Welcome to Chapter Eight! I'm terribly sorry for the later than usual update, I've been really busy with schoolwork and studying for final exams.

Thanks for the favorites, follows, etc!

In this chapter, we see the training scores and have a whole bunch of Gloss and Jet! To be honest with you, this chapter is pretty much entirely about Jet and Gloss.

Also, just a little bit of a warning, this is a pretty sensitive chapter, as it talks about prostitution and whatnot. My heart was palpitating as I wrote this. Tears are on my keyboard.

On a different note, I currently have a poll up and I'd love if you guys checked it out and gave me some feedback.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

"How did it go?" I hear Gloss ask as I enter District 1's living quarters.

He's sitting at the island that's in the kitchen, on a high-seated chair. His arms are crossed and he looks almost serene. I smile softly at the scene as I step into the living room. "I think it went pretty well," I reply, feeling genuinely pleased about my performance.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Sheen appears in my perspective, Cashmere shaking her head behind him.

"I did terrible. I don't even deserve to be in the Careers. I got so nervous I couldn't even hold a sword right," he grumbles angrily.

"You're so useless. There's nothing I can do for you. If it isn't your dramatic ego, it's your extreme self-doubt. It's going to get you killed," she says exasperatedly, throwing her arms up in frustration as she sighs.

Sheen opens his mouth to retort back, but thinks better of it as he catches Cashmere's deadly glance. I clear my throat awkwardly as I make my way over to Gloss, sitting on the chair that's across from him. He gives me a calming smile as he runs a hand through his hair. Despite his deceiving appearance, I can see the stress and anxiety that's hidden behind his eyes.

"What's going on with Cashmere?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet, scared that she would hear me and rip my throat out.

Gloss sighs, rubbing his temple. "She's not reacting well to the things President's Snow's been going on about."

"Which is?" I probe further. Gloss hesitates, analyzing me with sharp eyes.

"It's complicated," he answers shortly, eyes dropping from mine as he sighs.

We sit in silence for a moment. We're currently waiting for the rest of the individual assessments to be over, and because Sheen and I were the first two, it could be a while. "We have time," I reply quietly, wanting to know what was going on. Gloss had been hiding whatever the problem was for a while now, and every time it involved President Snow, which meant it probably involved the entirety of Panem, further involving myself and my family.

"It would do you good to not be so nosy, you know," he says, not unkind, a small smile on his lips.

"Hey, I'm just trying to be smart. What if I mention something sensitive to your sister and she threatens to kill me?" I joke dryly, arching a brow.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "She'll be too busy trying to kill your district partner. You'll have enough time to escape."

"You can't dissuade me from this topic, you know," I reply quickly, trying to get back on topic and return to my original question, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with this Hunger Games that made everything so different.

He shakes his head, eyes meeting mine once again, his voice warning, "Jet, this really doesn't concern you. Keep prodding, and you'll end up getting hurt."

I drop the subject as I hear his tone of voice, swallowing the lump in my throat as I nod, looking down. His words weren't just a warning, they were a promise.

I decide not to push the topic any further as the television flickers on, national anthem of Panem playing. Gloss stands up from his seat, walking over to the living room. I follow him, sitting next to him on the plushy couch as Sheen and Cashmere take their seats as well; Cashmere sitting on the other side of Gloss on the couch as Sheen sits in one of the lounge chairs. Teris appears from wherever he sequesters himself all day and sits in the chair adjacent to Sheen. Thankfully, he has nothing to say and just takes a seat. I can only handle so much of that Capitol accent in a day.

Once the national anthem is over, Caesar Flickerman's face appears, facing the camera with a huge grin plastered on his face. It looked almost comical, despite the circumstances. "Hello, hello, citizens of Panem!" He goes on to explain the purpose of the training scores and how they can help tributes in the arena, blah blah blah.

Once his little speech is over, Sheen's face appears on the screen. Caesar's voice announces, "Sheen Comman; eight," as the numerical form of the number flashes over Sheen's face.

