The Girl in the Sea
By Seabreeze
Chapter 3
A/N: Huge thanks to my reviewers.
Disclaimer: See First Chapter.
I awake feeling rested, and rung out. I could'nt conjure up another tear if I wanted to, which is good, considering the dread already building up in the pit of my stomach. Couldn't they just execute me and get it over with? Why play games, why dress us up and make us play nice with the other kids before we killed each other?
Today Adem and I meet with our style teams, who will make us more presentable. First, though, breakfast with Finnick Odair and Imogen. I curl up under the luxurious blankets on my bed, thinking that it can't be the end of the world if I skip breakfast. I'm hardly hungry, anyway.
I've almost gone back to sleep when there is a knock at my door. I groan softly, but drag myself up and over to the door. Adem stands in the hallway, dressed and ready to go. He raises an eyebrow at me, taking note of my pajamas and (probably) very messy hair.
"I'm not hungry," I say, and feeling suddenly foolish. Adem glares at me.
"We made a deal. We're in this together."
It is all he needs to say. Little else could get me out of bed on this morning but the idea that I am not alone, that someone else is relying on me. I sigh.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, Adem. Give me a minute." I close the door in his face and rush to get ready, so I don't keep him waiting. I throw on a knee-length belted dress, wash my face, and pull my hair back into a bun. Not my best look, but better than a couple minutes ago.
When I come out, Adem is silent, but we walk to breakfast together. We don't get away with our lateness, though. Imogen sniffs when we walk in.
"Not a great start, tributes. Late on your very first day."
"It's my fault," I say, keeping my head down as we take our seats across from our mentors. "I overslept, and Adem came to make sure I ate."
"How sweet," Imogen says, and it's hard to tell if she's serious or not. Finnick swallows a huge mouthful of eggs and shakes his knife at Adem.
"It's every man for himself out there, you know. Might as well start getting used to that now."
I don't need to look at Adem to know that he is staring at Finnick with the exact same disgust and disbelief as I am. Finnick looks from Adem to me and back again, and just shrugs before going back to his breakfast.
"Just telling it like it is."
"Well, it's good he did make sure she came, because we need to go over your schedules for today." Imogen adds smartly. Adem snorts, and she ignores him. "You'll both be meeting with your stylists today, and they'll begin creating your new looks. Finnick and I will be overseeing this. Pretty exciting day for you two."
Not really, considering the days to follow. Neither Adem or I reply, and Imogen is clearly offended. Finnick gives her a 'what can you do?' sort of look, and breakfast is finished in relative silence.
Whatever I expect when Imogen tells us the styling teams will be "creating our new looks", it is every bit of wrong. It is more accurate that they are scrubbing me down and teaching me new rules of personal hygiene.
After breakfast, she leads me to a car on the train I've never been to, and introduces me to my styling team. Three women and a man, all decked in black, all altered almost beyond recognition as human. The smallest woman, who is a few inches shorter than me, has hair that looks like fire. It starts red at her roots and goes through orange, yellow, and white to the tips of her hair, which are a glowing blue. It looks like her head is on fire, particularly when the light shines on it. She tells me her name is Flame, and it's hard not to smile at that. Her eyes are gold, but her smile back is playful.
The next woman, who has curves that would make any woman jealous, has half her head shaved, with the other half falling long and straight to her waist. Her neck is entirely encrusted with jewels in all shades of blue, embedded in the skin. They span from her collarbone to her jaw line, and it is really quite beautiful. Her name is Sìn.
The man, Dru, is tall and thin and seemingly without angles. He reminds me of a willow; everything rounded and drooping, even his eyes and his mouth. His hair is gathered in a magnificent white tail at the back of his head, curling to his shoulders. His eyebrows match his hair, and his eyelids are covered in smeared-looking black makeup.
Kismet is the last, and the most striking. Her skin is naturally very dark, but something has been done to it to make it seem, at times, almost blue. Her head is shaved and her magenta eyes shine out of her face like beacons. She does not smile or talk, and for some reason, I instantly trust her.
Flame claps her hands together.
"Alright!" she says. "Clothes off, Miss Annie!"
