I don't own the Hunger Games, but I do own this story and the original characters.
Chapter 15
The next morning, I wake up in my own bed and I have no idea how I got there. The sunlight is streaming in the window in such a way, which makes me believe that it is late in the day. I sit up and instantly dizzy. My head throbs. I need some morphling, or something. There is a purple hyacinth on my nightstand. The flowers are just beginning to open and their smell fills my bedroom.
There is a light tap on the door and Dimitri pokes his head in. "Oh good, you're awake."
"Where did the hyacinth come from?" I ask.
"Oh," He blushes. "It's from me. I thought you'd like it. It reminded me of you."
"How did you know purple hyacinths are my favorite flower?"
"Just a lucky guess." He disappears and then appears with a tray that holds my breakfast: scrambled eggs, toast with strawberry jam, two strips of bacon, and a glass of orange juice.
"You've been busy," I say. I am touched that he decides to bring me flowers and breakfast in bed.
"I aim to please." He winks at me.
"What time is it?" I sip my juice.
"Around eleven or so."
"Why did you let me sleep so late?"
"I tried to wake you up earlier, but you took a couple of swings at me. Around six, you bit me. It's good to know that you have some fight in you. Really, I was expecting you to roll over and stare at me with those big blue eyes of yours and sigh, 'Oh Dimitri.'" He sticks his tongue out at me as he helps me sit up in bed and stuffs a few pillows behind my back.
I roll my eyes. "In your dreams."
He sits on the bed beside me and places the tray in my lap and as he opens the small medicine bottle and dumps a few pills in his hand. "Theses should help with any pain you're having."
"It doesn't feel too bad unless I move too fast. It feels like I have a really bad hangover."
"Sounds about right," He chuckles.
"You look sleepy," I say. I reach up and stroke the side of his face with my hand. My thumb rests on the scar by his mouth. He is wearing no makeup and I can see the dark circles etched under his eyes. Freckles sprinke his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes and leans into the gesture like a cat leans into someone scratching the side of its head. My heart skips a beat as our eyes meet. "Did you sleep okay last night?"
"I don't sleep much these days." He shrugged. "I slept on your couch last night. It's not too bad."
"Why didn't you say something? I have a guest bedroom. You could have stayed in there and been comfortable."
Dimitri kisses my fingertips. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine. Just eat your food. We have to go to the training center today at two. We're on the committee that examines the tributes tokens."
"I'm impressed you know how to cook." I take a bite of my scrambled eggs.
"I had to learn to survive somehow. I almost burnt my house down a couple of times." He shook his head. "Fucking toaster. I threw the damn thing out the door I don't know how many times, and then my mentor, Aealla would call me and be like 'You know your toaster's in the front yard, right?' I would be like, 'Yeah, I know. It's in timeout right now.'"
I chuckle. "Did the bread get stuck or what happened that your toaster would start smoking?"
"It was possessed. Then one time, I tried to cook a ham to impress this girl that I was trying date at the time. That didn't turn out so well, either. Anyway, somehow it caught on fire and the smoke detector started going off. It was like hell appeared in my oven, there were flames coming out of it. I take it out of the oven, put out the fire. As I'm trying to fan the smoke away from detector and then the doorbell rings. It's her and there's this huge cloud of smoke behind me. Needless to say, that was the end of my chances with her."
"I don't believe you." I say. I imagine Dimitri wearing and apron, standing on a chair, and fanning the smoke detector with a towel. It's adorable. "I'd love to date a guy who is able to cook."
"Trust me; no one wants to be with a victor. Too much damage." He smiles sadly and looks out the window.
"No one's too damaged to be loved," I say around a mouthful of bacon.
"Can you cook?" Dimitri asks, changing the subject.
I chuckle. "I can cook a little bit. Enough to survive."
"I'm impressed that you don't have any Avoxes."
"My mother tried, you know," I say. "I'm trying to be independent, but we'll see how long I last."
He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. "I think you're doing fine."
"It really hurts that they didn't come see me last night."
"Yeah," Dimitri agrees. "Your grandmother is mentoring, but that's not an excuse. The kiddies have to go to bed sometime. I called her twice and gave her updates, but she never called me back."
My doorbell rings and Dimitri groans. "I hope to God that's not more flowers. You're living room is beginning to smell like a funeral parlor."
