A/N: Scarlett's POV

After the second day of training, we all sat down to discuss the third day, the day when they would receive their scores, to determine strategies, as Blight had done with Chance and me. It was hard to believe that had only been a year before, since everything in my life was so different, so much darker than even just a few short days before going into the arena, but I knew that things could change in the blink of an eye, if the Capitol so desired. Despite the fact that I knew I wasn't the only one, I felt in that moment as though I knew it better than anyone.

"Have you worked out your strategies for tomorrow yet?" Blight asked, pouring me wine.

He knew I had gotten another note that afternoon. I had to meet a Capitol man named Kenelm Laguov that night or Trish would die and I could hardly think of anything else. I had spent the hours after receiving the note staring at a spot on the wall until Blight came to tell me that the tributes were coming back in twenty minutes and I would have to socialize whether or not I wanted to, and that it would be good to try to forget.

But how could I? It was all I could think of, and that was certainly understandable.

But he was right, of course, I had to focus on mentoring in that moment. It wasn't really "socializing", of course. It was one of my duties to the Capitol. But still, it felt as trivial as the socializing my sister had me do growing up, throwing little parties to try to make me have more friends. Why was I bothering? Charlotte was probably going to die, and if she managed to survive somehow, her whole existence would be miserable. So what was the point of trying to keep her alive?

I sat at the table, swirling my tea as the tributes discussed their strategies. Charlotte, apparently wanted some sort of blunt object. When she actually said allowed that her weapon of choice was a mace, I snorted, and didn't bother looking contrite when Blight gave me a stern look. Leave it to Charlotte to pick a weapon that required absolutely no finesse whatsoever.

"Have you thought on alliances, or are you sticking together?" Blight asked, trying to move the conversation in a productive direction.

According to them, they were thinking of just sticking together, or rather, according to Cephalus. Charlotte did not participate much in this part of the conversation, and that didn't escape my notice. What was her plan? Had she organized another alliance behind his back? Was she planning on killing him while his back was turned? Leaving him at the first sound of the gong and considering him an enemy from the first go?

Whatever it was going on in her head, I knew that she'd made up her mind, and even if it was foolish, which it probably was, there was no way of talking her out of it.

"Do you know what you're going to do for the interviews?" I asked, pretending to care. As far as I was concerned, they could die their happy deaths and I could maybe die as well. I…

Why couldn't I die? What was keeping me from that? Maybe I could throw myself off the building, or perhaps I could stab myself with some of the cutlery… They were probably watching me with an Avox ready to keep me alive, but the roof… could they stop me on the roof? After I was excused from the conversation, I went up to the roof, still having an hour before I had to meet the Capitol man. I figured Haymitch wouldn't mind my going through District Twelve's territory, and there was no other way to get roof access. When I was up there, I began walking the garden area, looking for the perfect place to make my move.

"You don't think they haven't thought of that, do you?" sneered a voice behind me. I turned to find Haymitch leaning against the doorway, still sneering at me. "They've got the roof rigged with force fields. So no tributes can throw themselves off the twelve-story building. Clever, aren't they?"

"That's not really the word I would have used," I said, turning to look out over the streets, knowing he wouldn't ask for the word I would have used. He wouldn't condemn me to death, as I was sure someone was watching, although I half wanted him to.

But Haymitch was smarter than that, unfortunately for me.

"How's training for your tribute?" he asked. "Has she fallen under the charms of Draven Dupre?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I didn't ask."

"About training," he said with a guffaw, "or about Draven?"

"Both," I sighed, leaning against the edge of the roof. "Why, what do you know about Draven Dupre?"

"Only that he's been trying to charm every female tribute to do his bidding," Haymitch said with a shrug. "I don't think he's remotely interested in any of them, though. From what Ken said, Draven's got his mind somewhere else."

"He winked at me," I said, recalling. "At the first night, with the chariots. I was a bit taken aback, and then I was furious, but he was already gone before I could really process it. I was a bit… out of sorts that day."

He grunted, but before he got a chance to say anything I said, "Speaking of, I'm not feeling too well right now." It was nearly time for me to be heading off to meet the Capitol man, Kenelm Laguov. "I've got to be going."

I made my way back toward the staircase and was about to start down them and Haymitch's voice from behind her said, "Hey, Scarlett." I turned back and looked at him, expecting to see sad eyes like I saw on Blight's face so often, but his back was to me. "Take care of yourself," he said softly.