I stare at her. "What? I – "
"Don't be shy. How're we to do anything with your lovely self if you keep it all covered up?" She claps her hands together again, but I can only stare back at her. I glance at Dru and feel blood rush my cheeks.
"Uh…"
"Oh please, honey, he's not interested in that. And it's not like you can hold a candle to Sìn, anyway." I look at Sìn, who is smirking at me. Well, at least it's true.
"If I were interested in girls, I'd certainly pick someone more interesting looking than you," Dru adds.
Oh. OH. I blush again, but hesitate.
"Do you want us to do it for you?" Sìn asks.
"No!" I practically shout as her hands reach for my belt. "No." Trembling, I start undoing my belt. Kismet holds out a hand, and I give it to her. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, stripping down in front of four totally bizarre looking strangers. I hand Kismet my dress and fold my hands.
"Remove all of it," Dru says boredly.
"It's okay, honey," Says Flame, giving me a big smile. "We do this all the time. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."
But it is Kismet's nod that convinces me, and I slowly remove my breast band (while still trying to conceal my breasts) and my panties. I shake almost violently before them.
"Poor little thing!" Flame exclaims. "We couldn't knock the shy out of this one if we wanted to." They stand in a box with me in the center, looking me over. Kismet touches my hair, and Dru finally draws a breath.
"Alright, ladies." He says. "Sìn and I will get her cleaned up. Flame, start preparing the exfoliating agents – I want brightening. Kismet, I want you to wash her hair while we're at it. Please use the shine-enhancing formula."
Kismet only stares at him, her face unchanging. Dru's demeanor alters slightly.
"What, you think maybe volume?" he asks. Kismet raises an eyebrow. "And softness, of course. Naturally."
Kismet turns away, and Dru turns to me, his mouth pinched once again.
By the time I feel cleaner and more fragrant than I ever have in my life, only Sìn and Kismet remain with me – I don't know when or why Flame and Dru left, but I haven't seen them in hours. I've been soaking in a thick, creamy substance that smells like sweet milk for at least half an hour when I hear the door to the beauty car of the train slide open, and hushed words are exchanged. After a pause, the door slides shut, and it sounds like I am alone.
"Hello?" I call, hating the echo of my voice in the cold hallways.
Heavy footsteps head my way.
"I don't like my subjects to talk."
The voice is stern and clipped, and I freeze, hands on the sides of the tub. The man appears in the doorway, and my dread does not lessen. He is in his mid-to-late thirties, wearing boots and a leather jacket.
"Get out." He says.
"Can I have a—"
"No," His eyes are hard. "Stand up."
This command is ten times harder the second time around, but I don't dare argue. Making sure to cover my chest and crotch, I stand slowly and step out of the tub. I've never, ever in my life feft more vulnerable. The man circles me slowly, surveying my clean, wet, soapy skin from all angles.
"Who are you?" I ask, when the silence gets to be too much. The man is behind me.
"I'm your head stylist," He says. He is still behind me, and I feel my hamstring twitch.
"Oh." I say. My stylist circles back front, and crosses his arms.
"I need to see your breasts." He says. I drop my arm, trembling noticeably. This is not like Dru and Flame and Sìn and Kismet looking at my nudity. It is completely different, and many times worse. Something is lodged in my throat, and after a minute, I decide my head stylist has seen all that can be seen about my breasts. I fold my arms over them quickly, feeling mildly relieved. I hear my stylist chuckle, and for the first time, he is looking me in the eye.
"You belong to the Capitol now," He says, grinning despite the hardness in his eyes. "Did you know that?"
Whatever was in my throat drops heavily into my belly. I take a step back, reaching out for the robe I know rests on the dressing table beside the tub. The man advances.
"Answer me. Did you know that?"
"I—no—" I stumble slightly, bumping my calves on the edge of the tub. The man reaches out and grabs the arm covering my chest and pulls it away, and I gasp. "No—!"
"This is what that means, little flower," He says, and I can finally see that the look in his eyes is hungry and crazed. I immediately yank my arm, but his grip is too strong and he hauls me to himself. "There now," He says, wrapping his other arm tightly around my waist. "Isn't this better?"