"Who sent me flowers?" I ask, "Besides you."
He shrugs as he leaves my room. "I assume the other Gamemakers. Finish your breakfast and we'll look at the cards."
High heels click across the floor and my mother pokes her head into my room. She is dressed in the most recent Capitol fashions. Her hair is colored a rich gold. "Hello, darling, how are you feeling?"
I am both glad to see her, but also hurt and annoyed that she didn't come sooner. Surely, she doesn't consider her social engagements to be more important than her own daughter?
"Oh you poor dear, what happened?" She asks as she sits down on my bed.
"I hit my head," I say, "During the private sessions."
She feels my head checking for fever and cups my cheek. It's all a big show. "You have a black eye. Are you sure that's what happened?"
"I'm positive Dimitri wouldn't lie to me," I say flatly. "Why didn't you check on me last night?"
"It was late when we got done. Who gave you those flowers?" She nods to the purple hyacinth beginning to bloom on my nightstand. She leans into smell them. Something inside me becomes angry. I don't want her to touch them. When she touches the things I love, they are inevitably destroyed.
"Dimitri." I say. "He said they reminded him of me."
She purses her lips, and smiles. "You know, I saw you two at the Opening Ceremonies together. Don't let his words and actions affect you too much. After all, he is a Victor."
"What's that's supposed to mean?" I growl. As far as I can tell, Dimitri is the only person that I can really rely on. My own mother flaks on me to party.
"Trust me, you may think he cares about you now, but when the Games start he'll become and entirely different person."
Dimitri stands in my doorway holding a slim vase that is filled with a single stalk filled with many purple flowers. "These are from Contessa."
"Those are pretty," I say.
"Foxglove," Dimitri answers. "They have a double meaning: insincerity and a wish for the recipient to heal from all aliments and trauma. Maybe she's not out to get you like you think. I'm running out of places to put the flowers. I can't put them on the coffee table because of the kittens."
"Let me help you," I say. I move the tray off my lap and stand. My mother tries to help me, but I push her away. Instantly, I am dizzy. After a few minutes, the stars fade. Dimitri has crossed the room and is steadying me by wrapping a concerned arm around my waist.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
"I'm fine; I just got up too fast. That's all."
"What happened that you hit your head?" She repeats. "I'm your mother, you will tell me."
I can't tell you anything without paying for it somehow.
"What happens in the private sessions, stay in the private sessions. You know this, Vivian." Dimitri's voice is firm but polite.
"Well, I am still…"
"It's not about you anymore," I say. That's how it was in my childhood. It had to be all about her.
Her eyes harden. "Just you wait. When you start having trouble, don't come crying to me. I've tried to help you, but you've just thrown it back in my face."
I roll my eyes. My mother watches us with crossed arms and an irritable scowl on her face. "Remember what I told you. I must go. I have to go get my nails done." She doesn't hug or kiss me good bye. The release I felt immediately evaporates.
He sets the vase of foxglove on my dresser. "Look, just shake it off. Don't let her ruin your day."
"You're right."
I spend the time before Dimitri and I have to go to the training center putzing around the apartment. My living room is full of flowers and smells like a funeral parlor. Flowers arrangements and bouquets cover my kitchen counter, dinning room table, and book cases. I have never received so many flowers in my life. They are all from the other Gamemakers, probably out of false concern. My mother receives flowers from many of her male suitors and they often decorated our living room. No one I've ever dated has given me flowers.
As I read the cards, I think back to last night when I fell asleep on Dimitri's chest. For the first time, since I became a Gamemaker, I felt safe. . He hasn't mentioned last night. I don't have the nerve to. What would I say? 'About that shower?' or 'Thanks, now I know what you like, I'll start wearing vanilla.' Or 'Sorry I drooled on your shirt.' He sits on the couch thumbing through a newspaper. I want to go lean against his shoulder and have his arms around me. I want him to bring back that feeling of safety my mother destroyed with her visit.
I busy myself with flipping my notes. There are countless drawings of various things my notebook. Fruit. Bones. Contessa with huge Gazonas and a large penis. A loose page falls out. On this page, there is a sketch of me. His pen strokes focus mainly on my face. In the picture I gaze straight ahead with a concentrated gaze on my face.
As I turn the pages a paper napkin falls out. 'I'm sorry I'm an asshole. You deserve better.' It's in Dimitri's handwriting.
