Everything

A few hours later, I stood by the golden statue. My foot tapped impatiently or excitedly on the cobblestone. Where could he be? Capitol citizens sped past talking with loud voices or fiddling with handheld electronics. I raised myself onto my tiptoes and tried to spot Seneca.

"Looking for someone?" a voice called out from behind the statue.

Spinning around quickly, I spotted him sitting on the base of the statue. He had chosen to sit directly on President Snow's leg. He jumped off the statue and straightened out his clothes. Today, Seneca had chosen a fitted short sleeve and decent black leather pants. I noticed his powerful arm muscles.

"I did not think you were coming," I replied.

He smirked that sly grin again and offered his hand.

"Of course I would be here. What would I be had I not?" his dominant gaze demanded an answer.

"Horrible," I answered breathlessly.

I took his hand. His grip was strong, mighty with ambition.

"What do you say we get to know each other better?" he led me into the City Circle.

We strolled down the cobblestone as elegant as dancers did on a stage. I faintly caught the whiff of his cologne, lilacs infused with ginger. He opened the door of a fine dining restaurant. I refrained from blushing and entered carefully. This particular establishment catered only to the most prestigious Capitol citizens.

"Greetings Mr. Crane. The usual?" asked a sharp-dressed waiter.

Seneca nodded. The usual? He guided me with his hand on the small of my back. We followed the waiter upstairs to an outdoor balcony shaded with a miraculous canopy. The balcony overlooked the main square of the City Circle. Seneca held out a lavish chair and I sat down. He chose the seat opposite me.

"What can I please you with?" the waiter asked again.

"My usual of course," answered Seneca, "And the lady may order whatever her heart desires."

I looked over the menu and requested the seafood bisque. Seneca nodded his approval and the waiter left. We sat in silence for a moment, taking in the marvelous sight.

"Effie," he broke the silence, "I would like to know everything about you."

I lost my battle for control and blushed a deep red. Slowly, I began to relay off minute details. Within a few sentences, I noticed how he paid a tremendous amount of attention. I grew more confident, laughing about embarrassing flaws and mentioning little things. He never interrupted, provided appropriate reactions, and maintained eye contact.

"Now it is your turn," I said as the food arrived, "Tell me about yourself."

"I am Seneca Crane. I graduated valedictorian of my class in upper school and secured a position in Games school. I am striving to become Head Gamemaker one day. I own a mansion in the City Circle. Next year, I will travel to a different District for an internship."

On he went about his accomplishments, his dreams, his future goals. I noticed that he never once mentioned family. No parents, no siblings. I gave him furious attention, not daring to touch my food until he had finished.

"You may eat," he gestured toward my plate, "I will not think it rude."

I picked up a fork and began to ingest the seafood. This is miraculous. There is no humanly way that food can taste so rich. Seneca ate quietly, using his napkin and silverware properly. Manners are key. When we were finished, he ordered dessert.

"Seneca, I don't think I can hold another bite," I laughed.

"Oh try," he laughed too.

"Your life is simply fascinating. You know, I have always professed interest in the Hunger Games. Perhaps we could watch them together this year," I suggested.

"That sounds lovely. Have you thought of applying to Games school? I am sure you would make quite a fantastic stylist," he responded.

"A stylist you say? Well, I have never thought of being a stylist. It all sounds so intriguing. But do you really think I could get accepted to Games school?" I asked unsure.

"From what I understand, your marks are impressive. Your family comes from good money, which is always a plus. Between your father and myself, I am sure we could work something out," he answered.

He knew just what to say. No one had ever treated me like this. When dessert came, I placed my hand gently onto the table. Seneca slid his on top of mine. I brought my eyes up and met his in a moment of serendipitous wonder. I felt a pang of want deep in my stomach.

"What shall we do now?" he asked.

His hand covered mine. His skin felt smooth and warm. Inviting. I prayed that my hand would not sweat under the pressure. He paid for our meal, not letting me have any say in the matter.

We stood up, hand in hand. He guided me over to the balcony and we leaned side by side on the rails. His full lips glowed with the radiance of the dying sunlight. His dark eyes mirrored the sun and turned incandescent. I felt his hand reach for my waist. Gently but forcefully, he pulled me close.

"What does your heart desire?" he whispered in my ear.

"I..."

"I can give you everything."

My eyes closed. I could feel his breath on my ear, setting my senses on fire. Everything.

The words came out, "Take me home."

The moment disappeared. I felt guilty and defeated. Seneca dropped his shoulders. He released me, the smile threatening to leave his lips.

"I…I am sorry. It is getting late and I must be getting home," I scrabbled desperately.

"Yes, agreed. Come my dear," he answered.

He led me out of the fine restaurant and toward the cobblestone. All the way home, I chanced glances at him. His eyes magnified my resonance of want. Why? We strolled home in silence, both utterly defeated by the hiatus of the moment. Why? Why? Why?

When we reached my edifice, he stopped me.

"Effie," he began, "I would be lying if I said you did not captivate me in every sense of the word. I enjoy your company greatly."

"Seneca," I interjected, "You are so very kind."

"And you so beautiful," he continued.

"Beautiful."

His hands found my waist again. His strong fingers gripped me close. I could feel that dormant pang strengthen. He teased my hipbone toward him and I obeyed. My hands lay on his built chest, my right feeling his heart beat. The sensation of his breath on my ear returned.

"Oh, Seneca."

"Effie, I want to see more of you."

"Yes."

His lips were an inch from my collarbone. His breath set me on fire. The cologne violated my nostrils in a fructuous manner. I need him.

"Tomorrow," I whispered quietly into the air, "Tomorrow, I promise."

His full lips met mine. My eyes closed and my breath held. He held me to him tight. I felt his hands wonder the length of my back. I reached my hand up to his face and felt the hint of stubble. I stroked his cheek, hoping to prolong the moment. This is it.

Just as he reached the end of my back, he broke away.

"Tomorrow," he whispered quietly, "I can give you everything."

He left me on my doorstep; his retreating had my mind calling his name.