Again, I don't own the Hunger Games, but I do own this story and the original characters.

Chapter 10

Four hours later, I return back to my new apartment with two large suitcases of clothes and other personal items that I didn't trust to stay at home. I feel better, but I wasn't sure how long that was going to last, given that the Opening Ceremonies started tomorrow. I need to familiarize myself with the tributes and unpack. Now, that I was here at my new place the loneliness starts to set in.

I exit the elevator and walk down the hall with my two suitcases rolling behind me. I still have to figure out what I am going to eat for dinner. This is a new responsibility that I wasn't used to having. As I come in the door, my mother is standing in the kitchen with my grandmother and my stylist, Regan. Several bouquets of flowers and gifts sit on the counter. There is also a small computer and phone. They do not look familiar and probably somehow related to my job. Gamemaker essentials.

"There you are," My mother says. "We need to go over what you're wearing tomorrow."

"Mother," I start…

"And Graham, who I assume is going to be your date?"

My mood instantly sours. Fuck him. I don't want to look at my phone. I don't want to know how many messages he's left me calling me a killer. His response is the complete opposite of what I expected from him. Though, I guess I can't blame him. Yet that gives him no excuse for being a douche about it. It's not like I want the job.

"Graham? He's not going," I answer. "I don't… I might go with Dimitri. I haven't…I haven't asked him yet. He'll probably say no."

My mother and Regan exchange glances. My mother opens her mouth to say something.

"I could ask Emily," I offer. "Maybe I shouldn't ask Dimitri. That would be too weird." I walk away from them and sit down at the piano. I play a major chord. "He brought me a bottle of wine and he asked who I was going with and I said no one," I say to no one in particular.

"I thought you and Graham were doing okay," Regan said.

"Yeah, well, funny how things change," I mutter. I play a jarring minor chord. A German 6th.

"Well, this is what I had in mind for tomorrow night," Regan hands me a sketch. "It'll definitely turn some heads. It'll remind Graham of what he's losing."

I turn on the lamp beside my piano and look at it. The dress she has in mind is a one shouldered chiffon navy dress. It has a long slit that stops mid-thigh. It has a sparkly pin on the shoulder. The back is open except for two pieces of beaded fabric that criss cross across the shoulders. It is very sexy and not overdone like most Capitol fashions. "I like it."

"We want to portray you as different," Regan says. "Classy."

"Young," My grandmother adds. "Not like them."

I nod. This being 'not like the others' seems to be an ongoing trend. One of these things is not like the other, but still is because I am a Gamemaker. Even though I claim to be different, I'm still one of them.

My doorbell rings. My heart sinks. A part of me is afraid that it's Graham. That would be impossible though. He doesn't know that I live here, and I'm sure my mother would be the last person to tell him where I live, seeing that she hates him anyway. My mother comes back from the door carrying a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate. "These are from Plutarch. He sent an Avox. Another issue…"

"I don't want one," I say. I want to be completely on my own. Cleaning does not bother me. Having someone wait on me does. It always has. More so in the last couple of days.

"It wouldn't do," My mother begins.

"No one's coming here except for me," I say. "And Mother, while I appreciate all you've done here, I am ready to be on my own."

"That means no visiting and coming in unannounced," my grandmother adds.

My mother looks a little surprised at this demand from my grandmother, but to my relief she agrees. "Yes, being a Gamemaker is very stressful. I got you something to help combat the stress and loneliness." She disappears into my bedroom.

"Well, that's it for me," Regan says, "See you tomorrow."

My mother comes back carrying a carrier. Inside there is mewing. She sets it on the ground and motions me to open it. From inside, two fluffy kittens tumble from it. One of them is orange and white, and the other completely orange tiger stripe. I pick up the orange one and cuddle it. It immediately starts purring loudly.

"They're so cute!" I exclaim.

My mother sits down on the floor beside me in her heels. "One year, one the Gamemakers had kittens and somehow it made things easier," She chuckled. "There were several of us who came over and played with them after our shift. They aren't purebred though."

"That doesn't matter to me." I say. "Now I have to go buy them some new toys."

"The orange and white one is a little girl and the entirely orange on is a little boy. They're siblings."

I give my mother a hug. "Thank you, Mother. They're perfect."

We play with them a while before my mother says she has to go. She sighs. "I know what I did wasn't ideal, but it's for the best. I have to meet a friend for dinner." She kisses me on the forehead. "Take care."

"Mother," I ask timidly. "They gave me all the information about each tribute. What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Read it and take notes. Pretend it's a class."

A class where you take notes and your subjects get killed by each other and possibly you. A class in which those who supposedly love you point fingers at you and tell you you're a killer. My mother stands up and straightens her skirt. Suddenly, she isn't my mother any more, she is Vivian Hyde, socialite. She hugs me again. I don't pull away. Then she leaves and it is just my grandmother and I.

"I thought maybe we could make dinner in your place tonight," my grandmother says.