Finally, one-thirty comes around and we make our way back down to the training center, the same place we were yesterday. The elevator flies down quickly, making me feel incredibly nauseated. I cling to Dimitri's arm. When the elevator stops it takes me a few moments to regain my balance. As we walk out of the metal doors, our fingers touch. I want so desperately to grab hold of his hand.
Stop it, I tell myself firmly, He's your mentor. Just because he's been nice to you, doesn't mean you're allowed to feel this way.
We enter a small conference room that is adjacent to where the private sessions were held yesterday. There is only a small group of us today; two women and one man that I don't recognize, Sixten, Dimitri, and I.
The tributes' district tokens lay across the table with a white index card underneath giving the tribute's name and district. Districts 1 and 2's tokens are most elaborate than most of the other districts, obviously. A diamond encrusted pendent and amethyst ring.
"The goal of the review panel is to make sure that none of the tributes' district tokens can be used as an unfair advantage in the arena." Sixten explains. "Please twist, poke and prod every nook and cranny."
The woman named Adina, Dimitri, and I are assigned Districts 7 through 12. Adina seems to be less than pleased to be working with either us. Her skin is dyed a shade of orange and she has an ornate eyebrows. She reminds me of an Oompa Loompa.
Dimitri picks up a wooden ball belonging to the male tribute from District 7. He throws it up in the air and catches it. Then he bounces it on the ground and catches it. "I think this one is okay." He hands it to me. "What do you think?"
The wooden ball is perfectly smooth under my fingertips. There are a few nicks in the finish from being dropped, but I cannot find anything wrong with the item. "Looks fine to me." Dimitri takes the token and puts it back with the card.
Adina sniffs. "Some of these tokens are absolutely pathetic." She pokes the obviously harmless necklace that has a wooden and grass charm with her pen. "How does that remind you of home? If you're going to bring a token, you should at least make it attractive."
Dimitri rolls his eyes.
"Well, you don't know that," I say, "Maybe it's a traditional sign of good luck or a family heirloom?"
"They're so barbaric in the districts," Adina purses her coral colored lips together. "When they get here, the stylists have to do so much work to even make them appear presentable. Apparently, they scrubbed at least seven layers of dirt from the tributes of District 12. The female tribute had never waxed her legs, can you imagine?"
I can only imagine what they think of us. When I spent the summers in District 8, my sister and I were always told don't let them know you're from the Capitol. Of course the children knew. We certainly weren't year round residents. We didn't look like we were starving and our hands were soft. My sister and I were regarded with suspicion and even envy. They gave us the lightest tasks to do, though secretly I think they wanted to make us suffer. We lived in luxury and eat whenever we wanted. We also had power both day and night. We had heat in the winter while they froze in the winter; Air conditioning in the summer while they baked from the heat in the factories. There were some adults who you could tell, itched to get their hands on us, to give us what they thought we deserved. Who can blame them for hating us? I even hated us.
A loud cry of surprise distracts me from my inner thoughts. One of the women holds the ring, which belongs to Glimmer from District 1. A metal spike protrudes from a ring.
"Well, it looks like we have a winner," Dimitri says flatly. He continues to examine the rest of the tokens.
I pick up the token that belongs to Thresh from District 11. It is a feather that is the length of my hand. The bottom of the feather is white then it becomes a deep red. Across the top, there is a thick band of brown. It is unlike any feather I've ever seen in the capitol. "I suppose the end could be sharpened and used as a weapon."
"That's highly unlikely," Dimitri says. "No one's going to say 'Wait, let me find my feather so I can stab you with it.' If we want to get technical, feathers back in the day were used to write with."
"There's going to be little time for writing letters," I say.
Sixten calls in a mentor from District 1. Her nametag reads that her name is Cashmere. Long blond hair flows past her shoulders. She is wearing a simple black dress, a refreshing change from the Capitol's flashy fashions. Cashmere bows gracefully.
"Is your tribute aware that when the stone on her rings is turned to the left, a spike pops out?"
Cashmere mouth forms into a small o. "I had no idea. I can assure you that my tribute had no idea. Are you sure it's my tribute's ring?"
"If her name is Glimmer, then yes, that is her ring. It is what you submitted."
"Well, someone must have replaced it because no one from…."