"No." I say. I feel cold and shaky, but my voice is firm and much louder than my normal speaking tone. I begin to struggle against him. He laughs and holds me tighter. "No!" I fight against his hold with everything I have. "Let me go!" I shriek, feeling hysterical.
Smack.
He lets my wrist go for just long enough to slap me, hard, across the face. The blow knocks my breath out, and I see bright stars twinkle in the sudden darkness before me.
I've never been hit before. I've seen it often enough, but I suppose father was never the striking type. Something about the reality of it happening shocks and enrages me, and before I know what I'm doing, I knee him, hard, between the legs.
There is a shrill, desperate noise, and as my vision lightens back to reality, I see my assailant crouched over on the floor.
It takes me a minute to realize the keening noise is me. I scramble for the robe, reaching over the stylist, and race for the door. Tears and wild emotion are blurring my vision, so I don't see Finnick Odair coming in the same door. He catches me and I scream.
"Annie!" He bends down so that we are eye to eye, and something in his serious turquoise eyes calms me. Tears continue to stream down my cheeks and I can't seem to catch my breath, but I feel secure.
No sooner have I stopped screaming, Finnick has left me in the doorway and yanks my stylist from the floor.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't throw you off this train right now, Bard," He snarls. I turn in the doorway and rest my forehead against the doorframe, not wanting to see the head stylist, Bard, anymore.
"What is your problem!" Bard asks in a decidedly choked-sounding voice. Good, I think. I may be dead in a week, but at least I know I can do some damage when it counts. Bard makes a wheezing sound before continuing. "I was just—"
"I don't really care," Finnick tells him, sounding cold. "You're fired. Start packing, and so help me if I find you even in the same car as this girl."
There is some shuffling and grunting, and one of them jostles me on the way out of the doorway. I cling tighter to the doorframe. I hear the door to the next open, and shut again. The wheezing noise is gone, and so must be Bard. I hear Finnick walk back towards me, but stop short of the doorway. He is giving me my space, for which I am grateful.
Neither of us say anything for long minutes, but he does not leave.
"Who's going to be my head stylist now?" I ask finally, my voice coming out both louder and scratchier than I expect.
"I will."
I laugh hoarsely. "What do you know about makeup and fashion?"
"Enough. I know what looks good, and your team is more than competent enough to help me."
I busy myself with wiping my face and tying my robe more tightly against my body. My hands still tremble.
"You still have soap in your hair." Finnick says. My hands fly up to my head – he's right. "Rinse off. I'll wait outside. When you're done, I'll take you back to your room."
I nod, and wait until Finnick is gone and the door is closed to disrobe and rinse my body and hair. I mean to do this quickly, but end up scrubbing my skin raw with one of the rougher sponges left behind. I can't seem to help myself.
I finally finish scrubbing, make sure my hair is soap-free, dry off, and put on the robe.
Finnick is waiting for me on the other side of the door. He says nothing about how long I took, and we walk together in silence through the cars until we reach my room.
"That won't happen again." Finnick promises, and turns to leave.
"Why did you stop it?" I ask. The question bubbled forth without my knowing, but once it's out, I can't help but want to know the answer. Finnick freezes.
"What do you mean?" He demands, sounding incensed. He can't see me, but I shrug.
"I'm a walking corpse." I say. "You won't even learn my name. I'll be dead within a week. I just… it shouldn't matter what happens to me. Not now."
"You're not dead yet." Finnick says. "Lock your door tonight."
The sea comes to me that night. I have never been away from it – never slept, save for last night, without hearing the waves crashing against the rocks below, and never awoken without the sound of gulls cawing over the beach. I am not surprised it calls to me, because I know that I am calling to it. Its memory washes over me like waves: the smell of salt and brine, the rhythmic caress of the tide. I climb the sharp, craggy rocks to their highest point and stand over the sea. The wind tugs on me harsh and insistent. It is honest and chill, and rubs my cheeks pink. This is home. Whether I live in the Games or die, I know I will come back here.
I dive off the rock into the icy slate water of sleep below me.
A/N: I feel like I am constantly apologizing for being a slow updater. It is because I am. Apologies.
Thank you for your reviews!