I don't want to be alone just yet. "Would you like to stay the night? I've got a guest bed."

She chuckles. "No, I don't think so. You'll have to face the loneliness sometime."

"Plus you have to be out this way tomorrow. It's the start of the Hunger Games."

My grandmother makes a face. The victors are strongly encouraged to attend both the Opening Ceremonies and the parties before and after. The only ones really excused are those who are ill or unable to travel. I've been to a few parties with my grandmother. I remember the pain in her eyes as she meets other victors and talk about their tributes. It's the same every year, who's died, who's lost their mind.

"How do you feel about chicken pot pie for dinner? I know it's not winter, but we both need some comfort food," she asks.

"Grandmother, do you hate me now because I'm a Gamemaker?"

"Of course not, darling," she says. She comes and sits beside me on the couch. "You did not bring these Games into being. Being on this council was certainly not your choice, and if anything a strategy move by your mother."

I feel my heart sink. This is what I was afraid of. It's a ploy. I come from a family of Gamemakers, so why not? It must hurt that her son is one too. Despite the words that come out of her mouth, she has a deep-seeded hate for the Hunger Games and all that it stands for. It robbed her of a normal life, and gave her terrible nightmares for the rest of her life. She sleeps with the lights on at night and clutching a knife. The orange and white kitten plays with the fringe on the carpet. The orange one is curled up in my lap.

"Don't let your mother's political moves distract you from doing your job," she continues. "Get to know your fellow Gamemakers and make your own allies. There's got to be more to them, than what meets the eye."

"Mother's worked with them for many years. She mentored Dimitri. He said so today during the meeting."

"Tell me about this Dimitri. I only met him briefly."

I tell her about the push for him to mentor me because he was near my age, also his familiarity with old patriotic songs, and his status as a victor and his tears at the Cornucopia.

She sits for a moment and then catches the female kitten who is trying to climb the couch. "I don't remember his Games. I've seen so many." She is silent for a minute. "I think his was the year where it was set in a rainforest and there were man-eating fish. Surely, you have access to past Games. I'm sure you do. Find out more about him, who's company he keeps. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

"He also said I should invest in a bullet-proof vest."

"That probably wouldn't be a bad idea," She chuckles. "He would know. He's been under fire for so many things."

"What kind of things?"

She shrugs. "He's… had a very troubled past." That's all she says. I guess you don't discuss a victor's problems or what has happened to them after they fade from the spotlight. Winning the Games gives them this aura of immortality, yet, they are soon forgotten as when fresh blood shows up.

"I can't read him very well." I say. "Sometimes it seems like he's flirting with me or being really sarcastic."

"He could very well just being male."

"Graham doesn't do that." I pet the orange kitten in my lap. He is very mellow, unlike his sister, who is already beginning to show an ornery streak. I decide that I am going to name him Oliver. Then again, Graham didn't survive the Hunger Games.

"Being a victor is a complicated thing," my grandmother says, "Combine what he's doing with the trauma he's suffered, I don't blame him. He probably doesn't know how to act half of the time. You're so afraid of committing a faux pas." She chuckles. "He's probably not sure what to make of you, Vivian Hyde's daughter."

"I don't think he's afraid of me."

Oliver has gotten bored of my petting and playfully attacks his sister. We watch them wrestle. Her name is Althea.

"You should unpack some. It'll make you less uneasy." She pats my shoulder before I can protest.

"Maybe we can play some duets later?" I ask.

"That would be fun. The kitchen was supposed to come completely stocked with food, but I may have to pop out get something if you don't have it." She stands up from the couch and goes to the kitchen.

"I saw him without the garish makeup today," I say. "He's very nice looking. He's got a great smile."

"You sound almost smitten," She jokes.

"Apparently, I'm not his type. He's not into Capitol girls."

"He's probably a nice young man, just very, very broken. There are a lot of things that happen in the arena that they don't show on television," she says. "But don't feel sorry for him. That's the biggest disservice you can pay him."

"Why?" I ask.

She purses her lips and then changes the subject. This conversation is closed. "Why don't you go unpack a little? I'll make dinner and then maybe we can play some duets."

My two furballs are still wrestling in my lap and there is yowling as I move them. Althea's tiny claws dig into my hand. This seems reasonable. I nod to a few pictures are leaning up against the wall. "I can hang those up too."

"Do you have a hammer?"

"No, but Dimitri might."

I want an excuse to see him.

"You could call down and have an Avox do it?"

"Do people in the districts have them?"

My grandmother shakes her head. "They can't afford it."

"Well, the theme here is I'm supposed to be different," I say. "I am not like my mother."

She chuckles, "Well, I suppose you aren't, but most people don't like to clean house."

"I can do it," I say. "I'm perfectly capable. How hard can it be to hammer a nail into a wall?"

My grandmother is chopping an onion and my eyes are watering just standing near her.