Sixten holds up his hand. "An explanation is not necessary. You will inform Glimmer that her token has been denied."
Cashmere walks out with huff.
"Typical explanation," Dimitri mutters so that only I can hear.
Alina holds up Katniss's token. It's a pin of a mockingjay with a ring of gold around it. "There's a question for this token as well. There is question that Katniss can use this against other tributes."
"It's a pin," Dimitri explains. "It's going to be attached to her shirt. That's what most normal people do, anyway."
"But in desperate situations," one of the women on Sixten's side says.
"Subtle is not Katniss's style," I interrupt.
"It could be laced with poison."
Dimitri points to the ring. "That ring has more of a chance to be tipped the tip of a pin that Katniss is wearing on her shirt."
"The guidelines say that the tribute shall not take any token that gives them any advantage." Adina begins.
"We could call in Haymitch," Sixten says.
"Like we'd learn much," Adina snorts. "He hardly knows which side is up anymore, if you get my drift."
"Well, if you think about it anything can be used as a weapon. A tribute could choke another one with their necklace if they wanted to," I say. "However, it seems very unlikely. Half of the time, the audiences never see the tokens unless a tribute wins and it becomes the next biggest trend."
"Also, I think we're being biased as to what happened yesterday," Sixten adds. "Katniss has proved a strong contender in these Games."
"The point on the pin is very small," A small woman with purple hair says. This is the first time she has spoken during the session. "Katniss has the ability to make an impression and does it very well, as we all found out yesterday. However, she does not strike me as someone who is resourceful enough to use a pin as a weapon. The people from the Districts…. Aren't that smart."
"I don't believe that we should deprive her of her token either," the man adds. "We've had worse try to make it into the arena." This comment gets chuckles from everyone else.
"One year, we had a tribute from District 2 try to sneak in a switchblade in what looked like a turtle token." Dimitri whispers, shaking his head.
"Any other questionable tokens?" Sixten asks.
No one brings up anything else up, and we adjourn until tomorrow. "Don't forget," Sixten reminds Dimitri and I "Be at the arena by nine. They want to look a few things over before the tributes are brought in."
Dimitri waves him off as we leave. "Yeah, we'll be there. Don't worry."
We walk in silence until we get to the elevator. Dimitri scans his badge and away we go. My thoughts are still on Thresh's feather. What kind of bird did that feather belong to? It must have been a magnificent animal. If there were two feathers and they were smaller, they would make beautiful earrings.
"How's your head?" Dimitri asks, interrupting my train of thought.
"It hurts some," I say. "Not as bad as yesterday. What are the rest of your plans for the day?"
"I have to keep my eye on you, remember?"
The elevator doors open and we are back home. Dimitri leads the way and he goes into his apartment. I hesitate, wondering if he wants me to follow him, or if he wants some time alone. I want to go lie down and sleep for a few hours. He leaves the door open behind him. I walk into his apartment. It's a lot cleaner than it was a few days. There are several bottles of hard liquor on his counter. When Dimitri drinks, he goes hard. If he's having a party, did he plan to invite me?
Dimtri disappears into his bedroom. When he appears he is wearing tight black jeans and a black t-shirt. "You can make yourself more comfortable. I don't bite, or if you want to slip into something more comfortable. I thought we could chill and watch the interviews here. Change of scenery."
"I'm really tired." I say.
"I have a bed and a couch." He crosses his arms in front of him.
"What if my grandmother comes to visit me?" I say evenly.
"Let's be honest, do you really want to see her?"
"Not particularly." The pain in my head starts to escalate. It was originally just a minor throbbing. Now it feels like someone is tap dancing on my skull. It must show in my face.
"I have some sweatpants and a t-shirt you can borrow if you don't feel like walking back over to your apartment."
"Do you have any morphling?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"No, you can't have that. Morphling depresses your respiratory system. If you have a brain injury, that can up your risk of sending you into a coma. You can't have alcohol either."
"So, I guess I'm not invited to your party?" I point to the different kinds of liquor.
He laughs and rubs my shoulder. "You're welcome over here any time you want. Like I said, my door is always open."
Suddenly, I don't want to go back to my apartment. "Can I stay here?"
"Let me find you something to wear. Do you want my bed or the couch?" He seems more comfortable now having something to do that isn't related to the Hunger Games. He decides for me. "You should have the bed. You'll be more comfortable that way."
