Thank you HogwartsDreamer113, S, QuinnDeRavensborough and MsMKT86 for reviewing!
XXVII. Bruised And Shattered
Later that night, I spend over an hour in the shower. I scrub at my skin, until it's raw and red and until my skin stings so much that it's almost a nice feeling. Water cascades down my back and the weight of it seems so heavy. I feel like I'm drowning.
Amelia Keane. Axelia Whittemore. Sanya Willis. Mellina Bradley.
Those are four of the names I hope I'll never remember.
Holding back a sigh, I step out of the shower as the water seems to cool down. I'm sure that with the Capital's abundance of money, the water could stay warm for an eternity – I've just been staying under for too long. I quickly dry myself off, throwing on a pair of sweatpants.
I have nothing to do.
So, I spend a few minutes pacing just to keep my ADHD under control. What do I do?
I end up dialing my home number with the phone in the living room. "Hello?" It's Annie.
"Is Rhea there?" I ask.
"No. She's asleep."
Glancing up at the clock, I realize that it's almost two in the morning. Oh. "Why aren't you asleep?"
"I can't sleep."
"Why not?"
"I just can't. Why'd you call?"
I stay silent for a while. Why did I call? Was it just to hear their voices and make sure the girls were safe? Or was it because I honestly had nothing better today? Or maybe I was simply hoping that Mags was home, and would be able to offer and share with me her words of wisdom. "I miss home," I finally answer.
She laughs, and even from the other side of the phone, I can hear just how exhausted she sounds. "It's only been two nights, Finnick. You've been all over TV with women in the Capital. Are you seriously telling me that you miss home?"
"… Yes. I'm worried about you guys, you know?"
"We're fifteen, Finnick. We're not twelve anymore," she informs me. "We can take care of ourselves."
"But I feel- no, I am responsible for you two, and I can't just rely on Mags anymo-"
A feeble but audible knock stops me from continuing on. "Finnick?" she asks.
"I have to go," I reply, quietly. "Go to sleep, Annie."
I click the end button, and as I walk over towards the main door, Cashmere stumbles in, collapsing onto the floor. Her tiny, black dress, is torn, barely hanging onto her body – and I'm pretty certain that this is not considered to be fashion in the Capital. Her makeup – eyeliner, lipstick and everything else – is smudged in a manner that you wouldn't consider Cashmere Delgado to be the sweetheart from District One. Her shoes – they're missing.
She moans weakly, struggling to regain her balance. The awkward events of last night are pushed to the back of my mind as I place the phone down onto the kitchen tabletop. Crouching down, I manage to hoist her up, bringing her arm around my neck and I slide my own arm around her waist. "What happened?" I ask, pushing my bedroom door open and let her lie down on the bed.
Cashmere attempts to speak, but all she seems to manage is a shaky breath.
When I finally look at her, I notice every single detail. The nasty shade of yellow of a bruise is forming on her cheekbone and her lip's partially split. Hickeys are littered all over her neck, along with bruises forming on what seems to be almost every inch of her arms and thighs. Dried blood is smeared across a few areas of her body and lifting the already-torn, flimsy piece of material she's wearing, I see the red mark of a hand, which has evidently held onto her waist too tightly. Bruises of multiples shades of purple, green, yellow and blue decorate her ribs.
"Who did this to you?"
Her mouth opens slightly, and with a shaky breath, she manages to reply in a pained whisper. "Sinello." Then, she clutches on to her ribs with a grimace and closes her eyes feebly.
Cornelius Sinello.
I think I've come to quite the conclusion that any man with the initials C.S. are douchebags.
Releasing a sigh, I run a hand through my hair. "I'll be right back," I say and walk to the kitchen, scouring the freezer for a few packs of ice and retrieve a glass of cold water. And then, I realise that I have absolutely no idea how to fix her scratches and bruises. The Avox in the corner watches me with a curious stare and I turn to her. "Get a doctor here."
When I get back to Cashmere, I gingerly place an icepack on her bruised cheek. Taking her chin between my thumb and index finger, I raise the glass of water to her lips and allow her to gulp down half of it. "I don't need help," she protests, her voice barely above whisper.
"Sure, you don't, Delgado."
"Call my brother, please."
"Of cours- Hey, don't you dare fall asleep on me," I snap, when I watch her relax a little. "You might have a concussion."
"Please. You'll need a lot more than this to knock me out."
The pregnant pause between the two of us seems to stretch for a lifetime before the Avox returns with a doctor. "Morning, Mr Odair," he greets. "What's the issue?"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at how oblivious he seems and step out of the way. The doctor's eyes widen slightly as he takes in the ungodly sight before us. "Miss Delgado?"
The blonde girl stiffens visibly and struggles to pull herself up into a sitting position. "Get out."
When I place a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her to lay down, she shoots a glare in my direction. "Why did you call for someone to come? There's a reason why I came here, not anywhere else, Odair."
"I called for a doctor because obviously, you need one," I argue. "I have next to no experience with dealing with injuries."