The words glided over me as I went to the room that was designated for the meeting, and thankfully, the man was not there yet. There was something to be said for being early. My hands shook as I took off the long coat I had put on over the night things I had picked out to wear for this particular event. I barely had time to wonder what sort of man Kenelm Laguov would be and to crawl under the sheets of the bed before the door opened and my own personal hell entered the room.

Kenelm Laguov was a crusty old man, obviously incredibly wealthy, with his skin died a silly shade of blue, the same as his hair and nails and every other disgusting part of him. He walked with a cane, which meant that whatever ailed him was truly awful, if the Capitol doctors couldn't fix it well enough that he didn't need the cane and he couldn't be given some sort of artificial replacement for whatever it was that was wrong.

"Scarlett Delannoy," he said in his silly Capitol accent. "So nice to finally meet you."

"And you, sir," I said, trying to be the sweet, silly little girl all of Panem thought me to be. That was the Scarlett Delannoy this man had paid for. It was the Scarlett Delannoy I was expected to deliver. He pulled off his robe to reveal nothing but his shorts, which clung awkwardly to his old, withering body. For such a rich, powerful man, it seemed odd to me that he hadn't used the Capitol medicine and tricks to make himself appear younger. The interviewer for the Games, Caesar Flickerman, hadn't aged a day in the more than twenty years he'd held his job.

"I put a lot of money into you," he said. "Making sure you had enough food. When Blight told me you couldn't hunt, I thought you were a goner, and I couldn't have that. I bet quite a lot on you."

"Why?" I asked, trying to ignore the fact that he was coming ever nearer to me. "I wasn't favored."

"I know hungry eyes when I see them," he growled. "And a pretty, fit girl like you was bound to have a chance if she had the right materials. Once you had the hatchet, I knew you stood as good a chance as anyone in that arena."

I shivered as his hands roughly began removing the nightclothes from my body. He chuckled as I flinched.

"You've never done this before, have you?" he whispered. I shook my head, wondering if he would let me get out of it, not wanting to take that first time from me.

I trusted too much in the goodness of men, which was silly, really, considering he was of the same men who put children like me in an arena every year and forced us to fight to the death, betting on us and then prostituting us if we made it out alive. There was no goodness in such men, I was sure of it.

"How provincial," he said with a leer. "That was one of the things I found attractive about you, Scarlett, your lack of resemblance to the affected women of the Capitol. You're still but a sprig of youthful innocence, in spite of the things you've seen and done. I find that," he muttered, smelling my hair, "wildly attractive."

It seemed what I thought about the whole thing didn't matter very much, as he stripped me down, taking me out of the nightclothes, removing his own shorts.

I didn't know very much about sex. I knew some very basic, rudimentary things like what went where and things like that, but my father had left all of my education on such matters up to my sister, who was always a bit too preoccupied with other things to tell me more than the basics, and that was before she herself had even had sex. So as to what it felt like and what to expect, I knew absolutely nothing.

It was awful. It hurt, I was panicking, and he seemed to find my fear and pain amusing somehow. I spent much of the night moaning in pain and cringing away from him, but he kept saying how "provincial" and "sweet" my hesitation was, and all I wanted to do was to run away. But I couldn't. Even if I could have done so and been assured that no one would suffer my disobedience, my fear rooted me to the spot, right underneath his aging body. The silent tears that ran down my cheeks were either unnoticed or uncommented on by Kenelm Laguov.

When the night was, apparently, done, he laid back on the sheets, stretching out his wrinkled, spotted blue body and I lay beside him, trying to decide what to do. Before I could make up my mind, however, he turned to me.

"I have something for you," he whispered.

Thinking he must want more, I began to internally panic, but kept my face smooth and expressionless as I hollowly asked, "Yes, sir?"

He reached over to the robe he had been wearing and pulled out what was clearly an incredibly expensive pendant. In a swift, practiced motion, he had the pendant around my neck, the rose gold chain long enough for the deep green stone to linger just above my chest.

"It's beautiful," I said honestly.

"Just like you," he whispered gravelly, and I wanted to sob as he placed a kiss on my collarbone just above the gold chain. "I want to see you wearing it at the interviews tomorrow."

"Of course," I said, knowing I didn't have much choice. "Thank you."

"You're schedule's packed pretty tight," he whispered in my ear, "but I hope to be seeing you again very soon. Now, you should probably go back to your room. Busy day for your tributes tomorrow, and you want to be alert and awake."