He ushers me into his bedroom. I am surprised at the simplicity of his bedroom. The walls are painted a light steel blue, and his furniture is a dark wood. The room is surprising clean for a single man. There is a large bookcase filled with books and several different knives. My fingers itch to go see what books he has, but my head hurts too much. There's an acoustic guitar sitting beside the bookshelf.
"You play guitar?"
"I like to screw around on it sometimes, when I'm feeling creative." He shrugs.
"Maybe we can do a duet sometime?"
He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe. I'm a little out of practice though. Do you know how to play?"
"No." I sit down on his bed as Dimitri rummages through one of his drawers. He pulls out a pair of pants and a black t-shirt and tosses them to me. "They might be a little big, but these should work."
He disappears into his bathroom and comes out a few moments later with two small pills that match the ones he gave me earlier and a paper cup filled with water. "Sorry, it's not fancy."
I smile and take the two pills. He sits on the bed beside me and rubs my back. I rest my head on his shoulder. "Tomorrow the Games start," I say.
"Yes."
"I don't think I can do this."
"You don't have much of a choice," Dimitri says softly. Suddenly, he looks tired. "You should… you should change and get in bed. I'm going to lie down too, on the couch."
I gesture to the bed. "I think this bed is big enough for two people, and it is yours. If you want, I can sleep on the couch."
"Your boyfriend may not appreciate that very much."
"He's not my boyfriend anymore," I blurt out. "I haven't had worked up the nerve to tell him that yet." I look down at my hands.
"It's not fair to lead the poor bastard on," Dimitri answers. "He's a good guy…for someone else."
I raise an eyebrow. "Not Capitol enough for you, either eh?"
Dimitri lies back on the bed, stretches, and closes his eyes. "No, you need and deserve a real man."
A real man. What constitutes as one of those? All of men I've met have had an ulterior motive. Even Graham did, I guess. He was nobody from District 3, and when he dated me, that changed. He always did make snide remarks about my status. I shake my head. I don't want to think about it. Capitol men were so… fussy, much like their female counterparts.
I kick off my heels and go change my clothes in the bathroom. I'm sure Dimitri would have been perfectly fine with my changing in front of him. In fact, he probably would probably enjoy it. However, I am still trying to maintain some of my dignity. What counts as dignity here? I wonder. There is so much corruption and we dress up young adults like stars and then send them to an arena to die. Some die with no honor left, their death is for sport. I look at myself in the mirror. My black eye is still obvious. Katniss had several good reasons for wanting to shoot me, Dimitri or any of the other Gamemakers instead of whatever she aimed her arrow for.
I slip out of my dress and into my borrowed clothes. The shirt hangs loosely off my body, and I have to roll the black pants at the waist so they stay up. I put the shirt up to my face and breathe in Dimitri's scent. It is comforting and for the first time, I feel almost safe in this place. Maybe, I can pretend that Dimitri cares about me, and I'm not some prize.
"Hey sweetheart, did you fall in?"
"No."
"Do the clothes fit?"
I open the door and walk out of the bathroom, holding my arms out to the side. I still step on the hem of my pants. The crotch hangs down to my knees. "I think they need to be altered a little bit."
He grins. "Sorry I didn't have anything more your size."
The bed is already turned down. Dimitri has stripped down to only his boxers and lays on top of the goldenrod colored comforter. Late afternoon sunlight stretches across the floor. He pats the bed. "Come on, let's sleep."
"What time are the interviews?" I ask. I drape my dress over a chair. The same chair that Dimitri has thrown his clothes that he wore to today's meeting.
"Seven, seven-thirty, I think." He says. "But you know we have to watch them."
I nod. My grandmother would turn on the television, mute the volume, and not allow us, later only I, to watch anything related to the Hunger Games. Usually, when these events would take place, she would send us to our rooms. As I got older, we would turn on the television and played piano pieces that we thought suited the tributes. An anthem for the fallen. I think of my grandmother, and how she must be on pins and needles for her tributes. I am grateful to not be in her shoes. Yet, I am in the role of a god and if I don't like the way the tributes are acting, I can fix it. The thought is terrifying, as I slip into bed beside Dimitri.
