room. Billowy white curtains framed a small patio, overlooking the bubbling stream with a perfect view of the largest of mountains. Snow covered nearly every inch, and the scent of pine drifted into the room. She leaned down and sniffed the sheets, pale and soft. They smelled like cedar, a sharp scent that reminded her of the times spent hunting in the woods. The entire room was white, but instead of being clinical, it was almost warm, soothing. The white was layered with creams and a shade of linen and light wood. Earthy and grounding.

She almost threw herself on the bed when a tiny voice interrupted her brief sense of peace.

"You in big trouble." She turned to find the girl with a finger in her mouth, a bad habit for a three-year-old.

"What for?" Prim placed her hands on her hips.

"It daddy's room."

That surprised Prim. She had expected his room to be dark and broody. A theme of black or brown. Her fear came back, despite her curiosity.

"You're right. How about you show me a room I can stay in."

Coral pursed her lips in an endearing pout, thinking. Then her face brightened. Her breath came in lurches, and she bounced as she walked.

"I know! I know!"

Coral led her to a room right next door. Prim tried to stop her.

"I'm not sure I want to be right next to…"

She opened the door to a nauseating bombardment of pink. It looked like a rainbow vomited. Fluffy animals filled both beds and lined several shelves. A miniature house was in the corner, outfitted to look exactly like the log cabin but miniaturized. The only difference was there was a full family of dolls: a mother, a father, and about ten children of varying ages.

The girl walked into her room and pointed to the extra bed.

"You stay with me?" She paused for the answer.

Prim recognized loneliness when she saw it. Where were the other children to play with? Prim hadn't seen anyone beyond the servants, who kept their distance, probably on Cato's orders. The only good thing to say about District 12 was the amount of children to play with. Prim had never been lonely in her life; she almost didn't understand it.

Where was Coral's mother?

The scope of Coral's solitude was hard to wrap her brain around, and cruel bedsides. An anger washed over Prim, more intense than the anger for herself. Cato didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve to oversee a life so innocent.

Prim never let any creature suffer, least of all a little girl with adorable curls and a sweet smile.

"Of course, I will."

Coral rushed at Prim and attached her arms around her legs. Prim patted her head as the little girl she squealed and smiled.

"You came. I wish for you."

"Wished for me?"

"Yes. On stars. I ask them to bring me a new mommy."

"A new mommy?" Prim's heart clenched, unsure how to contradict her.

"Yes. Daddy say he find me one."

The Next Morning

The next morning, while investigating her new space in a spurt of boredom, she opened a closet in Coral's room, expecting to find clothes or toys, or whatever a three-year-old required.

She certainly hadn't expected to find clothes her size.

Exactly her size.

She pressed an outfit to her body to see. It was green and silky and beautiful, with a low neckline. It hit the right height on her ankles and made a lovely swishing sound. It made her cotton dress look exactly what it was: old, patched, worn, faded, and ugly. If it didn't have such horrible implications, she would love it. But given the situation, she'd burn it before she wore it.

She shoved it back into the closet. Looking at the clothes made her appreciate her old dress. It reminded her of home; it reminded her of her mother. A sick feeling twisted her gut, thinking about her. Was she being fed and taken care of properly? She breathed out her nose to calm herself down.

Of course, she was, she told herself, Gale wouldn't let my mother just waste away, would he? Of course, he wouldn't… if not for me, then for Katniss.

She forced herself to stop thinking of home. Not now. Not when she needed to be strong. She needed to focus on her predicament.

At the moment, she wasn't exactly sure what she was feeling. It wavered between horror and disgust.

Somehow, and she wasn't keen on the how, Cato knew her clothing size. Not only did he know it, but he knew it in enough time in advance to order clothes and have them made.

Three Weeks Later

"Oh no, you sick! I give you shot."

Prim played her part, lying down next to three of Coral's stuffed animals—Mr. Lumpkins, Cherry Blossom, and Bear Bear—on the cold surface of the dining room table. Or in play world, the gurney.

Coral bit her little lip in contained excitement.

Prim gave an exaggerated wince of pain when the fake syringe pressed against her upper arm. Shortly after, Coral pushed a plastic thermometer in her mouth. Coral waited three second but then couldn't contain herself.

"All better?"