I nodded, hollowly thanked him once more, and rushed as quick as possible back to my room without appearing rude.

As soon as I arrived, I stripped off the night clothes, rushed to the shower, and turned on the purest jet of cold water available, sinking to the floor as the water began to run over my body, chilling me as I huddled on the floor. Hours passed, probably the rest of the night, and sometimes I sat in the running water, sometimes turning it off to test.

The feel of Kenelm Laguov wouldn't go away.

I finally gave up and went out to my room. I sat huddled in the corner, naked and shivering, not because I was cold, but because I couldn't get the feel of the Capitol man off my skin. Blight would be in after me soon.

But to my surprise, it was not Blight who came to fetch me, but Haymitch Abernathy.

Perhaps I should have covered myself, but I couldn't find it in me to bother. He looked down at me. I looked down at the floor. He sat down beside me, back against the wall.

"Charlotte's getting anxious, Blight tells me," he slurred.

Somehow I was furious at him for being drunk already. I wanted to wring his neck, but I didn't have the energy to try. Then I wanted him to go away, but he just sat there, staring at the wall, not moving. Then I had the urge to tell someone how much pain I was in, and he was right there…

"Last night, I–"

"I know," he slurred. "Blight told me."

I couldn't fight my tears anymore. I buried my face in my hands. Despite him being Haymitch, despite the fact that he could see every inch of my bare skin, I didn't want him to see my shameful tears.

He continued to stare at the wall, but he wrapped his arm around my bare shoulders and I felt strangely more comforted than I would have thought. He wasn't there to take advantage of me. He was there to help me.

"My family's dead, too," he said gruffly, without any preface or explanation.

I buried my face in his shoulder and choked out, "It hurts, Haymitch. It hurts so badly. I showered twice and I can't… I can't wash the feel of him off me. And it hurts."

He hugged me tightly to him.

"It will fade," he whispered. "It will fade."

He just held me for what felt like hours as I cried into his shoulder. When I finally conducted myself, Haymitch helped me to my feet, steadied me, and hugged me once more, whispering in my ear, "Chin up, sweetheart. We'll make them pay one day."

Before I could ask what he meant, before I could thank him for his comfort and assurance, he was back out the door, leaving me standing alone, naked, in the middle of my room.

I suddenly realized that I wasn't fully naked, as I had assumed, but that the pendant Kenelm Laguov had given me was still hanging from my neck like a weight and a noose, reminding me of the kisses his old, lecherous lips had placed on my skin, of the way he had laughed at me and treated me and…

I took off the pendant and threw it onto the bed, swearing to never wear it again once the interviews were done. I wished I hadn't had to take it. I knew he was trying to be kind, in his way, paying me for me "services", but I wished there wasn't such physical, collaring reminder in the payment.

Without regarding the time I rushed back to the shower, pouring the icy stream of water over my body once more, and feeling a bit better, although nothing could truly assuage me, could truly fix the fact that there had been blood mixed with his fluids when I'd first showered, that he had touched me and his lips had touched me and I half expected my skin to be blue where he had touched me, as a reminder of the act.

They had gone already for the last day of training, and I was sure that Blight had coached Charlotte better than I ever could have as I dried myself off, finally starting to feel a bit more like a person. That afternoon they would show off their skills privately to the Gamemakers. I wasn't even sure what Charlotte's skills were. I shook my head as I dropped the towel and began rummaging through the drawers for something to wear.

The training scores would be assigned that night. Charlotte would be hoping for better than I got, trying to prove she was better than me. If she didn't get a better score than I had, she had no prayer of winning, especially as I knew she would actually be trying. I had been trying as hard as I could not to display what skill I had. Charlotte was too jealous, prideful, eager to enact such a strategy. I figured if she didn't at least get a seven, she was dead and I wouldn't put much effort into supporting her. I had too much of my own to be worried about to add being concerned for her life on top of everything.

It had finally occurred to me that I was a mentor, that was supposed to be mentoring a tribute, attempting to keep her alive in the Hunger Games, interacting with other mentors and with sponsors, watching the Games with a critical eye for strategy and planning.

And the sponsors, the very people I was supposed to be charming on her behalf, were the very people who were paying to spend nights with me, spending money that could keep some child alive in order to have access to my body.

I felt the urge to vomit and take another long, cold shower.