I wonder how Dimitri feels about playing god in the arena. He was in that arena once. Does he feel like he has to make the tributes' lives as bad as the Gamemakers made his? Is the reason he is a Gamemaker is for revenge? Dimitri interrupts my thoughts. "If I start cuddling with you just push me away." He sets his alarm. "I'll try to stay on my side of the bed."
"I'll take your word for it," I say, "And I'll try to do the same." I pull the covers up to my chin. The sheets are cool against my hot body.
"Oh, I wouldn't mind," Dimitri answers softly. I can hardly hear him.
"What?"
"I mean… I… Nothing." He clears his throat. "I didn't say anything."
"Yes, you did."
"It's not a big deal. Close your eyes." He rolls over and his back is facing me.
I reach over and stroke a tendril of his long hair. "Do you want me to come over there and cuddle with you?"
"Absolutely not. I am your mentor," he begins. The tips of his ears turn red.
What I want is not appropriate for what we are supposed to be. I want nothing more to be in his arms and be close to him. Is it out of pity? Or am I missing my relationship that disintegrated into nothing. I haven't heard from Graham. I guess I should be glad. It should make things easier.
"If you don't shut up I'm going to kick you out." He rolls over and props his head in his hand, grinning. I think he's flirting with me.
I stick my tongue out at him. "You will not. You have to make sure I don't slip into a coma. It's only been twenty-four hours since I hit my head. How long do you have to baby sit me?"
"Forty-eight hours." Dimitri sticks his tongue out. He scoots closer to me and his body heat spreads to my side of the bed. "Go to sleep, Carmen, and keep your hands to yourself."
"You like me," I taunt. "You like to think you're tough, but you're just a big pussy cat."
He shrugs. "It's my job to take care of you. Nothing more."
Three hours later, Dimitri shakes my shoulder, waking me from bizarre and vivid dreams. The room is dark and I can hear the muffled sounds of a siren from the street below. Someone is playing loud music in the next apartment over. "Wake up, sleepy," he murmurs. He doesn't sound very awake either.
I stretch and roll over, landing on Dimitri.
"You were supposed to stay on your side of the bed," I mutter. His body presses against mine as he rolls over and turns on the bedside lamp.
"This is my bed. I can do whatever I want." He yawns and stretches. "You sleep okay?"
"Fine except for the weird dreams."
"It's the pills," he answers. He puts his hands behind his head. His vibrant red hair splays on the pillow behind him.
I follow his gaze to a spot on the ceiling. "You think so?"
"They always do that. At least they aren't making you high like morphling. I've had some really bad trips on that shit, when they've given it to me for injuries and other things. I hate taking it and any other medications like sleep aids. It makes the nightmares more real and harder to escape." Dimitri's stomach growls loudly, interrupting our conversation. He looks at his watch. "It's been a long time since lunch. Are you hungry?"
I nod. He gets up and presses a few buttons and two plates filled with steak and twice baked potatoes covered in sour cream and butter. There is also a small salad on the side covered in balsamic vinaigrette, silverware, and a large bottle of red wine and two glasses. He picks up the plates and I follow him outside on this his balcony. The balcony overlooks the street. The cars below us look like ants. The weather is warm, but there is a slight breeze. The sun has almost all the way set. The tributes prepare to make their final impressions on the people on the Capitol.
"Hang on, I have some candles too," Dimitri says. "We should make it a little romantic."
I giggle. "I feel like you've almost planned this."
"Well, it's my fault that you're missing the interviews and big parties. I have to make it up to you somehow." He disappears into the apartment and appears a few moments later, carrying two large candles. He lights them and then sits down.
"This is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for me. Thank you." I say softly.
Dimitri cuts into his steak. His face colors slightly in the candlelight. "Really? How did you meet Graham, anyway?"
"In my Philosophy class two semesters ago, we worked in a group project together." I take a bit of my steak.
"Who did most of the work?"
"Me."
Dimitri pours me a small amount of wine before filling his glass. "What was the draw?" he asks.
I shrug. "He asked me out for coffee and we went to a few parties together. I don't have many friends," I admit. "My friends said that he was good for me. No other guys would pay any attention to me." I don't tell him about the parties where Graham tried to keep forcing drinks on me until I was so drunk that I couldn't stand.
"So you settled?" Dimitri says. He takes a few bites of his steak.
I pick at my food. "He seemed nice enough at the time. My mother hated him."
"Rebelling, a little?" He grins.