I know that to a lot of tributes, an eight wouldn't be too bad, but to Sheen, it's terrible. He clenches his fists, narrowing his eyes in anger. Cashmere rolls her eyes, huffing. Gloss snickers at their displays of immaturity before Cashmere sends him a look. He wipes the smile from his face as he clears his throat, returning his gaze to the television, but not before he winks at me.

My face is the next to appear, and I can't help but roll my eyes. They totally edited that picture, I think to myself. My skin looks too pale, especially with the stark contrast against my pitch black hair. In actuality, my hair is dark, but not quite the dark, and my skin certainly isn't that smooth or perfect.

I feel nervous as I start to think of what would happen if I got a low score. Not just a "low" score in terms of Career standards, but an actual low score, like a two or something. Gloss would lose all hope in me. I wouldn't get sponsors, and I would be the target of the Careers for sure, probably even from Sheen as well.

"Jet Maisivitch; ten," Caesar's voice finally announces, ending the anticipation as a "10" flashes over my fake face. The room is dead silent before Teris claps excitedly, getting up from his chair, rushing over to me.

"Oh, dear, you'll do so well!" He gushes, placing a kiss on my cheek. I'm a little surprised by his display of affection, but at this point in time, I barely even register it. I'm still trying to register what just happened when I hear a door slam. I look to see that Sheen is gone, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I have a feeling he's going to try his hardest to kill me in the arena.

After Gregor and Ameda's matching 10's that compliment mine, the remaining tribute scores are low and insignificant until we get to Wyatt. His face flashes on the screen, menacing and lethal, eyes dark and merciless. "Wyatt Vaughn; 11," Caesar's voice says. My brows shoot up in surprise at his high score. He beat all of the Careers.

This either means he'll be an ally, or the most wanted tribute in the arena.

"Come on, just once. I know where the cameras have blind spots," Gregor sneers in my face, rough hands gripping my waist painfully, nails digging into my skin. "I know you'd let that pretty boy mentor of yours do it to you."

"Let go of me," I bark out harshly, trying to push him away, but proving unsuccessful because of his massive size and strength that outnumber my own by a lot.

"I like when you fight back," he gets closer in my face, breath hot on my face. "I always like a good challenge."

I let out a strangled cry that goes unheard as he crashes his lips against mine, teeth and tongues clashing against each other in a painful, involuntary battle. I try to get away from him, but he's sucking me in, hands pressing against the small of my back, bringing me closer to him. I can't breathe. He's suffocating me.

Suddenly, I hear a wet thud, and he's falling on top of me, burly frame nearly burying me alive as I narrowly am able to push his body off of mine. He falls to my side, a knife sticking out of the back of his head. I cover my mouth in grotesque fear as I fling my head around, looking desperately for his attacker.

Out of the corner of my eye, I barely have time to see the reflection of light on a knife's blade before it's being hurled towards me.

I lurch forward in my bed, gasping for air as I place my hand over my chest, feeling my beating heart. Getting real sick of these nightmares, I think to myself bitterly as I get up from my bed, padding out of my room and into the kitchen. An Avox retrieves me water as I sit at the table alone. No other member of the District 1 entourage feels up for a late night chat, apparently.

I take a drink of the liquid as I rest my head on my chin. In just a couple of days, I'll be in the arena, where a drink of water could very well be a luxury. In a couple of days, I'll be hurled into a pageant to the death with fellow children, all for the entertainment of the Capitol. At this point, I really don't even think it's about reminding us of the rebellion that happened so long ago, what with all the money that the government gets from the Hunger Games on an annual basis. It's sickening.

I sit at the table for a few more minutes, finishing my water, before I decide to go visit the roof. I need some time to clear my head and steady my nerves, or I would be up all night, living the vicious cycle of constant panic attacks. I make my way over to the elevator, not bothering to return to my chambers to put on some shoes.

The doors slide open, revealing the night sky to me as I step out of the elevator. The beautiful lights of the Capitol light my way as I seat myself on the ground, bringing my legs up to my chest as I inhale the heavenly air. It may not be as pure as it is back home, what with all of the pollution and synthetic things here, but it's still better than being inside all day.