"I don't need help." Now that we're arguing, it seems as if she's rejuvenated or re-energised. With an unknown, newfound strength, she manages to ignore her bruised body and pulls herself up, almost collapsing against me once again. Her eyes are wild, like fire. She's a Career at heart.
"Then, why did you come here?"
"I was hoping for maybe a little bit of moral support, but obviously, that backfired."
Running my eyes, I can't help but think, Why are girls just so difficult?
"Didn't I tell you to leave, Roman?"
The man ignores her words, raking his gaze up and down her broken body with a slight smirk. When I see his eyes, I see lust and hunger, of all things. Whatever it is he's thinking at the moment, he's disgusting to even think about them at a moment like this. Roman takes a few steps forward, and sets his briefcase down on the bed, opening it. "Lie down, Miss Delgado."
"No."
"Just lay down, Cashmere," I instruct her. "This will be over sooner if you don't fight it."
"Don't tell me what to do, Odair," she snaps at me, before wincing and placing a hand on her stomach.
As Roman rolls his eyes impatiently and reaches out for her arm with an alcohol swab, she flinches. "Don't you dare touch me!" she screeches, hysterically. "If you even dare to breathe on me one more fucking time, I swear to God that I will rip off those measly balls of yours and hang them as pendants, up on my wall at home."
Unable to hide my amusement even at such an inappropriate timing, I hardly manage to stifle a chuckle. Coughing doesn't seem to cover up my laughter as I watch Roman blanch. The colour in his face vanishes quickly as he backs away a little. "S-Sorry, Miss Delgado," he stutters. "I'll try no-"
"Get out already, would you?"
"But-"
"Don't make me wear your balls as earrings," she threatens him, her voice going dry.
He runs off like a headless chicken, leaving his briefcase behind. Roman gives me a frightened nod on the way out, and I return it with a lazy smirk. I hear Cashmere fall down onto the mattress and release a heavy sigh. "That wasn't nice," I chastise.
"Who cares?"
"He does."
"Well, I don't," she presses, her voice cracking even more.
"You need help."
"No, I don't. I don't want help, nor do I need it. It's happened many times before; I can take care of myself, I swear. I usually just sleep it off."
"Are you sure?" I ask, as she gulps down the rest of the water.
She nods. "The reason I came here was because I don't like staying overnight here alone - I can't even stand to sleep in a room alone at night, here. Gloss is usually here with me but… He doesn't need to come as often."
"Because of me?"
"Partly," she corrects me. "Since the women in the Capital share the two of you now. But mostly, it's because he's done one huge favour for Snow."
"What'd he do?"
Cashmere looks away from me and avoids my question. "Do you mind if I use your shower?"
"Go ahead."
A few minutes of listening to Cashmere's wincing and a few smashes later, the water turns on and I take this opportunity to flip through the phonebook in the living room. It takes me a while before I find Gloss' number and dial it up on the phone. I call four times, and no one replies. On the fifth try, a gruff voice answers the phone. "What do you want?"
"What's up, Delgado?"
"Odair," he replies, with an aggravated sigh. "What the hell are you doing, calling me at three in the morning?"
"Your sister's here an-"
"What happened to her?"
"I don't know, man," I reply. "She hasn't told me anything yet, but she's covered in bruises and scratches. There's a bloody handprint on her stomach."
"Did she mention anything at all?" he asks.
"Corneliu-"
"Sinello," Gloss hisses and a rather loud smash comes from the other end of the phone. I raise an eyebrow, knowing that he can't see me, and come to the conclusion that he's probably punched a wall or something along those lines. "I'll be there in a few hours."
The line falls flat.
"Woah," I say as I walk back into my room. Cashmere stands in the middle of my room, stark naked with her hair dripping wet. But that doesn't bother me. What does bother me is the fact that there are many more bruises than I'd previously seen and thought there were. Some look fresh, some are already formed and others are faded. "What do they do to you?" I ask, as my eyes trail from her discoloured cheek, to her swollen breasts, to her red stomach, and down to her bruised upper thighs. When I fumble around my closet for a shirt, I receive a view of her backside and it's just as bad - if not, more. Distinct marks of whip lines are streaked across her back, staining her natural, milky skin with a nasty shade of red.
I help her into the oversized shirt and she stays silent for a moment. "Thank you," she says. "I'll see you tomorrow, Finnick."
Grabbing onto her arm, I protest, "No, no. Where do you think you're going?"
Cashmere releases a hiss in pain as I clamp down a little too hard. "Sorry," I apologise.
"Going to my room," she replies.
"No, you're not. You said yourself, that you can barely sleep alone in your own room. You're staying here."
"Thanks, but no thanks," she declines and turns for the door.
"I can't sleep alone either," I confess. "Maybe we'll both be able to sleep if we know that we're either both safe, or in danger."
"Well, I hope you don't mind having to share a bed with a girl who punches in her sleep," she replies, after a moment of contemplation.
"Nah, don't worry. I'm probably a worse kicker in bed."
A/N: I really hope no one's thinking that Finnick and Cashmere have some weird romance relationship thing going on v.v That's just really weird. I guess, they have a mutual understanding between the two of them and can be there for each other in a way that brothers and sisters can't.