"He was the only one who seemed to know I existed. Most of the other guys used me to get to my mother." I take a bite, my food takes like nothing. "Graham seemed not to be interested in her."
"Men are scum," Dimitri interrupts. "Trust me, I know. I am one. We are complete bastards who only want sex. Well, most of us anyway. We only see the pretty face and not the personality and beauty behind the face."
"How do I avoid them?" I ask.
He shrugs. "How do they make you feel? If they make you feeling like you need to take a shower afterwards, that's probably a sign they're bad news. Sometimes they are more subtle. I think this is where Graham falls in."
"What about you?" I ask. The flavor has started to come back into my food.
Dimitri pauses. "I like to think I'm subtle and also not an asshole. I am also too old to be playing those games and chasing after those kinds of girls. Women can be just as bad, you know?"
"What do you look for in woman?" I ask, "Besides them not being from the Capitol?"
"I've actually never thought about it before. I've been so focused on staying alive that I haven't thought about being in love. Love is… overrated. Romance is stupid and a waste of time."
The sun has fully set and the lights come on in the buildings around us. Traffic has picked up, which can be attributed to people in the Capitol going to parties or to the large studio to watch the interviews. There is a light breeze which will cover any words that we don't want heard.
"No, it's not." I argue. "Well, my mother has had numerous affairs with high profile members of society. I guess I am a little jaded.
"Capitol marriages and relationships are messy. Hell, just living in the Capitol is messy."
"Sometimes, I wish I could leave," I admit.
"Where would you go?" His eyes focus on me intently.
"There is nowhere to go."
We are silent as we look over the bustling city. Honestly, I don't really want to know the state of my parent's marriage. Male visitors sneaking out in the morning light have been a constant theme in my life. I would be eating breakfast and there would be a man with rumpled clothing and lipstick on his collar going home to his wife and three children. His name was Abram Colossi and he was a fellow Gamemaker. I played with his daughter Celeste. I already considered my mother to be a whore, but I don't want to really know how much. Maybe she is secretly a prostitute.
Dimitri breaks into my thoughts. "You wanna go to the arena?"
"What about the interviews?" I ask.
"Fuck that shit." He pours himself another glass of wine. "Let's go somewhere where we can see the stars and get the hell away from these bastards."
You can't see the stars from the Capitol because of all of the light pollution. The moon is covered in a murky cloud caused by pollution so it looks like a smear of white in the sky. The Capitol consists of mostly concrete. The builders seem to eradicate any trace of nature inside the Capitol's boarders, deeming it a threat to their manmade domain. The arena has a manmade sky which, in previous years, has shown thousands of stars.
"We can get in?"
He snorts. "We're Gamemakers, aren't we? What do you say? Just you and me, pretend to be in the Districts again?"
"I need to change." I hurry back inside and grab my keys to let myself back into my apartment. I change into a pair of jeans and a semi-low cut purple shirt, tossing my borrowed clothing onto my bed. Dimitri probably would mind if I gave it back to him later. In record time, I am ready.
It's not that I am excited to go the place where I am responsible for watching children from the Districts die; it's the fact that I am spending time with Dimitri. There is a message from Graham on my phone. I think nothing of it and leave it on my counter. My bullet proof vest is thrown over the back of the recliner with, of course, a kitten sleeping on it.
When I go back to Dimitri's apartment, he is putting things in a small backpack. "I thought we could take dessert. You like chocolate cake, right?"
"You talk like you hate romance and love, but really I think you're lying," I chuckle. I lean against the counter. "You wooed me with a candlelight dinner on your balcony."
"Like I said; don't get any ideas about me. You aren't going to be able to change my mind about love or Capitol women," Dimitri answers. He zips up the bag and shoulders it. "Don't even try. That isn't a challenge. I'm serious. Don't waste your time with me."
"So there really is no one?"
"I'm single. Are you happy now?" He flips on the television and mutes the volume. "The interviews come on in an hour. It takes about that much time to get to the arena, depending on the traffic and how fast we drive."
"Are you okay to drive?" I ask, wondering if he has had too much to drink or if he is truly this impulsive.
He waves me off. "You like motorcycles?"
"I've never been on one."
A mischievous smile creeps across his lips making him appear almost sinister. "How adventurous are you feeling tonight?"
A/N: Please Review.