"I didn't expect you to be here," a voice from behind me says. I nearly jump out of my skin as I quickly turn my head, but relax once I see Gloss' signature golden hair shining in the moonlight. I barely recognized him, from the way his voice sounded. It was very quiet and raw, almost like he had been crying.

"I needed some time alone," I respond quietly.

His face is shrouded in shadows as he nods. "I can leave-,"

I cut him off quickly. "No, you can stay. It's alright." He nods once more, face still concealed from me. "Is everything alright?" I ask, not really sure what to do. He didn't really seem his usual self, and it was disconcerting.

He's silent a moment, as if deciding what to say, before he answers, "Just this once I'll confess- no. My thoughts are torturing me tonight."

I have to take a moment to think of what to say myself. "What's wrong?" I know that I must've sounded so generic and immature, but I couldn't think of what else to say. This was like the first time I'd come up on the roof with him and he'd given me some insight to the emotions that he guarded so well.

"Do you ever fear death?" he asks plainly. It was a question not easily answered. There wasn't a right or wrong answer, yet it was so enveloped in controversy, no one knew how to answer it properly, or if there was a proper answer to it.

"Yes," I finally answer him, watching his shadowed figure carefully.

"I used to have that mindset, but then I discovered that there are some things worse than death," he replies in a quiet whisper, struggling not to let emotion convey in his voice.

"Killing other people to live is wrong," I agree, assuming he's talking about the Hunger Games, but I honestly haven't a clue. He's hard to read as it is, but when he's enigmatic like this, he's impossible.

"That's not what I meant, actually, but yeah, that's pretty bad, too."

I'm not really sure if it's smart to ask him what he's talking about, so I remain silent, waiting for him to say whatever he was comfortable with. A silence spreads between us for a long, agonizing moment before he speaks again. "I don't want you to live like this. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, but definitely not you. You're so innocent, untarnished. Pure," he speaks wistfully, emotion in his voice as he carefully moves closer to me, ethereal face lighten up in the moonlight, making him appear to be a divinity that didn't belong on this earth.

He carefully lifts his arm, hand making contact with my cheek as his thumb gently caresses the skin. "You don't deserve this."

I swallow as I relish his touch, my heart skipping a beat. He always made me feel strange around him, but it was magnified tenfold now that he was touching me like this. I have yet to answer to any of his statements, for fear that I'll say something wrong and ruin this moment, so I decide to prolong the streak as I hold his gaze.

"Tonight, I was sold off to four different people in the course of two hours. Same for my sister," he says, slowly retracing his hand from my cheek.

I arch a brow. "What?"

Gloss lets out a sigh, averting his eyes from mine. "President Snow sells off the victors that are deemed desirable. It's prostitution against your will."

I can't believe what I'm hearing as I cover my mouth in shock. "He sells you?"

Gloss nods. "I probably shouldn't have told you that, but I don't have the heart to hide it from you. If you win the Games, he'll do the same to you. I'm sure."

I suddenly realize what he's propositioning me to do. He wants me to commit suicide in the arena. "You want me to kill myself?"

He winces, still not looking me in the eye. "I just don't want you to think that when you survive the Games, you win. No one does. You never get away from the torture."

My heart drops at his next words. "You can have the highest training score, the most sponsors, the best odds, the best victor that ever lived- it doesn't matter. You have no say in what happens to you when you survive the Hunger Games. My mentor never told me that. I expected to live a life full of luxury and prosperity. It's far from it. I've often wondered how much peace someone could get from death. It's an obsession of mine."

Now it's my turn to touch him as I place a hand on his cheek. "But surely there's something worth living for?" I ask, trying to cheer him up. His sadness was so deep, I was feeling it like it was my own burden to carry, and I wanted nothing more than for him to feel some relief.

His green eyes, usually full of charm and life, were now replaced with morose and melancholy as they came up to meet mine finally. "I've been looking for the answer to that question for as long as I've been out of the Games, and I don't think I've found it until just recently."

Ah, emotional scenes make me cry, especially when I have to write them. Poor Gloss D:

Let me know what you guys think! Feedback is always appreciated! Do you like how I'm portraying Gloss' and Jet's relationship?