Prim popped up, grabbing the little girl up into the air and tickling her sides until she squealed.

"Better enough to eat you up!" Prim placed the little feet on the ground, and she took off into the other rooms to go hide. She screamed the whole way. Prim gave a small chuckle and leaned against the table. There was no hurry. Coral was an abysmal hider. More often than not, she was either half-sticking out from under the bed, or she giggled as Prim entered the room.

Cold hands touched her exposed shoulders.

Prim reacted like a cat, bouncing out of the grasp and across the room in a matter of seconds.

Cato stood in front of the window, brilliant light surrounding him. He wore a loose top without sleeves, allowing his biceps and triceps to bulge and roll with movement. His face was unreadable. A smirk lifted his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"When you're tired of playing monster, I could show you a real one."

Cato walked closer until he stood before her, placing both hands against the wall on either side of his head. Before he could do anything else, a sharp, sterling-silver steak knife pushed against the solid wall of his abdomen. She stole it from her plate six days ago, when the anxiety of him returning became unbearable.

The threat of a knife only earned a smile which showed his teeth. They glinted like fangs in the light of the chandelier. She thought the amusement now reached his eyes.

One hand dropped, brushing against the fabric of her dress along the curve of her hip. She tried to ignore the sensation of fire.

"I see you've anticipated my homecoming." He looked down at the knife, and at his hand which wavered now near her thigh. "And I also see you haven't changed out of that filthy dress. Have you even washed it? Are the rats in district 12 afraid of water? You're not in a sewer anymore, sweetheart, so it's time you stopped dressing like something I'd throw in the trash."

She desperately tried to control her embarrassment. She wasn't used to being insulted.

It had been three weeks. Three damn weeks since had dropped her off at his house and left, with only a sad little girl for company. Not that she wanted to see him, but she really wanted to understand some things.

"Why go through the trouble of kidnapping me, only to leave me alone?"

He tilted his head to the side before answering her.

"Miss me, darling?"

God, she hated it when he used pet names for her, as if he was intimate with her.

"Hardly."

Did he feel the poison in her voice? She hoped it paralyzed him.

But threats were laughable in the midst of a person used to facing steel and blood. He tugged the knife from her hands in a flash and flung it across the room. It made a thud into the middle of picture, puncturing the eye of the stately painted man.

"Why did I take you?" He leaned forward, grabbing under her thighs and pulling them up and on the side of his own. She tried to struggle backwards, but the wall prevented it. His lips hovered over her own. She felt his warm breath. "Because I can... because your life has been mine for years. And because I fucking deserve something."

"You have everything."

Prim glanced around at the gold-rimmed dishes and the grandfather clock in the corner, giving a slow tick-tock, the chandelier dripping with crystals. If he had died instead of her sister, it might have been hers.

"Everything?" He tilted his head, eyes examining her mouth. "Almost."

He lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers, leaving her unable to breathe, unable to think with the pressure. She tried to stop him. Her fingers scratched against his cheeks, but the violence only made him groan. He bit her bottom lip, forcing her to open for him, and then she drowned.

She heard him curse into her mouth.

He pulled away seconds, maybe minutes later. She lost track of the darkness he pulled her into. She struggled to make sense of reality. Her world was water, fluid and floating unable to be settled with words or emotions. As the world rearranged, a deep disgust draped her in its ugly cloth. She fought him, yes. But... But...

How could she have enjoyed that?

What if Katniss could see her? The thought made her go rigid.

Their foreheads rested together, and they both panted.

"Get off me."

"You seemed to not mind a moment ago."

Prim wanted to cry, because he was right. She wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn't leave her lips. She hated him. She hated him. She hated him! Why was he doing this to her? He was supposed to kill her. She wished he would. It was better than the waiting.

"Just kill me… please, just kill me."

"I think it would be more of a challenge to make you love me. But perhaps I will kill you someday."

"No one loves you."

He smirked again. "Coral does. She tells me so ten times every day."

"Give it time. With how you treat her, she'll hate you soon too."

Prim felt the cruelty of her words. Cato looked like she had smacked him across the face. Cato released her, and she leaned against the wall for support for her legs still felt shaky and unsteady.

"Get out of my presence." His voice was steel. She felt the imaginary knife against her throat.

Prim wasted no time and ran.