I would be lying if I said that I am confident in being able to run my own household. I've grown up with Avoxes all my life, but Graham has made me feel guilty of having such luxuries. He never came out and said it. Well, this would be a start.

I ring Dimitri's doorbell. "It's open," he yells.

"Hi it's me," I call back as I open the door.

"Hi, 'me'. Come in."

I walk through his foyer and into his living room. Dimitri is sprawled out on his black leather couch watching television. A couple of empty bottles of beers sit on the coffee table along side a gun. He has one hand behind his head. An empty plate lies on the inn table.

He smiles sleepily. "Wasn't expecting you to take me up on my offer so soon, lonely?"

"You keep your door unlocked?"

"When I'm home. No one's going to come up here and rob me. There's too many stairs. You want a beer or some wine?"

He looks so comfortable, I hate make him move. "No thank you. What are you watching?" I nod towards the muted television.

"Some stupid movie. "Pandora and the Hooker" or some stupid shit like that. It's supposed to be funny. I don't know, I watch too many of them. It's how I spend my spare time. Have you seen this one?" He takes a swig of beer from a half-empty bottle. He's slightly drunk. "You can sit down. I don't bite, unless you're into that sort of thing."

"No, I haven't," I hesitate. "I don't normally watch television."

He adjusts his position on the couch. "So what do you do in your spare time?"

"I practice piano. I study. I help my grandmother in her garden. I used to spend time with Graham."

"You sound a little bitter about that last one."

I shrug. "No, I just realized what a waste of time it was, that's all."

"People are a waste of time, yeah, I'll give you that." He took another long drink of his beer. "I spend most of my time alone watching shitty movies."

"Is that one of your hobbies?"

"I guess I'm a bit jaded sometimes." He chuckles "Sometimes I go shooting. I like to run and go to the gym and lift weights. I have some here in what I guess is my 'spare bedroom.' It makes me feel alive. You know, the burn of your lungs and muscles as you lift and run."

"I'm not very athletic," I say.

"Damn, I was looking for a running partner." His eyes meet mine and I pull mine away.

I turn my attention to the movie. Two women are arguing soundlessly on the television. They are dyed different colors and wearing outrageous clothing. One has a bird tattooed on the side of her face.

"Sometimes I wonder what it's like to only worry about who's wearing the same shoes as you. Or who's wearing the same dress as you at a party?" He muses.

"Probably something similar to that," I gesture to the two women on the television. The one with the tattoo on her face has thrown a drink on the other's dress. "I don't think those who worry about such things have very great lives."

"I'm too drunk for this movie," Dimitri grumbles. "You sure I can't get you a beer or something?"

"Do you have a hammer?"

He raises his eyebrow. "A hammer? Like the drink?"

"There's a drink?"

"Yeah. I think it has coconut rum, peach schnapps, and 7up. I think I have the things to make it." He sits up. "You know for a Capitol girl you sure naïve about alcohol."

"No, no, no, the tool the hammer. The one you hit things with," I interrupt.

"I love how my mind goes straight to alcohol now. Before you know it, I'll be like Haymitch." He rubs his forehead. "What do you need a hammer for?"

"I'm hanging pictures."

"You mean your Avox is hanging pictures," He corrects.

"No," I say firmly. "I am."

Dimitri stretches and yawns. "I might have one lying around."

"May I use it?"

"Do you need a stud finder too?"

"I don't know what that is. Is that a drink too?"

He stands up and stretches. His fit ab muscles peek out from under his black t-shirt. Then he chuckles. "No, it's a tool. It helps you find where the wooden frames are located. If you don't nail your nail into the stud you risk the nail being unable to hold the picture. And that could be bad for both your picture and your wall. Do you have nails?"

My face begins to burn. This idea to hang pictures isn't working out too well. I completely forgot about the nails in my zealous appeal to be independent. If Dimitri has any idea that I have no idea what I'm doing, he's not giving any clues.

"I'll bring them over anyway," he says. I follow him to the closet in the foyer. He opens the door and pulls out a toolbox. After a few minutes, he has gathered all I need.

"I can do it," I insist. "Just show me how the stud finder works."

He pulls out the small yellow tool. It is about the size of his hand and has a button in the center. "To turn it on, you push button. Then you run it over the wall. When the light turn green, you've found a stud. That's where you want to put your nail."

"Sounds easy enough." It's like picking a guy up at a bar. I can do this. When the light turns green it means you found a dude.

"Famous last words," he says giving me the tools. The hammer is heavy and I almost drop it. "Since I'm your mentor, I should come supervise."

"Just because I'm from the Capitol doesn't mean I'm helpless."

Dimitri does three snaps in a z formation. "Oh, well, excuse me."

"I'll bring it back when I'm done." I hold up the hammer and stud finder.

A/n: So things are starting to heat up a little. It'll be better when the Games actually start. Right now I feel like I'm at an in between stage. I do think I am going to keep it in Carmen's point of view.

Thanks for reading. Please review!